The Case of the Angry First Wife
Page 1
PRAISE FOR MELODIE CAMPBELL
“[The] undisputed queen of comedy”
—The Toronto Sun
“This caper from Campbell is just that: ridiculous relatives running around and covering up crime after crime. A good read.”
—Kirkus Reviews for The Goddaughter Caper
“Campbell creates a page-turner that is fast moving, exciting and filled with twists and turns…Highly Recommended.”
—CM Magazine for The Goddaughter Caper
“Campbell’s comic caper is just right for Janet Evanovich fans. Wacky family connections and snappy dialog make it impossible not to laugh.”
—Library Journal for The Goddaughter
“All that glitters is real gold. Short, sharp and full of what makes a Rapid Read feel like a great cup of coffee.”
—The Hamilton Spectator for The Goddaughter’s Revenge
“A deliciously funny tale”
—VOYA Magazine for The Goddaughter’s Revenge
“Melodie Campbell is the Queen of the Rapid Read…Worst Date Ever is one the best of this genre.”
—Canadian Mystery Reviews for Worst Date Ever
“This is great for…anyone who enjoys zipping through a lighthearted read.”
—Booklist for Worst Date Ever
Copyright © 2018 Melodie Campbell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Campbell, Melodie, 1955-, author
The B-Team / Melodie Campbell.
(Rapid reads)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1807-1 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1808-8 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1809-5 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads
PS8605.A54745B74 2018 C813'.6 C2017-904505-9
C2017-904506-7
First published in the United States, 2018
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017949683
Summary: A team of vigilantes seek to right wrongs in this lighthearted work of fiction. (RL 3.1)
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Design by Gerilee McBride
Cover art by Shutterstock.com/Yorrico
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
21 20 19 18 • 4 3 2 1
For Joan
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ONE
We had been summoned. There was no other way to put it.
“Why does she want us?” asked my twin brother, Dino, sitting next to me in the passenger seat of the Mustang.
“No idea.” It was baffling. She’d never done this before. And somehow it made me uneasy.
“You nervous?” Dino wriggled in his seat. “I am.”
“Ditto.” Our great-aunt is a legend in the industrial city of Hamilton, aka The Hammer. You know the expression cat burglar? Suffice it to say her nickname in the family is Kitty.
Of course, those infamous burglaries were all long before. Kitty retired a few years ago after breaking an ankle in a bad fall while leaving a second-story window. Now she divides her time between her little house in the forest and the Holy Cannoli Retirement Home, visiting my elderly relatives who reside there. Many of them are dotty. Not Kitty. Her brain cells are in for the long haul.
“Could we have done something wrong?” By wrong, I didn’t mean breaking-the-law wrong. Natch. I snuck a glance at Dino.
There was an unfamiliar frown on his otherwise angel-perfect face. “Surely we’d be facing Mom instead.”
I shivered.
Nearly there. I pulled into the parking lot behind La Paloma, the upscale bistro owned by our uncle Vito. It serves as the family meeting place. But we try not to make that public. So we walked in the front door this time, just like normal restaurant patrons. It was uncommonly quiet inside.
Dino took off his sunglasses the way that detective in CSI Miami does. I let my eyes adjust to the dark. The place was empty except for Kitty. She was seated by herself at a table near the back, drinking an espresso.
Of course there was a white tablecloth on the table. This was a class joint.
Kitty grinned and waved us over. “Ciao, Del. Dino.”
I leaned down for my usual two-cheek kisses. Her face was a road map of wrinkles, the skin soft and powdery. Her once-dark hair had advanced from gray to pure white. But the brown eyes were as sharp as ever.
We slid into chairs opposite her. She got right to the point. “You two know what I mean when I say The A-Team?”
Dino squinted. “That TV show from the eighties? The one about the Vietnam vets who became vigilantes?”
“That’s the one.” She leaned forward. Her dark eyes gleamed. “They’re a bunch of old guys now. Retired. So I’m starting a new one.”
“New TV show?” I asked, perplexed. Surely she knew the A-Team wasn’t real.
“Nope. Vigilante group. I talked to your mom. We need one, with all the senior scams these days.” She leaned back in the chair and looked off into the distance with a spooky smile. “I’m thinking of calling it…the B-Team. And Del, we want you to run it.”
My brother groaned.
That was five months ago. A whole lot has happened since then.
There are four of us vigilantes now. Me, Dino, Kitty and Ritz. Hard to describe my old pal from high school. Her real name is Rita, but we call her Ritz, after the crackers. Big hint there. Remember Murdock from The A-Team? Back in the politically incorrect days of the eighties, he would have been what we called “certified crazy.” Ritz is not far off that.
We operate from an empty house in Hamilton. Kitty has a small supply of them. She calls this her “two-story pension plan.” Clever idea to park her laundered earnings in real estate. Mom helped her with financial planning. When Kitty needs money to fund our operations, she simply sells another house.
I remember very clearly how this particular job got started. It was a Saturday afternoon, which explained why I could be there. I have a different job during the week. Kitty and Ritz covered the office Monday to Friday. Ritz had wandered in earlier, looking for company. When the phone rang she grabbed it and answered in her characteristic gruff manner.
“B-Team. Make it snappy. We’re busy.”
I grimaced. Yes, you had to be tough, being female in this game. That’s Ritz. Pure rawhide.
As she said on the phone, we’re the B-Team. We deal in justice, not the law. Sometimes the law lets you down. We try to rectify that.
I grabbed the receiver from her hand before she shoved it in my face. Ritz is a tad abrupt.
“Yup,” I said into the phone.
“Still on for tonight?” Kitty’s voice was businesslike. She knew I wasn’t happy about this job.
“Yeah. Sure.” I wasn’t the type to back out.
