Jeopardy in July: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Venkataraman

"Would you run over to the greenhouse and grab his wallet? It's in the top drawer on the right. He needs his health insurance card for the hospital."

  "Sure, I'll be back in a flash."

  I trekked to the greenhouse stepping carefully in a pointless attempt to keep my shoes clean. To me, Eli's calm request for his wallet seemed out of sync with his wild allegation that his life was in danger but maybe that's how he dealt with stress, by focusing on little details. The important question was why did he think someone was after him? Was he paranoid? Delusional? Maybe he had a crush on Jodi and was desperate for her attention. I hadn't met a single person at La Vida Boca who struck me as a possible killer--except for Eli, of course. Seriously, who would be foolish enough to threaten a man who carried a knife and a machete? Despite having a pacemaker, Eli could almost certainly outrun or outfight anyone there. He was the youngest resident by at least ten years and, in some cases, twenty or thirty.

  As I opened the greenhouse door, I braced myself for the tsunami of hot air about to envelop me but still wasn't ready for it. With all the haste I could muster, I grabbed the slick leather wallet from the drawer and reversed course, swimming through air thick as molasses. Exiting the greenhouse I rushed back to Jodi and Eli, resisting the urge to look inside the wallet. I could've justified it by saying I needed to make sure it was his, but I had scruples. Anyway, it was just your basic leather wallet. There was nothing remarkable about it except for a small square of blue paper sticking out of the top with the words fast relief on the edge. It looked like a familiar over-the-counter medicine but I couldn't place it.

  While I was gone, a small crowd had gathered around the prostrate man, including two EMTs administering aid. As Herb had pointed out the day I met him, ambulances made regular appearances at La Vida Boca. If hunky paramedics were part of the package, my new job did have some perks. It's not always about the money, you know.

  "I hope he'll be okay," Jodi said after the ambulance had whisked Eli away. "The paramedic said his vital signs were good. I'll call the hospital later to check on him."

  "I'm sure he'll be fine," I said as we walked back inside. "Boy, there's never a dull moment around here, huh? Do you really think someone's trying to kill Eli?"

  Jodi mulled it over, a tiny crease in her forehead telegraphing her concern. "No," she finally said. "No way. I think he has an overactive imagination."

  "Or he's trying to impress a certain someone…"

  "Like who?" she asked.

  I pointed to her and she laughed heartily. "Oh, yes, men are always pulling stupid stunts to get my attention. I secretly brew love potions with herbs from the garden."

  "Nice," I said. "I'm sure there's a market for that. You could start small, maybe open an Etsy store."

  Her eyes twinkled. "That will be my next career. Right now, I have my hands full with this one, don't you think? Thanks for your help with Eli, by the way. That was scary! I'm glad you were there."

  I nodded. "Happy to help. Now, I have to go take care of my own emergencies which are much less exciting."

  On my way out I spotted Wilma in the lobby. With a fake smile, she said to send her an invoice and that she'd see me in a month. Glenda the receptionist even waved good-bye to me. It was official, I was in, I was living La Vida Boca, sort of. Who would have thought? While it gave me a break from divorce work, I'd have to manage my time better and not get mired in the intrigue of assisted living. Putting those words together sounded hilarious, I couldn't wait to tell Grace.

  Trekking through the parking lot, eyes glued to my phone, I walked smack into a man doing the same thing and made him drop his briefcase. How embarrassing!

  "So sorry!" I said to the well-dressed extremely blond man with the youthful face. "I'm terrible at multi-tasking. I can't walk and chew gum either. Are you okay?"

  He laughed as he brushed off his briefcase. "Totally my fault. I'm just glad I didn't walk into traffic. Although I did walk into a parked car once."

  I checked out the briefcase, the bespoke suit, the easy-going personality and I thought salesman. Pharmaceutical rep or insurance agent was my best guess. I smiled and was turning to go when he asked a question.

  "Excuse me, do you work here?"

  I shook my head and then reconsidered. "I guess I do, sort of. Thank-you for not asking if I lived here, that would have ruined my day."

