No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Someone had a key and knew their way around. The big question was how many people had a key to this gallery? Tomorrow I would begin finding out. Knowing I was there, Clay had left the gallery alarm turned off: made sense.

  My laptop in the loft didn’t give off much light, so it may have appeared from the street that no one was in the gallery, just the normal indirect nightlights that were usually on. They must have known the alarm code and were nonplussed when the alarm appeared off when they entered figuring Clay, being new, forgot to set it earlier. Were they taking advantage of the Worths’ absence?

  It sure looked like it, didn’t it? But for what purpose?

  Chapter 18

  No Sooner Had I…

  No sooner had I locked the back door behind me than my eyes latched onto that alarm keypad. My finger hovered over the numbers as I considered setting it. Would they be back? I wasn’t so sure. If they had a key and knew the code, and it appeared they did, the only purpose it would serve was to notify them to reconsider entering. Now, if they didn’t know I was present, I’d have the advantage to watch and observe. I let it go and reentered the gallery.

  I looked around, surveying all the art. What were they looking for? Was something supposed to be hidden behind one of the paintings? Then I tried to think not like the thief, but like a person who might want to hide something from a thief. Where would I hide it? I laughed. First I needed to find out what was hidden in the first place, didn’t I? The strange behavior I’d witnessed didn’t make sense.

  Why did the intruder abruptly leave? Why hadn’t they looked behind the other paintings in the gallery? Why only the ones on that particular wall? This was truly bizarre.

  By edging along the walls, I dodged several pedestals of varying heights supporting expensive vases and statues. Alicia and Chris mentioned on my first day they dealt in antiques as well. But mostly it was the paintings that were their mainstay, while the antiques and the leather furniture merely added to the overall ambience of the gallery, which was as tastefully decorated as their personal residence.

  I pivoted in place, staring at the art. Clay mentioned that Alicia and Chris promoted local artists. Did this include some of the art on the pedestals? I considered the contents of the whole gallery. The Worths’ insurance premiums wouldn’t be cheap. And judging by their massive home, that didn’t appear to be a problem.

  Or was it? Who was in the gallery?

  I worked my way back to the packing room and stopped when I came to Anne’s office, the restorer. As expected, her door was closed. I tried the handle anyway: locked. I figured that was the case, but had to at least try it. I stood there considering Anne’s significance in this.

  She had access, a key, knew the alarm, and had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of an empty gallery, but that angle was just too simplistic. I had to find a way to slip in there when it wasn’t locked, maybe on a day when she simply she forgot to secure it. Was I overlooking the obvious? It could possibly be that simple and obvious might be playing a larger hand in what was going on.

  Why lock her door? Was she hiding something?

  I shook my head. She was a restorer. She probably had someone else’s art in there that she was working on. Maybe she didn’t trust the so-called clumsy Abby to walk in and cause an accident. This was her livelihood and she had to protect it from theft and damage. So much for that clever scenario…

  Chapter 19

  Honey, I’m Back

  Again I double-checked that back door: locked. Then I slowly made my way back up to the loft, grabbed my cell to call Clay, but then remembered I hadn’t bolted that front door. I was about to turn back when I heard the back door open and close.

  A familiar voice jokingly called out, “Honey, I’m back.”

  I peered down at a smiling Clay. I was not.

  “What’s the matter, see any intruders?” he teased.

  I pointed. “How about bolting that front door for me.”

  He glanced at it then back at me. “Why?”

  “They forgot to lock it on their way out.”

  His brow furrowed. “…Who?”

  “The intruder who just left.”

  Clay eyed me doubtfully. “You’re kidding, right?”

  I gave him a level gaze. “Do I look like I am?”

  He walked to the door, bolted it then turned to me.

  I nodded. “Good, I hope that’s the last of them.”

  He glanced back at the door. “Who?”

  “I wish I knew.” I retorted.

  “This is scary. I feel like I’m conversing with Martha.”

  I took offense at his verbal swipe at Martha, my fellow sleuth and sidekick who wasn’t here yet to defend herself.

  “Let’s keep this relative, okay?” I said.

  “Relative to what?” he asked, now totally confused.

  “To the subject matter.”

  “Dare I ask…what it is?”

  “We’ve had company. Some person dressed all in black.”

  I was about to say more, but then Clay held up his hand.

  “What?” I asked.

  “This is starting to sound Samantha-complicated. Let’s finish this discussion at Triumph Brewing Company.”

  “Sounds good to me. Let me pack up my laptop first.”

  “What for?” he asked. “We can pick it up later.”

  “My notes. They might return and decide to take it.”

  “Now who would want your laptop?”

  “Whoever was searching the gallery,” I said.

  Clay glanced around. “I don’t see anything missing.”

  “I know.”

  “How are you so sure no one took anything?”

  “Because I watched them closely.”

  Clay paused. “…The whole time?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you still couldn’t identify them?”

  I sighed loudly. “It was too dark to see or tell gender.”

  “You watched them in the gallery and saw them leave.”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you call 911?”

