The Lush Life (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Martha finally grinned then nodded. “And that, my dear friend, is what keeps my reputation intact: speculation.”

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened or what?”

  “I got Teddy more plastered than a drywall professional. Before passing out, he bragged he was an actor/model, hired to pretend he’s an art collector and latch onto Mona.”

  “Why her? Why here?”

  “After realizing his slip-up, he said it was harmless and he needed money. I’m not sure if you noticed, but some plants downstairs might look slightly wilted this morning.”

  “And that’s because...”

  “I dumped my drinks in them, while I got Teddy drunk.”

  “Just so you know, all those plants are artificial,” I said.

  “Good. Then it all worked out in setting that stage.”

  “Setting the stage? For what?”

  After Teddy passed out, I tossed bottles, smudged the table and hung my stiletto from the light.”

  I felt like I should be taking notes. “Then what?”

  “When I revived him, he asked how he ended up on the floor, so I showed him compromising iPhone pics I took. I mentioned the Internet and You Tube. We’d both be rich...”

  I broke up. “Get anything further on him then?”

  “He cried like a baby. If my pics went public, he’d be violating the moral clause of his ad contracts and lose them, plus the bonus he was promised to not screw up this job.”

  “So this was just an off-the-record freelance side job?”

  “Like you constantly say, it’s always about the money.”

  “Anything else? Did he tell you who’s paying him?”

  Martha frowned. “No! He suddenly clammed up and staggered upstairs. How did it go with Mona?”

  “Mona, instructed via email by Clay to romance Teddy and bring him here, assumed it was an assignment.”

  “Clay emailed her to do that?”

  “That’s the rub. He didn’t. That email had Clay’s name at the bottom, but the email address was one letter off. She never caught it, just played along as she was told and showed up here, waiting further instructions, thinking I already knew about this. She is just as mystified as I am.”

  Martha shook her head. “Someone is setting you up.”

  “Normally I’d roll with this, but this isn’t my house.”

  “Think it’s about the Worths’ art collection?”

  I nodded. “I keep leaning in that direction.”

  “But why go to all the trouble of hiring an actor?”

  “...Who doesn’t know or care about art or Mona?”

  “Feels like Mona and Teddy were set up at both ends.”

  This was proving to be a challenge and a real mystery.

  Chapter 10

  Escalating Cause & Effect

  Dictionary definition of escalate: to become or cause to become more intense or serious.

  Very apropos.

  I gingerly picked up the delivered package to my ear.

  “Good! No ticking.”

  Then I turned it around to observe and feel the heft of it.

  “Doesn’t look like the seal’s been broken.”

  I heard an obvious loud sigh and turned to who made it.

  “What?” I asked an impatient Martha.

  “Okay, it’s passed the bomb squad test and the visual, now just open it!” she said, now bordering on losing it.

  “She’s just being prudent,” said Betty, defending me.

  “Someone might want to snuff her out,” warned Hazel.

  “With a UPS box that’s probably been tossed, shoved and kicked from here to kingdom come? Not to mention all those right turns they make for mileage to save time!”

  I stared at the ever-wildly-imaginative, wordy Martha.

  “One can’t be too careful. Besides, isn’t it odd someone mailed me an unexpected package at the Worths’ address?”

  I looked down at the blank return address label again.

  Martha handed me a knife. “I’m aging here. Get to it.”

  I took the hint and began slicing the tape, while all eyes remained on the small package in question. I had already ruled out Clay. He wasn’t exactly a package kind-of-guy. Flowers maybe, unexpected arrivals, but not mysterious packages. I was about to open it when...

  “I read this one story where a finger was mailed...”

  My own stilled at Martha’s words.

  “Now, why in the world would someone do that?” asked a horrified Betty.

  “It was easier than mailing a nose.”

  Hazel paled, protectively clutching hers. “...A nose?”

  “This detective kept sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. They were sending a message.”

  The three of us just stared, gaping at Martha.

  “You’re joking, right?” Betty finally said.

  “Just a little levity while I’m aging and waiting here.”

  I shook the box one more time. Whatever it was, it was well-padded. “Here goes,” I said, lifting up the flaps.

  Tissue paper, lots of it.

  I slowly unraveled it to expose the contents inside.

  Ear-piercing shrieks abruptly broke the eerie silence. We were all staring at a finger at the bottom of the box. In seconds, Mona rushed in, Teddy following on her heels.

  “What was that all about?” she asked breathlessly.

  No one could speak at first, only point down to the box.

  Mona leaned in, as did Teddy right behind her. She gasped, “Holy Jesus!” and jerked her head back sharply at the horrible sight at the bottom of the box.

  Unfortunately, Teddy was in the direct path of her head. We heard a distinct crunch: his nose. Teddy’s hands flew to cover his face as he yelled, “My noth! My noth!”

  The package and its contents momentarily ignored, we all focused on the screaming and now bloody Teddy.

  “Oh, dear!” said Betty running for paper towels.

  “Keep your head back,” instructed Hazel, as she guided him to the nearest chair to sit down.

  “Don’t worry. Maybe they’ll focus on your body instead for your ads. Makeup does wonders too,” advised Martha.

