Bait & Switch (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Jerusha Jones

  Wired funds can be seized. Suitcases full of the local currencies would be a whole lot harder to retrieve. Speed was of the essence.

  I became aware of a dull thudding. It sounded like an off-balance washing machine knocking about in the bowels of the old mansion. I squinted up at Clarice. “What is that?”

  She bolted upright, her ears pricked. “We have company.”

  I gasped. “Not now. Matt cannot see this. Doesn’t the man sleep?” I flapped a hand frantically. “Stall.”

  Clarice charged out of the room, her robe billowing behind her. The whole floor shook as she rumbled down the stairs, and I frantically selected the email addresses of my orphanages and hit the send button. I tapped out a separate message for a few pivotal charities and sent that one off with a silent prayer.

  I shut everything down, unplugged the wi-fi hot spot device, coiled the cords and piled all the equipment on the table. Then I yanked a blanket off the window and draped it over the evidence. Not exactly subtle. I could only hope Matt wasn’t carrying a search warrant.

  I scooped up the empty carafes and dishes — they’d be a dead giveaway that we’d recently been spending time in this dusty old attic. Plus we’d left footprints all over the floor. The best I could do was close the door and tiptoe down the stairs.

  At the first floor landing, I realized I needed a reasonable explanation for my delayed appearance. I ducked into the bathroom, ripped off my clothes and stood in the tub. I spun the handles and bit back a scream as freezing water blasted over me. I tugged the brittle shower curtain around, too late to prevent a good-sized puddle on the floor.

  The bathroom had last been remodeled in the 1950s with Pepto-Bismol pink fixtures and flowered tiles. Apparently shower stalls were not yet in vogue then — or the room wasn’t plumbed for one. I pulled the handheld nozzle from its overhead clamp and rested it on my shoulder. The curtain clung to my wet calves, but the water was slowly warming and starting to feel good. How long had it been since I was clean?

  No one was banging on the bathroom door yet, so I lingered with the bar of soap and trial-size shampoo Clarice had left on the tub ledge. Clutching a tattered, formerly-pink towel around myself, I scooted down the hall to my bedroom and discovered that I hadn’t moved my own luggage upstairs yet. I snatched Skip’s robe off the floor and pulled it on, cinching the belt tight.

  If Clarice was dealing with our visitor in her robe, I might as well appear in similar garb. Not that I had a lot of choice. But maybe Matt would get the hint that it was far too early for a polite social call. I rolled up the sleeves and donned a pair of Skip’s socks for good measure.

  I crept down the last flight of stairs and steeled myself for the lies I would have to tell Matt. Then I pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen.

  The person sitting at the kitchen table with Clarice couldn’t have been any more different from Matt Jarvis. First of all, it was a woman, and she was gorgeous. Black wavy hair that reached her waist, creamy tan skin, enormous brown eyes fringed with Elizabeth Taylor lashes, perfect makeup and brilliant white teeth as she laughed and chatted. She was also gigantically pregnant. So big, in fact, that I immediately imagined her tipping over frontwards if she tried to stand up.

  She flashed a smile my direction.

  “Sidonie Gonzales, meet Nora Ingram — Sheldon.” Clarice hung my new last name out there on a hyphen as a second-thought addition. “Sidonie is a sales representative for the Petal Hydration line of skin care products.” Clarice raised her mug and gave me a meaningful one-eyed glare from behind it.

  That’s when I noticed the wheeled case parked beside Sidonie’s chair. If there was one thing I hadn’t expected to encounter out here in the boonies, it was a multilevel marketing pitch.

  “Also bath salts.” Sidonie stretched to unzip her case, grunting softly. “Lotions, lip balms, sunscreen, body scrubs, you name it. I could give you a fifteen-minute face mask, or we could go whole-hog on the full body treatment.” She beamed at me hopefully. “You’re my first potential customers, and it would be so helpful if you’d let me practice on you.”

