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

by Barbara Venkataraman

  He sighed. "We follow procedures and you stumble onto evidence and don't even know what you have. There's no justice."

  "Aw, don't pout, Nick," I teased. "I'd be happy to give you lessons in The Jamie Quinn Method."

  Jayashree laughed. "I still can't tell if you two are friends."

  "We're frenemies." I said and Nick nodded in agreement.

  "Now I understand," she said. "Is this the painting?" she walked over to Nick's desk. Turning to me, she said, "Do you know how long the FBI has been looking for this?"

  I ventured a guess. "Forty years? That's how long my client's father had it."

  "Not quite. This is the last piece in an international art scam that the FBI has been working on for twenty years. The man behind this scheme purchased original art and also bought worthless paintings from the same time periods so he could use the frames. He hired a forger to make copies which he then passed off as originals using the certificates of authenticity. Later on, he would sell the originals. He had no problem keeping this scam going until the internet came along and his luck ran out. He tried to sell an original painting through an auction house but the owner of the forgery, a wealthy Japanese businessman, saw it listed online and alerted the FBI. Unfortunately, the scammer slipped away and we've been waiting for him to surface ever since. We know that this is the only original painting he hasn't sold yet."

  "Holy smokes!" I said. "What's the guy's name?"

  "We're not sure," Jayashree said. "He always uses an alias, but he's Caucasian and he would be in his late sixties or early seventies by now."

  "You know this isn't the original," I said. "So, why do you need it?"

  Jayashree nodded. "I see why you're confused. The original painting was briefly listed for auction at Sotheby's last May. The auction house informed us immediately but before we could close in the listing was removed. We traced the owner's IP address to Hollywood Florida."

  It dawned on me what she was planning to do. "You want to use this painting as bait?"

  "Exactly! If the scammer sees it, he'll either buy it or try to discredit it as a forgery. At least, that's what we hope. The fact that he listed it for sale may mean he needs the money."

  Nick had been sitting quietly, which was an unusual sight, rarer than a blood moon or an albino tiger. I knew it wouldn't last.

  "Quinn, you told me that the scammer is in South Florida. How do you know that?" he asked.

  "Ha!" I crowed. "That proves it--you were listening to me. I do say important stuff once in a while, don't I?"

  "Could you answer the question after you're done taking your victory lap?"

  I stuck my tongue out at him. "Fine. It's complicated--"

  "Isn't it always?" Nick complained. "You'd make a terrible witness, Quinn."

  "Yeah, I know. Okay, here goes. An antiques dealer named Clarence Petersen acquired the forgery forty years ago. He thought it was genuine and convinced some of his friends to buy it as an investment. They bought it and resold it to my client, Earl Rappaport, who held onto it until his death last January. When his children tried to sell it, they discovered it was a forgery. Clarence Petersen must have seen the painting listed at Sotheby's in May because he confronted the person who sold it to him and the man threatened him, saying he was complicit."

  Nick's eyes were bugging out of his head. Jayashree clapped her hands with excitement.

  "Wonderful!" She said. "Now, where can we find Mr. Petersen?"

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I sighed. "The cemetery. He died at the beginning of July."

  "That's disappointing," she replied.

  "For sure," I said.

  "Hang on a minute, Quinn," Nick said. "Where did you get your information about Clarence Petersen and his conversation with the scammer?"

  "You're not going to like it," I said.

  "I bet," Nick said. "But go ahead and tell us anyway."

  "My client hired Duke Broussard to find out if he had any recourse for his father being scammed. Duke found the bill of sale and then I located the people who bought the painting and sold it to Earl--but I swear they didn't know it was a forgery!"

  "Fine, fine," Nick said. "Calm down, I wasn't planning to prosecute them. Get to the part about the conversation."

  "Okay, I took a part-time job at the assisted living facility where Clarence lived, but I never met him because he died before I started there. Anyway, I went to Clarence's memorial service--"

  "I thought you had never met him?" Jayashree said.

