The Lush Life (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  The Lush Life

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Book 8

  by

  Peggy A. Edelheit

  Chase your Dreams

  & Remember,

  Every Day is a Blessing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Lush Life: A Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2014 by Peggy A. Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this eBook, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this eBook via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover art:

  Copyright © iStockPhoto/2154353/dehooks

  Edited by Winslow Eliot

  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  Visit the author’s website

  http://www.samanthajamison.com

  ISBN 978-1-938135-97-2 (eBook)

  2015..05.28

  Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit

  The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series

  The Puzzle Book 1

  Without Any Warning Book 2

  86 Avenue du Goulet Book 3

  A Lethal Time Book 4

  Mouth of the Rat Book 5

  Death Knell in the Alps Book 6

  No Hope In New Hope Book 7

  Too Close For Comfort Book 9

  Memoir: The Riviera is Burning

  Visit my website: http://samanthajamison.com

  Dedication

  With love to my husband

  My biggest supporter and confidant

  & my three sons

  Acknowledgments

  A Special thanks to

  My Editor

  Winslow Eliot

  Publisher

  Telemachus Press

  Steven & Terri Himes

  Steven & Claudia Jackson

  The Lush Life

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Book 8

  Chapter 1

  Hung Up On The Details

  My definition of murder: intentional killing of a person, mainly with premeditated malice.

  Check.

  So far I qualified.

  Come to think of it, I qualified on all counts.

  I was okay with the premeditation part, I certainly felt malice. I even had justification: a damn good excuse.

  Why?

  My ever-challenging and sporadic sleuthing partner in crime, Clay, had made a promise involving me without asking me first, taking advantage of our relationship.

  As a mystery author, I wrote about them: murders, that is, but this time I felt like committing one, especially after Clay never bothered checking with me. It didn’t involve the Worth Art Gallery he recently considered acquiring. That deadly deal was history. No, this involved me housesitting.

  After selling their art gallery to someone else, Clay’s friends, Alicia and Chris Worth, decided to take their trip to Europe for a month so they could collect some personal art. They asked Clay if he’d work from their house until they got back. Busy sidetracked with a new investigation, Clay promised them I’d do it. So my evil thoughts flourished.

  But then Clay clarified the Worths’ no-can-lose freebie.

  They were so impressed with our investigative skills in solving the problems plaguing their gallery, they suggested we continue to stay in their old, stone French house while they were gone, as well as Martha, Hazel and Betty: my senior-sleuthing crew. If Clay was needed elsewhere, like now, he could just leave and return anytime he wanted to.

  I’d use Alicia’s home office, Clay would use Chris’s. The house was located minutes from downtown New Hope, an hour fifteen minutes from New York City, an hour from Philadelphia and two from both the beach and mountains.

  Now, as far as murder was concerned, I had seriously contemplated the dastardly act when Clay first told me, but after some reflection, especially after they topped it off by offering me the use of their master suite, I reconsidered.

  I’d get to live the lush life plus receive a cash bonus.

  Alicia’s office turned out to be the perfect place to finish my seventh mystery, No Hope In New Hope, the one about art fraud. But after I hit the attachment tab to send that manuscript off to my editor, I just sat… and sat, tapping my finger on my laptop. Now what would I do?

  The driveway annunciator buzzed: a car. I opened the foyer door, registering shock. “Mona?” I hugged her then glanced behind her… no car. “Who left you off so fast?”

  She leaned in, winking and whispering, “He did.”

  “Who’s he?” I asked, still gaping at her standing there.

  My former college friend quickly shoved me back inside and slammed the door behind her. “My potential fiancé!”

  I barely choked out, “...You have another one?”

  “Don’t be snarky,” she said. “You know all about him!”

  I stood there vigorously shaking my head. “Nuh-uh.”

  “You invited me here, remember?” Mona persisted.

  “Invited you… here? To the Worths’ house?”

  “Don’t play around,” hissed my ample-figured, quirky, and impulsive friend. “This could be life or death!”

  “How come everything with you is life or death?”

  “Look, we’re pressed to the wall here,” she countered.

  I paused. “...We? Same old, just a different day, right?”

  Still leaning into me closely, dark-haired Mona began perspiring. Odd, considering it was cool out. What was she really up to? There was normally a degree of suspicion in the air whenever Mona called or showed up. I tried to shake off a sense of foreboding on another repeat episode. She was obviously under the gun, pushing this, this… what?

  Footsteps approached. We both looked toward the door.

  Mona lowered her voice. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  Now curious, I relented. “We better because...”

