Luca Mystery Series Box Set

by Dan Petrosini

  Originally, I chalked it up to wealth and a certain quirkiness, until I lost a good friend.

  I was in my office when Mark Simone came in, and I jumped to my feet.

  “Hey Mark. What a pleasant surprise.” I came around my desk and extended a hand that was left hanging.

  Mark Simone, who worked for the Sentinel, slumped into a chair. “They’re fucking monsters.”

  “Who? What’s going on, Mark?”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “I got canned because of your wife’s fucking family.”

  My stomach dropped. “What happened?”

  “You know I was writing that series on the mutual fund industry.”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, God forbid I mentioned that brush with the SEC.”

  “Over the marketing materials?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But that was settled without a fine or any repercussions.”

  “I know; it was nothing. All I was trying to do was show how regulated things were, that’s all. I wasn’t taking a swipe at the Boggs.”

  “Of course, but what happened?”

  “Next thing I know my editor is all over me about mentioning the Boggs family, even though he was the one who approved the article. He was covering up, and next thing I know HR calls me in and I got the boot.”

  “Are you sure it was over that?”

  “We’ve known each other a long time. Trust me, that’s what happened.”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Man, you know how ignorant you sound? You think you’re gonna get them to reverse it?”

  “But if that is why they did it, it’s unfair and baseless.”

  Mark shook his head. “If they did it? Man, you’re blind, buddy.”

  As soon as Mark left, I called the family office. I can still hear Peter Gerey tell me it was a family matter and not up for discussion. It took me two weeks to get the nerve to tell Mark I was unable to influence the situation. He hung up on me and had refused to take any of my calls since then.

  The Boggs were Presbyterian, but they felt more like Mormons. A set percentage was donated to charity, and they required their children to perform two years of community service before working for the firm. Marilyn did her service with St. Matthew’s House in Naples but never really worked for the family firm. She said she wasn’t interested in business and preferred to help others, but shortly after we met I realized she didn’t feel smart enough. Her brothers had MBAs from Harvard and were sharp, if condescending. When we first met, the vibe was clear they didn’t respect me, but I momentarily turned things around when the art that I recommended they purchase ran up in value.

  What it came down to was they were all phony. I often wondered if Marilyn was worse than her brothers or if they were all the same, but I knew Marilyn better and hated her more. I was certain she didn’t breathe a word of our relationship difficulties to anyone in the family and equally certain I’d be persona non grata, and thrown off the island as well, if the news leaked.

  ***

  Having taken an extra Valium, I believed another attempt to discuss things with Marilyn had good prospects. She was sitting on the deck with her morning coffee and flinched when I slid the door open.

  “Sorry.”

  “Damn you, Gideon. I almost spilled my coffee. What do you want now?”

  “I was hoping we could discuss an amicable way to end our marriage.”

  “There’s no need, the prenuptial dictates everything.”

  “I understand that, but I know going that route would have negative financial consequences for you. Can’t we find another solution?”

  She set her cup down and smiled. “There is another solution.”

  I pulled a chair out and was about to sit. “That’s great. What is it?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  She looked me straight in the eye. “John suggested he could have you disappear. That would take care of things, wouldn’t it?”

  I grabbed the back of the chair. “What? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Take it any way you want. But since you’re an invalid, I’ll decide what happens.”

  Right there and then I decided Marilyn had to go before they killed me. As soon as I got back to the house I’d order the mushroom poison.

  Chapter 8

  A knock on his office door prompted Barnet to check the video monitor. He smiled when the camera feed revealed it was Marilyn. He’d dodged her calls for three straight days and her showing up played right into his hands. He buzzed her in and rose to greet her.

  “Marilyn. I didn’t expect you.”

  “You didn’t call me back. I was getting worried about you.”

  Barnet kissed her but avoided hugging her.

  “I’m all right, just working twenty-four seven, trying to keep this place together.”

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, forget it. You don’t want to know.”

  “Of course I want to know. What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Figure what out? Tell me what’s going on, John.”

  Barnet flopped into his chair. “The off-season is killing us. I don’t know why this time around things are so bad, but they are.”

  “It’ll turn around, it always does.”

  Barnet shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “What are you so down about?”

  “I don’t want to drag you into all this.”

  “It’s okay, really. I want to be involved. Maybe I can help somehow.”

  “Well, you know we made a big push for the futures, and we’re getting sales, but I’ve got to front half the money for all these orders, and on top of that I sunk a ton of money into the catering side of things, and that didn’t exactly work out like I planned.”

  “I thought the catering idea you had was good. You just have to give it time.”

  Barnet exhaled dejectedly. “Time, I don’t have. These bastards here had the gall to serve a pre-default notice on me. Can you believe it?”

  “Default? Can they do that?”

  Barnet threw his hands up. “And we’re only two weeks behind on the rent. It’s crazy.”