  He laughed. "That's a good line, I might borrow it. No, I'm looking for someone who does live here and I don't know what he looks like. I was wondering if you could help me out."

  I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my neck and I was dying to get going for so many reasons, but my mom had taught me not to be rude. "Not likely since I only know a few residents. Good luck, though."

  I was already walking away when he said "His name is Herb Lowenthal and I'm kind of nervous about meeting him, so any advice would be welcome."

  I came back for that, of course. "Did you say Herb Lowenthal? I do know someone by that name, but I doubt that's who you mean. Maybe it's someone with a similar name?"

  The stranger gave me a charming smile and said, "I knew you could help me! It's fate that we collided. Look, we even have matching briefcases." He held his up for me to see.

  "Yeah, yeah, next you'll be telling me we have compatible Zodiac signs. What do you want with Herb?" I knew Herb could take care of himself, but I was feeling a bit protective, especially since he'd told me about losing his daughter.

  "I understand your reluctance," he said. "Let's start over." He held out his hand for me to shake, so I did. "My name is Bob Beckman, it's nice to meet you…?"

  "Jamie Quinn."

  "May I call you Jamie?" He smiled sincerely.

  "Sure, fine. What brings you to La Vida Boca, Bob? I hope you're not trying to sell Herb something because, if you are, I might feel compelled to give him a heads up." I shifted my weight and put my hand on my hip to show I meant it. Body language makes your point even when your words say something different.

  "You are good at reading people and I'm not just saying that. I AM trying to sell Herb something." His pale eyes beseeched me. "I need to make this deal, it's the biggest one of my life. I'm trying to land a contract with his company. Can you help me?"

  I was really confused. "How big is big?"

  "It's worth a million dollars."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  "You almost had me going!" I said, scanning the parking lot for his cohorts. "What are you doing, a reboot of Candid Camera? I promise to be a good sport, but I'm not very photogenic, I'm afraid."

  Bob's expression went from baffled to wary as he realized he'd approached the wrong stranger, that this one wasn't quite right in the head. I was so excited about being on TV that it took me a minute to notice his confusion.

  "I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" he asked.

  "What are you talking about?" I replied.

  "Look," he said, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I thought you could help me, but just forget it, I'll wing it."

  He started to walk away and I called him back.

  "Wait, Bob, I can help you. What do you want to know about Herb?"

  Skeptical, he took two steps towards me. "Why do you want to help me now?"

  "I figure we can help each other. I know Herb on a personal level and you know what he does for a living. I'm curious, that's all." When he hesitated, I said, "It's okay, I'll just Google him."

  "Alright," he said, closing the gap between us and placing his briefcase on the ground next to mine. "But I can't tell you anything about the deal, it's confidential."

  "Fine," I said with a wave of my hand. "What can you tell me?"

  He smiled. "You, first."

  "Herb Lowenthal is a smartass."

  "Herb Lowenthal is a genius," Bob said with almost religious fervor.

  "He doesn't tolerate fools," I said, remembering how he'd chastised Tillie.

  "He holds dozens of patents."

  "He doesn't like kiss-ups, so you might have a p
roblem," I teased.

  "He's practically a recluse."

  "He likes dogs," I said.

  "What kind of dogs?" Bob asked.

  I shook my head. "You're breaking the rules. Besides, I don't know."

  "Fine. He's a pioneer in the medical field."

  "He doesn't like personal questions," I said.

  "He's not in it for the money," Bob said admiringly.

  "He loves fruit," I said.

  It was Bob's turn to shake his head. "That doesn't count. Who doesn't love fruit?"

  I leaned against a nearby car. "It counts. Now you know what kind of gift to get him. Your turn, by the way."

  "He prefers to work remotely."

  "That would explain why he's always here," I said. "He can hold a grudge," I added, remembering the story about his daughter.

  "Hardly anyone knows what he looks like," Bob whispered, as if there were spies watching us.

  "Well, I know what he looks like," I bragged. "That makes me special, huh?" I laughed. "Actually, everyone here knows what he looks like, so what's the big deal?"

  Bob stared at me intensely. "They may know what he looks like, but they don't know who he is."