  There was a muffled, but distinct, “Bathdarrd!” in there to that one, as Teddy kept rocking and howling in pain.

  Hazel tsked. “He was such a good-looking man too.”

  “Why so much blood?” I asked alarmed.

  Mona leaned down for a better view amongst all those paper towels. “Ah, a bad split lip too.”

  With that, there was a renewed wailing from Teddy. I wasn’t positive, but it sounded like he was saying his career was over, all because of us.

  We were fyfff nuthh caathess!

  Then came more prolific and unintelligible swearing...

  Then an emotional sonnn offa bithh!

  Though more garbled swearing spewed forth, we pretty much got the essence of what Teddy was conveying: his displeasure at being exposed to a house full of...

  Well, you got the idea.

  Even if he had read them all...

  I doubted there was an idiot’s guide that covered this.

  Chapter 11

  And So...

  Mona and Teddy had gone to the emergency room at Doylestown Hospital. Then Mona texted that, yes, Teddy’s nose was broken and his lower lip required four stitches. His megawatt veneered teeth had sliced right through it. She didn’t dare call us on her cell as he was still ranting. They gave him a shot to calm him so they could stitch his lip because he kept screaming, “No scarths! No scarths!”

  Mona assumed he meant no scars as he didn’t appear to be referring to scarves. We concurred.

  A few hours later, we were gathered in Alicia’s office, Mona included, while poor Teddy was resting: strung out on pain pills. We were staring down at that box on Alicia’s desk and what it contained, that finger.

  A rubber one.

  I glared at Martha. “Was this your idea of a sick joke?”


  “I swear, I had no hand in this...or finger.”

  She actually said that with a straight face.

  Hazel cut in. “It’s unnerving how you were telling us...”

  An uneasy Betty said, “If it wasn’t Martha, then who?”

  No one had any suggestions, just disturbing thoughts as to what this meant. Someone was sending me a message, but no one could figure out why or what that might be.

  I was wondering where this was going, but not for long. My email dinged on my laptop. I smiled. It was from Clay. Finally! I clicked on it, but then frowned at the message.

  ‘I hope you appreciated my little gift.’

  That was it. I stared down at the email.

  Clay sent that package? No, he would never...

  Then I scrutinized the return email: the same one-letter-off email address Mona had received.

  Whoever did this had both of our private emails.

  I tried to double back on the email like Clay had taught me. Nothing worked. I then asked Martha for her expertise: hacking. She gave it her best shot. Again, nothing.

  “Whoever sent those two emails,” Martha said, “first to Mona then you, knows how to electronically disappear.”

  Betty glanced around at all the high-end paintings on the walls. “Babysitting this house was one thing, but now...”

  “I agree,” added Hazel. “No bonus or caper is worth the possible implications of this message. I don’t like it.”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Martha said, sounding like a professor as she paced. We flinched as she picked up that finger. “I think someone is just playing with us. We’ve gained quite a rep for solving a lot of murky mysteries. This one might tax our skills. Maybe there’s something in this house they want and they’re challenging us find out what it is before they...”

  “Although I can appreciate your esteemed, but highly obscure take,” I said, interrupting her, “this package has now entered us into the creepy phase of things: Mona’s bogus email, a severed finger, then my email, making us...”

  Martha began waving that damn finger, cutting me off.

  “...Confused! Don’t you see it? Someone is playing with us. We just haven’t figured out the why of it yet.”

  “You believe this is a stupid finger joke?” an annoyed Mona asked Martha. “I’m certain this is more than that.”

  “Ha! Words of wisdom from the Internet-duped Mona.”

  “It’s also far from someone playing,” Mona retorted.

  I reached for the phone. “Definitely borders scary.”

  Mona moved to stop me. “You’re not calling the police, are you? Let’s talk this through.”

  “No, I’m calling Clay first. I’m concerned about safety.”

  “Then Clay would go ballistic worrying,” Martha said.

  “Remember, I’m armed,” said Mona pointedly.

  I let go of the phone. “You’re right. Maybe we should hold off to see if we could figure this out ourselves.”

  “Although a sick message,” said Martha, still waving that finger, “I say we wait and see what happens next.”

  Betty and Hazel nodded in agreement.

  “I agree with Martha too,” said Mona. “Let’s not panic.”

  Just then the doorbell chimed. No one reacted at first.

  It chimed once again.

  “Who can that be?” I said, getting up to go see.

  By the time I reached the front door, the others, now concerned too and not about to let me go answer it myself, followed closely. I slowly opened the front door.

  Who’s this? Beyond was a trailer hitched to a pickup.

  “I’m the Worths’ groundskeeper and forgot my key.”

  I glanced back, arching a brow at everyone behind me.

  I then turned back to our visitor. “And you are...?”

  He held out his hand. “Sorry. I’m Lucas Conner.”

  I wasn’t sure how to handle this as I shook his hand.

  “The Worths’ never mentioned any groundskeeper.”

  “I’ve been away. I’m back sooner than they expected.”

  Trust a stranger who just shows up? I needed proof.

