Mouth of the Rat (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) (2 page)

I sighed. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“The US Marshall’s office, DEA, and FBI were brought in for a special narcotics case and Marco’s protection.”

“For what?”

“He was a mother lode of drug network info, but in the process of being debriefed, something kept happening.”

“And what was that?”

“After a few weeks, he kept getting shot at.”

“What about all that protection?”

“No matter where he was relocated, it kept happening.”

“Sounds like he was used for target practice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“How many shooting incidents were there?”

“Guess?”

I sat there and shook my head, still playing catch up.

“Three before that fourth, then a fatal one after that.”

“Sounds like the fourth was different than the rest.”

“It was. That was when he shot himself.”

“Shot himself?”

“No one anticipated that happening, especially me.”

I eyed the wine bottle. She was talking in circles.

“Like I said, it was unanticipated,” she repeated.

“…Did he shoot himself accidentally?”

Mona gave a half smile. “…You might say that.”

By this time, I was pouring. I couldn’t keep up.

“One day I unexpectedly walked in on him.”

“Keep talking.”

“Startled, he dove for the gun on his table. It went off.”

“He wasn’t supposed to have a gun, was he?”

“He thought I was someone
else
walking in on him.”

I took a guess. “But the gun didn’t surprise you, did it?”

“Sam, how do I get mixed up with these losers?”

“Let me guess. You seem to have a gift for it?”

“…There’s more. That gun was
mine
.”

Chapter 4

A Complexity Of Perplexity

“How about giving me more background on this?”

She gave a sigh. “We met through some friends.”

I gave her an arched brow. “Friends?”

“…Who shall remain nameless at the moment. I was in the area, and, while visiting these
friends
, attended an art reception and was introduced to Marco.”

“Interesting, someone who was involved in narcotics and an art lover, too. Sounds perfectly compatible to me.”

“Hey, I had no idea at the time about the narcotics angle. He said he had a small art gallery in Boca and I should stop by someday to see it.”

“And a relationship developed?”

“A hot one, Sam, a strictly fast lane kind of thing.”

“What other kind of relationships have you ever had?”

“Hey, I do the best I can, considering.”

She was driving me crazy. “Considering what?”

“Considering I tend to get screwed in my relationships.”

“The error quotient never tipped in your favor, did it?”

“Hey, we all make mistakes.”

“You especially. So you didn’t see this coming?”

“No! After being glued to each other for a few weeks, we had a trust thing going on, or so I thought at the time. When Marco confided in me about his ex-wife and how dangerous she was, being
connected
and sending her thugs to threaten him because she found out he went to the Feds about her, he feared he’d never make it to trial.”

“But how did the gunshot-thing come into play?”

“After being relocated and getting shot at the second time, even I was concerned he’d never make it to trial.”

“And?”

“He became obsessed about his personal safety.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“Then he got shot at again. Since the Feds were having a difficult time covering his back, he thought there could be a possible leak, and I guess he reconsidered his options.”

“I’d reconsider mine, too.”

“I have a Florida permit to carry. When I forgot my gun one day, he grabbed it. The Feds had a field day with that. Afterward he felt he had to temporarily place his cars and condo with someone he could trust and I was that person.”

“You mean the ex found out about his cars?”

“Yes. An added incentive for knocking him off.”

“Sounds like she knew the
what
, but not the
where
. But that still doesn’t explain you marrying him.”

“To make it legal,” she said. “Hidden assets, alimony.”

What legalities ever stopped a mobster before?
Uh-uh.

“…There’s something else you need help with, right?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Now, Mona. With you, there’s always more. You and I both know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“…You’re right. That’s why I needed someone I trust.”

I was curious what she was after. Then it dawned on me what was conveniently missing from this equation.

“No one in the witness protection program knows about the cars, marriage arrangement, or condo
yet,
do they?”

She shrugged. “…Well, no, not really, not yet.”

I figured, I’d better get this over with.

“So what’s my part in all this supposed to be?”

“You have to help me find his Uncle Carlos.”

“His Uncle Carlos? What does he have to do with this?”

“That’s who Marco wanted me to sign over the condo and car collection to, should anything happen to him. It’s the least I can do for him. Then I’ll tell the authorities.”

“Didn’t you ask why he didn’t give it to him directly?”

“Blinded by love, my common sense was not in play.”

To tell you the truth, it was worse than I thought.

I forged ahead anyway. “You want me to find this Uncle Carlos so you don’t draw attention to yourself with the feds, his ex, or her thugs, am I correct in assuming that?”

“My plan should work, but there’s another snag.”

“Why am I not surprised? I won’t like this, will I?”

“No. I don’t know where the cars are either. I do know the bills of sale are in one of their glove compartments.”

“Are you serious? You are asking the impossible.”

“I know, but I’m desperate and you’re perfect for this.”

“Does the ex know about your marriage?”

“So far, no, but if she finds out, all bets are off.”

“Do you think she’d be upset if she found out?”

“Are you kidding? Wife or not, Marco said she’d kill for those cars. He said they’re worth a small fortune. I want out before she finds out about my connection to them. I’ll do what I can covertly at my end, but I need
you
to help me find his Uncle Carlos and those cars before I’m shot.”

An impossible mission, plus hormones and thugs!

Chapter 5

Getting Started, But Not Really

This scheme of Mona’s was wearing on me already. I tossed and turned all night long. Every creak and noise had me listening for an intruder; someone who would finish us both off and no one would know the reason why. I had to be insane to do this. Why had I finally agreed to help Mona find this Uncle Carlos? Oh, yeah, I think it had something to do with the two bottles of wine we polished off around midnight, laughing and reminiscing about old times.

