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

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  “A gallery that was, but wasn’t hit,” quipped Martha.

  Hazel patted a napkin to her lips. “This is unbelievable!”

  “An intruder who sets alarms,” said Betty. “Odd…”

  “Maybe to distract us from what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Of course!” said Hazel excitedly. “Confuse the facts.”

  Martha jumped in, “If so, it’s a clever maneuver.”

  “Why not?” I said nodding. “The art of deflection.”

  Clay wasn’t convinced. “Deflection…meaning?”

  “Maybe they were putting back something,” said Hazel.

  “They were doing damage control: returning what you didn’t know was missing to begin with,” posed Betty.

  “Because…?” asked Clay, now wanting to hear more.

  “Maybe, they’re getting nervous,” posed Hazel.

  My eyes scanned the gallery and the artwork as Clay spoke again then they spied the luggage: lots of it. That’s when I asked, “Hey, exactly where are you ladies staying?”

  My senior trio turned to Clay, who suddenly went still.

  Martha winked. “Right down the hall from you two.”

  I smiled tightly and turned to Clay. “How convenient.”

  Chapter 24

  Sandra, Sandra

  “…Sandra, Sandra,” I repeated. “Trust me, this will turn out to be a great mystery with a terrific twist.”

  “The publisher’s not convinced it’ll sell,” my agent said.

  I leaned back, closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. We had been going back and forth for several minutes on the phone. I was trying to gently coax and drive home the fact that this art angle was just the ticket to make my next mystery marketable. They weren’t buying it. The publisher was getting antsy for an exciting mystery: something that would pop. The market was tightening and book sales were lackluster. The exception: a select few.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t among that elite group yet.

  “…This is all you’ve got? Unbelievable!”

  I ignored her expected jab. “Funny you should say that,” I said, “but someone made that exact comment yesterday. Only like, unbelievable, as in very excited.”

  I had neglected to tell her it happened to be Hazel, but that was a minor detail that she didn’t need to be privy to. It was the sizzle I was pitching here: a visual impression for my publisher. Only the way Sandra reacted it was looking more like it was falling on doubtful publishing ears.

  I was running out of reasons. I dug deeper: a last-ditch effort. “Have you ever been disappointed with me?”

  I realized my snafu the minute it escaped my lips.

  “I meant, have you ever been disappointed with the end result, you know, the final version of any of my books?”

  There was silence at the other end of the line.

  We went way back as friends. She’d seen me through the death of my husband and my world filled with doubt. Although tough when she needed to be, Sandra would go to bat for me with the publisher in my best interests.

  “You got lucky,” was all she finally admitted.

  But I heard the smile in her words and kept pushing.

  “Listen, Sandra. I have this gut feeling that this will be an intriguing mystery once I solve it. Trust me.”

  “Hmm…” was all she said.

  Ah, I sensed her weakening: leaning in my direction.

  “Besides, guess who is here to help?” I said excitedly.

  “Who?” Sandra asked somewhat skeptical.

  “Martha, Hazel and Betty!”

  The minute those names were out of my mouth I heard her intake of breath on the other end of the line.

  Uh-oh! I may have overplayed my hand. She knew there would be trouble ahead with “The Senior Special” helping me out on any mystery. I had pushed the envelope too far.

  “Now, Sam, you have to understand…”

  When Stephen died Sandra fought with the publisher to give me some time then she guided me back to writing.

  “Sandra, I know I’m pushing our friendship, but…”

  “Okay, I’ve got your back. Just don’t disappoint me.”

  “You won’t regret…” I was talking to a dead line.

  Chapter 25

  Lofty Matters

  Alone up in the gallery loft, I paged through the art magazines of some auction houses, taking note of numerous paintings coming up for sale. Easily viewed online, private bids could then be made there, or you participated via phone during their live auction. A person was designated to handle your call, while you made live competing bids until you either dropped out or won the bid to own the painting.

  It was both fascinating and informative. The quality and quantity of the artists and their paintings were surprising. I sat back in my chair looking from one of the catalogs then over to my laptop. One catalog was Du Mouchelles. They were in the art business since 1927. There were others too.

  They all sold assorted items such as vases, statues, clocks, silver, but what interested me the most were the paintings. Several I was familiar with and personally liked: Pissaro, Moreau, Blanchard, Cortes, Popoff, Loiseau and Delacroix. All were available just a fingertip away online. But after giving it some thought. It didn’t surprise me. Everything was now online. So why not art? These glossy catalogs proved all you needed was money.

  …It’s always about the money, isn’t it?

  I glanced through the loft’s railing. The only heavy-hitter paintings I’d noticed weren’t in this gallery, but in the Worths’ home. Their gallery paintings were lower in price, encompassing artists who might or might not be immediately recognizable and affordable to the average walk-in buyer: local artists, both new and established ones.

  Display what moves inventory and makes money: smart.

  Many art lovers invested in new artists, hoping their pieces became more valuable. I guess it was a much wiser investment than stuffing money under a mattress. I paged through the catalogues, bypassing the antiques, furniture and collectibles, mainly interested in the paintings.

