No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7) (6 page)

Chapter 21

UPS?

“UPS? He works for UPS?” I said to Clay after the guy departed a few minutes later. “What kind of money are they paying those guys anyway?”

“Apparently enough spare change to splurge on a five thousand dollar painting,” replied Clay in amazement.

“…You’d look quite fetching in brown shorts,” I chided.

Clay chuckled. “I’m sticking to my day job.”

“Which is?” I asked, curious how he’d describe it.

“Delivering the goods
on
the bad guys, not
to
them.”

I arched a brow. “I hear
your
fringe benefits are nice.”

He reached over and kissed me. “They sure are.”

After catching my breath and the waiter’s attention for our check, I said, “His story is unlike Lenny’s. He had an entirely different painting delivered to him.”

“It could be as simple as Anne mislabeling again.”

“I don’t know, Clay. Why now? Why these people?”

“If not packing, maybe it’s the shipper?” he suggested.

“This is all over the map.”

“Which might include delivery vendors.”

“We have to find out.” I said.

I shoved away my plate and grabbed my laptop.

Clay asked, “What are you doing now?”

“Making some lists and checking them twice.”

“Good idea, while details are still fresh.”

I looked from my laptop to him. “Ah, we agree.”

“Besides, we wouldn’t want our bed to distract us.”

I glanced up at him, grinning, then quickly focused on my notes. My face flushed. I had just typed a bunch of gibberish. I hit delete and rewrote my last two lines.

“Let’s try and focus, please,” I said, composing myself.

Clay reached out for my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I looked back up at him, searching for the joke. There was none that I could detect from his demeanor. “Me too.”

He pulled his chair in closer, whispering, “I’m horny.”

I laughed. “Can’t you just focus for once?”

“Not with you sitting there so demure like that.”

I squinted at him. “There’s nothing demure about me.”

“Okay, sitting there so sexy-looking. How’s that?”

“Better,” I admitted, trying to suppress a grin.

He slowly stroked my hand with his thumb.

I was approaching overload
. “…Oh, much better.”

He then slowly worked his thumb up my arm. My pulse quickened. “…Oh, you’re on a winning streak now.”

Our eyes locked.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted.

“Why don’t the two of you go get a room?”

We both turned at the same time then jumped up.

“Martha!” Clay exclaimed, hugging her.

“How did you find us?” I asked, hugging her too.

She pointed. “I noticed the steam on those windows.”

Clay cracked up. “Good timing.”

“I’ll say!” She quickly took out her cell phone and began punching in numbers. “Let me call Betty and Hazel to say I found you. They’re with the cops over at the Worth Gallery. The alarm went off.”

Chapter 22

Why didn’t You Call Us?

“Why didn’t you just call us?” I asked Martha.

“I called you both. Check your voicemails,” she said.

Clay paid the waiter then checked his cell. “Damn.”

“What?” I asked as I quickly checked mine.

“Forgot to charge it. Battery’s dead. And you?”

I sighed. “I had it on vibrate when I went back up to the loft in case the intruder came back for another visit.”

Our eyes shared a realization
. They did!
I scrambled with my jacket and laptop, while Clay slung his jacket on.

Martha blocked us. “Lucky guess on my part in finding you. You both have some explaining to do when this is all said and done, don’t you think?” She then stepped aside, letting Clay and I lead the way. “Come on, let’s get going!”

We arrived to flashing squad car lights in front of Worth Gallery. Betty and Hazel stood by the entrance talking to an officer; another one waited out on the sidewalk. We went over to Betty and Hazel.

“Lucky she found you so fast,” said the officer.

I hugged the two ladies, while Clay showed his ID and key then explained he was temporarily running the Worth Gallery for Alicia and Chris. The officer followed all of us inside to have a look around.

“Check to see if anything might be missing,” he said.

Clay and I stood there, reading each other’s thoughts. It looked exactly like we had left it an hour and a half ago. The previous intruder had shone his flashlight on one wall of paintings: had not tried to steal anything.

Something else was going on besides robbery.

“What the…” Clay said, scratching his head, confused.

We then separated: me to the loft, he to the packing room. After several minutes we met back in the center of the gallery where everyone was waiting for us.

Clay shook his head. “Nothing seems to be missing or out of place. We’ll take precise inventory tomorrow by checking with Anne and Abby to be sure.”

The officer then turned to me. “What about you?”

“Everything is as I left it. The loft looks undisturbed.”

His pen was still poised over his pad. “…You sure?”

“I know it’s odd, but it sure looks that way,” said Clay.

Martha asked the officer, “What alerted you?”

“The alarm went off,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“When the three of us first got here,” said Martha, “we didn’t hear a thing. Before we knew it, you arrived. What kind of alarm was it?”

“Silent one. That’s why we questioned you ladies first.”

I looked at Clay, my eyes doing the asking.

He stared back with the same question to me.

Martha verbalized it. “Clay, you
set the alarm, right?”

Clay shook his head. “No! What a stupid mistake!”

“Well, if you didn’t,” said the Officer, “who set it?”

“That’s precisely what I’d like to know,” said Clay, now deeply disturbed.

“Why set it, making it look like a break in?” I asked.

