Amy King Cozy Mysteries- The Complete Series

by N. C. Lewis

  Since January, the US markets are down over ten percent. Asian markets fell overnight. European markets are down this morning, with the FTSE in London down one percent on the day. Our economics correspondent, Matt Duncan, explains what is at the root of the sell-off…

  "Noel is in for a difficult few months," Amy said, staring at the television long after Nick had turned it off. "If the markets keep falling, he may be out of a job."

  Nick thought Amy might be onto something and added, "I'm sure he knows more about the financial status of Battles Equity Partners than he has let on. They must be under pressure—Everyone is when the markets fall."

  Chapter 9

  At nine thirty Nick drove to Saint Mary's. It was only a twenty-minute journey, even with the tail end of the morning rush-hour traffic. He pulled into a visitor parking lot space, then strolled leisurely along the sidewalk to the entrance of the hospital. It was a modern place, all gleaming white walls, wide corridors with medical staff scurrying this way and that.

  Nick was early, just the way he liked it. As a detective in the executive protection unit, it always paid to arrive a little early; that way he could get oriented to a place. He was observing things now as he made his way along the corridor to a bank of elevators. The nurse was hurrying by him and around a corner—probably late for the start of her shift. Then there was the middle-aged man with a bouquet and fixed stare, moving almost as swiftly as the nurse—visiting a sick relative.

  His keen observational skills had come in useful as a detective in the executive protection unit. It was one of those teams in the Austin Police Department that was almost impossible to get into. He'd secured his spot on the recommendation of a retired detective, Alfred Thomas. He loved working in the small unit and meeting wealthy and influential business people.

  Nick had been with the unit for ten years and had recently considered leaving the Austin Police Department, taking early retirement. The heart attack had changed everything, brought his life into sharp focus. Earlier, he'd spoken with Amy about downsizing, touring the country, and settling in Florida. Now, he didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted to remain a detective in the executive protection unit. He decided this was the life for him and he would stay in the unit until he retired.

  All he needed was the all clear from the doctor, and he'd return to work. He felt good and hoped the medical tests would confirm that.

  Nick stepped into the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a hospital orderly, stooped and wizened. "Detective Thomas!" Nick gasped.

  "Retired," the old man replied, half turning to glance at Nick. "Pleased you pulled through your heart trouble. I was praying for a speedy recovery."

  "Amy mentioned she saw you." Nick had worked under Alfred Thomas in his early days as a detective. He'd been a mentor and a good friend. For a year or two after Alfred retired Nick had stayed in contact, but over recent years had lost touch.

  "Yup, I saw the paramedics bring you in and hung around the reception area until Amy arrived. This is a big hospital. I didn’t want her getting lost, not with all that stress she was under."

  "Thank you." Nick paused. "And you work—"

  Alfred interrupted. "Yes. I joined the hospital staff two years ago. When I retired I had big plans to travel and settle in Cape Coral, Florida." He half turned. "Never got around to that. I like it here in Austin, but after a year or two playing golf with other old-timers, life becomes a little dull. This job keeps me active, and I get to meet some interesting people."

  "Good for you," said Nick, and he meant it.

  "What about you, Nick; how are you doing healthwise?"

  "Feeling good. On my way to a medical check-up."

  "Guess you have stepped down from the department. What are you thinking of doing next?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" Alfred asked with a look of concern.

  Nick grinned. "I'm not stepping down."

  "Good for you."

  The elevator door opened. Nick turned to Alfred. "Why don’t we meet up for a drink? Are you free Thursday evening around seven?"

  "Sure."

  "The old place?"

  "The old place," Alfred echoed.

  Nick stepped out of the elevator. He'd reconnected with an important friend who, through the busyness of work, he'd let slip away. He wouldn't let that happen again. Not with Alfred Thomas, the man who saved his life. Nick was a rookie then, chased a villain down a dead end without his gun, only to find himself staring at the sharp end of a knife. Alfred showed up as the villain struck at Nick. "A close call," Nick said under his breath.