  "Right! I thought so too, but it turned out I did know him from when I was a child. I didn't know that I knew him when I went to his service, I just wound up there by accident--"

  "Of course you did," Nick interjected.

  "Go on," Jayashree prompted me.

  "At the service, the widow was angry and said someone there had betrayed Clarence, but she wouldn't elaborate. So, the activities director, the pet therapist, and I agreed we would try to find out who she was talking about."

  "Are you kidding me with this story?" Nick said. "Is this a Nancy Drew mystery or a plot from Scooby-Doo?"

  Ignoring Nick, I continued. "The activities director talked to a woman at the book club who said she had overheard a conversation on Memorial Day between Clarence Petersen and another man. The gist of it was that Clarence was angry and she heard him say I know what you did! How could you do that to me? I trusted you."

  "What did the other man say?" Jayashree asked.

  "He said it was just a mistake but Clarence threatened to go to the police and the man got nasty and told Clarence that he would go to jail too."

  "Then what?" Nick asked.

  "Clarence said: You're nothing but a thief, get away from me."

  Nick said "Let me get this straight. This book club woman related the conversation she overheard to the activities director who then related it to you and now you're telling it to us?"

  "Correct."

  "Hearsay upon hearsay. And did the book club woman see the man Clarence was talking to?" he asked.

  "She did not," I said. "She didn't see Clarence either, but she recognized his voice."

  "How could she be sure it was him?" Jayashree asked.

  "Because Clarence had a Swedish accent, he was the only person it could've been."

  Jayashree nodded. "Do you know how Clarence died?"

  "He collapsed on the shuffleboard court, they think it was a heart attack," I said.

  I could've brought up my theory about why Clarence and Eli had both been foaming at the mouth and how Stanley had drowned just the day before, but I didn't want them to think I'd lost my mind completely.

  Jayashree seemed to be thinking. She walked back to the desk to study the painting again, turning it over and then holding it up to change the perspective.

  "Is it possible," she said, "that the man who threatened Clarence is a resident at the facility?"

  "I guess," I said. "Or he could have just been there to see Clarence that day."

  "Don't they have sign-in sheets and cameras?" Nick asked.

  "Yes, they have both," I answered. "If this guy isn't a resident, then at least you might have his face on camera."

  Jayashree put the painting down and tied her hair back with a hairband. "Or he could be a resident. Have you seen anyone there acting suspicious in any way?"

  I shrugged. I used to think Eli was super suspicious, but then he fell ill and he wasn't even on the premises when Stanley drowned.

  "Say the man is a resident," I said. "Why would he stick around after Clarence died?"

  "Why would he be living there at all?" Nick asked. "He's hiding in plain sight. Who's going to look for an international art scammer at an old folks' home?" He looked quite pleased with himself.

  Jayashree smiled. "You may be right. Let's say he moved there originally to keep an eye on Clarence or to learn the whereabouts of the forged painting. But then Clarence died so he stayed there to lie low. We need to smoke him out. We need someone on the inside."<
br />
  They both looked at me expectantly.

  "What do you need me to do?" I asked.

  Jayashree put her hand on my shoulder. "Have you ever worn a wire before?"

  Chapter Fifty

  "Seriously?" I asked. "You want me to wear a wire? Then what, l walk around La Vida Boca asking each old man if he's an international art scammer?"

  Nick laughed at that but seemed to agree with me. "Wouldn't it be easier now that you have the painting to list it for sale and find the guy that way?"

  Jayashree shook her head. "If he sensed a trap, it might scare him off. He already tried to list the original and got spooked. This is a better plan. If it doesn't work, we can always list the painting."

  "I guess that makes sense," I said, "But can you at least narrow it down? Maybe get a list of all the Caucasian male residents in the correct age range?"

  "Of course!" said Jayashree. "This will take some planning. How about we meet up again tomorrow afternoon so I can brief you?"

  "I'll clear my calendar," I said.

  "Nick, I would appreciate your assistance with this. Are you available?"