  I didn’t dare glance back at Clarice. But anything was better than facing the FBI just now. And I was dressed for the occasion. I plopped into the spare chair and sighed. “We don’t have any money.” I didn’t mention that I had just stolen a whole lot of someone else’s money.

  “Really?” Sidonie frowned for the tiniest fraction of a second, then dismissed my objection with a finger wave. “Doesn’t matter. I got most of this starter kit free. A promotion the company was running to sign up new representatives. I’ll start with your brows.”

  “What’s wrong with my brows?”

  Clarice snorted into her coffee.

  Sidonie heaved herself to her feet. “Oh, nothing. Well, not much. Just a little — I can fix it.” She moved amazingly fast for her condition. She leaned over me, her belly rubbing uncomfortably against my shoulder, wielding a pair of pointy tweezers.

  I scrunched my eyes closed as she tipped my head back and thought maybe she knew what she was talking about. I wouldn’t mind looking more like her.

  A few relatively painless plucks later, Sidonie turned and lined up a phalanx of pastel-colored bottles on the table.

  I opened my mouth.

  “Etherea told me,” Sidonie anticipated my question breezily. “Well, first my husband said he’d seen you in the store. So I made a point of remembering that I’d forgotten something and drove into town to get the details from Etherea myself. It’s not often we get new people here. Hank and I’ve been here less than a year ourselves, but I’m going stir crazy. This place is downright claustrophobic compared to Fort Worth.” She rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “But Hank got a good job offer, so here we are. I’m so excited to have girlfriends. Etherea’s nice, but she’s not — well, you know.” She slapped some cold, creamy stuff on my face with a paintbrush. “Isn’t this fun?”

  So the man who’d given me a momentary fright in the store was Hank, Sidonie’s husband. And the cute little girl was theirs. I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t passed on my suspicious reaction to his wife. “When are you due?” I asked.

  Sidonie patted her belly. “Any time now. I wish they’d hurry up.”

  “Driving over our potholed road ought to do the trick,” Clarice muttered.

  I tried to kick her under the table, but my leg wasn’t long enough. “Twins? Where’s the nearest hospital?”

  “Longview, but there’s a clinic in Woodland. We’re not counting on making it to either one in time. CeCe came in thirty-five minutes, so I have all the supplies. Etherea said she’d help. She’s only twenty minutes away.”

  General store manager, midwife, what else? Seems if a woman chose to live out here, she had to be a jill-of-all-trades. “How far are you from us?”

  “Just over.” Sidonie gestured vaguely in the direction opposite town. “We’re next door neighbors. Can’t miss it. I painted the mailbox with reflective yellow paint.”

  Clearly, I had missed it the afternoon I arrived in the pouring rain. If I’d seen a neon mailbox, I’d have certainly stopped to check. “You’d better have my phone number, just in case. Not that I would know what to do, but I could hold your hand, heat water, or something.”

  Sidonie laughed — a bright, pleasant trill. “We’ll manage. But I might need someone to watch CeCe.”

  I grinned. “Definitely.” I’d pick up a few packets of Skittles on my next shopping excursion. I figured that would instantly make me a favorite with the little girl.

  Sidonie was a great conversationalist. Between exfoliating, masking and moisturizing, she filled us in on all our neighbors (three), what she knew of Walt and the boys (next to nothing, ‘private’ she called them), what kind of shopping and services we could find in Woodland and how frequently it rained (all the time).

  “Did you know this place was once the Mayfield Poor Farm?” Sidonie asked. “Named that since we’re in May County
. Can you imagine living here in the old days? I heard it was dormitory style, and the residents were locked in at night to keep them from stealing stuff and running off with it.” She flushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean — I’m sure it’s nicer now.”

  “Not really,” Clarice grunted. But she relented and allowed Sidonie to give her a hand massage with tantalizing apricot-scented lotion while a peel was working its magic on my pores.

  And that’s how Matt found us. He didn’t even knock. Just walked in.

