Gotcha Detective Agency Mysteries Boxed Set (3 Books)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Once we got off on our floor, finding the booth was easy. The aisles were numbered and we followed the numbers to get to Anthony’s booth. On this floor alone, there had to be 300 booths. Many of the vendors and sales reps were setting up, all in a frenzy, as if this were the set of “Cupcake Wars” and we were on a timer. Being nosy, I looked directly into several booths. There were eleven jewelry booths on our aisle alone. Good thing Anthony was selling voodoo dolls, and not jewelry. I’d bet my next paycheck that no one else was selling voodoo dolls.

  Though the aisles were wide, it still felt claustrophobic with all of the people milling around, the freight being moved in, and the voices. There was drapery, ladders, chairs and boxes everywhere. Nick and I maneuvered through the obstacle course, and finally found our way to Anthony's booth.

  Maybe I should’ve told Nick a little about Anthony. Nope, I just let him find out for himself.

  I stepped ahead of him to get to the booth first and possibly run interference. Not because Anthony would be jealous of a handsome man like Nick being invited by Charles; totally the opposite.

  Anthony looked up and saw me. Then he waltzed right past me to Nick. “Oh my goodness, you are more delicious than Charles said.”

  Anthony was a dark-skinned version of Charles: tall, healthy, and fit. He had extremely short black hair, chocolate brown eyes, and his cheeks had a natural blush. I swear, all the good ones are gay or married. And I had to admit, even dressed in jeans and a plain white V-neck T-shirt, Anthony could make the women swoon.

  Anthony grabbed Nick by the hand and gave him a hardy shake, but that wasn't enough. He pulled him close and kissed him on both cheeks. “I’m Anthony DeLuca. And you just have to be Nick Christianson.”

  Nick shook his hand politely, unperturbed by Anthony’s exaggerated friendliness. “Tony, so nice to finally meet you. Charles has said, well, actually, we’ve never really had a chance to discuss you. With Charles, it’s been mostly all business.”

  I found this odd. If it was all business, then why had Nick agreed to come to this gift show? I racked my brain to figure out their scheme. What had Charles promised Nick?

  “Anthony, call me Anthony,” he said, and made it sound friendly, not like an admonishment. “Oh, my dear Charles. Such a professional. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”

  Nick didn’t even bat an eye. “Personally, I try not to keep it just to the bedroom.”

  I knew this to be true, since we’d never had sex in the bedroom. Not my bedroom, anyway.

  Anthony turned to Charles, who’d just walked up. “Did you hear that? Oh, I think I like this one.”

  “Please, Anthony, let’s not get distracted. There is still a lot of work to do.” Charles handed me a roll of fabric, and gave Nick a hammer.

  "I'm curious, Charles. We sped the whole way, so how did you get here before us?" I asked.

  Nick looked at me accusingly. "Were we speeding?"

  "I'm pretty sure I was halfway here before you even drove out of the parking lot." Charles turned his back and began measuring the booth.

  Anthony made sure to kiss me on the cheek, then he thanked us both for helping out, and from there on in it was like a chain gang. Charles barked out orders, and Anthony, Nick and I followed them. I can’t fault Charles; he worked just as hard as we did, and the booth was coming along nicely.

  We’d been working steadily for about two hours when Anthony froze. He stood like a dog on point for about a minute. His action, or lack thereof, made the rest of us stop, too. Charles came down off his ladder.

  “What’s up?” Charles touched him lightly on the arm.

  Anthony flinched, but not at Charles’ touch. It was because of a woman’s voice. “She’s here. On the same aisle as us. This wasn’t in the program.”

  “Anthony, you’ll be fine. You don’t need to talk to her, or even acknowledge her,” Charles reassured him.

  It was then that I heard her voice. It was a slightly nasal voice with a shrill tone. She was barking orders one moment, then syrupy sweet the next.

  “Oh honey, not to worry, we’ll have these boxes out of the aisle in just a few minutes. We’re working on making room.” Then she added, “By the way, where did you get that sheath? I just love the print, so flamboyant and subdued at the same time.”

