Without Any Warning (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 2) (5 page)

Chapter 12

Liability And Responsibility

“I’ll be right there
,
” I yelled as I made my way down to the front door. Mona was out job-hunting, but I had my doubts, especially after that strange phone call I had intercepted. “I’m coming,” I said as I loped down the last steps. I swung the door open.

A good-looking woman greeted me with a smile. Her brightly colored red hair was held back neatly with a clip, like she was trying to repress her sexiness and attractiveness. She had a red designer jacket draped over her shoulders.

“Hi!” she said. “I’m Pat Harris, the agent who’s handling your lease. Sandra, your literary agent, and Bill, my boss, mentioned me, I’m sure. I wanted to stop by and introduce myself.”

The name took a second to register. “Why, of course!” I said. “Come on in. How nice to finally meet you.”

I had heard a lot about Pat from Sandra, who was also my friend. Sandra met Pat while on vacation in Ocean City, and immediately thought the house on the beach was the perfect getaway for me to write. All the others on the beach for long-term leases were booked so, in spite of it being four bedrooms, it would suit me perfectly.

Sandra had also said the woman was no-nonsense and all business—except for one thing. When she had gone with Pat for drinks after viewing the property late one day, she witnessed another side to this proper professional, observing a flashy personality that surprised her. I gave Pat the once-over, sort of doubtful about that. She looked normal to me.

Maybe Sandra was exaggerating. I guess hanging around fiction writers so much left Sandra with an active imagination. I found it very hard to picture this respectable woman, I’d say in her early forties, to be anything but what she presented herself as: pretty, straightforward and very business-like.

Pat looked around the foyer. “At the market, I heard some interesting news from a friend of mine who works on the police force. The word is you had quite an exciting evening the other night.”

I almost asked her which night, but caught myself as I figured she meant the broken statue episode. I tried to play it down. “Oh, that. It was completely my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I forgot to lock the cabana. It was a careless mistake. I’m really more careful than that and don’t know why it slipped my mind.”

Pat leaned in and lowered her voice. “Confidentially speaking? I also heard that’s not all you weren’t conscientious about,” she said, eyeing me meaningfully.

“Oh, the statue. Right. Believe me, all of it was purely accidental. It was pretty dark and I forgot it was there. I was nervous and then the baseball bat got in the way too, and then I turned too quickly and…”

Pat smiled. “I’m only advising you to be more careful next time, that’s all. You know, lock all the doors.”

“Look, I’m sorry for the damage. Was it very expensive?” I winced, expecting the worst.

She grinned. “Actually, you were quite lucky; it was only a reproduction. Besides, you look like you’re a responsible adult living alone. I’m sure it was exactly like you said, an accident. You don’t normally have these kinds of things happen to you all the time, now do you?”

I wasn’t going there. I didn’t have the nerve and my lips were sealed. Now that Mona was added to the mix, it might be a good idea to keep quiet. Like a kid, I crossed my fingers behind my back. “No, of course not!”

“Well, in that case, there shouldn’t be any further problems to be concerned about. Right?” She turned to leave. She hesitated at the doorway, staring back at me with a funny expression, as if trying to figure out the reason for my non-existent reply to her last question.

I quickly laughed. “My goodness! Absolutely not! I’ve got so much research I need to get done for my book. I can’t work unless it’s peaceful and quiet. You know how authors are.” I vigorously shook her hand goodbye.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” replied Pat, smiling. She started down the walkway, but then turned back again. “You know, after hearing about your wielding that metal bat of yours and then finally meeting you, I never would have pegged you for an athlete. I personally prefer wooden bats myself.”

Chapter 13

A Bill Here, A Bill There

After the initial shock of seeing how nearby these beach houses were to each other, I was still adjusting to their close proximity. Subsequent to being in the mountains and having my share of seclusion, this still seemed an oddity. Sandra had mentioned they made only so much beachfront. If I wanted the water and beach, I had better get used to it. I guess the lack of privacy to a certain extent was the price I had to pay if I wanted the spectacular view.