  “I’m housesitting. So I should confirm this with the Worths. Plus, I’d like to see some identification too.”

  “Will my driver’s license do?” he said, giving it to me.

  “Give me a few minutes to check all this out, okay?”

  He nodded. I then texted the Worths’ his description and license info to make sure Lucas was legit. The others kept a close eye on him while I waited.

  Considering his age, right around the senior ladies’ age, he quickly became the target of their...hormones? Almost bald, he wore wire-rimmed glasses, was medium built with a disarming smile that captivated them. Drooling over him was overshooting it. Fascinated was a better word for their main interest: Lucas was a male.

  Any male walking, talking, and breathing in their age bracket set the tone for a spontaneous interaction (rivalry) amongst themselves. It never failed. I sighed at the thought.

  Was this my future? Should I be taking more notes here?

  Even though Mona targeted anyone regardless of age, they had to keep up with her version of who held the most power and the money. Lucas evidently didn’t cut it. She frowned, obviously still bothered by that finger episode.

  “Later,” she said. “Time is money. I’ve got work to do.”

  Like Martha quoted me, ‘It’s always about the money.’

  After texting the Worths’ then Clay, I stared at Lucas.

  Was he now a part of these unexpected, bizarre events?

  Chapter 12

  The Money & Maybe More

  The Worths confirmed Lucas’s return via text message. Apparently, they had an on-and-off relationship with him. They didn’t want to get into it, but assured me despite his quirks and strange habits, they really needed Lucas for their property’s day-to-day maintenance. They were desperate.

  Quirks and strange habits? Desperate?

  But that presented a problem: what to do with Mona and Teddy, who were using the groundkeeper’s apartment.

  “I’m not into this switcheroo business,” griped Martha.

  I tried to reason with her. “No worries. I’ve asked Betty and Hazel to room together. This doesn’t involve you.”

  “And for that I’m grateful, but you bunked Mona and Teddy right next to my room. I don’t need to hear all the moaning and groaning about his lip, nose, and good looks.”

  “Use earplugs.”

  “I do now. Teddy needs to man up big time. He’s worse than Mona, and that’s saying plenty. Makes her look good.”

  “You’re slipping. You just gave her a compliment.”

  “After finding out he’s an actor and being paid to be with her, I can’t believe she’s still rooming with him.”

  “She’s trying to weasel out of Teddy who hired him.”

  Martha grinned. “Even with a broken nose and split lip, I guess he’s worth it. Talk about taking one for the team...”

  I chuckled. “Hey, maybe she should use earplugs too.”

  “I’ve never seen a man so obsessed with mirrors.”

  “Teddy’s trying to protect his rep just like you, Martha.”

  “I can’t fault him there. Reps are important, but there’s more to this than meets the eye. Are we being played, mere pawns in what is about to go down here?”

  “I agree. It’s like we’re in a manipulated chess game.”

  “If so, it’s been well-played, even for pros like Mona.”

  “So, the big question is, what will be their next move?”

  Really, I should know by now not to ask that one.

  Everyone was settling in their new rooms. The house was pretty quiet for a while, which was a nice change-up from the turmoil of the last two days. I’d decided to go for a walk outside, but then the driveway enunciator buzzed.

  Again?

  I went to the foyer door, opened it and s
tared out at another stranger. Her flaming red hair definitely came from a bottle. I doubted nature came up with that brassy shade, but somehow it complimented her green dress that hugged her weighty, voluptuous figure. Her pale skin was covered in freckles. Her stance felt confrontational though.

  I forced a smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

  “Clay Masters, please,” she said firmly.

  Was that a southern accent I detected?

  I gripped the door handle tighter. “...Clay?”

  “I do believe that’s what I said, Miss...?”

  Where did this aggressive belle come from?

  Chapter 13

  Miss Construed?

  Okay, I admit I have a very low tolerance in the lack of info department where Clay is concerned, but what was this all about? Her arrival was unexpected. And lately, that’s all who was showing up here: the unexpected.

  I had no clue why these people were materializing while I was housesitting. A coincidence? My rational side kept saying there was a logical reason why this was happening. My paranoid side tended to favor Martha’s take: someone arranged this and was waiting until everyone was in place.

  But for what? That theory didn’t make any sense.

  I gave myself a mental writer’s slap. There was no way this was prearranged. I was stressed out. I had been knee-deep in so many mysteries lately, I wasn’t keeping this in perspective and had to step back to figure out whether any of this was related to me or just a mere coincidence of fate.

  What did she want with Clay? I hated being abandoned in these information-less voids by Clay to fend for myself.

  Miss Arrogant was still standing there, waiting.

  “I’m Samantha Jamison,” I finally replied to her.

  She threw her hand to her ample chest in shock.

  “...You mean, the Samantha Jamison?” she drawled.

  “I believe that’s what I said.”

  She grabbed me in a bear hug. “I can’t believe it!”

  I was barely holding my own, trying to ease off from her stranglehold when she finally let me go so I could breathe.

  “Can’t believe what?” I asked, sucking in air.

  “I didn’t recognize...that baseball hat you’re wearing...”