No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7) (8 page)

Chapter 29

Loyalties & Responsibilities

Ever since we latched onto each other, I’ve felt a strong responsibility for the ladies. Though cunning, they were older. Sometimes, (
okay, frequently
) circumstances placed them in harm’s way. That’s where my guilt-trip entered the picture and sat right down next to me.

They always claimed their unflinching loyalty to me was what drove them. Besides, they truly loved getting into the thick of an investigation that challenged (
here comes another pun)
their gray matter. They said their alternative was sedentary senior citizen lifestyle living. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture any of them knitting, playing bridge or watching the soaps. Neither could they.

They’ve taught me that aging could be quite interesting so I took note of their advice on many occasions. But after all this time I still felt I had a lot to learn. They pushed (
shoved is a better word
) me to go out on a limb and not play it safe. ‘Life was too short,’ they said. They had no intention of playing by the rules anymore, which apparently now applied to yours truly. These seniors were armed and dangerous in more ways than one. And I loved it.

Clay excused himself, saying he was going for a walk.

Was he looking for Tony G, hoping he was still around?

I continued gathering facts from everyone up in the loft to keep our distance from the packing room and Anne’s office in the back. Martha sat in the wing chair. Betty and Hazel sat on the sofa. I leaned back at the desk, trying to read their expressions. They couldn’t sit still.

I kept my voice low. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“How did you know that?” said Betty innocently.

“It’s a gift, plus past experience dealing with you three.”

I heard a snort and turned to Martha. “So tell me.”

She eyed Hazel, who was searching her purse.

“I know it’s in here somewhere,” mumbled Hazel.

I watched her dig deep. “What are you looking for?”

Betty started to chuckle. “You’ll see.”

Martha was smirking.

“Bingo!” said Hazel, holding up a shiny gold lighter.

I stared at it, not getting it, then asked, “A lighter?”

Hazel was beaming. “It’s not
what
, but
whose
.”

“Well, it can’t be yours. You don’t smoke.” I said.

Martha nodded in approval. “She lifted it from Tony.”

Hazel stiffened. “I’m not a pickpocket. It fell out.”

Betty giggled. “He came back looking for it.”

“Yeah,” said Martha. “Said it was special to him.”

“I wonder why?” I asked, now curious.

Hazel handed it over to me and pointed. “That’s why.”

I took a closer look. There were initials on it. “…Oh!”

It read A.W.

“Now, isn’t that interesting?”

“That opens a whole new can of worms,” said Martha.

Two women immediately came to mind: one of which was Anne Wyeth. But the other one completely floored me: Alicia Worth. “It sure does,” I said.

Chapter 30

Salivating & Sumptuous

Having lost some privacy, I was making lemonade from lemons: making a simple supper for us (with the Worths’ earlier go-ahead) in their well-designed and not-so-simple kitchen. But before the ladies got there, I took a tour.

After breezing by that first night, this was my chance to investigate their cook’s kitchen. A Subzero refrigerator and freezer were at one end of the room and a deep stainless sink at the other with a full-sized Meile dishwasher next to it. The center island was about twelve feet long with a baking area topped in marble at one end and prep area at the other. Both ends had cabinets in a rich mahogany color, with feet making them look like furniture. The center of the island was cream-colored with two dishwasher draws on each side of a hand-painted Italian apron sink.
Nice.

The island faced a wall of windows that overlooked the back property, which was lined with tall evergreens. Blue and white Toile fabric topped the windows. A long French farm table and high-backed chairs completed this tableau.

Behind me was the family room wall. The upper portion was cut out: a huge see-through arch. Just below it were glass cooktops: one electric, the other induction. On either side of the cooktops were built-in wall ovens. Over one was a Meile coffeemaker and the other, a Wolfe microwave.

Fascinated, I started opening the French cabinets, which were creamy white with a warm brown glaze. Below one wall oven was a warming drawer. Pots hung on both sides of the cabinets siding the glass cooktops. Pottery urns held a multitude of kitchen utensils that spilled out of them.

I turned, walking back to the end of the island below the baking area with marble top. It stored a large Kitchenaide mixer that swung out and up level to the counter height.

Being a foodie, this was eye candy for my soul. I was thrilled that Alicia texted Clay from the airport saying to use their kitchen: a cook’s heaven and temporarily mine.

Oh, I forgot the most important area of all! The Subzero wine cooler. I swung the door open and grabbed a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. (Clay filled two drawers for us.) I went to grab the opener from inside a decorative box on the counter when a familiar hand reached ahead of mine.

“I need this more than you after dealing with those two.”

I laughed as I turned to Martha. “Oh, it’s not that bad.”

“You weren’t in that craft store,” she said, chuckling.

“You displayed patience and control. I’m proud of you.”

Martha arched her brow. “Huh!” Then she took wine glasses from the overhead glass see-through cabinet, then glanced around the French kitchen, smiling.

“These are fancy digs here. People would
kill
for this.”

Her words triggered:
Was someone taking this beyond hurting the Worths’ business? Was extortion a part of this gallery rip-off? Did Tony have something on Alicia?

That would explain the Worths’ unexpected departure
.

Chapter 31

Recapping & Uncapping

Martha was about to pour us each a glass, but stopped.

“A killing? Where?” Betty asked, entering the kitchen.