  He chortled. "I wouldn't miss this for the world! You finally get your TV debut, Quinn."

  Jayashree looked puzzled and I shook my head. "It's best not to encourage him."

  ***

  It's not like they'd sworn me to secrecy, but I knew I shouldn't talk about going undercover for the FBI--although I was dying to tell someone. I thought about telling Kip since he was in far-off Australia, but he would worry that it was dangerous. If I told Grace, I knew somehow Nick would find out. Mr. Paws could keep a secret, but what fun was that? I was like King Midas's barber; he had a juicy secret too. He knew the King had donkey ears, but couldn't tell anyone. When it became too much for him he dug a hole and whispered his secret into the ground. He felt much better getting it off his chest, but it didn't work out that great in the end.

  I'd left the painting with Jayashree (at her request) and didn't think anything of it, but as I was driving home, Duke called.

  "Hey there," I said, "How's the best P.I. in Hollywood?"

  Duke laughed. "Don't you mean the best P.I. in South Florida?"

  "I'm pretty sure that's a different guy."

  "Ow, that hurts, Ms. Esquire. Especially since I tell everyone you're the best attorney in South Florida."

  "Liar," I said with a laugh.

  Duke laughed too. "Hey, can I stop by and pick up the painting? Jeff wants it back."

  "What? But you said I could hold onto it. Why does he want it?"

  "No idea," Duke said. "None of my business, Darlin', but I said I'd give it back. Is that a problem?"

  "In a word, yes."

  "Oh, no," he said. "Did your cat tear it up or something? You spill nachos on it?"

  "No, nothing like that."

  "Then, what?"

  "Duke, I can't give it to you because I don't have it."

  "Tell me you're joking."

  "Not joking," I said as I turned into my driveway and parked the car.

  "Where is it then? Did you leave it at your office? What is going on with you?" Duke sounded more exasperated than I'd ever heard him and I didn't blame him one bit.

  "I really shouldn't tell you this…"

  "Tell me what?" Duke insisted.

  "You can't tell anyone, you promise?"

  "You can trust me. Don't you know that by now?"

  I was still in my car--as if it were a cone of silence where I could tell government secrets with impunity. It's not like my house was bugged.

  "Okay, Duke, the truth is the FBI has it, but I'm sure they'll give it back when they're done with it."

  "What in the world does the FBI want with Jeff's painting?"

  "I'm not at liberty to say."

  "Fine," Duke said frostily. "I'll tell Jeff to call you then."

  "You can't do that!"

  "I could stall him, I suppose. But only if you tell me what you know."

  "Alright, Duke, you win. The FBI wants to use it to smoke out the real painting."

  "Whoa! How are they going to do that?"

  "They want me to wear a wire and go to the assisted living facility," I said. "They think the art scammer might live there."

  "Well, I'll be damned!" Duke gave a low whistle. "Thanks for telling me. Oh, yeah, there's one more thing."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm going with you."

  Chapter Fifty-One

  "That's not an option," I said. "You can't go with me. You're not even supposed to know about it!"

  "What if I just happen to be there?" Duke said. "It's a free country. I may want to check out my retirement options."

  "I can't stop you, but you'd better not interfere. You know Nick, he'd have you arrested for obstruction of justice without blinking an eye."

  "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. And I can keep an eye on you too."

  I was touched. "That's very sweet, but these guys are like a hundred years old, I think I can take care of myself too."

  "I'm sure you can, Darlin'. You keep me posted, okay?"

  "I will. Hey Duke, do you know what you get when you play a country song backwards?"

  He laughed. "'Course I do! You get your house back, your wife back, your dog back, and your truck back."

  "Can't fool you!" I laughed. "Now, go play a country song backwards and see if it works."

  "Will do, talk to you real soon."

  I was glad that Duke knew but now I had to worry about him ruining the FBI's best shot at nailing the culprit--and that was my job.