  “I think I’m going to barf.” Anthony still hadn’t moved.

  “Don’t let her bother you,” I said. “She can’t do anything to you. With the lawsuit pending, she should be smarter than to provoke you.”

  “You’d think,” Charles said. Then he gave a nod with his chin.

  I looked in the direction he indicated and couldn’t believe it. The woman was headed toward us. I grabbed Nick. “Run interference.”

  Hell, he was a former NFL football player, so he should be a pro at this.

  The woman, about my height, but packing at least thirty extra pounds, approached Anthony’s booth. She wore dark brown trousers and the same color polo shirt with her business logo, Marina Sales, on the right breast. She’d really stuffed herself into those pants, and her polo shirt wasn’t doing such a good job of disguising her muffin top.

  Nick stepped forward. “Can I help you with something?”

  Marina Goldstein (I knew it was her because of the logo on her shirt, and Anthony’s description) eyed the booth, giving it a disapproving look. “Nice.”

  Nick took another step towards her. “I asked you a question.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be bothered with you.” She lifted her arm to push him aside.

  Oh, crap, there was going to be a throw down. Nick didn’t budge, and by now, Charles had stepped up.

  “Anthony? You afraid of little ol’ me?” The venom oozed from her words.

  I stepped up beside Charles, becoming a wall of support for Anthony. “Please leave, or we’ll file a restraining order, which will make it impossible for you to work at your booth.” I eyed the distance between Anthony’s booth and Marina’s. “Yup, I’d say your booth is a bit too close for our liking, and a restraining order may do the trick.”

  She mocked me, but I had a hard time taking it seriously because of the slight slur to the words. “A restwaining order againss you,” she repeated. “Don’t threaten me, you li’l twat.”

  My eyes must have opened to the size of saucers at this statement. Now it was my turn to show her who was the queen bitch around here. “Look, muffin top, you don’t scare me. And you can’t line your greedy pockets with my hard-earned money, so bring it on. Also, you might be interested to know that your little antics are being recorded, so let’s see if this helps when we see you in court next month.” The recording thing was a lie. Oh, well.

  Muffin top? How old was I? I had to laugh at myself. It was funny.

  Nick pulled out his badge and flashed it at Marina. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing you within twenty feet of this booth, right?”

  The wind went right out of her when she saw Nick’s badge. “Right.”

  “And if you say one word to Anthony, Charles or Mimi here, I’ll have you arrested for harassment. Are we clear?” Nick stood tall over her.

  “Clear,” she mumbled.

  “Good, then get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass back to the Midwest.” Nick stomped the floor in front of Marina. "And be warned: if you ever touch me again, I'll have you arrested for assaulting a police officer."

  She turned on her heel and stumbled as she walked away. She looked back. “This isn’t over.”

  A voice behind me said, “Oh, yes it is.”

  I turned to see a girl of about twenty-five standing beside me. She was cute, with shoulder-length blonde hair, fair skin, and blood red lips. On her eyes she wore only a thin wisp of eyeliner, and thick black mascara. She was dressed in a black mini-skirt and oversized gray sweater.

  “Hi. Can I help you?”

  Before she could answer, Anthony flew forward and picked the girl up in a bear hug, swinging her around. “Becky!”
/>
  Becky gasped and smacked him on the arm, as she said, “Anthony.”

  Anthony put her down and introduced her. “Everyone, this is Becky Baker. She worked for Marina a few years back.”

  We all said a collective, “Oh.” We probably should have said, “Hi,” but we didn’t.

  Anthony waved his hand. “No, it’s not like that. She’s a good guy.” He gestured toward Marina’s booth. “That ‘C U Next Tuesday’ over there fired her. And unlawfully, I might add.”

  I swear you could hear all of us sigh. We each shook her hand and welcomed her.

  Anthony gushed, “What are you doing here?”

  “I have a booth. I’m repping a few small lines now.” She handed him her card. Becky Baker & Company. “So if you’re ever looking…”

  Charles stepped in. “Nice to meet you, but if this is a sales call, no thanks. No more reps for Anthony.”

