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

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Chapter 53

  Don’t Say Something You’re Going To Regret

  After entering the porte cochere door to the house, Tony locked the deadbolt. Good. He didn’t know where the key was and I wasn’t about to offer to show him. I could easily open a deadbolt, even at a dead run. I’ve had experience in running out of houses: some were better than others.

  I turned to him, stalling. “Are we doing lunch or what?”

  “Don’t do or say something you’re going to regret.”

  “I’m already regretting coming here. Now what?”

  He waved his gun. “Keep going toward the hallway.”

  I glanced ahead, assessing the doors that might enable my escape: probably still key-locked, like they were when we left the house that morning. And the key to open them was attached to the Jeep keys still dangling in the ignition.

  What was he planning to do?

  A few steps into the hallway he said, “Stop!”

  Like a smart girl with a gun to her back, I did. “And?”

  “Wait a sec,” he said.

  I stole a glance back. He was looking at a painting then turned to the opposite wall and looked at another one.

  What the…?

  “Move,” he then said, nudging me forward with his gun.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I ventured cautiously.

  Tony jerked his attention from a painting, annoyed.

  “What? Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

  “Well, yeah, but doing what? Maybe I could help.”

  He looked at me like this was a trick question. “No!”

  I shrugged. “Just sayin’…”

  “Besides, you wouldn’t know anyway,” he said.

  “How would you know unless you asked me, right?”

  He considered my answer. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

  I gave him a big smile. “Okay, shoot!” Then I realized what I had said and backed up a step. “Uh, I didn’t really mean that. It was just a figure of speech. Don’t take it….”

  Tony frowned. “Do you always talk this much?”

  “Well, I…”

  He cut me off again. “It’s getting real annoying.”

  “But…”

  He pointed his gun at me. I shut up instantly.

  “Good! At least you got that message.”

  I waited a beat then tried again. “You were saying?”

  “You’ve got me so screwed up, I can’t remember what the hell we were talking about!”

  He couldn’t talk without waving his hands: that gun too.

  “I volunteered to help you, remember?” I said warily.

  He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have much time.”

  I had to stall him until I could escape. “Ask away.”

  By this time, we had stopped at a third painting. He eyed me then came to a decision. “I’m looking for an artist.”

  “Which one?” I asked, cheerfully relieved.

  “The one I was really promised and didn’t get.”

  “But how are you so sure it’s here?”

  “Because it’s not there,” he said, getting annoyed again.

  I swear, I wondered if he might be related to Lenny.

  I took a deep breath and calmly asked, “Where?”

  He looked just as aggravated. “The gallery.”

  “Aha! If it’s not at the gallery, it must be here!”

  Chapter 54

  The Long & Short Of It

  “Are you always this shrewd at deductions or do you have a really good editor, because I’m starting to have serious doubts about your abilities as an author and sleuth.”

  Now I was getting angry. “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing to excuse. I’m just disappointed in you, that’s all. I was expecting someone more coherent.”

  I started tapping my foot irritably. Gun or no gun, Tony was pushing the envelope: mine. I had to get away before something dangerous happened: like me killing him for the sheer joy of it. He was now criticizing me as an author and that was a big no-no in my world. “Okay, get to the point.”

  “I thought I made it quite succinctly,” he said, smiling.

  “What’s the artist’s name?” I said, through gritted teeth.

  “Forget that Madonna and Child. It’s by Renoir.”

  That receipt I found in Anne’s office!

  Alicia’s office was far enough away to give me a chance to try and escape. I had to take that chance. Some people would kill for a Renoir. And I knew I was looking at one. No contest. Tony and his gun would win. But that Renoir might be my ticket out. “Hey, I think I know where it is!”

  Tony’s head snapped to attention. His face was flushed from all our back and forth, while his steely gaze bored into mine. I didn’t blink, staring boldly back at him. If he knew I was lying, I think he was mad enough to shoot me then.