  I held up my cell walking down. “Left this in the loft.”

  “So exactly where were you all that time while all this was going on?” he asked.

  “I played it safe and remained behind them.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “I didn’t think they’d appreciate me tapping them on the shoulder to ask who they were or what they were doing.”

  He pulled me toward the back door. “I need a drink.”

  Chapter 20

  So Now What?

  After a lengthy Q & A session over two beers above the noisy throng of people in Triumph’s and the live music in the background, I explained what took place in the gallery while he was in Lambertville. We then eagerly dug into our short rib sliders and sweet potato fries, still trying to figure out what it all meant.

  Clay’s first fry hardly saw daylight. He scarfed it down and popped another. “What were they looking for?”

  “At first I thought they were looking for something hidden on the back of one of the paintings, but they never bothered moving or lifting any of them: not one. They seemed to be concentrating on the wall. Then I thought: maybe a hidden safe?”

  “Yes, but why stop after looking at one wall?” he asked.

  “Exactly my thought. It didn’t make sense.”

  “A real mystery,” mused Clay after seeing me smile.

  He knew I’d love this challenge, which made me think of Clay himself, who was mysterious too. I was up for both.

  “You’re chafing at the bit. I know that look,” he said.

  I chuckled. “Ah, the man speaks from experience.”

  “Yes, but this one might be more difficult for me.”

  I knew what he meant. “I know. We’ll have to be careful and tread lightly around your friendship concerns.”

  “This whole issue with Lenny and her painting could blow up in my face or be much
ado about nothing. If it gets out of hand it would not only jeopardize my friendship, but sever any chances of my acquiring this art gallery to boot.”

  Clay was in a precarious position. And after these last two episodes, we now both agreed we had no choice but to pursue the matter further. There was no doubt about it.

  “If Alicia and Chris are involved, that complicates the issue. Either way something’s definitely going on, Clay.”

  We both looked up as a man approached. Being a detail-oriented author, my eyes began taking inventory: scuffed boots, well-worn jeans, black leather jacket, two-day beard, brown windswept hair, a faded scar on his chin, and at least six-foot-five or six. Clay and I set our forks down.

  Clay’s eyes briefly glanced my way saying, Now what?

  Mine answered back, Be my guest, detective. You first.

  So Clay asked, all friendly-like, “Can I help you?”

  “I hear you’re the one helping out Chris Worth.”

  “You heard right,” said Clay not adding anything more.

  The guy, all muscle, shifted his weight back and forth.

  “Then you’re the man to talk to. I’ve got a problem. I’m out some money after buying this painting…”

  Clay threw me a brief second look.

  I gave an I-don’t-know shrug. They were crawling out of the woodwork: malcontents, customers, intruders, you name it. Clay didn’t even own the cursed gallery and was already in someone’s crosshairs. Was this why Chris and Alicia split? Now that was food for thought.

  Chapter 21

  UPS?

  “UPS? He works for UPS?” I said to Clay after the guy departed a few minutes later. “What kind of money are they paying those guys anyway?”

  “Apparently enough spare change to splurge on a five thousand dollar painting,” replied Clay in amazement.

  “…You’d look quite fetching in brown shorts,” I chided.

  Clay chuckled. “I’m sticking to my day job.”

  “Which is?” I asked, curious how he’d describe it.

  “Delivering the goods on the bad guys, not to them.”

  I arched a brow. “I hear your fringe benefits are nice.”

  He reached over and kissed me. “They sure are.”

  After catching my breath and the waiter’s attention for our check, I said, “His story is unlike Lenny’s. He had an entirely different painting delivered to him.”

  “It could be as simple as Anne mislabeling again.”

  “I don’t know, Clay. Why now? Why these people?”

  “If not packing, maybe it’s the shipper?” he suggested.

  “This is all over the map.”

  “Which might include delivery vendors.”

  “We have to find out.” I said.

  I shoved away my plate and grabbed my laptop.

  Clay asked, “What are you doing now?”

  “Making some lists and checking them twice.”

  “Good idea, while details are still fresh.”

  I looked from my laptop to him. “Ah, we agree.”

  “Besides, we wouldn’t want our bed to distract us.”

  I glanced up at him, grinning, then quickly focused on my notes. My face flushed. I had just typed a bunch of gibberish. I hit delete and rewrote my last two lines.

  “Let’s try and focus, please,” I said, composing myself.

  Clay reached out for my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I looked back up at him, searching for the joke. There was none that I could detect from his demeanor. “Me too.”

  He pulled his chair in closer, whispering, “I’m horny.”

  I laughed. “Can’t you just focus for once?”

  “Not with you sitting there so demure like that.”

  I squinted at him. “There’s nothing demure about me.”

  “Okay, sitting there so sexy-looking. How’s that?”

  “Better,” I admitted, trying to suppress a grin.

  He slowly stroked my hand with his thumb.

  I was approaching overload. “…Oh, much better.”