  None of this made any sense to me, but it was fascinating nonetheless. "I'll tell you what he looks like if you answer one more question," I said.

  "If I can," he said, "I will."

  "If Herb is such a recluse, so secretive, so uninterested in money, how in the world did you convince him to meet with you?"

  Bob was visibly perspiring now, droplets of sweat on his upper lip. "I didn't. He doesn't know I'm coming."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  "I don't like your chances," I said, after I'd stopped laughing. "Not with a basket of fruit in one hand and a basket of puppies in the other."

  "I do have one secret weapon," Bob said, a devilish glint in his eyes. "I'll just say I'm a friend of Jamie Quinn's, that should get me in. Thanks for your help, it was really great to meet you!"

  "You can't do that!" I yelled as he headed towards the front door. "He'll know you're lying," I bluffed.

  Bob waved and smiled and kept on walking, so I let him go. Assuming he made it past Glenda, he wouldn't get anywhere with Herb, who could sense B.S. a mile away. Besides, he still didn't know what Herb looked like.

  As I drove to my office, I thought about the enigma that was Herb. If he was such a genius inventor, why did he live at La Vida Boca? I imagined a scenario where he had an ailing wife who needed assistance he couldn't provide and, after she passed away, he stayed on. Or maybe he had a health issue himself and needed assistance. Or maybe he was just hiding from people like Bob. In any case, he must have liked living there or he would have left. Nobody could push Herb around--as Bob would soon find out.

  I connected my Bluetooth to the radio for my daily probate lesson, determined to expand my horizons and leave family law behind. (A girl can dream, can't she?) I learned that, while clear communication is critical in any legal document, in probate cases, the communicator is dead and therefore his fuzzy intentions must be interpreted by a judge. Although nobody writes a confusing will on purpose, not knowing when you'll die or what you'll own at the time makes it tricky. For example, what if you decide to leave your blue Chevy to your dear friend Jimbo, but when you die you own a green Ford? Does Jimbo get it anyway? What if you decide to leave your house to your sister, but when you die you have no house. Does she get nothing? What happens if you leave part of your estate to someone who predeceases you? To me, probate law could be reduced to four words--who gets the stuff? Divorce law is also about who gets the stuff--AND who gets the kids, who spent all the money, who pays for what, who is behaving badly, and who gets the family pets for Thanksgiving. By comparison, probate seemed like a walk in the park.

  I spent the rest of the day taking care of clients, filing pleadings, and scheduling hearings. Other than one quick call to Petersen's Antiques to make an appointment with the art appraiser, I was focused like a laser. It wasn't until the end of the day when I tried to open my briefcase that I discovered it was locked. That's because it wasn't my briefcase. As if I didn't have enough to do, now I had to track down that annoying salesman or whatever he was, Bob Beckman. To hell with it, if he wanted his briefcase, he could come and get it, I wasn't hard to find. Although I hated to admit it, I was curious about the contents. Bob's boast of a million-dollar-deal had piqued my interest and with the proof so close at hand I was eager to see it. Unfortunately, a three digit lock has a thousand possible combinations and I didn't have that kind of time. Not that I would break into someone else's briefcase, especially when I had a better option. If Bob wanted his case back he'd have to give me some information. I thought it was a fair trade, the deal of the century in fact, and I wasn't budging. It's called leverage, which was my favorite 'L' word, right after 'lottery-winner' and 'ladies drink free'. 'L' was also for losers weepers.

  Next item on my to-do list was to check in on Grace. I took out my phone to call, but decided to text in case she was sleeping.

  Yoo-hoo, Gracie, you awake? Feel better? Need anything?

  It took a minute before she replied. "Ugh! I feel like I was run over by a bus, but thanks for asking.

  My sick friend! What can I do for you?

  Can you write an appellate brief about sovereign immunity in a wrongful death action?

  Sure, I said, if you want to lose the case.

  Never mind, my paralegal will file for an extension. Nick is bringing me soup in a little while, isn't he sweet?

  He has his moments, I conceded. I hate to bug you when you're sick, but any word on my dad's visa?