  “It’s hanging in Alicia’s office way back there,” I said pointing toward the end of the long hallway. “It’s right next to Chris’ office.”

  His face became animated. “No, kidding?”

  I glanced at his gun. “Would I kid you at this point?”

  Tony spun around and raced straight for Alicia’s office, completely forgetting his need to take me with him. I guess greed fogs the thinking when it comes to money. I, on the other hand, spun in the other direction and raced for the back door, but then stopped. He would realize I was gone, come back and have a clear shot down the long hall, all the way to the side door we’d both entered. I would be, like Martha once said, deader than a doornail.

  I hung a left: the front door. But it wouldn’t open. This place was Fort Knox! I took the staircase. Tony was down below and to my right. I took a left toward my apartment. I heard swearing then footsteps starting up the staircase.

  Where to?

  I’d never make it to the apartment. The hallway upstairs was identical to downstairs: long. He’d have a clear shot. I veered into the first guestroom on the left and jumped into the closet, hid behind the closet door and waited.

  I heard Tony run right by the guestroom, assuming I’d headed for the apartment. I heard that door open and close. I was about to leave when the apartment door opened again. He was working his way back, methodically checking each guestroom. Panicking, I glanced around and that’s when I spotted it: a ceiling hatch to the attic. I grabbed a luggage holder and climbed up on it, boosting myself into the attic.

  I closed the hatch just as Tony entered that guestroom…

  Chapter 55

  Crawling From Trouble

  I didn’t move a muscle and listened for Tony’s every step directly below me. The only thing separating us were insulation, floorboards and sheetrock. Even though it was cool in the dark attic, I was sweating profusely. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard him exit the bedroom, then he’d probably head downstairs to the check the basement for me.

  I was so nervous I felt turned around. Which way to go?

  It was a long attic: like the house. If I had my bearings right, one way was the master suite, the other was over the apartment and garages. I began treading gingerly. The only place to walk: a narrow centerboard. The rest: insulation.

  If I missed and made a misstep, I’d plow right through the sheetrock below. I moved along the narrow boards then it abruptly ended: a solid wall of wood. …What the—?

  But then to my lower right I spotted an opening, leading to the rest of the attic. It required me getting on my hands and knees to crawl through. And I did, very carefully. I came out onto another wide-open space. I began climbing over vent ducts and wiring. In no time I found it: a regular stairway leading downward with a standard oak door with doorknob leading directly to…uh-oh!

  It was the master suite! I’d gone the wrong way!

  Originally, I thought it was a closet when I checked the house that first night. It led to where I stood! Maybe Tony took the main staircase and I could make it down the upper hallway back to my apartment. He’d already checked
that. I eased down the darkened stairs and grabbed the doorknob.

  One problem: someone else was turning the doorknob from the other side: Tony! I let go, like it was a hot potato and froze, holding my breath. Then I heard him mumble, “Now why would she be so dumb as to hide in a closet when she’d know I’d check everywhere?” He let go. “After I check their bathroom I’ll head to the basement.” I heard him pause. Was he listening for me? But then he moved on to the Worths’ master bathroom: Time for me to leave.

  I quietly hustled back up, retracing my steps in the attic: sure of my steps now and where I was going. I passed over the hatch I had climbed through, remembering another hatch that I’d noticed in our apartment. I had to crawl on my hands and knees at the other end of the attic getting to that area, but then found the hatch in minutes.

  I removed it and saw my bedroom area with our stuff below. I swung down and gingerly dropped to the carpeted floor. I ran to the door, raced down the backstairs, released the deadbolt and aimed for the Jeep. The keys were still in the ignition. As I raced it down the driveway, I checked the rearview mirror, catching a very pissed-off Tony throwing his own car keys to the ground in rage.

  I won this round, but the next one was up for grabs.

