by Ritter Ames
Praise for the Bodies of Art Mystery Series
Books in the Bodies of Art Mystery Series
Sign up for Henery Press updates
Copyright
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
About the Author
The Bodies of Art Mystery Series
Sign up for Henery Press updates
FIXIN’ TO DIE
MURDER IN G MAJOR
MURDER ON A SILVER PLATTER
Praise for the Bodies of Art Mystery Series
MARKED MASTERS (#2)
“Once again I have to hold on to my hat while we zip around Europe and land in lovely Florence where author Ritter Ames lures me in with her delightful vignette of Italian life seen through the eyes of an art expert.”
– Maria Grazia Swan,
Author of the Lella York Mysteries
“Ames, with her great writing and brilliant story, has created a masterpiece of her own in Marked Masters. She leaves her readers doing their own research between the pages. Like Laurel, Ritter keeps the story with its rightful owner—the reader.”
– Crimespree Magazine
“Boasting a great cast of characters, good conversations and the global background, this was a very enjoyable read and I look forward to the third book in this exciting series.”
– Dru’s Book Musing
“Well-plotted and will keep you guessing until the very end...The action is nonstop and you will find that you can’t put this book down. Mystery readers will enjoy the chase and be pleased with the outcome. I can’t wait to read the next in the delightful series. If you like your mystery filled with hunky spies, then you should be reading Marked Masters.”
– Cheryl Green, MyShelf Reviews
COUNTERFEIT CONSPIRACIES (#1)
“An intricately woven tale with plenty of action and suspense. The story is crafted in such a way to keep readers guessing. The characters are well-written with smart and witty dialogue. An enjoyable read.”
– A Cozy Book Nook
“Funny, fast paced and just a smidge of romance. What more could you ask for? Bring on the next one!”
– T. Sue Versteeg,
Author of My Ex-Boyfriend’s Wedding
“A high-octane, fast-paced thrill ride of a mystery adventure that will definitely leave you anxious for the next installment.”
– Girl with Book Lungs
“This fast-paced mystery had me reading far past my usual time for bed. I simply couldn’t put it down because I was so drawn into the story. It’s simply wonderful!”
– Dianne Harman,
Author of the Cedar Bay Cozy Mysteries
“The book takes you on car chases, shooting, great locations around the world all in the hopes of finding a missing friend and lost artifact. I read the book three times enjoying each time.”
– Book Him Danno
“To save the day, Laurel takes you with her every step of the way on subways, planes, fast cars, and motorcycles all while being in danger. This book is truly a keeper, jump in and go for a ride!”
– Destiny’s Book Reviews
“Incredible attention to detail. The author creates a world that you truly can get lost in. The book is also a fast-paced, fun read. I’m looking forward to reading book two.”
– A Girl and Her ebook
“This fast-paced, action-filled whodunit was enjoyable and hard to put down…it was fun to watch the pieces come together in this well-written drama. I’m looking forward to the next book in this series.”
– Dru’s Book Musings
Books in the Bodies of Art Mystery Series
by Ritter Ames
COUNTERFEIT CONSPIRACIES (#1)
MARKED MASTERS (#2)
ABSTRACT ALIASES (#3)
Sign up for Henery Press updates
and we’ll deliver the latest on new books, sale books, and pre-order books, plus all the happenings in the Hen House!
CLICK TO SIGN UP
(Note: we won’t share your email address and you can unsubscribe any time.)
Copyright
ABSTRACT ALIASES
A Bodies of Art Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition | October 2016
Henery Press, LLC
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2016 by Ritter Ames
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-073-9
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-074-6
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-075-3
Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-076-0
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This book would have never been finished without the help of my husband and my dog—because they always forgave me
when I said, “Just a minute. I’m almost done with this scene,”
but I kept writing for hours. Every author needs that
kind of unconditional support.
After that, I need to mention all the terrific teachers through
the years who not only taught me a love for writing,
but also for reading, history, research, and how to organize my thoughts onto a page.