  Sorry, Jamie, my friend at the State Department is on vacation in Europe, but I left a message. I'm sure I'll hear from him soon.

  Gracie, you're the best! You get some rest now, okay?

  She replied with zzzzz…

  It was frustrating to think about my dad's situation, so I refrained and moved on to my final action item--call Duke. Everyone else in the office had gone home already so I walked into the conference room for a change of scenery.

  "Duke's massage parlor," he answered in a husky voice. "Walk-ins welcome."

  I laughed. "Is that your new career?"

  "I thought I'd try it out, you know, with a select clientele." He chuckled at his own cleverness.

  "No sumo wrestlers, then?"

  "Hell, no! Don't go spoiling my fun, Ms. Esquire. What's up?"

  I grabbed some M & M's from the bowl on the table and crunched a brown one between my teeth. "Just confirming our appointment with the appraiser tomorrow at ten, did you get the painting from Jeff?"

  "I did, indeed. It's a strange picture, isn't it? I prefer the ones with pretty ladies, scantily clad."

  "There's a shocker," I said. "How about I pick you up at nine-thirty at your place. Or will you still be partying at The Big Easy?" I was joking although it wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

  "A man's got to sleep sometime. See you at my place bright and early. Coffee?"

  "Don't go to any trouble," I said.

  "Wasn't planning on it. What I meant was I like my coffee black with four sugars and I'll need a large. I'm not what you'd call a morning person."

  "I'd like to call you something and it's not morning person," I laughed.

  "You sound stressed, Darlin'. Remember, walk-ins are always welcome at Duke's massage parlor. Twenty-four hours a day."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  On my way to Duke's the next morning, I decided to make a quick stop at my office to pick up a file I needed. As I parked my Mini Cooper in its assigned space, I saw someone waiting for me. He was seated on the stoop by the back entrance, blond hair almost white in the morning sun and he did not look happy. Just for fun, I took my time getting out of the car.

  Once we were face to face, I offered him my friendliest smile. "Bob Beckman, isn't it?'"

  He scowled. "You know who I am and you know why I'm here."

  "Do I? Did
you need my help with something?"

  "What I need is my briefcase," he snapped.

  "What makes you think I have it?" I asked innocently.

  "Because I have yours," he said, holding it up to show me. "Your business card is inside, along with some shriveled up grapes."

  "Oh, right," I said. "I guess you didn't get far with Herb."

  "How do you know that?"

  "You'd have been here sooner," I laughed. "You would have opened your briefcase to show Herb what's inside and realized it wasn't yours--unless the case is just a prop. But if it were, you wouldn't be so anxious to get it back. So, you must have struck out with Herb."

  Bob shook his head. "No, I didn't. I never even saw him. The woman at the front desk told me nobody by that name lives there."

  Go, Glenda!

  "Aw," I said. "Sounds like a rough day."

  "Yeah, whatever. Can I get my briefcase back?"

  Nodding serenely, I motioned for him to follow me inside. We walked through the empty waiting room and I led him down the hall to my office.

  "I think I've earned a peek inside that case," I said. "We can call it a finder's fee, a reward--"

  "What if we call it blackmail?" he interjected.

  "Gosh," I said, "That's harsh. If you hurt my feelings, I might just forget where I put your briefcase. I'm very sensitive."

  The wall of resistance crumbled and Bob laughed. "Sure, fine, why not? And here's your briefcase as a show of good faith. I hope you aren't planning to eat those nasty grapes. If you are, please don't do it in front of me." He made a retching noise and I giggled. I could see how he might be fun at a party.

  "Do we have a deal?" I extended my right hand.

  He shook it. "Deal."

  I reached under my desk and slid his briefcase across the carpet. He picked it up, dialed in the combination and two clicks later, the mysterious case was open. I peered inside.

  "It's empty!" I said.

  Bob shook his head. "No, it's not. Look again."

  The second time I looked I saw a black flash drive taped to the black wall of the case.

  "That's it?" I was disappointed. He was like a magician in a silk cape who had produced a tattered, fake rabbit.