  Chapter 56

  Musings & Modus Operandi

  As I drove, I made a panicky call to Clay, who told me not to return to the gallery, but to park on the next side street down from the Worths’ house and wait for him. He was heading over there with the others in his car rental he’d taken that morning to the gallery.

  Clay had me follow his car back to the property. Like I expected, Tony was long gone and so was his huge SUV. After carefully searching the property and the house, Clay gave the all-clear for the rest of us to come inside.

  I don’t ordinarily drink wine at lunch, but that day was far from ordinary. My hands were pulsating with energy as I explained my stall tactics, verbal dueling and escape from Tony earlier. I held out my glass for more wine as I retold them about the Renoir Tony was looking for.

  Hazel whistled. “A Renoir, the impressionist artist.”

  “He has expensive tastes,” said Betty.

  “No wonder he was hopping-mad. I’d be too. It sounds to me that Tony got screwed,” said Martha. “Big time.”

  “Yes,” said Clay, “But who sold the Renoir to Tony?”

  We all sat there lost in our own thoughts. I had checked Alicia’s home office myself when Clay said it was safe to enter. There weren’t any missing paintings. Matter of fact, nothing appeared to be missing from any of the walls anywhere in the house.

  If I were a criminal, I’d be tempted to clean house, especially if I had a huge SUV at my disposal like Tony. Why did he just leave? All Tony wanted was the painting he paid for, but never received. Was it real or a forgery? Was that receipt planted in Anne’s office to implicate her?

  Either way, he’d paid big bucks and wasn’t happy. Neither were we. We were no closer to solving this than we were a few days ago, just more frustrated. I took another bite of my sliced turkey sandwich and sipped more wine.

  Clay slid his foot up and down mine under the table, whispering, “Your athleticism in the attic was inspiring.”

  Was he kidding? Now? “Dream on.”

  Martha cleared her throat. “Are you done playing footsy with Sam, Clay? We need a modus operandi here.”

  Clay winked at me. “We’ll continue this later…”

  Hazel slapped Clay gently. “You rake, you.”

  “If I was only a little younger,” sighed Betty, smiling.

  “We need to get our Mojo working,” said Martha. “This art business has painted us into a corner and it should be the other way around, with the criminal on the defensive.”

  I sat up. “What we need to do is speak to Lenny alone. How can we get her away from her husband? She seemed fearful of him, and now that explosion: bad karma.”

  Just then my cell rang. “Hello? …What? Oh, my God! That’s terrible. Yes, we’re here. Of course you can.”

  After I hung up, Clay asked, “What was that all about?”

  “I was Lenny! Her husband is now a none-issue. He’s dead! Lenny said that after the explosion, it was time she explained her behavior the day I was at her gallery. This is truly bizarre. She’s coming here! Tonight! For dinner!”

  I swear, my life was stranger than fiction.

  Chapter 57

  Marinating & Musings

  After making a call, Clay said that Jeffrey was found under the rubble of the debris from the gas explosion at Price Gallery: a shock to us, but apparently not to Lenny. She had calmly invited herself to dinner. Apparently, the grieving widow wasn’t grief-stricken, but hungry.

  I marinated some thick lamb chops in teriyaki sauce and pineapple juice and marinated shrimp with fresh minced garlic, basil, olive oil, Parmesan Reggiano cheese, salt and pepper for grilling.

  When I’m stressed, I think and cook: big time.

  I was currently fixing a salad of Romaine lettuce, dried cherries, mandarin oranges and sliced almonds and Chinese crispy noodles. I would top it later with a homemade fresh orange rind, juice and olive oil dressing.

  Dessert was cubed pound cake, with lemon curd over it, a dollop of whipped cream then drizzled with some melted chocolate with a ginger snap cookie stuck in the top, served in tall martini glasses: a quick and elegant finish to dinner.

  I considered the last few days. We never found exactly what Tony removed from the Worths’ shed: we assumed paintings. I never got the chance to ask him. Guns have that effect on me. I concentrate more on flight than fight mode.

