Chapter 64
Who’s Gonna Tell Lenny The Truth?
There was a silent eye battle between Anne and me that started the minute the dynamics in the gallery turned south.
Who was going to tell Lenny the truth: that the Renoir was a fake?
Both of us kept subtly shaking our heads no.
Lenny, who I might add had a gun of her own, abruptly aimed it at us, after telling everyone to group together.
“Want to share what that was all about?” Lenny asked.
We both shook our heads no. My mind was scrambling for a way to stall her. She’d go nuts if she were to find out that, after two murders, she was chasing a worthless forgery.
And where the hell were Martha, Hazel, Betty and Clay? Surely one of them received my text by now! This art business was as cutthroat, but had turned deadly and would turn deadlier any minute.
Tony’s fists were clenching and unclenching. He paid for that Renoir, and as far as he was concerned, forgery or not, it was his, and not Lenny’s. I really do believe he was actually contemplating taking her down barehanded.
I wasn’t about to die over a lousy forgery.
“Enough!” All eyes fixed on me. “Anne?”
If looks could kill, Anne’s would’ve: me. I backed up.
Lenny swung her gun over to Anne. “What?” she asked.
“Well, this whole thing never should have happened.”
She had everyone’s attention including Lenny’s. I edged sideways behind the others moving closer to Lenny. Anne explained about her expert skills of flawlessly restoring paintings. But before admitting to her forgery, she began to explain about her ex stealing the Renoir and trying to sell it multiple times to God knows how many people to pay his huge gambling debts.
So far she had three forged receipts with her signature on them, but she had no idea who they were written to or where the money went. She only knew of the amounts that she found on those receipts. Her ex must have hidden them in her desk when he made his deliveries to the Worth Gallery. She was scared to go to the authorities because she received death threats over her ex’s debts by phone.
Close enough to Lenny now, I dove for her, knocking the gun from her hand, but not before it went off in a downward curve. Chaos erupted as Tony pinned Lenny to the ground and I fell sideways. Chris grabbed his own gun and Alicia picked up Lenny’s gun.
“Oh, no!” screamed Lenny, pointing.
We all looked. There on the floor lay the Renoir with a huge hole in it from the bullet, which was now embedded in the old hardwood floor of the gallery.
Alicia stood over a spread-eagled Lenny on the floor.
“Were you the one who spread all those false rumors and lies about our gallery, the artists and their paintings?”
Lenny laughed. “Everybody flocked over to your place because it was so unique and different. We lost business.”
“Enough to kill two people for? I don’t get it.”
Lenny took one last look at the destroyed Renoir. “That was my ticket out of the art rat race. I’d have an original Renoir to sell and $100,000 in cash and have the life I’ve always wished for.”
I shook my head. “Not now, Lenny. Oh, you’ll probably get life alright, but not the one you were expecting.”
I picked up the Renoir and turned to Anne. “You know, it’s really a great forgery.”
Anne’s face suddenly flushed with pleasure as she came over to admire it too. “Why thank you, Sam!”
Lenny still pinned down, screamed, “…It’s a fake?”
I looked down at her and smiled. “Best of the best!”
Anne put her arm around my shoulder. “Aaaw, Sam!”
I guess that meant we were best buds now.
Then the back and front doors burst open. “Police!”
Clay rushed over and hugged me. “Sam, are you okay?”
I nodded. “It was Lenny. She killed UPS and Jeffrey for a forged Renoir. Can you believe it?”
Then chaos erupted a second time as everyone began talking and statements and stories were written down. I think the police had their night cut out for them and would be buried in paperwork. Speaking of paperwork, I now had my mystery solved and could put pen to paper so to speak.
But something was missing. I looked through the throng of people. Where were Martha, Hazel and Betty?
Just then there was shouting coming from the front door and the crowd parted.
“We were in the basement: no signal!” huffed Martha rushing to us. “Drove that damn Gator from their house…”
“My ass is sore. I had ride in the back,” griped Hazel.
“You lost the coin toss, my dear,” said Betty hysterical.
And so was I, hours later: three miles in that gator. We stayed up late that night while I spun the tale that would end up being my next mystery: artistically done, if I do say so myself. A sense of humor helped too, don’t you think?
I’m not sure what’s in store next, but I guarantee this:
It certainly won’t be dull. It never is, is it?
This ends No Hope In New Hope.
For a preview of the next book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series, Book 8, The Lush Life, please continue reading right after this:
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Please read on for the preview excerpt of the next book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series, Book 8, The Lush Life
The Lush Life
A Samantha Jamison Mystery
Book 8
by
Peggy A. Edelheit
Copyright © 2014 by Peggy A. Edelheit
Chapter 1
Hung Up On The Details
My definition of murder: intentional killing of a person, mainly with premeditated malice.
Check.
So far I qualified.
Come to think of it, I qualified on all counts.