  Mona silenced me and opened the door. “Teddy!”

  Beyond Mona stood a fine masterpiece of manliness: one hot-looking guy about six foot-three, muscled, solid as a rock, light brown wavy hair that curled at the collar and the deepest blue eyes...

  This vision was Mona’s fiancé?

  I hesitated then stuck out my hand awkwardly.

  “...Uh, hi. I’m Samantha.”

  Teddy sized me up: my thin figure, long blonde hair, fair complexion. I was the polar opposite of Mona
.

  “...Mona, she’s your sister?”

  My eyes darted to Mona’s. ...Sister?

  Mona gave me a cheerful smile and a sly wink.

  I had ventured into Mona’s skillset once again. Lying.

  Chapter 2

  But Then Again, Why Not?

  Mona bit her lip. “A real surprise to some, right, Sam?”

  Responsible for this home, my eyes veered to Teddy. He appeared distracted by two oil paintings hanging above the Worths’ foyer table or was he more interested in the framed antique mirror between them?

  Who was this guy? What was this fiancé thing?

  I smiled tightly. “Yup, it’s always a real surprise.”

  Mona gave me a slight nod of relief.

  “You got my email about our arrival, right?” she asked.

  I glanced from Mona to Teddy, who was now watching and waiting for my response to Mona. I was flying blind here. I raked my fingers through my hair then played along.

  “Sure. How long were you two planning to stay?”

  “...Uh, just a few days,” Mona said, now relaxing.

  “But all that’s left is the apartment over the garages.”

  Mona frowned. “No other rooms are available?”

  I faltered. “...Why, are more people coming?”

  “No, but it’s such a big house. I thought...”

  Then I realized she didn’t know. “The ladies are here,”

  She eye-rolled. “Just what I needed: that senior trio.”

  “I thought you’d be more excited,” I said, smirking.

  “Can’t wait to see them,” she threw back, brightly.

  Sure didn’t sound it.

  “Don’t you have bags to bring in?” I asked.

  Mona turned to Teddy. “Do you mind getting them?”

  Tossing her a megawatt smile, he said, “Sure, Baby.”

  After Mona closed the door, I choked out, “...Baby?”

  “Hey, he’s no mental workout, but the rest of him does.”

  “What’s going on? What’s with the fiancé routine?”

  “He thinks you’re my long lost sister and...”

  I cut her off. “Now where did he get that crazy idea?”

  “I’m not getting all your questions...”

  I pushed back once again. “But this isn’t my house...”

  “I know that, but he doesn’t. That’s why we’re here.”

  She always talked in circles. “For what, may I ask?”

  “Are you dense? For what might be going down!”

  I swallowed hard, knowing her and not liking where this conversation was heading. “...Going down? Where?”

  Mona glanced at those two paintings over the foyer table then turned back to me clearly disturbed by my response to her arrival. “Why, here, of course!”

  “I’m hearing and so not liking what you just said.”

  “You’re the one who preaches expect the unexpected!”

  “And the unexpected involves this particular location?”

  “And my skills,” said, Mona, losing her patience.

  “Sorry, Mona, I need more than that to go on.”

  “What’s with you? Why are you acting this way, Sam?”

  I knew her now familiar modus operandi of stretching the truth. “I’m gun-shy from past experience,” I countered.

  “Then consider this encounter one more learning curve.”

  “In what, how to dodge another bullet?”

  “Like the saying goes: practice makes perfect.”

  There were info gaps in Mona’s unexpected appearance and exactly why she was here a mile wide.

  “Ah, the expert at taking literary license (lying) speaks,” I shot back.

  She gave a sly grin. “I leave the literary to you. I have the license to carry a gun. When called to duty, I show up. It’s as simple as that.”

  Called to duty? That last cliché got me. “By whom?”

  Mona’s phone dinged then she held up her finger while she read a text message. I tried to read it, too, but she hastily deleted it so I couldn’t then she said, “Hey, I should keep an eye on Teddy. We’ll talk later.”

  I was left standing in the foyer as Mona took off for the side entrance to join Teddy and help empty their car.

  I reluctantly shut the door, muttering, “Yeah, but by that time I’ll be regretting I ever opened the door on this one.”

  As I exited the foyer, I considered the significance of Mona’s sudden reappearance, grudgingly admitting it just might be the diversion I needed from a month of boredom that was already staring me in the face: babysitting this house. Clay had already taken off for his next case and my last mystery was put to bed. So why all the foot-dragging on my part? Why was I resisting what had unexpectedly arrived at my doorstep? I laughed.