  Becky smiled. “No, I wasn’t really here for a sales call. I just wanted to meet the man behind the voice I’ve been talking to for so long.”

  “Well, then, pull up a box and stay a bit.” Charles moved a plastic crate towards her.

  Becky waved it away. “No thanks, I just had time to say hi. I have to finish getting my booth set up. Are you going to the welcome party tonight?”

  Anthony looked around the booth, which wasn’t even half finished. “We are if we get this done in time.”

  I looked at Charles. I hoped he didn’t expect us to stay.

  “I hope we at least get to have a drink together,” Becky said to Anthony. To us she said, “It was nice meeting you.” She walked right up to Marina’s booth, hesitated, and walked past.

  “Hewes Chemical?” I said to Charles.

  "Will be more fun with a few drinks in you," Charles replied.

  “I’m not going to have a few drinks before I go. One, maybe…” I grinned. I’d need that one drink to level out my nerves after this day.

  Right about then, the booth became quiet and still again. A tall man, about six two, walked past our booth. He didn’t stop or look our way. He wore the same uniform of brown slacks and a brown polo shirt that Marina had worn. He was a bit scrawny for my taste, with a paunch that made him look about four months pregnant.

  “What, or who, was that?” I asked.

  “Willard,” Charles and Anthony said, in stereo.

  “Okay.” Like I had a fucking clue who Willard was.

  Charles explained, “Marina’s husband.”

  “He seems harmless.” I watched him walk away.

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Anthony admonished. “He’s about as harmless as a rattlesnake.”

  Nick said, “What?”

  “She’d call me and pour her little heart out after she’d had too many melon martinis.” Anthony went back to working on the booth. “She’d tell me about the lawsuits. She even sued her best friend, a woman whose husband had just died. The woman was too distraught to fill orders, but Marina wanted her commission fees regardless. What the hell ever made me think she wouldn’t do it to me, too?”

  Charles chimed in. “She’s a cagey one. It’s all about the money. I mean, when you take on more than a hundred lines, and charge each one a couple thousand a year for showroom fees, and trade show fees to boot, who needs to actually sell anything? Our attorney looked into her legal history, and she’s done this many, many times. So, add the lawsuit settlements into her financial portfolio, too.”

  “It’s not the lawsuits, though that’s a lot of it. She’s also manipulative, and lies about the facts. As part of settlement agreements, there is usually a confidentiality clause, and an agreement not to disparage the other party, yet she’s the first to badmouth the other party in the lawsuit. It makes my head hurt.” Anthony pounded harder and harder, and Charles finally took the hammer from him.

  I was stunned. I guess I never imagined making money from someone else’s misery. Oh shit, I guess I actually did make money from other people's misery, but it was the misery of their own making, not mine.

  “We did a guesstimate of her yearly income before sales commissions, and I nearly choked. She doesn’t need my money. She’s not on the up and up as an employer, either, but I’m not going to be the one turning her into the IRS, or telling her former employees that she fired them illegally.” This line of talk obviously agitated Anthony.

  Nick played peacemaker. “It’s going to be a long trade show if you let her get to you. Let’s just get the booth done, and I’ll buy the first round of drinks.”

  Nick was true to his word; the first round of drinks were on him, except he just went to the hospitality bar to get them, since they were free.

  The trade show promoters had done a nice job with the service and the catering. Although we had to go to the bar for drinks, several servers traveled about the room with large trays of tasty little morsels. I had to force myself to ignore them. I didn’t want to look like a pig in front of Nick, even though I wanted to take a few handfuls of the empanadas and bacon-wrapped figs.

  Nick excused himself after the first drink. “I’ve got some paperwork to do, so I’ll be heading out.” He downed the last of his orange juice. “Mimi, you want a ride to your hotel room, so you can take a nap before your stakeout tonight?”

  A nap sounded like a great idea. Not having to sleep alone would have been good, too, but I wasn’t going to broach that subject. “I need to go grab my bag.”