“Good question,” said Clay.

“Looks like you two stepped in it again,” said Martha.

Chapter 23

A Quick Recap

Not wanting to bore you with too much background let me clarify the ladies’ past. If you haven’t had the pleasure (
and I use that term lightly, but lovingly)
of being exposed to Martha, Hazel and Betty, let me briefly introduce them.

I first met Martha in Highlands, NC when I investigated the mysterious death of my husband, Stephen. I hired her as my employee in my ruse of an antique shop to help learn who killed him. In the interim, I met Hazel and Betty who worked for Clay in his bookshop in Highlands: another ruse I’d learned about later. We all eventually became close then sleuthed ourselves through several cases. Even though the ladies are seventyish and I’m thirtyish, in the end, we found true friendship. Our age difference was and is irrelevant.

Martha is fashionably challenged, has spiky white hair, slim frame and an outrageous personality. Her sharp wit, mental aptitude and shrewdness, made her an extremely capable asset in taking some shots at the bad guys:
literally.

Trust me, some would make your hair stand on end too.

Tall and lean Betty sports her grey hair pulled back in a severe bun. Hazel is the polar opposite: height-challenged with short, curly-gray hair and is plump. Although genteel and old fashioned, both are extremely savvy, perceptive and have proven time and again how clever they are.

All three have been invaluable to me in solving crimes with their agile minds and wily ways through the toughest of times. I wouldn’t trade any of them. They are priceless and so is their humor, which always keeps me grounded.

After the police left, we sat in the old wingchairs in the gallery in front of a small fire Clay had started, snacking on crackers, cheese and sipping Sauvignon Blanc from the back room kitchen. After Clay brought my senior sleuths up to date on what had happened, we talked it through.

“A gallery that
was
, but
wasn’t
hit,” quipped Martha.

Hazel patted a napkin to her lips. “This is unbelievable!”

“An intruder who sets alarms,” said Betty. “Odd…”

“Maybe to distract us from what’s going on?” I asked.

“Of course!” said Hazel excitedly. “Confuse the facts.”

Martha jumped in, “If so, it’s a clever maneuver.”

“Why not?” I said nodding. “The art of deflection.”

Clay wasn’t convinced. “Deflection…meaning?”

“Maybe they were
putting back
something,” said Hazel.

“They were doing damage control: returning what you didn’t know was missing to begin with,” posed Betty.

“Because…?” asked Clay, now wanting to hear more.

“Maybe, they’re getting nervous,” posed Hazel.

My eyes scanned the gallery and the artwork as Clay spoke again then they spied the luggage:
lots
of it. That’s when I asked, “Hey
,
exactly
where
are you ladies staying?”

My senior trio turned to Clay, who suddenly went still.

Martha winked. “Right down the hall from you two.”

I smiled tightly and turned to Clay
.
“How convenient.”

Chapter 24

Sandra, Sandra

“…Sandra, Sandra,” I repeated. “Trust me, this will turn out to be a great mystery with a terrific twist.”

“The publisher’s not convinced it’ll sell,” my agent said.

I leaned back, closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. We had been going back and forth for several minutes on the phone. I was trying to gently coax and drive home the fact that this art angle was just the ticket to make my next mystery marketable. They weren’t buying it. The publisher was getting antsy for an exciting mystery: something that would pop. The market was tightening and book sales were lackluster. The exception: a select few.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t among that elite group
yet.

“…This is all you’ve got? Unbelievable!”

I ignored her expected jab. “Funny you should say that,” I said, “but someone made that exact comment yesterday. Only like, unbelievable, as in very excited.”

I had neglected to tell her it happened to be Hazel, but that was a minor detail that she didn’t need to be privy to. It was the sizzle I was pitching here: a visual impression for my publisher. Only the way Sandra reacted it was looking more like it was falling on doubtful publishing ears.

I was running out of reasons. I dug deeper: a last-ditch effort. “Have you ever been disappointed with me?”

I realized my snafu the minute it escaped my lips.

“I meant, have you ever been disappointed with the end result, you know, the final version of any of my books?”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

We went way back as friends. She’d seen me through the death of my husband and my world filled with doubt. Although tough when she needed to be, Sandra would go to bat for me with the publisher in my best interests.

“You got lucky,” was all she finally admitted.

But I heard the smile in her words and kept pushing.

“Listen, Sandra. I have this gut feeling that this will be an intriguing mystery once I solve it. Trust me.”

“Hmm…” was all she said.

Ah, I sensed her weakening: leaning in my direction.

“Besides, guess who is here to help?” I said excitedly.

“Who?” Sandra asked somewhat skeptical.

“Martha, Hazel and Betty!”

The minute those names were out of my mouth I heard her intake of breath on the other end of the line.

Uh-oh!
I may have overplayed my hand. She knew there would be trouble ahead with
“The Senior Special”
helping me out on any mystery. I had pushed the envelope too far.

“Now, Sam, you have to understand…”

When Stephen died Sandra fought with the publisher to give me some time then she guided me back to writing.

“Sandra, I know I’m pushing our friendship, but…”

“Okay, I’ve got your back. Just don’t disappoint me.”

“You won’t regret…”
I was talking to a dead line
.