Without Any Warning (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 2) (9 page)

Chapter 26

Mona, Mon Ami And Me

I was ready for surveillance.
Hey, I’d read my share of old detective novels!
I slid on my sunglasses, black beret, and then tied my long, all-weather coat at the waist with a single objective in mind. The time had arrived for me to shadow Mona on one of her daily mystery disappearances.

I reached for the door handle, shouting I was going on errands, but instead, waited around the corner in my car, which was parked off to the side. It was raining so poor visibility was my perfect camouflage. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice me following a car or two behind her.

Within minutes, she eased on by. I lowered the newspaper I was using to shield myself and smoothly slipped into traffic two cars behind her. She headed north, and then followed as she drove over the toll bridge towards Atlantic City. I wondered if she was going back to the Borgata to meet with the mysterious gentleman that Bill had described.

Instead, after numerous turns and traffic lights, she surprised me by veering off into an inexpensive motel parking lot. She jumped out, locked her car and quickly headed for cover under the protection of a canopy that ran the length of the one story motel. I parked across the street where I wouldn’t be seen to watch. She searched through her purse, and proceeded down the walkway, then stopped at a specific door, looked both ways, and then opened it and disappeared inside.

I sat there confused. Why was she going to a motel? For what purpose? A minute later, another car pulled up next to hers, a nondescript, dark sedan. Two men wearing raincoats,
I know that sounds so clichéd, but it’s true
, got out and then walked directly towards the same door, knocked, and were promptly let inside.

A few cars passed me on the street as I sat there trying to figure out what was going on. Who were they?

Binoculars in hand, I scoped for the room number and zeroed in on it. Well, I’ll be! It was number seven!

I waited patiently for about an hour, keeping close tabs on the door to that room. Finally, the two men exited and drove off, then a minute later, Mona emerged, too. She closed the door, locked it, and drove away in her car, heading back toward the island.

Why had she met with those two men? I had to take a chance and find out what was going on.

I got out of my car and ran across the street, walking past mystery room number seven and headed directly toward the motel office. I pulled my collar up, tucked my hair inside it and slowly swung the door open. A bored young kid was manning the desk, watching a small television on top of the counter. I cleared my throat loudly to get his full attention.

He turned in my direction, annoyed apparently by my poorly timed interruption. “Yeah, what?” he snapped.

I had to talk quickly in case Mona came back unexpectedly. “I thought I saw an old friend of mine leave number seven a minute ago. It’s been years. Of all places! I couldn’t believe it. Will she be shocked when she sees me. I can’t wait to surprise her. I just know that once…”

He held up his hand to stop me. “Okay, lady. What? What?” he asked impatiently. “All this chit chat is making me miss my show. Get to the point! What do you want?”

I stood there, hesitating, and then said, “…Is number seven registered under the name of Mona Burman?”

“Crazy broad,” he mumbled, while opening the motel register and quickly checking the names.

Obviously, this motel had not arrived at the internet/computer era. I wondered why? I looked around the lobby. The words hourly rates abruptly came to mind.

“No,” he said and slammed the register shut.

I opened my purse and quickly slipped him a twenty, deciding to take a long shot. “Try another name. How about Paula Foster, her pen name. She’s an author.”

He eyed the money, latched onto it and ripped the book register open once again, quickly running his finger down the names. He stopped. “Yup, that’s her.”

I heard a car pull in. Afraid to turn around, I whispered, “Mind if I use your side exit?” I didn’t wait for permission and headed straight for the door, running out into the rain.

“Go for it,” he called after me, and then cranked up the television volume full blast.

I hastily ran around the corner, skirted some trucks, jumped into my car and drove off, making a fast U turn and aimed for home, more confused and disturbed than before.

What were my friend, Mona, and now me, involved in?

Chapter 27

Now What? Well, I’ll be! Are You Sure?

Compared to the rest of my life lately and Martha still being tight-lipped about Roland, shopping for groceries was tame stuff. My two guests were eating me out of house and home. Since the alternatives were eating out or going hungry, I eventually found myself scanning row after row of goods, making a visual effort at all the nutritional choices. Barely paying attention to my surroundings, I accidentally bumped into someone else’s cart. The woman turned to me, and then smiled.

“Hi,” I said, recognizing Pat, the leasing agent. “I’m so sorry I bumped you.”