  After dinner, I tried to watch a movie on my comfy couch, but I couldn't concentrate. It was hard to imagine that the scammer would be living at La Vida Boca, which was why in all likelihood this was a wild goose chase. But what if it wasn't? Who could it be? Of the three hundred residents, more than half were women. Of the men, at least half of them were too old, some too ill, but maybe that was a ruse too. What better way to hide than in a wheelchair? I only knew a handful of people there--could it be one of them? Herb Lowenthal was wealthy (according to Bob), was it him? Teddy loved art, could he be pulling the biggest scam of all, pretending to be the victim when he was actually the mastermind? What about Harry, he seemed affable, but wouldn't a conman have to be charming? Two members of the Card Sharks were dead, was that a coincidence, like Jodi thought, or was that another member cleaning house? After all, they had been involved with the fake Chagall from the beginning. Although I prided myself on being able to read people, what if hubris was clouding my judgment?

  Too many questions without answers. How had I gone from taking a side job at an assisted living facility to wearing a wire for the FBI? Nobody could accuse me of looking for trouble this time, not even Nick. I realized I was overthinking this. While it would be exciting to catch a thief, the chances of this scheme working were slim and, in the end, Jayashree would have to list the painting with an auction house. That made me feel better. Having an adventure without repercussions could be fun.

  I was dozing off when I heard the unmistakable sound of a Skype call coming through my computer. There was only one person that could be--Kip! I ran to catch the call before he hung up and was rewarded with a sight that made my heart skip. Looking tanned and fit, Kip was a vision from another world. His smiling brown eyes lit up when he saw me.

  "There you are!" he grinned. "How's my favorite Sheila?"

  "Um, excuse me, but aren't I your only Sheila?" I laughed, joyful.

  "Well, there is another little Sheila in my life now," he said turning away from the camera to pick something up. He came back up with a sack in his arms and, reaching inside, took out a tiny creature with a pink nose that immediately nuzzled up to his shirt.

  "Oh my God, Kip! How adorable!"

  "Isn't she though?" He tickled her tummy and she wiggled happily. "This baby wombat lost her mom in a car accident, so we're keeping her here until she can survive on her own."

  "She just
broke the cute scale," I said. "Does that mean you're staying until she grows up?" I asked a bit nervously.

  "No, silly. She's staying, but I'm leaving."

  "Going to Guam?" I held my breath.

  "Nope, going to see my girl." He flashed his dimples at me.

  "We're talking about me, right?" I joked.

  "Yeah, she's the one, the only one, built like an Amazon," he sang.

  I cracked up. "Are you calling me a brick house?"

  "Do you want to be a brick house?"

  "What I want to be is with you! When are you coming home?"

  He picked up a piece of paper and held it in front of the camera. It was a trip itinerary showing a flight from Sydney to Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport arriving August first. Just two weeks away! I leaned in to blow him a big kiss.

  "I can't wait to see you! I've missed you so much I might just rip your clothes off in the airport," I said in my best sexy voice.

  Kip threw his head back and laughed, scaring the baby wombat. "We would be all over the evening news, Babe, but that works for me."

  "Love you, Kip."

  "I sure love you, Jamie. See you soon!"

  "Not soon enough. Good-night, I mean good morning--"

  He smiled at me. "I think you mean Good day, mate!"

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  My briefing took place in the State Attorney's office at three o'clock the next day. It wasn't what I was expecting, then again, I watch way too much TV. I assumed Jayashree would present me with a detailed floor plan of the facility and a schedule of where to be at what time using military hours, but it wasn't that structured. And she brought snacks. We were in the conference room adjoining Nick's office, seated at a table with a box of gourmet chocolate chip cookies as our centerpiece.

  "So, I'm wearing a wire," I said, grabbing a second cookie from the box, "and what are you guys doing? Are you in a panel truck outside?"

  Nick snorted. "This isn't an episode of NCIS, Quinn. There's no panel truck."

  I was confused. "Will you be listening to me in real time? Or will I be recorded?"

  "Both," said Jayashree. "We will be listening remotely. We only bring the panel truck if we believe our informant might be in danger."