Last, but certainly not least, my late-father for not only introducing me to mysteries, but also for sharing his love of James Bond movies. A girl couldn’t ask for a better childhood.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve mentioned this before, but it really sums up all the people on this Acknowledgments page, so it bears repeating: One of the quotes on the wall of my writing corner is by Goethe, “Be bold…and mighty forces will come to your aid.” I’ve given Laurel Beacham a fictional team any art recovery expert would be proud of, and who she can always count on to come to her aid. But in writing these books, I’ve discovered I’ve gained my own version of mighty forces. Here are only a few:
I’ll start this time with Dianne Wallace, because she’s been a stalwart supporter of this series long before I even knew her name, and she was the key person who gave me the idea of how Laurel could lose her luggage this time. Not as easy as it sounds when it happens every book.
Jeanie Jackson may be retired from library work, but she’s still the biggest su
pporter of authors and readers that I know. Not just my books—but every author lucky enough to catch her attention. Dru Ann Love is someone else who took a chance on me when my first book came out, gave me a spot on her blog, and has supported this series ever since. Honestly, authors cannot survive without the lovely people who write reviews and let us blog on their sites. Jenna Czaplewski and Joanne Kocourek are in this same class—lovely ladies who make sure readers always hear about good books and authors. They’re also terrific critiquers when I’m looking for ways to write really short ad copy.
A number of people who started out as readers on my books have become friends, literary confidants, and cheering sections for me. This isn’t supposed to be in any particular order, but the names just came out this way as I wrote them. Gale Sroelov might be even more dedicated to this series than I am, but more importantly she is someone whose friendship I appreciate because she always tells me what I Need to Know—not just what I Want to Hear. Kelly Hobbs wrote my first review—yes, I remember—and her posts on Facebook give me smiles every week. Helga Thompson is someone who absolutely keeps me on-task with this series, and I’m a better and faster writer because of it. Kay Hutcherson is another librarian who not only supports this mystery series, but supports books and readers and authors everywhere. More people who are always there to spread the news about Laurel’s & Jack’s adventures are: Heidi Wimmer, Maria Grazia Swan, T. Sue Versteeg, Susann Hughey, Andrea Stoeckel, Penniann Milan, Shannon Binegar-Foster, Mary Allen and Carrie Azurza.
Beyond the names above, I must recognize the greatest street team in the world—a group of women whom I’m so happy to say are just as committed to my books as I am. Thank you ladies for all you do to help me in my work as a mystery author.
Finally, and equally important, I have to thank all the wonderful people at Henery Press. This is a small but mighty force of professional people who do the best for their authors Every Single Day. From the editing team to those wearing the marketing hats to make sure everyone has the physical books they need, and all the other gracious Henery authors who welcomed me into the Hen House and answer all my questions—I truly want to thank you all.
One
We stood across the wide moonlit river from Big Ben, in the prime spot for viewing London’s New Year’s fireworks extravaganza. The jubilant crowd jostled and shouldered its way to fill every inch along the Thames, more than a half-million people crowding into every open space around us this clear cold night. All waiting for the countdown to start. Even with the event tickets Jack had snagged, we shared our roped-off space with about a hundred thousand fellow revelers. Central London bridges began shutting down just after noon, readying for the standing-room-only masses, and many of the streets were closed all day in preparation for the night’s event and the hordes of people looking for a place to catch the stunning pyrotechnic performance. Rock music pulsed through the PA system, but the constant babble of the voices around us, most raised so their words could be heard by the people standing next to them, made all sound flow into a nearly incomprehensible rumble.
“Have you been here for the Lord Mayor’s event before?” Jack Hawkes leaned down and shouted into my ear.
“Not for a while,” I returned, equally loud. I’d been in Sydney the last couple of years, enjoying the milder weather during their January summers. Though the temps in Oz were nice and the people definitely fun, it didn’t have the same electric feel for me as a frosty New Year’s Eve in New York or the U.K. The brisk wind off the water zigzagged through the crowd, blowing my long hair across my face. I used a hand to brush away the blond curls, then hunkered down in my champagne-colored leather coat as I added, “This is all much as I remember, though it is kind of weird getting a priority spot.”
“But worth it,” Jack said. “The special ticketing for the event only happened a couple of years ago. From the crowd control standpoint alone it offers a lot of advantages.”
Safety, naturally, had created an even greater need for knowing who might be in a crowded world capital during something as well-attended as this public party. The thought made me take another glance around the crushing public. Not that I thought I would spot criminal activity—or even could in this throng—but it seemed the thing to do. When my sweeping gaze returned to Jack, I saw he was doing exactly the same thing. As an art recovery expert, observation skills are my chief tools of the trade. Jack’s talents were even better developed than mine, though I hadn’t yet learned why he was such a pro at doing a job he never talked about.