  And got what he deserved for not observing social protocol — the astonishing scene of three women, two of them clearly not fit for public viewing, one of them slumped in her chair snoring softly while the spectacularly pregnant one held her hand, containers of potions strewn all over the table amid empty coffee cups, and me with seaweed green gunk on my entire face except for pale eye holes. I’d never seen a man look so uncomfortable.

  His eyes darted from side to side as though he was considering a retreat. But then he jabbed a stern finger at me. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m a little busy.”

  “Now.” He glared and backed out of the door.

  Apparently it had to be a private conversation. I sighed and shook my head at Sidonie’s wide-eyed glance. “Long story,” I whispered and followed Matt outside.

  “You look like an alien.” Matt’s brow wrinkled in consternation — or suspicion, his eyes narrow.

  I decided no retort would be the best course.

  “I have news. It might be good.” Matt carefully studied the dirty passenger door of his government-issued muscle sedan. “Or not. We suspect your husband may still be alive.”

  I gasped and clutched his arm. “Where? Are you sure? Is he safe?”

  He glanced at me and away just as fast, wincing. “No. Not sure. All the accounts he’d been using for money laundering were dumped last night and this morning. Looks like he’s trying to cover his tracks.”

  My breath froze in my throat. So the FBI was attributing my financial foray to Skip — they were on the wrong trail, for the moment, and I needed to keep them running. I swallowed and asked, trying to keep my tone hopeful, “But you’re sure it was Skip?”

  “We don’t know of anyone else who has access to the accounts. He had plenty of minions doing the courier work, but he was a control freak, with good reason, about the accounts.” Matt squinted at me as though against a painful glare. “Unless something’s happened recently to change that.”

  “Like a kidnapping?” I snorted. “I don’t think you’re as much inside Skip’s head as you think you are. How long have you been watching the accounts?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose—”

  “At least a year, right?”

  He flinched, just a little tick, and I knew I was close.

  “You threatened Robbie to get insider information. What are you doing to ensure your informant’s safety now, huh? Do you even know where he is?” I poked my finger into Matt’s chest. “Things have completely fallen apart, and you have no idea why.”

  My voice pitched higher and I continued jabbing him with each point. “You lost my husband — your suspect. He was taken right out from under your noses while you were trailing him! You won’t offer me protection. The money’s disappeared. What’s next?”

  The kitchen door was flung open, and the squat purple bundle that was Clarice crowded the doorway with Sidonie peeking over her shoulder. If my temper tantrum wasn’t enough to scare Matt off, then the fierce scowl on Clarice’s face was.

  He glanced between the three of us and backed around his car. “I’ll be back,” he gritted out.

  “I want good news,” I shouted as he slammed his door.

  We stood there, shivering in the mid-morning mist until his car was out of sight.

  “Mahhhvelous, dahling,” Clarice said. “Bravo.”

  “It’s not going to work for long.” I turned to Sidonie and took her hands, holding them tightly. “But you’re a godsend, giving me an excuse to not only look but also act crazy and maybe buy us a little more very precious time.”

  She pulled a hand free and tapped my cheek. “Your peel’s dry. I’m thinking it’s my turn to listen to a little gossip.” She hugged my arm and led me inside, her eyes sparkling. “He’s some kind of law enforcement, yes? So handsome when he’s angry.”

  My skin stretched in peaks as Sidonie picked an edge of the peel free and began yanking it off my face. I tried to talk around the pulling, giving Sidonie only the most basic facts and promising more information later if and when I learned anything. I didn’t want to put her or her family in jeopardy.

  “You have such a lovely scar,” she murmured as she smeared moisturizer on my face, with special attention to my upper lip.

  I snorted.

  “No, really,” Sidonie continued. “It gives you character, makes you interesting and mysterious. I’d have known, just from looking at you, that you were up to something exciting. Your secret — what little you’ve divulged — is safe with me.” She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to say that. But what are you going to tell Mr. FBI when he comes back?”

  “The truth. He’ll already know by then. I’m hoping for a few more hours, then he can yell all he wants.”

  “I’m hoping handcuffs aren’t included with the yelling,” Clarice muttered.