I was okay with the premeditation part, I certainly felt malice. I even had justification: a damn good excuse.
Why?
My ever-challenging and sporadic sleuthing partner in crime, Clay, had made a promise involving me without asking me first, taking advantage of our relationship.
As a mystery author, I wrote about them: murders, that is, but this time I felt like committing one, especially after Clay never bothered checking with me. It didn’t involve the Worth Art Gallery he recently considered acquiring. That deadly deal was history. No, this involved me housesitting.
After selling their art gallery to someone else, Clay’s friends, Alicia and Chris Worth, decided to take their trip to Europe for a month so they could collect some personal art. They asked Clay if he’d work from their house until they got back. Busy sidetracked with a new investigation, Clay promised them I’d do it. So my evil thoughts flourished.
But then Clay clarified the Worths’ no-can-lose freebie.
They were so impressed with our investigative skills in solving the problems plaguing their gallery, they suggested we continue to stay in their old, stone French house while they were gone, as well as Martha, Hazel and Betty: my senior-sleuthing crew. If Clay was needed elsewhere, like now, he could just leave and return anytime he wanted to.
I’d use Alicia’s home office, Clay would use Chris’s. The house was located minutes f
rom downtown New Hope, an hour fifteen minutes from New York City, an hour from Philadelphia and two from both the beach and mountains.
Now, as far as murder was concerned, I had seriously contemplated the dastardly act when Clay first told me, but after some reflection, especially after they topped it off by offering me the use of their master suite, I reconsidered.
I’d get to live the lush life plus receive a cash bonus.
Alicia’s office turned out to be the perfect place to finish my seventh mystery, No Hope In New Hope, the one about art fraud. But after I hit the attachment tab to send that manuscript off to my editor, I just sat… and sat, tapping my finger on my laptop. Now what would I do?
The driveway annunciator buzzed: a car. I opened the foyer door, registering shock. “Mona?” I hugged her then glanced behind her… no car. “Who left you off so fast?”
She leaned in, winking and whispering, “He did.”
“Who’s he?” I asked, still gaping at her standing there.
My former college friend quickly shoved me back inside and slammed the door behind her. “My potential fiancé!”
I barely choked out, “...You have another one?”
“Don’t be snarky,” she said. “You know all about him!”
I stood there vigorously shaking my head. “Nuh-uh.”
“You invited me here, remember?” Mona persisted.
“Invited you… here? To the Worths’ house?”
“Don’t play around,” hissed my ample-figured, quirky, and impulsive friend. “This could be life or death!”
“How come everything with you is life or death?”
“Look, we’re pressed to the wall here,” she countered.
I paused. “...We? Same old, just a different day, right?”
Still leaning into me closely, dark-haired Mona began perspiring. Odd, considering it was cool out. What was she really up to? There was normally a degree of suspicion in the air whenever Mona called or showed up. I tried to shake off a sense of foreboding on another repeat episode. She was obviously under the gun, pushing this, this… what?
Footsteps approached. We both looked toward the door.
Mona lowered her voice. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Now curious, I relented. “We better because...”
Mona silenced me and opened the door. “Teddy!”
Beyond Mona stood a fine masterpiece of manliness: one hot-looking guy about six foot-three, muscled, solid as a rock, light brown wavy hair that curled at the collar and the deepest blue eyes...
This vision was Mona’s fiancé?
I hesitated then stuck out my hand awkwardly.
“...Uh, hi. I’m Samantha.”
Teddy sized me up: my thin figure, long blonde hair, fair complexion. I was the polar opposite of Mona.
“...Mona, she’s your sister?”
My eyes darted to Mona’s. ...Sister?
Mona gave me a cheerful smile and a sly wink.
I had ventured into Mona’s skillset once again. Lying.
Chapter 2
But Then Again, Why Not?
Mona bit her lip. “A real surprise to some, right, Sam?”
Responsible for this home, my eyes veered to Teddy. He appeared distracted by two oil paintings hanging above the Worths’ foyer table or was he more interested in the framed antique mirror between them?
Who was this guy? What was this fiancé thing?
I smiled tightly. “Yup, it’s always a real surprise.”
Mona gave me a slight nod of relief.
“You got my email about our arrival, right?” she asked.
I glanced from Mona to Teddy, who was now watching and waiting for my response to Mona. I was flying blind here. I raked my fingers through my hair then played along.
“Sure. How long were you two planning to stay?”
“...Uh, just a few days,” Mona said, now relaxing.
“But all that’s left is the apartment over the garages.”
Mona frowned. “No other rooms are available?”
I faltered. “...Why, are more people coming?”
“No, but it’s such a big house. I thought...”
Then I realized she didn’t know. “The ladies are here,”
She eye-rolled. “Just what I needed: that senior trio.”
“I thought you’d be more excited,” I said, smirking.