  “Nick, why don’t you just stay at the hotel? Mimi has an extra bed,” Anthony said, raising his glass of chardonnay.

  Anthony was no better than Charles; they were two peas in a pod. I smiled at him, and he knew I was going to kill him when I got the chance.

  “Tempting as that sounds, I’d only stay if there wasn’t an extra bed.” Nick stood.

  “Oh, Nick, you bad, bad man.” Anthony, placed his wine glass on the table, and stood and threw his arms around Nick, hugging him tight. “It was so good to finally meet you. We’ll have to double date sometime.”

  Nick stiffly patted Anthony on the back. Charles choked on his martini at the spectacle of it all. I just waited, wanting to get the hell out of there.

  When Anthony finally let go, Charles said, “So, six a.m. sharp?”

  I asked, “How much are we getting paid for working?”

  “Not a dime,” Charles replied.

  “Then we’ll get here when we get here.”

  Nick and I just looked at Charles, turned, and walked to the elevators.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Not sure yet. I might check in on some friends.” Nick ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Or I could stay with you. Strictly platonic, of course.”

  “Of course.” I wanted to slip my arm in his as we walked, but I didn’t dare.

  Before we got in the elevator, he said, “If you want, you can stay here, and I’ll go get your bag.”

  “Actually, I wanted to be nosy,” I admitted.

  “Nosy?”

  “I want to walk by Marina’s booth, just to see what she has, and what other lines she reps. Anthony was so high on her for years, and then, all of a sudden, this bad blood. I’m curious.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “Women.”

  I laughed. “Whatever. You can’t say you aren’t a bit curious too.”

  The elevator door opened, and Nick held it while I got in. “Nope, I’m not even a bit curious. But I will stand by, in case I need to save your life when she comes after you.”

  “She won’t come after me. Besides, did you see her at the reception? She’s so drunk she can barely stand on her own.”

  We’d watched as Marina, with her bright green melon martini in hand, stumble around the room, chatting it up like everyone didn’t know what a greedy, conniving bitch she was. Did she think people didn’t talk? I was surprised she still had any clients at all.

  We exited the elevator just on the other side of Marina’s booth. Nick stopped before we turned the corner. “Don’t do anything stupid
.”

  I knew he was being facetious, so I said, “I’m good.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I really didn’t feel so good. Not good at all.

  CHAPTER 3

  It had been a few months since I’d come upon Esme Bailey’s body, and several weeks since I’d seen William Garrison on the floor in his bedroom, so when Nick and I turned the corner and found Marina Goldstein lying flat on her face in the middle of her booth, I felt the same as I did when I saw Esme. Sick.

  Nick put his hand up. “Stay here. I’m going to check for a pulse.”

  He pulled up his shirt and put the fabric over his nose and mouth before entering the booth. The smell was so bad from where I stood, and I couldn’t imagine being any closer. I had no trouble following Nick’s orders for a change. I waited as he crouched down next to the body and felt her wrist for a pulse. He shook his head, stood, and walked back to me.

  “Something about this isn’t right.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “Like what?” It was a woman, face down in vomit, at a trade show.

  “The smell is overwhelming. Usually a corpse doesn’t smell that bad unless they’ve been dead a while. Didn't we just see her at the reception?” He raised the phone to his ear.

  “The smell is rather…” I turned and sprinted from the area. I needed fresh air, or I was going to be adding to the smell.

  Before I became a private detective, I was a Secret Service agent, and believe me, that job didn’t prepare me for the deaths I’d seen in the last few months. I mean, I had stayed in posh hotels and flew in private jets, for goodness’ sake. That was how I met Charles. He’d been with the Naval Postgraduate School and I was “protecting” a former First Lady who was attending a luncheon and giving a speech. That was another life altogether.

  Just before I sprinted toward the bathroom, I heard Nick say, “Hi, this is Detective Nick Christianson with the Salinas Police Department. I’m calling about a dead body at the Moscone West Convention Center. A possible homicide.”