  Then I sat back thinking, which was hazardous. It was both my friend and my enemy. I tended to overthink a situation. But that’s the way my mind worked as I followed it through down to each and every detail that kept bothering me until I made peace with it and shoved it off to the side as useless or took written note of it for future reference.

  My senior squad was out checking galleries: collecting information and gossip from New Hope and Lambertville. Misjudging their shrewd minds, many were fooled by these savvy ladies, who repeatedly amazed me.

  Clay said he was checking several shippers of the Worths’. A wily hands-on kind-of-guy, I personally figured he was more likely contacting his so-called PI connections in high and low places, if you know what I mean.

  I stared at the catalogs. Would I buy online? Probably not. I’d go see those paintings in person for those prices.

  I had a lot to think about as the plot thickened…

  Chapter 26

  Which Brings Us Back To…

  Clay and I drove separately to the gallery the next day. I got there ahead of time to pick up a snack for us in town. Having parked at the gallery, that was when I cut through the side streets and found myself confronted and staring down the barrel of that gun, trying to talk my way out of an undeserved blood-red sauce stain of my own, minus the tie.

  “…Wait? Wait for what?” he asked, getting antsy again.

  Being threatened and strong-armed by circumstances beyond my control was wearing thin. I’d had enough and with my index finger, firmly pushed his gun barrel in the other direction. It was time to get down to business.

  “I think we need to talk, Mr. uh…?”

  Still gripping the gun, he put the hammer back in place and sighed. “Tony G.” He sighed again. “I didn’t think this approach would work, especially with you.”

  Now this Tony G. intrigued me. “And why not?”

  “You’ve changed.”
<
br />   I’ve changed? Thrown, all I could say was, “How so?”

  “You’re not like you were when you first started out.”

  Clearly I’d missed something in translation. “…What?”

  “I’ve read your books. You’re not a pushover anymore. You’ve toughened up: play it cagey. I identify with that.”

  This was not what I expected to hear. “Is that so?”

  “I like the way you take control of situations.”

  “Since I pose no threat, why not put that gun away?”

  He looked down at it. “I had to get your attention.”

  “Well, you did, now let’s get to the bottom of this.”

  He gestured toward a bench. I sat down and waited.

  Sitting next to me, Tony said, “There’s this painting…”

  I swear, I started laughing hysterically, right there on that side street in downtown New Hope. I held up my hand for him to wait a sec when he turned in my direction. He obviously didn’t see the humor in the situation, but then again, he wasn’t privy to what I had been through either.

  “Is this a blonde thing?” he asked, becoming impatient.

  I sobered, eyeing him. “Gun or no gun, watch it, Tony.”

  He holstered his gun then blew out a breath. “I didn’t realize how touchy authors could be, especially you.”

  “You realize I just aged ten years staring at your gun?”

  “Hey, you should be used to it by now. What is this one you’re working on, your seventh mystery?”

  I gave Tony a level look. Was he serious? What was I dealing with, a loose cannon, who just so happened to be carrying one around for show? Wary, I tried to explain.

  “I told you I write fiction.”

  “Look, I’m short-tempered and losing patience here.”

  I sat up, now edgy, looking around us: not a soul in sight. Where were witnesses or a cop when you needed them? At least I wasn’t staring down the barrel of his gun any longer.

  “How about you tell me what happened first?” I asked.

  He reached into his pocket and smirked when I flinched.

  “Easy does it, babe, I just wanted to show you this.”

  I stared down at a receipt for $25,000 …Uh-oh!

  Tony G. grinned knowingly, as he checked me out from head to toe. “I’d say you’re worth at least that much, don’t you think, Blondie?”

  Chapter 27

  I Was Lucky To Get Away Alive!

  “Are you kidding, Clay? I was lucky to get away alive!”

  So I gave Tony a phony gallery receipt. Big deal!

  Clay could barely speak he was so upset. I wasn’t sure if it was over my actions or because I had been confronted with a gun in broad daylight. We were arguing in muffled tones up in the loft for privacy so the others in the packing area wouldn’t hear us. “But you guaranteed it!”

  “Calm down,” I said. “All I gave him was a fake IOU.”

  Pacing, Clay abruptly stopped. “Yeah, for $25,000!”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I countered. “I was the one who had a nut-job threatening me. Where was your risk?”

  “Just my full name on that phony receipt!” he choked.

  “It bought you some time. Besides I was anxious.”

  “How do you think I feel? He sounds connected.”

  “Well that’s progress. At least we agree on that point.”

  “Did you give him my car tag numbers too?” he asked.

  I went toe-to-toe, leaning in close. “I was tempted.”

  “He could’ve shot you! Can you at least identify him?”

  And so I did, right down to his iffy-red-sauce stained tie.

  Clay hugged me tightly. “That gun really upset me.”

  “Guess what else?” I said. “He loves my mysteries.”

  “What do your books have to do with any of this?”

  “That’s how this whole thing came about.”

  “As usual, you’ve lost me. Give me some details.”

  “He recognized me from my books, which he’s read.”

  Clay frowned. “There must be more to it than that.”