“Can’t wait to see them,” she threw back, brightly.
Sure didn’t sound it.
“Don’t you have bags to bring in?” I asked.
Mona turned to Teddy. “Do you mind getting them?”
Tossing her a megawatt smile, he said, “Sure, Baby.”
After Mona closed the door, I choked out, “...Baby?”
“Hey, he’s no mental workout, but the rest of him does.”
“What’s going on? What’s with the fiancé routine?”
“He thinks you’re my long lost sister and...”
I cut her off. “Now where did he get that crazy idea?”
“I’m not getting all your questions...”
I pushed back once again. “But this isn’t my house...”
“I know that, but he doesn’t. That’s why we’re here.”
She always talked in circles. “For what, may I ask?”
“Are you dense? For what might be going down!”
I swallowed hard, knowing her and not liking where this conversation was heading. “...Going down? Where?”
Mona glanced at those two paintings over the foyer table then turned back to me clearly disturbed by my response to her arrival. “Why, here, of course!”
“I’m hearing and so not liking what you just said.”
“You’re the one who preaches expect the unexpected!”
“And the unexpected involves this particular location?”
“And my skills,” said, Mona, losing her patience.
“Sorry, Mona, I need more than that to go on.”
“What’s with you? Why are you acting this way, Sam?”
I knew her now familiar modus operandi of stretching the truth. “I’m gun-shy from past experience,” I countered.
“Then consider this encounter one more learning curve.”
“In what, how to dodge another bullet?”
“Like the saying goes: practice makes perfect.”
There were info gaps in Mona’s unexpected appearance and exactly why she was here a mile wide.
“Ah, the expert at taking literary license (lying) speaks,” I shot back.
She gave a sly grin. “I leave the literary to you. I have the license to carry a gun. When called to duty, I show up. It’s as simple as that.”
Called to duty? That last cliché got me. “By whom?”
Mona’s phone dinged then she held up her finger while she read a text message. I tried to read it, too, but she hastily deleted it so I couldn’t then she said, “Hey, I should keep an eye on Teddy. We’ll talk later.”
I was left standing in the foyer as Mona took off for the side entrance to join Teddy and help empty their car.
I reluctantly shut the door, muttering, “Yeah, but by that time I’ll be regretting I ever opened the door on this one.”
As I exited the foyer, I considered the significance of Mona’s sudden reappearance, grudgingly admitting it just might be the diversion I needed from a month of boredom that was already staring me in the face: babysitting this house. Clay had already taken off for his next case and my last mystery was put to bed. So why all the foot-dragging on my part? Why was I resisting what had unexpectedly arrived at my doorstep? I laughed.
Because big trouble always followed Mona, that’s why.
Chapter 3
Deal Or No Deal
My definition of a zoo: A place or situation that’s crowded, or a group that is loud and uncontrolled. That accurately would describe the Worths’ house once Martha, Betty, and Hazel learned the thirtyish duo, Mona and her fiancé, Teddy, were in residence over the Worths�
� garages.
So with Clay long gone by the time Mona and her honey arrived, I figured that was probably a good thing. He would have wanted to hang around to scrutinize Teddy, before the three ladies had the chance to first check him out (ogle him) then digitally probe his background.
I was relieved when I caught Teddy trailing after Mona, toting two carry-on bags up to the garage apartment.
Good, that meant they weren’t staying that long.
While the two lovebirds unpacked, I went to the kitchen. I watched from the doorway, smiling at my seventyish sleuthing crew, Martha, Betty, and Hazel as they set up for dinner. I trusted them implicitly and admired their intuition and how clever yet different they were from each other. I quickly filled them in on our new houseguests.
The thin and fashion-challenged Martha with her spikey white short hair asked, “Why’d Mona show up out of the blue with some hunk, who’s supposedly her fiancé?”
Tall and reedy Betty tucked some loose gray strands back into her bun and asked, “Is this her second or third?”
Shorter, plump Hazel with her curly, gray hair chuckled. “Engaged in Ocean City, an alleged marriage in Boca, now maybe a fiancé? She’s all over the map with relationships.”
“I admit, it’s never dull with her around,” said Martha.
I laughed. “It’s never dull with you three either. Besides, I’m always outnumbered. Mona’s my perfect age-equalizer to my favorite and unpredictable senior crew.”
Martha harrumphed. “We’re your only senior crew.”
Betty and Hazel initially fooled people by their proper, old-fashioned behavior, but were a nice counter-balance to Martha’s in-your-face personality. They were all a constant in my life, challenging me to take mental and physical leaps that I never would have considered before I met them.
Mona, on the other hand, kept popping in and out of our lives both helping and hindering, but in the end, coming through only to disappear to who knew where. We were never inclined to delve too deeply into her legal and illegal connections as long as it didn’t involve jail time for us.
No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7) Page 12