Raindrops glided sideways on the glass window in front of me. It was still lightly raining, forcing me to stick to my laptop and my book. So, I reluctantly reached for my notes to continue, but as I looked up, I noted some activity going on next door on the neighboring deck, adjacent to mine.

Two different sets of hands held two different umbrellas, two males observing the view. Both, I’d say, about six foot. I stared at them.
Hmmm. Interesting.

I noticed my realtor, Bill, when one umbrella turned, revealing his profile. We had met briefly on the phone when I first inquired about renting, and then later, after I made the initial trip down to view several properties and share a few dinners. He was a friendly guy, sporting a dark mustache and hair that was slightly graying a bit on the sides. After that trip, his leasing rep, Pat, verbally took it from there. To my surprise, Sandra’s former suggestion for a change of setting was perfect and just what I needed.

 
I sighed. It looked as if my solitude was about to be compromised by this renter. Curious, I craned my neck, but his umbrella and coat obscured anything more specific.

Great, just what I needed. Not only would I have to put up with Mona and her antics, but now I had to deal with an unknown variable thrown into the mix next door. Oh well. So much for my low profile and serenity plan for writing.

Maybe, if I ignored whoever it was, I would still be able to have a tolerable measure of peace and quiet. Regrettably, that might prove hard to do because our decks were only separated by a gap of about twelve feet or so.

Maybe I should move the desk back to the small bedroom, which faced the street. But this view was so pretty! I turned my attention back to my laptop and began to type some thoughts. Mona was proving to be a harder challenge to figure out than I had originally assumed. She kept information about her departures and returns to a minimum. Currently, she was gone for the day once again. I noticed that when she made these strange forays out into the unknown, she only returned occasionally to join me for dinner.

Her nervous chatter over the course of the meal seemed mindless and baffling. Something was definitely up, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I was proud of myself, in that I had not been reduced to going through her things in her room…
yet
.

As far as I was concerned, no harm was being done in my helping her out for a few weeks while she got her life together. As long as it didn’t interfere with mine, I was taking a wait and see attitude. In the meantime, the clock was slowly ticking away on my curiosity.

Now, I heard of going for numerous interviews, but why the long absences? Where was she disappearing? No. I could never do that. Follow her? After all, I had to give her some privacy. We went way back, but still, she had changed. Was she the one who I remembered from college?
…No!

My main questions at the moment were what had changed her? Where was she going? Why couldn’t I locate her in the past?
Why was she still being so evasive?

Out of habit, I minimized my word document for a moment, while I paused to pay some E bills online. My cursor blinked, as I slowly scanned down the screen. Suddenly, my hand froze at the sight of the amount on the next E bill. That was impossible!

Whoa!
Atlantic City? Can’t be! I quickly grabbed and thoroughly checked inside my wallet to verify what I was afraid I would find. I checked once again to make sure.

To my dismay, my credit card was, you guessed it,
missing!

Chapter 14

Being Pinched Where It Hurts

I was shocked. I had yet to set one foot in Atlantic City, but apparently my card went on a binge recently without me. I got hold of the fraud division of the credit card company and cancelled it.

They apologized for not calling to check to verify the charges and would issue a new card and number. ‘
Sorry for the inconvenience.’
I’d have it by mail in a day or two. My anti-theft insurance on the card had paid off.

On the other hand, apparently, I had not done well at the gaming tables at the Borgata. The withdrawal at the ATM and casino charges was mind-boggling. According to the total on my statement, I was not the greatest of gamblers.

Whoever used my card had apparently maxed out my limit. I checked the bill once again. My binge lasted exactly one day. It appeared that not only was I an unlucky gambler, but apparently, I went on a bender too. The bar tab was pretty impressive. I didn’t realize I had such a drinking problem. Or, maybe I had more friends then I realized.

Between the casino and the bar tab, I was apparently one lavish spender and suddenly a very popular customer, because my afternoon mail that day contained brochures for every casino in the whole area, all trying to entice me to spend my money at each and every one.