Mona should have been in sales. Her specialty was explaining something away to make it sound like you had thought of it in the first place and the whole thing made perfect sense. It certainly felt that way last night, but in the glaring morning light I was having second thoughts.

Mona said Carlos belonged to the same country club community. All I had to do was find his name in the roster of members, right? Not that simple. Marco said his uncle
changed
his name to sound more American so he would fit in, but Marco died before he ever told Mona the new name.

At this point, I was thinking of changing mine.

I had absolutely no leads whatsoever in a sea of about two thousand members. The Boca Mesa Golf and Country Club boasted a spa, dining room, card rooms, golf course, tennis courts, book club, and who knew what else?

The main question was where do I start? I would be a thirty-something in a pool of seniors. As far as fitting in with the rest of them, I was a goner. I had already made a few calls and came up empty-handed.

Mona was no help whatsoever. She was still caught up answering the Fed’s questions in the follow-up on Marco’s death. Would they be watching me, too? It didn’t appear I had much time to round up this Uncle Carlos. I figured maybe a week at most before his ex connected the dots.

Great! Now I had a deadline and no leads
.

I breathed in and stretched. I’d been typing up what sketchy notes I managed to squeeze out of Mona so far.

First off, Uncle Carlos was in his sixties to eighties.

Perfect. This was just what I needed, a useless clue.

That narrowed the field down to, let’s see, a possible thirty-year spread, anywhere from sixty to eighty-nine.

Why didn’t Marco at least give Mona a first name?

There was no clear description other than he was older and very talkative. That fit about 85% of the members. I pressed her for sports. No go. Mona didn’t know.

“How about his uncle’s hobbies?” I’d asked.

“He likes to eat, and
eat early.”

She actually made this remark with a straight face.

Well that summed up a majority of the retirees living in the whole state of Florida. I was dead in the water. No way would I find this guy in under a week. There had to be another way of approaching this. I sat there, mulling it over, and then smiled. Why think logically? I grabbed my cell and dialed my own personal, 911, senior hotline.

I had met my own
senior consultant,
Martha, in Highlands after I opened an antiques shop there as a cover to mingle with the locals for the sole purpose of finding out who might have killed my husband. I had felt his history there would help me solve the mystery of his suspicious death. After hiring Martha as an employee, I was surprised to find she knew Stephen most of his life and so she became a major player in how I finally got my answers.

Through my last few books, she’s been both a hindrance and a godsend. In other words, she absolutely drove me crazy with her antics, but I still loved her to death in spite of that. I must also add she has an eccentric side.

That alone should have given me pause a long time ago, but I figured for a seventy-something woman with short spikey-white hair, a size four like me, who was shockingly fashion-challenged, crazier and sharper than a fox, but quite entertaining, I’d keep her around for a while. She was always reminding me that age had nothing to do with having a good time, and that living on the edge made all the difference. And believe me, with her I found myself living on the edge quite a lot.

But even after being at the edge more times than I care to recall, I still completely trusted her judgment and her take on the predicament I found myself in. This time her so-called expertise in the senior citizen arena could prove to be exactly what I needed to knock off another book.

That is hopefully before I got knocked off first.

Chapter 6

Mapping Out The Impossible

“Well,” said a sarcastic voice. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

I chuckled, knowing Martha was baiting me with that tone. I could tell she loved the place and the view of the golf course because she was grinning after stepping in.

“Need any help?” I asked, eyeing her five suitcases.

“No, I packed light this time. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“I had a feeling you’d call me sooner or later.”

I dragged the heaviest of the five further in. “Oh, yeah?”

“I knew you’d be drowning in my specialty,
retirees
.”

I laughed. “I figured I had to bring in the big guns.”

She pulled me into a firm hug. “That’s my girl.”

Mona joined us. “Well, I guess it was inevitable.”

Martha gave her a skeptical look. “What was?”

“Once Sam explained the situation, you came running.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Martha, with all this dating potential here?”

“Didn’t give it a second thought. I’m here to help.”

“Yeah, and I’m one hundred and ten pounds.”

Martha snorted. “In your dreams, sister!”

I interceded. “How about we handle all this luggage?”

Mona finally gave Martha a hug, saying, “Ciao, baby.”

Martha jerked back. “Let’s stick to English.”

“My, you are touchy,” said Mona, innocently.

Then Martha whispered to me, “Keep an eye on her.”

I winked, chuckling. “Don’t I always?”

Mona pointed at the hallway. “Seek and ye shall find.”

“Some hostess you are,” said Martha, waving her off.

After dinner, we sat sipping wine, a favorite pastime of ours while we caught up on the latest gossip. But Mona was on the quiet side and I didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Looking straight at Mona, Martha brought up what was discussed at dinner. “What did you hope to accomplish once you found this Uncle Carlos?”

“I figured that I’d legally hand over the car collection and sign off on the condo, why?”

“Have you ever thought there might not be a Carlos?”

Mona shot her a look. “Hey, what are you suggesting?”

Martha and I glanced at each other.

Were we lied to in the past? Would we be lied to again?

Mona was clearly looking for encouragement and help.

“He probably was telling you the truth,” said Martha.

Mona slumped back in her chair. “I sure hope so.”

I smiled. “Now you’ve got us watching your back.”

“And several other thugs and one bitch,” she said.