“Already? We just got here,” said a disappointed Hazel.

Martha turned to me, sighing. “See how rumors start?”

I turned to the two. “We’re about to pour. Interested?”

Both nodded. Martha grabbed two more glasses, popped the cork and poured. Then we formed a tight circle with our glasses raised for some individual toasts.

“To Alicia for the use of her kitchen,” I saluted.

“To us solving another caper,” said Hazel.

“To me for putting up with those two” cracked Martha.

“To Clay for bringing us together again!” laughed Betty.

“Wait! We forgot one,” I said “The usual: To women!”

“May we stay one step ahead of the men,” said Martha.

We tapped glasses and tipped back, tasting the wine.

My cell dinged, a text: Clay’s.

‘Apologies. Running late. Will grab my own food.’

I frowned. “It’s just us ladies. Chicken Caesar salad.”

Martha tore up romaine lettuce in large chunks. Betty started mixing up some Caesar dressing, while Hazel sliced up some tomatoes. (I know, but we all loved tomatoes)

I grabbed the roasted chicken I’d brought down from my apartment over the garages and started tearing it up over the lettuce. Then I popped a baguette laced with garlic butter into the oven. Martha grated a hunk of Parmesan Reggiano cheese to sprinkle on top. Betty and Hazel quickly set the table with placemats then lit candles and we all grabbed our drinks and salad then sat down at the long French table.

I sniffed the air and jumped up. “Bread’s ready!”

We dimmed the kitchen lights, using the candles for atmosphere: our faces flickering in the shadowy light. After taking a few tasty mouthfuls, we got down to business.

“Now,” began Martha, “what’s with this Tony G?”

So I told them in vivid detail.

I never forget a thing when hardware’s aimed at me.

I finished up with Clay going ballistic afterward.

Martha chuckled. “That must have been some sight.”

Hazel’s hand went to her chest. “We spoke to …
him
!”

“So you think that red stain on his tie…” choked Betty.

“Probably wasn’t San Marzano tomatoes,” said Martha.

“I can’t believe you pushed that gun away,” said Hazel.

“He was getting on my nerves. I’d had enough,” I said.

Betty patted my hand. “I’m sure he wouldn’t kill you.”

Hazel leaned in, now concerned. “Or us, would he?”

Martha set her wine down. “When you owe, you owe!”

“We need some kind of plan,” I said. “Think.”

Martha smiled. “I have my laptop and banking skills.”

Betty offered, “I’ll get a list of shippers from Abby.”

Hazel smiled at me. “I could distract Anne while…”

I grinned. “Oh, Hazel, would you? Her office, yes!”

Like I’ve said before,
some of the best laid plans…

Chapter 32

Run Amok & More

Hazel is a master at charming and flattering people. The next day, as planned, she hit Anne’s office, overwhelming her target with awestruck praise for her restorative artwork. Flustered and at first reluctant, Anne relented and took Hazel on a guided tour of the gallery to explain the process.

Abby left to hand-deliver a painting to a client. It wasn’t worth the delivery cost because it was right across town. This was my opportunity to hustle from the kitchen to Anne’s office and see what I could find. I was searching for evidence linking her to this alleged scam. I got busy…

Anne’s desk phone rang. I cursed. Had she heard it? On the fourth ring, I heard footsteps. It was too late for me to run: I was knee-deep rifling her desk drawer. I closed it and ducked to the floor, barely able to crawl under her desk to hide. Anne’s designer-clad feet appeared in front of me.

“Hello,” she said out of breath. She began pacing back and forth. “I warned you not to call me here.”

Who was she talking to?

“You can’t be serious! …Are you crazy?”

I was asking myself that for pulling this stupid stunt.

“I understand. Yes, they seem…but how would I know? This will delay my plans…”

What plans?
Her foot tapped: Nerves? Impatience?

“Listen, I told you before… Well, certainly not now! You can’t expect me to…”

I heard shuffling in the hallway. Suddenly I was staring at another pair of shoes. They were orthopedic: Hazel’s.

What was
she
doing standing there?
I wanted to hear the rest of Anne’s conversation! I felt a swift kick at my left hand and stared down. Damn. It was sticking out all this time and I had no clue. Hazel was trying to shove it inward, but had stepped on it instead. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t scream, as I tried to pry up her foot up with my other hand.

Trust me, she’s no lightweight: sleuthing or otherwise.

“…That’s correct,” said Anne. “I’ll get back to you.”

The phone clicked. She’d hung up. Relieved, I sighed when Hazel’s foot shifted location and she spoke to Anne.

“Excuse me for the interruption, but a man was poking around the gallery and looked suspicious. Maybe you…”

Hazel leaned down to me when Anne flew out the door.

“That was close! Get out before she comes back.”

I took off for the kitchen with Hazel right behind. I was still rubbing my hand as she poured us each a coffee.

“That was way too close. How did it go?” she asked.

I handed her a delivery receipt: Madonna and Child.

“And its significance?” whispered Hazel confused.

I could barely get it out. “…Look at the amount!”

“Well, I’ll be,” said a surprised Hazel. “$100,000!”

“It’s a second receipt! Tony’s said $25,000! And look who signed off at the bottom of it,” I said pointing.

Why sell a novelty painting for that much money?