  “Well, I guess he was sort of stalking me. I mean that must be how he got that photo of us kissing, really kissing.”

  Clay held me at arm’s length. “Stalking you?”

  “He learned you’re now managing the gallery. And after seeing us together, it was his chance to recoup his money.”

  “And how…?” Then Clay sobered. “You mean…”

  “He was thinking of kidnapping me for a ransom.”

  “For $25,000: the cost of his painting,” Clay added.

  I gave him a reassuring kiss. “But he didn’t, did he?”

  “Something isn’t right. He walked away with a receipt?”

  “He figured I was good for it. I gave him my word.”

  “So, It was all about you giving your word…” mused Clay, thinking. “By the way, what was his painting called?”

  “He bought Madonna and Child then heard a rumor.”

  “Tony bought a religious painting: a fake one?”

  “No to your statement and yes to your question.”

  “But Madonna and Child is a religious painting.”

  “No! Madonna: the singer with her kid. He loves her.”

  “For $25,000? You think someone copied that?”

  I started laughing. “Can you believe it? What a sucker!”

  “And you personally guaranteed a refund for…that?”

  My mouth went dry. “You’re right, you’re in trouble.”

  Clay grinned. “What do you mean me? You signed it.”

  “He wouldn’t expect me to cough up that kind of …”

  Oh! Madonna Mio! …I was so screwed.

  Chapter 28

  Not Playing By The Rules

  We heard the gallery door open and close downstairs. Martha, Betty and Hazel marched in, and as usual, timed their arrival perfectly. Clay and I had just finished taking inventory of the Worth gallery and absolutely nothing was missing. Although an exhausting task, it left us relieved but with more questions about what took place the night before with the intruder and the setting-off-the-alarm episode.

  As usual, the three of them were having words.

  “What he said could be jealousy talking,” said Hazel.

  Martha waved her off. “You can’t dismiss this rumor.”

  “Rumors can’t always be trusted,” Hazel shot back.

  “Ha! We solved cases on less than that,” laughed Betty.

  By this time they had joined us in the loft. I motioned for them to keep their voices down. I also knew I’d regret asking, but jumped in with, “Dismissed what?”

  “Rumor has it the Worth Gallery was undercutting some local artist’s paintings to nab a lot of area sales,” said Betty.

  “But that lady didn’t agree,” said Hazel to Betty.

  “Now how would a craft store know?” asked a frustrated Martha. “We were checking galleries only, remember?”

  “There were those few pieces of art in her window…”

  “You call dot-to-dot…paintings?” mocked Martha

  “Well,” said Hazel, “I didn’t have my glasses on.”

  “You know,” said Betty. “You might want to try laser.”

  Hazel nodded. “My glasses do get so annoying.”

  “You know, they run specials,” added Betty.

  Martha grimaced. “Focus! The rumor, remember?”

  I tried again. “What about this undercutting rumor?”

  “Worth Gallery cut prices on a few artists,” Martha said, “and conveniently neglected to tell the artists involved.”

  “When a painting sold, Alicia and Chris paid the full amount by personally covering the difference,” said Betty.

  “But then word began to spread around,” Hazel added.

  “If they sold below an agreed upon price,” I said, “it could be a disgruntled gallery owner, who’s spreading it.”
<
br />   “Still, some artists pulled their art, ethics,” Martha said.

  I turned to Clay. “They were lowballing for clientele?”

  “How does that play a role in this?” he asked then got it.

  I smiled. “Suspicion would fall on the Worth Gallery if this current con began to fall apart, like it is now.”

  “This gallery was a perfect target,” suggested Martha.

  “Excellent point and could be the case,” I said.

  Hazel cut in, “We almost forgot! Betty, remember?”

  “We snacked at The Landing restaurant on the river and were given a message for you, Sam,” said Betty, winking.

  “A man stopped at our table,” said Hazel. “He sends his regards. Nattily dressed, but that sauce stain on his tie…”

  Tony connected them to me! “Was his name Tony?”

  Betty brightened. “Why, yes! A Mr. Tony Giuseppe!”

  Tony wasn’t as stupid as I initially thought.

  He was sending me a reminder: a ‘personal’ one.

  Chapter 29

  Loyalties & Responsibilities

  Ever since we latched onto each other, I’ve felt a strong responsibility for the ladies. Though cunning, they were older. Sometimes, (okay, frequently) circumstances placed them in harm’s way. That’s where my guilt-trip entered the picture and sat right down next to me.

  They always claimed their unflinching loyalty to me was what drove them. Besides, they truly loved getting into the thick of an investigation that challenged (here comes another pun) their gray matter. They said their alternative was sedentary senior citizen lifestyle living. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture any of them knitting, playing bridge or watching the soaps. Neither could they.

  They’ve taught me that aging could be quite interesting so I took note of their advice on many occasions. But after all this time I still felt I had a lot to learn. They pushed (shoved is a better word) me to go out on a limb and not play it safe. ‘Life was too short,’ they said. They had no intention of playing by the rules anymore, which apparently now applied to yours truly. These seniors were armed and dangerous in more ways than one. And I loved it.