I moved closer and tugged his collar. When I wore heels he stood nearly a head taller than me, but the walking boots I’d donned for the occasion kept me much closer to the ground. I wasn’t worried about being overheard in this cacophony, but I wanted him to actually hear my words when I asked, “Nico told me he sent you a tracking app. Did you get it?”
My wonder geek, Nico, usually kept tabs on me via the GPS in my phone, but Jack had rather unconventional ways of doing so. Ways we’d argued about. Often.
Jack cocked a dark eyebrow. “Yes, he said it was to track you more easily. I was surprised you didn’t argue.”
“So you didn’t say anything because…?”
He shrugged and had the grace to look a little sheepish.
“Nico got inventive after Tony B kidnapped me in Miami. When his thugs broke my phone and I disappeared from everyone’s radar, he decided we needed a backup method for GPS.” I held up my left hand to show off my newest piece of jewelry. A lovely charm bracelet. “The camera charm disguises a tiny transmitter.”
The app Nico sent to Jack keyed into the charm’s frequency.
“You’re okay with that?” he asked.
“Nico asked permission.”
“Like he wouldn’t have done it regardless.”
“Still, he asked.”
“I feel privileged to be in the inner circle. To know where you are at all times.”
I caught the sarcasm in his tone and matched it. “I didn’t want you to keep working so hard behind the scenes. You might use up too many favors with MI-5 and the Met police.”
Jack gave me a crooked grin, then fingered the tiny silver camera. “At least I’ll know where your bracelet is at all times.”
I got the dig. He knew I’d slip my leash whenever I wanted, but his steady gaze told me he understood I took the continued threat seriously. We didn’t know why I had become particularly interesting to criminals during the previous months, but until we identified the reason or captured all the players, I was ready to accept a little electronic help from one of Nico’s gizmos.
We’d had our rocky starts, Jack and I, not the least of which due to both of us wanting to always be in charge and neither really trusting the other. With reason. He knew everything about me—well, all about the “public Laurel Beacham” at least—and told me little about himself. Jack’s reason for not always trusting me was…well, I play by my own rules. Some of those rules have gotten me into trouble lately. When finding lost art is the objective, trouble can happen more often than one would think. Being able to always track me had become a priority, whether I liked it or not.
He looked at his Silberstein. “Minutes away from the countdown. Are you getting cold?”
Only my face felt the freezing temps off the river. I knew he was changing the subject. The bundled crowd around us was more than enough body heat to keep us warm. “I’m toasty. Does the Eye signal the start again?”
He nodded. “The lights begin flashing about ten seconds before.”
Next, the glorious twelve-count strikes of Big Ben would sound and fireworks soar thundering to the heavens and usher in new beginnings, new promise, and a new year. It didn’t matter how many times I witnessed an event like this, the kid in me always got antsy. I wanted it all—pronto.
“There’s the kissing at midnight, remember,” Jack said, his gaze never leavi
ng mine.
“I think in a crowd this size we should have no trouble finding a friend to pair up with.” I smiled.
“Did you think I was sugges—”
His teasing response was interrupted by a slurred shout. “Oy! Jack Hawkes. How the devil are you?”
A thirties-something man stumbled into us. He was rail thin, even in his long gray greatcoat, but his momentum almost made us lose our footing. The man was also familiar.
“Hamish.” Jack bolstered the tipsy friend. “Never expected to see you here tonight, mate.”
The interloper turned to me, weaving a bit and slurring, “Can’t forget this pretty lady…Laurel Beacham, correct?”
I smiled and nodded, realizing the obnoxious drunk was an old school chum Jack introduced me to when we were in Florence last fall chasing criminals. Hamish taught art history at the university level there, and I’d had Nico check him out. Nothing overly suspicious came up on his background, nor anything to imply involvement in the prospective heist we currently worried over. We struck him from our list of suspects when no big payoffs appeared in his bank accounts. Though he was likely in town for Christmas visiting, I did find it interesting he was in London and materialized beside us at this event.
“Here on winter break,” he said, confirming my suspicion as he gave Jack a friendly slap on the back. Knowing the man had no biceps, I doubted Jack felt a thing. Hamish continued, “Have to leave tomorrow to return to teaching the dil-et-tante rabble.”