  "Always have back-up and your gun before you chase after the bad guys," Alfred had said.

  After that, Nick always did.

  ◆◆◆

  "Mr. King, the doctor will see you now," said the receptionist. "Room 237B. Along the hallway, second door on the left."

  Thirty minutes later, Nick left room 237B beaming. The doctor had said, "Take the first few weeks easy and build up. Mr. King, you are good to go. See you in three months."

  Nick was elated as he strolled back to the elevators. He was also enormously relieved that Amy had encouraged him to take it easy after the operation. If she hadn't, he was sure the results of the medical tests would not have been so positive, and now he knew he was ready to get back to work. He wasn't ready to give up his badge.

  The elevator door opened on the ground floor. Nick stepped out into the lobby, pulled out his cell phone and called the police department.

  "The all clear, you say," said Lieutenant Kostopoulos. "Report to my office tomorrow at nine thirty."

  "Yes, sir," Nick replied with a little more enthusiasm than intended.

  "And Detective King."

  "Yes."

  "Well done."

  Chapter 10

  Some people never retire. Barry Battles was thinking about this as he stared into a mirror in his executive office on Congress Avenue and fiddled with his signature bow tie. The bow tie, in the burnt-orange color of the University of Texas, came out on special occasions, and today was a special occasion, his fifty-fifth birthday.

  Barry, a big-boned, tubular-shaped man with a booming voice, prided himself on being the first in generations of Battles to attend college. The first to go into business, and the first to make a fortune trading in the financial markets. This glass and steel ten-story building, his headquarters on Congress and Seventh, was a towering testimony to his financial success.

  It was almost noon, and even though the partners of the firm had gathered from across the globe and were waiting in the conference room, he was in no hurry. Let them wait. The birthday celebration wouldn't start without him.

  Several factors had converged in recent months to convince him that retirement from Battles Equity Partners was the right course to follow. For one thing, there was his personal fortune locked in equity tied to the firm. The sliding economy had diminished it substantially, and he wanted to get out before it became worthless. He'd sell his equity to the other partners in the firm. Let them take the hit!

  Then again, there'd been his political aspirations. He'd bankrolled a posse of Texas politicians and now wanted to throw his hat in the ring for a statewide office. There were signs the electorate was looking for a change, a new hero on a white horse. Barry Battles didn't want to miss that opportunity.

  So, he would announce his intention to step down as the head of Battles Equity Partners, leaving the company in the hands of the next generation—men and women whom he'd personally trained in his ruthless way of doing business. See the competition, kill the competition, every last son of a gun.

  There was only one thing left to do now: announce his decision to the gathered partners. Barry adjusted his bow tie and flipped on the radio.

  The economy slowed again last quarter. Economists are predicting a recession within the next twelve months. Markets fell for the tenth straight week…

  Barry felt his heartbeat quicken, a pang of… he wa
sn't sure what. For months the financial news reports had warned of the end of the longest economic boom since the Second World War. Now with a slowing economy came the threat of falling house prices and stock market collapse.

  A weak knock came on his office door. It opened a crack.

  "Sir, are you ready?" asked his personal assistant, peering nervously at her boss. She was not much more than twenty-five with curly black, shoulder-length hair, skin the color of caramel, hazel eyes with large eyelashes like a film star, and a figure to match.

  Barry switched off the radio, and his dark eyes traveled slowly along the length of her body, lingering on her large breasts, then continuing down her shapely legs. "Have you booked our hotel suite for this evening?"

  "Yes, sir." She giggled. Then she remembered the meeting. "Everyone is waiting for you. Are you ready?"

  "Doris, whose birthday party is this?" he snapped. "Look around you. All that you see, I created. I built this company from scratch with a thousand-dollar loan. Let them wait!"

  "Yes, sir," Doris said with a little giggle, softly closing the door.