“That’s okay,” she said, smiling back. “I hate shopping, but I’m in between appointments to throw some things in my trunk until I’m finished for the day. It’s so hard to find the time anymore to get anything done.”

“Tell me about it!” I replied. “I certainly don’t miss the nine to five at all. I must admit, writing does have its fringe benefits.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Samantha. I know you’re a writer, but I can’t find your books anywhere in the bookstores or library.”

“I write under a pen name. It’s Peggy A. Edelheit.”

“Oh! Well, that explains it. Why did you decide to go and take the anonymous route?”

“It’s a long story, but I’ll make it brief. I started out not wanting anyone to know what I was really doing on the side. Someone I was very close to would have taken offense. Once my books gained a following, and I was going at it full-time, I figured I might lose my loyal fan base that I had worked so hard building up if I changed it at that late date.”

“Sometimes though, you have to rock the boat,” advised Pat. “I did. I left my job, switched careers, got a realtor’s license, and haven’t looked back since moving here.”

“Really? I never would have guessed. I thought you were an Ocean City native.”

“No. I was out in California at a brokerage house for a while. Then I moved to New York, vacationing here on weekends during the summers. Eventually, I found what I wanted, and made a career switch to where I wouldn’t get lost in the crowd or be worried about dodging cars and people. As far as I was concerned, the rat race was finally history.”

“Well, I’ve had some dodging experiences myself since I’ve arrived here,” I admitted.

Pat laughed. “So I’ve heard. I thought most writers kept a low profile when working on a book. If I’m not mistaken, wasn’t that why you came here at the tail end of the off-season, to write in peace and quiet? I understand from Bill you now have a houseful of company on your hands.”

“Initially, I had good intentions, but unexpectedly ended up having to take in first one friend, and then another. Because of their circumstances, I couldn’t refuse.”

“I know how it is with family and friends, can’t live with them and can’t live without them.”

In my peripheral vision, and off to the right, but at the other end from where Pat and I were talking, I noticed a familiar figure reaching down to grab something from the pharmaceutical aisle we were standing in. Before I could holler to Mona and let her know I was standing there, Pat looked over, too. She gave an exclamation of surprise.

“Oh!”

I turned back to her. “What?”

“Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t Tina! Tina Davis! If you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with her.” She was definitely talking about Mona – there was no one else in the aisle. “It’s been years. I can’t imagine what she’d be doing here on the island. We worked together in a brokerage house in California a few years ago. I didn’t expect her here.”

I turned to look at Mona, who still had not seen us, and then back to Pat. “Are you sure about that?”

 
“Absolutely! Why, I still can’t believe it! I gotta go. Catch you later, Samantha.”

“Yeah.”

She called out to Mona. “Tina! Hey, it’s me, Pat!”

Another shopper pushed by with a shopping cart, but I was still able to see Mona freeze after first hearing Pat’s voice, and then her face reflected recognition. Thank goodness my body was obscured in the ensuing chaos, but I could clearly see Mona standing at the other end of the isle with a shocked expression when she recognized Pat. Then she spun around and bolted for the nearest exit.

What was going on?
Who was Tina Davis?

Chapter 28

Bouncing Balls, Breaking Bread & Bonding

Mona was on one of her anonymous trips after I promised, once again, to give her some time, Martha was checking out the boardwalk, and I was covered up, basking in the sun on my deck on a chaise lounge that I dragged up from the garage. It felt great. Solitude. Sun. Serenity. I was peacefully mulling over in my mind what I had entered into my laptop earlier in the morning and slowly fading fast into my favorite place, the sleep twilight zone.

Something bounced off my lap. I opened my eyes and looked up toward the sky, but didn’t see anything. I slowly but surely drifted off once more. A few seconds later, something bounced off my lap again and then lightly fell to the deck. I opened my eyes and scanned the area around me, and noticed two ping pong balls lying next to me on the deck. “What the...”

Where did they come from?

I sat up and stared down at the boardwalk, but only an occasional jogger or bicyclist whizzed by, focused on what they were doing. I turned back to my living room glass sliding doors. Nothing. Odd. How were they falling onto my lap? Eventually I shrugged, relaxed and closed my eyes once again.