  Anne was depressed since her ex and picture-hanging wire were found in his UPS truck: a strangling. It would have been nice to know this earlier, but the police were tight-lipped about the whole thing. Like Martha said, “He won’t be making any more right turns for Brown.”

  That symbolism was sending a message to whom?

  Ever since the call and then the death, Abby was jittery whenever the phone rang or the gallery door opened and the bell tinkled. I didn’t blame her one bit. She also began leaving the gallery well before dark. Clay understood and didn’t push her on it. We were all on edge.

  I finally met the part-timer the day before, Antonia Walters, who helped box the paintings for the gallery in the back. She was fiftyish, of average height and weight with brown/gray streaked hair. Her affable manner was a pleasure and the opposite of Anne’s abrupt one.

  She worked quickly and quietly. I wanted to speak with her privately. She might have heard or seen something worth paying attention to. Clay already spoke to her earlier, but as another woman, she might confide in me.

  You never know, right?

  Betty and Hazel came into the kitchen and began setting the table for dinner. Martha grabbed some wine goblets, uncorked some Santa Margarita Pino Grigio and poured us each some before dinner.

  I liked that: a woman with priorities…

  “I figured we’d need fortification for later,” she said.

  I turned to her. “Are you referring to Lenny’s visit?”

  She laughed. “This evening should be a doozy.”

  Hazel grabbed a dried crisp Chinese noodle and popped it into her mouth. “This caper sure is a complex one.”

  Betty grabbed a glass and sipped. “Sleuthing is hard.”

  Martha winked. “That never stopped us before, has it?”

  Chapter 58

  More Food For Thought

  Most of the dinner talk, quite frankly, was stilted and kind of weird. No one wanted to bring up the subject of Lenny’s husband or the explosion. We were all waiting for her to broach the subject. Believe it or not, our crew was running out of mundane subjects to talk about. I think that’s because we weren’t a mundane bunch.

  After we settled in with my dessert and oohs and aahs were expressed, Lenny set her spoon down and sighed.

  “I guess you think my being here tonight is unusual…”

  Hazel g
ently patted Lenny’s arm. “It must be hard.”

  “…And very sad to say the least,” added Betty.

  Martha cut to the chase. “If you ask me, it’s a tad odd.”

  Lenny looked up sharply then smiled at her. “I agree.”

  Martha leaned in. “So, what gives. We’re dying here.”

  I winced at Martha’s unvarnished and truthful statement.

  Clay interceded. “Lenny, your behavior seems…”

  I finished for him. “A little suspect at this point to say the least.”

  Lenny leaned back, dabbed her mouth with her napkin and said, “As a matter of fact, I’m surprised Jeffrey lasted this long.”

  She had everyone’s attention. Except for the ticking of the wall clock in the background, it became eerily quiet.

  It sure sounded like she’d expected this to happen.

  “Want to explain?” I asked.

  Lenny sighed again. “Sure. Everything I told you that morning in my gallery was true. I had no relationship with my husband: not anymore. He’d gone to the dark side of greed. So I didn’t want to talk about him. Your group spoke to one of my salespeople, not my husband. Jeffrey was busy in the back, packing up a forged painting. I was too scared at that point to do anything about it.”

  Our mouths hung open then verbal chaos erupted.

  “Where did the forgery come from?” Clay asked.

  Lenny shook her head. “That I don’t know.”

  “Who at your gallery was involved?” asked Betty.

  “My husband only,” said Lenny. “He trusted no one.”

  “When did you find out?” asked Hazel excitedly.

  “Changing sheets, I found a wad of cash: $100,000.”

  “And selling art wasn’t that lucrative,” I said.

  “Not at our gallery,” replied Lenny.

  “Did you confront your husband?” asked Clay.

  “Of course. I wanted no part of it and he knew that.”

  “Did you threaten to go to the authorities?” asked Betty.