  He then slowly worked his thumb up my arm. My pulse quickened. “…Oh, you’re on a winning streak now.”

  Our eyes locked.

  Suddenly, a voice interrupted.

  “Why don’t the two of you go get a room?”

  We both turned at the same time then jumped up.

  “Martha!” Clay exclaimed, hugging her.

  “How did you find us?” I asked, hugging her too.

  She pointed. “I noticed the steam on those windows.”

  Clay cracked up. “Good timing.”

  “I’ll say!” She quickly took out her cell phone and began punching in numbers. “Let me call Betty and Hazel to say I found you. They’re with the cops over at the Worth Gallery. The alarm went off.”

  Chapter 22

  Why didn’t You Call Us?

  “Why didn’t you just call us?” I asked Martha.

  “I called you both. Check your voicemails,” she said.

  Clay paid the waiter then checked his cell. “Damn.”

  “What?” I asked as I quickly checked mine.

  “Forgot to charge it. Battery’s dead. And you?”

  I sighed. “I had it on vibrate when I went back up to the loft in case the intruder came back for another visit.”

  Our eyes shared a realization. They did! I scrambled with my jacket and laptop, while Clay slung his jacket on.

  Martha blocked us. “Lucky guess on my part in finding you. You both have some explaining to do when this is all said and done, don’t you think?” She then stepped aside, letting Clay and I lead the way. “Come on, let’s get going!”

  We arrived to flashing squad car lights in front of Worth Gallery. Betty and Hazel stood by the entrance talking to an officer; another one waited out on the sidewalk. We went over to Betty and Hazel.

  “Lucky she found you so fast,” said the officer.

  I hugged the two ladies, while Clay showed his ID and key then explained he was temporarily running the Worth Gallery for Alicia and Chris. The officer followed all of us inside to have a look around.

  “Check to see if anything might be missing,” he said.

  Clay and I stood there, reading each other’s thoughts. It looked exactly like we had left it an hour and a half ago. The previous intruder had shone his flashlight on one wall of paintings: had not tried to steal anything.

  Something else was going on besides robbery.

  “What the…” Clay said, scratching his head, confused.

  We then separated: me to the loft, he to the packing room. After several minutes we met back in the center of the gallery where everyone was waiting for us.

  Clay shook his head. “Nothing seems to be missing or out of place. We’ll take precise inventory tomorrow by checking with Anne and Abby to be sure.”

  The officer then turned to me. “What about you?”

  “Everything is as I left it. The loft looks undisturbed.”

  His pen was still poised over his pad. “…You sure?”

  “I know it’s odd, but it sure looks that way,” said Clay.

  Martha asked the officer, “What alerted you?”

  “The alarm went off,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “When the three of us first got here,” said Martha, “we didn’t hear a thing. Before we knew it, you arrived. What kind of alarm was it?”

  “Silent one. That’s why we questioned you ladies first.”

  I looked at Clay, my eyes doing the asking.

  He stared back with the same question to me.

  Martha verbalized it. “Clay, you set the alarm, right?”

  Clay shook his head. “No! What a stupid mistake!”

  “Well, if you didn’t,” said the Officer, “who set it?”

  “That’s precisely what I’d like to know,” said Clay, now deeply disturbed.

  “Why set it, making it look like a break in?” I asked.

  “Good question,
” said Clay.

  “Looks like you two stepped in it again,” said Martha.

  Chapter 23

  A Quick Recap

  Not wanting to bore you with too much background let me clarify the ladies’ past. If you haven’t had the pleasure (and I use that term lightly, but lovingly) of being exposed to Martha, Hazel and Betty, let me briefly introduce them.

  I first met Martha in Highlands, NC when I investigated the mysterious death of my husband, Stephen. I hired her as my employee in my ruse of an antique shop to help learn who killed him. In the interim, I met Hazel and Betty who worked for Clay in his bookshop in Highlands: another ruse I’d learned about later. We all eventually became close then sleuthed ourselves through several cases. Even though the ladies are seventyish and I’m thirtyish, in the end, we found true friendship. Our age difference was and is irrelevant.

  Martha is fashionably challenged, has spiky white hair, slim frame and an outrageous personality. Her sharp wit, mental aptitude and shrewdness, made her an extremely capable asset in taking some shots at the bad guys: literally.

  Trust me, some would make your hair stand on end too.

  Tall and lean Betty sports her grey hair pulled back in a severe bun. Hazel is the polar opposite: height-challenged with short, curly-gray hair and is plump. Although genteel and old fashioned, both are extremely savvy, perceptive and have proven time and again how clever they are.

  All three have been invaluable to me in solving crimes with their agile minds and wily ways through the toughest of times. I wouldn’t trade any of them. They are priceless and so is their humor, which always keeps me grounded.

  After the police left, we sat in the old wingchairs in the gallery in front of a small fire Clay had started, snacking on crackers, cheese and sipping Sauvignon Blanc from the back room kitchen. After Clay brought my senior sleuths up to date on what had happened, we talked it through.