The Lush Life (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8) (17 page)

Chapter 51

Oh, Brother!

“Is that how you talk to me, Lucas, your own brother?”

Lucas was her brother?

Oh, don’t give me that Lucas crap, Rhett,” said Scarlett.

Her brother, who was Lucas, was really Rhett?

“Now hold on a minute,” protested Martha. “Did your momma really saddle you two with those names for real?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” asked Scarlett angrily.

“No, ma’am. I’ve learned to never challenge anyone holding a gun,” Martha replied, smiling and stepping a little further away.

“Good advice. You’ll live longer,” muttered Betty.

“Although with her mouth, I’m surprised Martha’s lived this long to quote anything,” quipped Hazel to Betty.

“Enough!” said Scarlett. “My beef is with Rhett.”

Everyone faced Lucas/Rhett.

I snatched a glance at Tony, whose fingers were flexing. He was itching for a gun! Concerned for the safety of my crew and yes, even wily Tony who might get killed, I had to do something. I opened the Burn’s book and grabbed the gun. It was a snub-nose Smith and Wesson thirty-eight caliber, alloy pistol, just light enough for me to maneuver.

I was now aiming for some poetic justice here.

I had to be prepared for anything. I quickly checked the cylinder for bullets: loaded. They were hollow-point to give the impact of a Western Union telegram. After slipping the gun under my leg, I eased the drawer closed. Now all I needed was the opportunity to stop all this madness. But before I could take any kind of action, Lucas stood and calmly reached down for his gun while Scarlett watched transfixed. Her hands began to shake nonstop.

Someone was going to get shot.

“You can’t do this to them, Rhett,” she cried.

“We went all over this. There’s no turning back now.”

“But I really like them all. They’ve done us no harm.”

What was he planning to do with us?

“This is a done deal.”

“I told you last night that I can’t go through with this,” Scarlett replied breathlessly, still gripping her gun.

“Don’t make me shoot you, Scarlett.”

She blanched. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

“You always were the weak one,” accused Rhett.

Then Scarlett surprised everyone by rushing her brother head on. There was a collective gasp as a shot rang out. Scarlett screamed then collapsed to the floor.

Lucas’s diverted attention was just what I needed.

It was now or never. I yelled, “Everybody duck! Now!”

And they did, just like I knew they would, leaving a bemused Lucas standing there like a lone fir in a desert. He began to swing the gun in my direction. I held steady and fired at him. He stood there befuddled then shocked as his gun dropped to the floor and blood began spreading across his right shoulder. Clay and Tony instantly dove, knocking Lucas to the floor.

Scarlett began moaning then grabbed her bloody arm.

I sighed in relief. She was only wounded.

Betty and Hazel, on all fours, gave a me a thumbs up.

Mona winked. “Nice shot.”

Martha quipped, “With a handicap too!”

I smiled, saying, “I needed to change the ending on this mystery before everything went south.”

But before anyone could speak further, a familiar figure, holding a gun, ran through the French doors. “Hands up, everybody!”

Tony turned from a now moaning Lucas beneath Clay and himself. “Mom? I thought we had you handcuffed to the car door!”

She cackled. “Piece of cake! Am I too late?”

You could have heard a pin drop as we stared at
Tony’s
armed and dangerously crazy mother waving her own gun.

Oh, this was priceless. Would I have to shoot her too?

“We’ve got the culprit,” said Tony calmly. “It was the gardener.”

She eyed Lucas struggling on the floor. “To think I got bent out of shape over some oil paintings. He did this over one stupid book?” she asked, lowering her gun to her side.

“One worth over $6 million dollars,” I said, now resting easy, once I realized
Tony’s
mother was on our side and maybe not as crazed for revenge as I previously thought.

Everyone turned to me open-mouthed.

“What did you just say?” asked Clay, holding onto the wounded but now struggling Lucas on the floor.

“You heard me,” I said. Then I turned to Betty and Hazel. “Call 911 for an ambulance for Lucas and Scarlett.”

Clay turned to Lucas who was moaning. “You’ll live.”

“Yeah, but you’ll never throw a baseball again,” added Martha with a satisfied smile.

Mona brought over my wheelchair and carefully helped me into it. “How did you get hold of that gun?” she asked.

“How’d you know that book’s value?” asked Martha.

“You never fail to astonish me,” said Betty grinning.

“I second that one,” added Hazel beaming proudly.

I pointed to the Shakespeare book. “Martha, remember reading all the high auction prices to us? It was right under our noses the whole time. Speaking of the word thyme...”

After finishing my summation of how I finally solved it, including discovering the hollowed out phony,
lethal
book, Tony walked over to me.

“I want an autographed copy of your book when it’s out to see how I come off in this one.”

Tony’s mother approached him now all excited.

“Does this mean I’ll be famous too, son?”

“Looks like it. Once we get you back to the rest home, all your new friends will want your autograph.”

She pouted. “Do I have to go back there?”

“Until your anger management courses are completed.”

“Will you watch my gun for me?” she said, raising it up.

Tony gingerly took it. “I’ll even lock it up this time.”

Clay grudgingly nodded to Tony. “Thanks for helping us out once again.”

“I thought we worked well together, don’t you?” Tony said grinning, but winked at me instead.

I gave him a wink back. “For a connected kind of guy, Tony, you’re okay in my book.”

Clay stepped in between us. “This one’s put to bed, pal.”