  Fear. Barry realized if the markets continued to fall investors would begin to withdraw money from his investment fund. It wouldn’t be long before they realized there wasn't enough cash to pay everyone, not nearly enough. He broke out into a cold sweat, searched through his desk drawer for a green bottle. It held St. John's Wort. He swallowed two capsules chased down by a shot of whiskey on ice. Then he buried his head in his hands and sat for some time thinking hard.

  He poured another shot, downed it in one gulp, crunching the ice between his teeth. It helped, but it didn't change anything.

  From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a slim vial, tipping the white powdery contents onto a slip of paper. Again, he reached into his jacket pocket, this time retrieving a short plastic tube. He leaned forward, low over the powder, and placed the tube up his left nostril.

  He inhaled.

  The hit was instant.

  He was ready now.

  Chapter 11

  Amy King sat anxiously in the executive reception area of Battles Equity Partners twisting and untwisting a linen handkerchief. Doris had said Mr. Battles would give her five minutes. Amy had waited an hour and still she hadn't met him. Now, she was getting a little panicked. Would he like the staging's her new company, Studio Shoal Seven had created in his office and back at his guest cottage? If there were any last-minute adjustments, she needed to know now.

  "Doris, is everyone assembled?" Barry Battles asked striding into the reception area, his arms swinging loosely at his side.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good, now run along and settle them down. I'll be through in a moment."

  "Okay, sir," Doris replied, hurrying from the executive reception area, along a wood-paneled hallway, and into the ultra-modern meeting room. It seated three hundred people in theater-style seats arranged in long rows and was only used for the company annual meeting.

  "Mrs. King," Barry said, extending his hand. "You come highly recommended."

  "Thank you," Amy replied handing him a business card. Her new staging business was already gaining a growing clientele list, Barry Battles' firm being one of the most prestigious.

  Barry examined the business card and smiled a faint superior smile. "Doris has given you instructions?"

  "Yes. I've set up the meeting room here, and later this afternoon the guest cottage at your home will be ready for the evening reception."

  "Good." He turned to look at a painting on the wall. "I want a law library look for the cottage office, dusty journals and old books. Got it?"

  "Yes. Doris gave us full instructions, and I would like to know your thoughts on—"

  But Barry Battles was already striding along the hallway to the conference room.

  Amy let out a frustrated sigh because she'd hoped to have more time with Mr. Battles. Running a staging business was all so new, and she could only hope he liked her design. She reached for her cell phone and dialed Danielle Sánchez, her assistant.

  Danielle picked up on the first ring. "Amy girl! You called at the right time; I'm just taking a break."

  "How are things going at the cottage?"

  "Great, the furniture has arrived and is being put in place according to our plan. We might have too many books though. How did it go with Mr. Battles, did he give you any last-minute instructions?"

  "I got to speak with him for like ten seconds, then he rushed off!"

  "Did you get any feedback on the layout of the cottage office?"

  "No, not really, but he did emphasize lots of dusty books."

  Danielle could hear the disappointment in her friend's voice. "Really, Amy, how can we give our best to clients if they aren’t prepared to spend time going over their own requirements?" Danielle wore her heart on her sleeve and didn't pull any punches. The skill came in useful in her regular job as a teaching assistant in an elementary school, but often caused problems when dealing with highly strung clients. "If he is unhappy with the result he has only got himself to blame."

  "Let's do the best we can with what we have got," Amy said, trying to sound positive, but when she hung up, she felt somewhat dispirited and wondered if she had done the right thing accepting Mr. Battles as a client. Next time she would do a little more vetting—speak with the client directly rather than their personal assistant.

  "Ah, Mrs. King," Doris said returning to the reception area. "I've got to say you have done a splendid job with The Great Room. Mr. Battles will be very pleased."

  Amy was dubious. "Do you think he'll even notice?"

  "Of course. Mr. Battles notices everything." She gave a sly smile and wiggled her hips. "If he is happy with your performance the rewards are outstanding."