  CHAPTER 11

  My theatrics bought us five hours. After we helped Sidonie pack her things and watched her jounce away in a battle-worn Volvo that seemed unfazed by our driveway, I sent Clarice back to bed and found some of my own clothes to wear.

  Since I couldn’t count on Matt to knock, I volunteered as gatekeeper and took up position at the kitchen table. I’d have been shot for neglecting my duty, though, because I was asleep the instant I sat down.

  I awoke to soft thuds and the scent of fresh coffee. Matt set a mug near my elbow as I scratched at dried drool on my cheek. Kind of like a seaweed peel and definitely organic, if you wanted to think about it that way.

  “You wanna tell me why you were up all night?” Matt settled across the table from me and slumped forward with his chin on his hands so our eyes were on a level.

  “Rats,” I muttered, my voice scratchy. I slurped coffee to clear the fuzz out of my head and give me a moment to formulate an explanation. Same equipment, same beans, but Matt’s coffee beat Clarice’s hands down. I drained the mug.

  “I spent considerable time rummaging in cupboards and corners yesterday when I inspected the wiring. I didn’t see any sign of rats.” He wasn’t exactly amused, but there was a lightness to his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.

  Matt had actually been quite decent. I sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t mean live rodents. It’s an expression, because you’re calling my bluff.”

  His brows arched, but he demonstrated mastery of the silent treatment.

  “I have to be obstinate,” I bumbled on. “It’s my only hope. Did it work?” I crossed my fingers under the table.

  “Hope?” Matt thunked his mug down, too hard, and coffee sloshed on the table. “I wouldn’t call your situation hopeful. But if you mean did tens of millions of dollars walk out the front doors of banks from Mumbai to Mombasa, then yes, you were successful.”

  I couldn’t hide my grin. The bank in Mumbai was important — vital, in fact — to my plan. I squeezed my fingers harder, hoping he’d also mention a bank in Prince George, British Columbia.

  “We got some back though. You didn’t get away with all of it.” My face must have fallen, because Matt added, “Europe’s big banks are generally more cooperative, and slower to process wire transfers. How’d you get in?”

  I shrugged. “Lucky guess.” I wasn’t going to tell him Skip had used a password only I would know. I didn’t want to think about it myself — that maybe Skip had somehow planned for me to be the one hacking into his accounts. “We? I didn’t think the money was yours.” I scowled at Matt.

  “Semantics.” He smiled as though
he was enjoying our tiff. “The federal government has sticky fingers. You think it’s yours?”

  “Skip and I didn’t have a prenup. So if it was Skip’s, then its mine too. If it wasn’t Skip’s, then—” I was getting really good at shrugging.

  “On that note, the man we apprehended in Cozumel — the one who was sucker punched and left behind on the beach? He was killed last night.”

  The news curled like a python around my ribcage. “While he was in jail?” I croaked.

  “Organized crime basically runs the penal system in Mexico, so I guess it’s not a surprise. But it means we’re no closer to finding Skip.” Matt rose to refill our mugs. “It also means that whoever does own the money you were so generous with this morning is going to find out very, very soon, if not already. I told you they’re not people you want to mess with.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “I’d still like to believe Skip’s innocent. Emptying the accounts was my way of finding out.”

  “It could be a death sentence.”

  “They have to find me first, on my territory. You want to reconsider offering me protection?”

  “Can’t. Do you think you made the FBI’s Christmas list with your little stunt?”

  I stared at a dusty cobweb waving in the corner of the ceiling and shivered. The draft was coming through the kitchen door which had swung open a few inches. I got up and pushed it closed, wiggling the knob to make sure it latched.

  “I left enough money to keep Turbo-Tidy Clean running for now. The employees have to be paid.” I leaned on the table beside Matt. “Okay? They deserve at least a modest severance if Skip’s not found in the next two weeks. I also left an additional ten million which is reserved for paying his ransom. It needs to be protected in the case of a bankruptcy. I expect you to pull strings with the judge to make sure that happens. Those are my terms.”