Did I mention the extravagant shows they offered too? On one of them, there was an invitation to go back stage and meet the stars personally after the performance.

I was starting to get real excited until I realized my drunken gambling days were numbered, now that my new probationary minimal limit would be kicking in with the new card. Annoyed and feeling totally violated, I decided it was time to take action and get moving on taking a closer look at the most obvious suspect, while asking myself the number one question of the day.

Now, who had the opportunity, took my card, and hit the Borgata?

Chapter 15

Room Number 707

So much for respecting other people’s privacy, close friends or not, I thought the next day, as I began tossing Mona’s personal things. I methodically went through all her dresser drawers and then both of her night tables. Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Not even a scrap of dirty laundry. I had to admit, she hadn’t changed one bit since college. Her room was meticulous, a hospital zone. She was a dream houseguest. Everything was perfectly folded and neatly stacked.

I started in on the closets, already knowing I would find shoes in precise rows and carefully hung clothes. Next, I plundered through her toiletries in the bathroom; tums, shampoo, conditioner, aspirin, blah, blah, blah. Nothing! I went back into the bedroom and bent down to look under the bed. Zip there too! I slowly spun around in a circle.

Now, where would I hide something I didn’t want someone else to find?

 
I walked up to a painting hanging on the wall opposite the bed. I gently lifted it off its hook and turned it around. A credit card? I eased off the tape, releasing the card and placed the painting temporarily on the bed. I checked my watch. Mona would be back shortly, so I had to move quickly. I peered at the card to take a closer look. No, it seemed to be some sort of hotel key card. I turned it over.

Aha! Finally!
The Borgata!
The only problem was what room? I spun around and suddenly spotted her purse strap peeking out from under her jacket on the chair that I had previously overlooked. She was currently on a bike ride on the boardwalk, and by chance, must have only taken her heavy fleece jacket.

I quickly emptied it on the bed and started pilfering through its contents. Comb. Cosmetics. Wallet! I stopped, opened it up and began methodically checking all the tiny compartments. I found a receipt for room service. I quickly scanned the receipt. Borgata. Room 707. My mouth fell open, as I read the signature.

…
Who was Paula Foster?

I jumped, as the garage door abruptly slammed shut.

“I’m back,” Mona called out.

Panic-stricken at the thought of being caught in the act, I quickly slipped the receipt back in her wallet and threw everything into her purse. Then I grabbed the key card and reattached it to the tape, pressing it carefully in place.

My breath caught, as she hit the first step.

I rushed to grab the painting and carefully placed it on its hanger and swung around to the bed, smoothing down her comforter nonchalantly and looked up, just as she appeared in the doorway.

She entered her room, surprised to find me there.

“Hi!” I greeted casually. How did the ride go?”

Mona nervously glanced around the room suddenly on high alert and replied, “…Great ride. …A little chilly today …but if you bundle up …it’s okay.”

I stood upright, laughing easily. “I don’t know why I even bother coming in here to straighten up. You are the neatest houseguest I have ever had. You haven’t changed one bit in all the years I have known you.”

Thank goodness I had an excuse and the forethought to bring up bottled water for her night table!

She just stared at me.

“Oh, and by the way, I brought up some bottled water for you for later on.”

She immediately relaxed, flinging her fleece and herself on the bed. “Sam, this is such a great room and wonderful bed, and I am so exhausted. I haven’t pedaled a bike so far in years. In the beginning, it was great, but then when I headed back; it felt like the longest two miles of my life. What a boardwalk!” she exclaimed, as her eyes gradually fluttered closed from total exhaustion. “…If you don’t mind…I think …I’ll just take a …quick …nap.”

Relieved, I smiled. “Hey, I’m going up to make lunch.” As I approached her door to leave her room, I turned back. “It should be ready in…” I paused, checking my watch, relieved and still smiling, and in seventh heaven at not being caught.

“Oh, let’s say, about …seven minutes. Okay?”