Tony just smiled. “Time will tell. Time will tell.”

I love double entendre and happy endings, don’t you?

I’m so glad I survived ‘the lush life.’ Until next time...

This ends
The Lush Life

For a preview of the next book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series,
Book 9, Too Close For Comfort,
please continue reading right after this:

SPECIAL NOTE TO THE READER

Thank you for reading
Book 8, The Lush Life
: I do hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked this book, I hope you choose to check out and read the rest of the mysteries in the series. Here are some other possible suggestions:

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The Lush Life (Book 8)
.
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. I would love to hear from you.

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Please read on for the preview excerpt of my next book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series,
Book 9, Too Close For Comfort

Too Close For Comfort

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Book 9

by

Peggy A.
Edelheit

Copyright © 2015 by Peggy A.
Edelheit

Chapter 1

Too Close For Comfort

“Ouch!” he protested, flinching in discomfort.

“That was a warning,” I said. “Touch me again and...”

“It’s this cold cement floor we’re sitting on,” he griped.

I was furious. My red silk dress was probably ruined.

“Man up,” I said. “Have you heard me complaining?”

“Being such a hot broad, how would you understand?”

“Keep your compliments and hands to yourself,” I said.

He sighed. “I was just trying to shift my position.”

“Uh, huh. Right. Like I really believe that.”

“Can’t blame me for trying to keep my hands warm.”

“They were traveling where they shouldn’t. Watch it.”

“Now is not the time for you to be so touchy,” he said.

“Or you, feely,” I countered, losing my patience.

“Any guess on the time?” he asked. “Feels like hours.”

“With it being pitch black here and no windows? No!”

“My throat is getting scratchy too,” he grumbled.

“After all your hollering and yelling, I’m not surprised.”

He exhaled loudly. “I need a good stiff drink.”

“You aren’t going to start that again, are you?”

“Hey, you did your fair share of hollering too.”

I frowned. “Yeah, and no one heard either one of us.”

“Wherever we are, it must be somewhere remote.”

“Pray tell. Why do you think that, oh wise one?”

He chuckled. “Your screams could’ve roused the dead.”

“Look who’s talking?” I shot back, elbowing him hard.

“Hey! What’s with you? That hurt!”

“Wandering hands again,” I hissed. “I warned you.”

“Are you always this moody or is it a moon phase?”

“You are so lucky my hormones aren’t in play.”

“None of this is
my
fault,” he stated emphatically.

Our bodies were tied back to back, ankles taped in front, wrists taped behind us, and we were anchored to the floor.

I was fuming. “I was perfectly positioned, but then you go and sneak right up behind me, yell my name, and draw attention to me. Amateurish at best. This is
all
your fault!”

“What about the guy behind you?” he asked. “I guess I was supposed to ignore he was about to chloroform you?”

“There was someone behind me?” I asked, surprised.

“One about to pounce, cloth in hand, I might add. What I didn’t expect was someone right behind me. That ether-like sweet odor...everything went black, then I’m here.”

“Oh,” I said, digesting this latest news. “I didn’t know.”

“Do I detect an apology somewhere in that sentence?”

I blew strands of hair off my face. “Ha! You wish.”

“There’s a lot of things a
fella
can wish for, such as...”

I cut Tony off. “Don’t hold your breath, buddy.”

He laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Samantha.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, expecting more acerbic wit.

“We have this love/hate thing going on between us.”

I laughed at his compliment/jab. “In your dreams.”

He laughed too. “Kind of a ‘fatal attraction’ thing.”

Thirtyish, dark, handsome, and well over six-foot, Tony was similar to my
very
personal
undercover PI:
private investigator,
Clay, but in
Tony’s
case, in a
dangerous
way. Tony was dressed ‘to the nines,’ as Martha, another of our sleuthing cohorts says, always wearing his signature, flashy Hugo Boss suits,
Ferragamo
shoes, and Louis
Vuitton
ties.

I yelled, “Hey! I swear, if you touch me again...”

He snickered. “Just checking if you’re still there.”

I lapsed into silence, thinking.

...Maybe I should just kill him off in my next book.

Then I heard loud sniffing.

What was he up to now?

“I think my cologne is wearing off,” he grumbled.

I sighed. “What is it called, ‘Eau de Drive Her Crazy’?”

He laughed again. “Admit it. It does, doesn’t it?”

I pinched him hard.

“Ouch! Not only am I cold, but I’m being abused too!”

“I warned you...”

Then he moaned loudly.

I blew out a breath.
Here...we...go...again.

“Now what?” I asked, sighing once more.

“I’m getting a headache,” he complained testily.

I shut my eyes, speaking low. “If I only had a gun...”

“I need aspirin and a stiff drink to chase it down.”

My nerves were already frayed and my temper was now running short. I was about to blow big time.

“Don’t start, Tony, or I swear, I’ll...”

He cut me right off midsentence. “Man, you are wound up tighter than a...”

“Always with the last word. Be quiet!” I said testily.

...Ah, silence
.

...A damn chuckle.

...No.

“I just love feisty women. Why, I remember...”

Being a
connected
, armed and dangerous kind of guy, putting Tony on our payroll was supposed to be a semi-trial run after he helped us out with my last mystery,
The Lush Life
. Now, he was proving to be quite a handful. Literally.

So I’m asking myself, what in hell was I thinking?