  “How much is due?”

  “Forty thousand.”

  “Really? Forty thousand? That’s expensive.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I could help some.”

  “Really? I don’t want to involve you, Marilyn, but I really don’t know what to do. If you could help, that’d be incredibly generous of you.”

  “You know I’d be happy to help you, John. I’ll lend you ten thousand.”

  “Oh, that’ll help a little.”

  ***

  Before sitting behind his desk, Barnet guzzled two bottles of water, attempting to curb a light hangover. He set another bottle on his desk and looked over yesterday’s receipts. Flinging the tally to the side, he opened a red file labeled Futures.

  After scanning the two pages in it, Barnet got up and yanked his office door open.

  “Bridgette! Where’s Bridgette? I need her. Now!”

  He slammed the door and paced the room for a minute until there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in!”

  “Hey, John, you needed something?”

  “What the hell’s going on with the futures?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grabbed the file and waved it.

  “This. This is what I mean. It’s a joke.”

  Bridgette glanced at the file. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

  “Is this all the orders?”

  “Yes. Unless something came in this morning.”

  “Are you telling me twenty measly orders is all we have?”

  “There’s a lot of competition out there, John. Besides, a lot of people are out of tow
n this time of the year.”

  “You ever hear of the phone? We can take a damn order over the phone!”

  “We’ve, we’ve been talking and emailing our targets. We’re really not doing that bad, John.”

  “Are you kidding me? You know how much it’s costing me to advertise? What’s the damn point of this?”

  “I─I—”

  “Get back out there and sell some damn wine! I’ve got a lot to do.”

  Barnet flopped onto his sofa and had just closed his eyes when his cell rang. He yanked it from his pocket. It was Marilyn. He swiped the call away, put his feet on the coffee table and began rummaging through a bank of ideas he had accumulated to keep the store afloat. After twenty minutes of soul-searching, he got up, opened his laptop, went to Amazon’s site, and began browsing.

  Chapter 9

  Four days later, Marilyn closed the door to Barnet’s office and said, “How could you do this to me?”

  “It was a mistake, that’s all.”

  “I’m so embarrassed, I don’t know what to do.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It was nothing, just a simple miscalculation.”

  Marilyn put her hands on her hips. “My reputation is on the line, John.”

  “That’s crazy. With your money, what do they think you’re doing, stealing?”

  “Of course not. But they’ll think I’m incompetent, and that’s worse than stealing. The philanthropic community is built on trust. Our donors rely on us to be good shepherds of their money. Any rumors or even a whiff of impropriety, intentional or not, and they’ll go running.”

  “Would you stop being an alarmist already?”

  “It’s easy for you to say that, but this is my life, John.”

  “What? Are you saying I don’t care about you? That’s crazy.”

  “I know, but John, this really makes me look bad. It’s a lot of money, and I’m sure people are talking about it.”

  “I’ll make sure Bridgette cuts a check today.”

  “I already reimbursed St. Vincent de Paul.”

  “You did? You ask me, I think you should have waited.”

  “I had to resolve it immediately.”

  “I understand, but I don’t like the way it looks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at it this way, you reimbursed the overcharge before going to the vendor. It could look a little fishy.”

  “Oh no, you think so?”

  “Don’t get nuts, Marilyn. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “You see, you see how this could all be misinterpreted?”

  “It won’t be. They got their money back, and you have your story to tell about an overcharge.”

  “Story?”

  “Come on, Marilyn, you know what I mean.” Barnet got up and headed to the wine cooler. “Take it easy. Everything’s going to be fine. Let’s have a glass of white Burgundy. I just got in this delicious Burg from Domaine Leroy. You’re gonna love it.”

  ***

  The following morning Barnet was catching the sun on a bench outside his store. He greeted the UPS man, who was wheeling a stack of boxes into his store. A couple of minutes later, the store manager stepped outside holding a small box.

  “This has your name on it, John. Is it for the store?”

  Barnet took the Amazon package. “No, it’s mine. I ordered a new external hard drive.”

  “Good idea. I need to back up my laptop. I don’t trust this cloud thing.”

  “Me neither. Those guys are going to get hacked like everybody else.”

  “Only a matter of time. I gotta go. The Southern Wine truck is out back with a delivery.”

  Barnet took ten more minutes of sun before going back into the store. He went straight to his office and locked the door. He eased his tall frame into a chair and opened the package. Fingering the tiny device, Barnet marveled at how much smaller it was than the one he’d used before. He slipped the thumb-sized unit and charging cord into his breast pocket and threw the packing materials, after tearing them into small pieces, into the trash.

  Stroking his Van Dyke, Barnet ran through his idea to buy time again. Satisfied there were no holes in it, he decided the sooner the better. It was Friday and he’d see Marilyn later, as usual. Tonight would be the night.