  Because big trouble always followed Mona, that’s why.

  Chapter 3

  Deal Or No Deal

  My definition of a zoo: A place or situation that’s crowded, or a group that is loud and uncontrolled. That accurately would describe the Worths’ house once Martha, Betty, and Hazel learned the thirtyish duo, Mona and her fiancé, Teddy, were in residence over the Worths’ garages.

  So with Clay long gone by the time Mona and her honey arrived, I figured that was probably a good thing. He would have wanted to hang around to scrutinize Teddy, before the three ladies had the chance to first check him out (ogle him) then digitally probe his background.

  I was relieved when I caught Teddy trailing after Mona, toting two carry-on bags up to the garage apartment.

  Good, that meant they weren’t staying that long.

  While the two lovebirds unpacked, I went to the kitchen. I watched from the doorway, smiling at my seventyish sleuthing crew, Martha, Betty, and Hazel as they set up for dinner. I trusted them implicitly and admired their intuition and how clever yet different they were from each other. I quickly filled them in on our new houseguests.

  The thin and fashion-challenged Martha with her spikey white short hair asked, “Why’d Mona show up out of the blue with some hunk, who’s supposedly her fiancé?”

  Tall and reedy Betty tucked some loose gray strands back into her bun and asked, “Is this her second or third?”

  Shorter, plump Hazel with her curly, gray hair chuckled. “Engaged in Ocean City, an alleged marriage in Boca, now maybe a fiancé? She’s all over the map with relationships.”

  “I admit, it’s never dull with her around,” said Martha.

  I laughed. “It’s never dull with you three either. Besides, I’m always outnumbered. Mona’s my perfect age-equalizer to my favorite and unpredictable senior crew.”

  Martha harrumphed. “We’re your only senior crew.”

  Betty and Hazel initially fooled people by their proper, old-fashioned behavior, but were a nice counter-balance to Martha’s in-your-face personality. They were all a constant in my life, challenging me to take mental and physical leaps that I never would have considered before I met them.

  Mona, on the other hand, kept popping in and out of our lives both helping and hindering, but in the end, coming through only to disappear to who knew where. We were never inclined to delve too deeply into her legal and illegal connections as long as it didn’t involve jail time for us.

  Clay, my very personal undercover, private investigator, used Mona and her networking skills to assist him on some of his investigations whenever they were needed.

  I grabbed some tomato/basil wraps, slathered on some Parmesan/ranch dressing, slices of turkey, baby lettuce, diced tomato, cucumber, and shredded mozzarella cheese.

  Hazel folded them. “Why would she bring Teddy here?”

  “And what do you think is going down?” added Betty.

  “We must separate Mona and Teddy from each other,” I said. “I need some answers. Any suggestions on how we’ll accomplish that small miracle?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I’ll do it,” sighed Martha. “The sa
crifices I make...”

  I nodded, not quite sure how Martha would pull off finding out just why and Mona and Teddy had shown up, but knowing her, she’d get it done, and very creatively too.

  Betty just shook her head. “Oh, poor Teddy.”

  Hazel never looked up while plating the wraps. “He’ll never know what hit him.”

  I stared over at the ever-flamboyant Martha, who was now whistling while she cleaned up the counters. I could also hear those wheels turning. She was plotting already.

  “I still have a trick or two up my sleeve,” she chuckled.

  Martha, her stilettos, and Teddy all in one room.

  Chapter 4

  Descriptions & Grammatical Errors

  Definition of an anomaly: Something that deviates from what is considered normal or expected, an inconsistency. That pretty much summed up my relationship with Clay, which wasn’t exactly what you’d call normal. We stayed in the same place with irregularity. Our whole relationship was a definite-maybe.

  Clay and I go way back to when I was chasing down leads to find out why my husband, Stephen, had died under suspicious circumstances. Little did I know at that time when I first met Clay, he was not only a quaint bookshop owner, but also a very sly PI: a private investigator.

  With and without Clay’s help, I solved that mystery. Of course, we both had commitment issues. So we eventually worked through my lack of trust in his slick segues in what was really going on back when we first met by managing some great undercover moments since then.

  I’d say my relationships with my crew are ones for the books: my books. Each time we all get together to solve a another mystery, it ends up in my next novel. My agent usually fields my sometimes outrageous stall tactics, while my editor thinks up red side-margin, spot-on comments that are not only helpful, but give me a chuckle or two, while she critiques the believability of my mysteries and sentence structure. I love her to death, but...