  Amy knew Mr. Battles was well connected and hoped he would recommend her services. "Great, we've done the best we can. I hope you will put in a good word for Studio Shoal Seven."

  "I'd be delighted." She pointed along a hallway. "We are having a birthday celebration today, and since it's his fifty-fifth, the entire senior team is here. That's over one hundred people. Battles Equity Partners has offices in London, New York, Paris, and Beijing. The partners have lined up some special activities for Mr. Battles. Your services are only part of what promises to be a very special day."

  A buzzer sounded in the hallway.

  "What's that?" Amy asked, concerned it might be a fire alarm and glancing toward the emergency exit. It was seven flights of stairs to street level. If anything went wrong, she wanted a head start.

  Doris seemed unconcerned. "Oh, that's the signal for all workers to go to the conference room; Mr. Battles is about to speak." She glanced around furtively and lowered her voice. "There's a rumor Barry is about to retire. Come on, you may as well join us; this will be fun."

  Chapter 12

  Inside the conference room, Amy sat next to Doris in the back row near the door. She scanned the room for her son-in-law, Noel Laird. The front row was filled with important looking people wearing expensive business suits. Noel sat in the third row.

  "The first row is the senior management team," Doris whispered. "One will take over when he steps down."

  The lights dimmed. Barry Battles approached the lectern. He paused for a moment, nodding and acknowledging various people in the first row. "Thank you for gathering here today to celebrate my birthday," Barry began in a booming voice. "As many of you know I founded this company from a thousand-dollar loan." He gazed around the room and gestured to the audience to clap.

  The entire front row jumped to their feet, smacking their hands together with enthusiasm. They understood the drill. Soon everyone was on their feet and the meeting had the atmosphere of a political rally. The only thing we need now, thought Amy, is red, white, and blue balloons to descend from the ceiling.

  Barry, sensing the anticipation in the gathered employees, continued, "Without Barry Battles, all y'all would be seeking employment. It is because of me you are here today." H
e paused and lowered his voice. "I founded this company. I built the company. If Warren Buffet can lead Berkshire Hathaway well into his eighties, I can lead Battles Equity Partners well into my sixties. Today, at fifty-five, I am letting you know I will not be retiring from the company but remaining at the helm to steer the ship into the bright future that lies ahead."

  Again, he signaled the audience to clap.

  They did so, now somewhat muted.

  An urgent clanging sounded throughout the building. "Fire alarm," shouted Doris. "Please make your way down the stairwells to the exit. We'll gather in the plaza at the front of the building and continue our meeting."

  Amy was on her feet and heading out of the door when a hand touched her elbow. She half turned to see Doris at her side. "Don't worry," Doris whispered. "It is a false alarm, part of the birthday celebrations."

  The sun hid behind low gray clouds with the temperature in the mid-eighties, as the workers streamed out into the courtyard. Two large piles of folding chairs stood in untidy heaps alongside a low wall planted with green shrubs. A tall, skinny man with a small nose and squinting eyes directed the staff to take a chair and form a circle with him in the center. Amy recognized him as Abay Gómez, Barry Battles' second-in-command.

  Obediently, the crowd picked up their chairs, and within a few minutes, they sat in a large circle around Abay. Those without chairs leaned against the low walls that surrounded the plaza. Amy's eyes darted across the gathering crowd, hoping to spot Noel, but she didn’t see him.

  Abay waved at Doris who scurried over to hand him a microphone. "Over here, Barry," he called. "Over here, birthday boy."

  Barry, who had been standing by an entrance talking to a sharp-faced man in a pinstriped suit, strode over. Once he was in the middle of the circle, Abay raised his hands for silence. "One, two, three." The sound of Scottish bagpipes floated through the air. Everyone glanced around. Six clowns wearing kilts, playing the "Happy Birthday" song, marched into the plaza. As they grew closer, and the windy bagpipe noise louder, Abay began to sing along, encouraging the crowd to join in.