I gradually felt myself drifting off. Suddenly, another one hit me squarely between the eyes, lightly bounced and then hit the deck. I snapped upright to a sitting position, hopping mad, trying to spot the evildoer. I looked down to the boardwalk again, then turned to my right and stood up, scanning the ramp leading up to the boardwalk. Then I heard a voice to my left and turned around to face next door.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes,” David announced from between his potted trees. There he was, wearing a tailored jogging suit, standing next to a table set for two. “It’s well past noon,” he noted, “and I bet you haven’t eaten yet. Care to join me to break some bread?”

As the aroma penetrated my space, suddenly hunger reared its ugly head. When I wrote, I became oblivious to the time of day and negligent about staying on any sort of schedule.

“An invitation!” I said, smiling. “How timely! Are you my mystery ping pong thrower?”

“I must confess I am one and the same. There’s a rumor going around you like to eat now and then, I’m guessing, lobster bisque, grilled garlic bread and chocolate mousse? Could that possibly be true?”

I feigned indignation. “I can’t believe you would resort to such an underhanded stunt like that just to get a girl over for lunch.” I was trying to look annoyed, but made the mistake of getting another whiff.
Garlic!
I totally caved. “…I’ll be right over,” I said, pivoting and heading straight for the stairs.

An hour later, we sat sipping hot coffee, looking out to the ocean and listening to the breakers hit the beach. It was a cool day and the coffee was the perfect finish. All through lunch I entertained him with tales of Martha’s escapades. What I really wanted to talk about were his frequent visitors, but didn’t quite know how to cunningly broach the subject.

Instead I threw him a compliment. “That was absolutely delicious. Where did you get the take out?”

David recoiled, offended. “Hey, I made all of it myself. It’s a hobby of mine, cooking. I find it very relaxing.”

I stared at him, surprised. “Me too!” I said, reclining and thinking back to
Clay.
Another time. Another man. Also another accomplished cook! How did I manage to stumble upon these guys? I stared at David, as he looked at the water. What else did he have up his sleeve that I wasn’t privy to?

“Thanks for the rave review,” he finally said, smiling. “By the way, how is your book coming along? Anything you want to share that I would be interested in? Any intrigue?”

If he only knew.

My hands were cramped from typing and my brain was cramped from trying to figure out what the heck was going on. “Time will tell, I guess.”

“How unfair,” David complained. “I worked hard on that lunch, hoping to find out something interesting.”

I took a chance. “I might reconsider if you promise to come clean with me.”

He turned to me, confused. “Come clean about what?” Then he smiled. “Why, I haven’t even known you long enough to get into trouble yet, have I, Samantha?”

For some unknown reason, I suddenly decided to back off. I would keep my questions in my back pocket for future reference, and decided to take another route.

“What do you do for a living, David? You have an unfair advantage. You already know so much about me and my writing, but what about you?” I sat and waited, slowly sipping my coffee to see what he had to offer.

“That’s a fair enough question. Buying and selling are my specialties. I search for unusual objects of art for clients. And so I’m always hounded by all sorts of people, day and night. It gets annoying sometimes, but pays very well.”

Oh, so that explained all the foot traffic!

“What got you interested in that particular field?” I asked, curious for more.

His expression changed immediately, turning somber.

“That is if you don’t mind me asking,” I quickly offered.

He stared at me, and then said, “No, I don’t mind. You see, I enjoyed traveling, plus it gave me the opportunity to meet interesting people. That’s how I met my wife.” He paused. “…Six months after we met and were married, she was killed by a hit and run driver.” He turned away and stared toward the ocean. Another uncomfortable silent pause ticked by before he finally continued speaking.

“…That was a year ago and I’ve been on the road ever since, that is, until now. I felt maybe I needed to stop and reassess what I really wanted out of life. I was wearing myself out, just trying to forget. You might say I’m trying to regroup, collecting thoughts instead of art for a change.” He turned back to face me. “By the way, for your information, you’re the first one I’ve shared that with; how I’ve really felt.”

For a minute there, I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. All I could come up with was how my feelings and instincts had guided me in the last several months.

“When I reassessed my priorities after Stephen’s death, it changed my whole life. I totally get where you’re coming from. It changes how you view everything. And I mean everything.”

He smiled, “Some people just don’t appreciate how hard it is, getting on with living again. I knew you would understand.” Then he leaned back and stared out at the ocean once more.

I turned away from him and stared out at the water too.

We sat there for some time looking out and watching the breakers tumble to the beach, and in those moments, shared an unexpected bond of mutual understanding of silence.