  Chapter 10

  Marilyn nuzzled up to Barnet, snaking her hand down his thighs. When Barnet didn’t react, she straightened up.

  “What’s the matter, John?”

  “I don’t know, not feeling up to it I guess.”

  “Did you drink too much again?”

  “No, it’s the first bottle.”

  She got off the couch. “Oh, well, maybe we just need to open another then.”

  “Or maybe we just need a little excitement to get things going, you know, a little kickoff help.”

  “I certainly hope you’re not talking about any kind of drugs, John. You know I don’t engage in those types of activities.”

  “No way; you know the only drug for me is wine.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “It’s nothing to get crazy about. So, don’t get mad or anything.”

  Marilyn crossed her arms. “I don’t like the sound of this, John.”

  “Forget it then.”

  “Now that you brought it up, you’ve got to tell me.”

  “Well, I just thought, you know, something to start a little spark to get me going.”

  “I’m offended you need more than me to get things going, John. Frankly, it’s hurtful.”

  “That’s the point, it’s nothing more than you.”

  Marilyn sat down next to John and ran her hand through his curly hair. “That’s so sweet of you. So, what, inspiration shall we say, are you referring to?”

  John reached into his rear pocket and pulled his phone out. Holding it horizontally, he hit play and a video jumped to life. When Marilyn saw herself naked with her ankles in the air, she screamed, “Oh my God! What have you done?”

  “It’s nothing, just—”

  Marilyn jumped off the couch. “Nothing? That’s me. We . . . we . . . that’s personal. How could you do that to me?”

  “I was only—”

  “Only what? You filmed me without my permission!”

  Barnet shrugged. “I knew you’d say no.”

  “So, you went ahead anyway? And I’m supposed to be fine with that?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate it, sort of a memento. I think our time together is special.”

  “It was; now I’m not so sure.”

  “Come on, Marilyn you’re making too big a thing about this. Everybody does it.”

  “I thought you knew Marilyn Boggs is not just anybody.”

  “I do. You’re very special to me.”

  “I want that video, John, and I want it now. It’s got to be deleted. If that ever gets into the wrong hands I’d be destroyed, and the family would be disgraced.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Look, I’ll delete it now if it makes you feel better.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “You sure you don’t want to see the whole thing? There’s a really good part a little further on.”

  “What’s wrong with you, John Barnet? Destroy the damn thing now or it’s over between us.”

  “All right already. I just thought . . . but, forget it. It wasn’t such a good idea, I guess.”

  “It’s totally offensive. I can’t believe you did it.”

  “I’m sorry, really, I was just trying to, I don’t know, I thought it might be fun.”

  “Fun? Are you losing your mind, John?”

  He hung his head. “Believe me, I didn’t mean to upset you, Marilyn. It was a mistake. I see that now, and I apologize for doing it.” Barnet took the phone and hit delete. “It’s gone now. Can you forgive me?”

  Chapter 11

  Gideon Brighthouse

  I came in from a long walk on the beach. It was so peaceful, I’d forgotten about how hot it was. A swi
m in the pool would be perfect. I decided to grab a towel and take a dip.

  Sliding a door open, I saw a package on my desk and perked up. The Jasper Johns notebooks I purchased from the Sotheby’s auction had arrived. It was wonderful to be able to submit your bids online and not have to deal with going in person.

  Approaching the desk, I could see the Sotheby package, but what was the other parcel? Picking up the package, it felt empty. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the top off the plastic envelope. Inside was a harder plastic enclosure. When I saw the Russian lettering, I dropped the package and scanned the area.

  Shivering with the realization the mushrooms had arrived, I began pacing the room. Keeping this in the closet as I had planned didn’t feel right anymore. Could it be toxic, just breathing around it? Could you even trust the Russians to package it correctly? They probably didn’t care. I’d have to Google if these mushrooms emit fumes that are harmful. Was it even safe to touch without gloves?

  What the heck did I get myself involved in? I should just discard them before it’s too late. Oh man, what was I thinking? No way I can go through with this. Inhaling deeply, I told myself to calm down. I was about to plop on the sofa when I realized I was sweaty and headed up for a shower.

  Halfway up the stairs, I made a U-turn and came down. Grabbing a dish towel from the kitchen, I wrapped the mushroom package in it. After slipping it in the cabinet beneath the cooktop, I went back up the stairs.

  While showering, I thought through a bunch of hiding places. I needed somewhere the housekeepers wouldn’t find it. Keeping it outside the house made sense, but I couldn’t risk the maintenance crew uncovering it.

  Every place I considered had flaws. Toweling off, I mentally rummaged through idea after idea, rejecting them all as I got dressed and went downstairs.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I remembered this TV show where a killer had kept poison in his kitchen’s spice rack. It was nervy, but I liked it and settled on keeping it in plain sight when a delivery man knocked and slid open a door. He was carrying the pool house’s weekly floral arrangement.