“Del, are you sure about Ritz? This is a tricky one.”
I looked over at the person in question. Ritz was cleaning her fingernails with the corner of a business card.
“I’m never sure about Ritz,” I muttered into the phone.
Kitty rang off.
Ritz turned to me. Her dark, beady eyes were a stark contrast to her flaxen curls.
“You don’t need me until tonight.” It was a statement.
I shook my head. Ritz is our weapons gal. There is nothing she doesn’t know about hardware and tearing things apart. I like to tease her about the tools she carries. Ritz has screwdrivers where other women carry lipstick.
“Then I’ll be at the range.” Ritz lifted her squat body from the beat-up office chair. She grabbed her backpack from the floor and sauntered to the door. “See you tonight.”
A few weeks ago, I asked Ritz why she risked her freedom doing vigilante jobs with us. I hate it when innocent people get crapped on by scumbags was her answer.
Can’t argue with that. I got an uneasy feeling as I watched her leave.
TWO
At seven that night, we had a final conference call over the Internet.
Dino was on the line from New York. His handsome cherub face filled the screen. “I cased the joint earlier this week. No alarm system in evidence or on record. Second-floor windows left open.”
Kitty said, “They’re going to Vegas for the weekend.”
“How do you know that?” Dino said.
“We have the same cleaning people,” said Kitty. “They talk to me.”
Everyone talks to Kitty. Such a sweet little old lady. She could charm the sharks in the sea, let alone the ones on land.
If they only knew her like we do…
“What’s the backstory?” asked Ritz. Her pug face dominated the screen.
It took me a moment to remember that Ritz hadn’t been in on the first meeting for this job. Without the background, she didn’t know the reason we were doing it.
“We’re working for wife number one,” said Kitty. “Angela. Recently divorced, not her idea. We’re after a diamond necklace that belongs to her. The new wife has been swanning around town, wearing it like a big trophy. It isn’t hers to wear. Angela wants it back.”
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “This isn’t exactly a hard-luck story.”
“Del, we’ve discussed this.” Her voice was impatient. “The necklace was given to Angela by her grandmother. Not her ex.”
“I’m not so thrilled about risking my butt for rich people.” I mean, this wasn’t exactly Robin Hood material. Usually, we helped people who had been preyed upon by heartless bastards.
“Angela isn’t rich. The lawyers got rich. You know how it goes.”
I still grumbled.
“Okay, how do the rest of you feel? Do you want to pull out?” Kitty asked.
“I don’t really count since I’m not there to be part of it,” said Dino.
“Ritz?”
“Nah. It’s a job. I like jobs,” said Ritz.
Typical response from Ritz. It made me shiver.
“Del?”
I sighed. “I’ll do it if Ritz does. But I hope our next job is a little more in line with our mandate.”
“You just don’t understand, Del.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“We don’t discriminate against people based on income or anything else. If they’ve been done wrong, we step in. Simple as that.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” What she said was true. Kitty set the rules. Kitty set us up in this business to begin with, and she paid our expenses. It’s her baby. I figure it’s her way of making a bid for heaven after a somewhat questionable early career.
Our mission is to help the underdog. That is, people who have been on the losing side of a bad deal and will likely suffer greatly because of it. Our most recent cases involved restoring someone’s good name, and preventing a blackmailer from preying on the helpless. Both noble endeavors.
This divorcee was hardly an underdog, and helping her get back an heirloom diamond necklace was not the sort of thing I like to take risks for.
But I thought the world of Kitty. And if Kitty wanted to do this, I would swallow my feelings and do it.
“See you at midnight,” I said.
THREE
Chapter seven in the book Burglary for Dummies states, Always double-check your intelligence. (Burglary for Dummies was written by my cousin Gina and is available through most book retailers.)
I didn’t know who was in Vegas, because the master bedroom at 224 Lakeshore Road was clearly occupied this night.
Metallic squeals, repeated frequently. That would be bedsprings.
Oomphs and moans. That would be obvious.
I backed away from the doorway and tiptoed down the hall to the guest bedroom. Once there, I took the cell phone from my black leather waist pouch.
Mission aborted, I texted into the phone.
Crap, typed the body at the other end. Ready for pickup.
I clicked off and put the cell away.
Well, that had been a total waste of effort.
The night was dark, with only a quarter moon punctuating the sky. The air was cold for late October. I hoofed it to the window and turned around. Then I climbed swiftly down the heavy Boston ivy until both hands were holding on to the windowsill. It was only a short drop to the ground from there.
I’m long and lean, like my brother, and pretty athletic. So it didn’t occur to me that anything could go wrong.
I let go of the sill.
A second later my feet were on solid ground and I was down in a crouch. Perfect landing. I straightened up.
Strong arms reached around me from behind. I froze.
“That’s not an elbow you’re holding on to,” I said indignantly.
“Whoops,” said a low male voice. “Sorry about that.” The hands shifted down to my waist, where they held on hard.
Sorry? A polite assailant?
Both of my arms were trapped. I could feel my butt pressed into a really warm and solid form.
“Keep quiet or I’ll raise an alarm.” The voice was definitely male.
So not an assailant. A cop? Security guard?
“Did you steal anything?” That voice again, in my left ear.
I shook my head carefully. It was even true. I hadn’t. This was because I couldn’t get into the room where the damn necklace was located.
The man snorted. “You’re dressed all in black and climbing out a window. What else could you be doing?”
“Having an affair?” I whispered cheerfully. “Nope, not me. I’m pure as the driven snow. You want to talk to the two going at it in there. ”
“You’re kidding,” uttered the voice. It didn’t sound particularly surprised or upset.
Ritz, where the hell are you? Move to plan B, dammit.
The hold on me loosened. I turned around in the man’s arms.
For a moment a cloud passed over the moon, and the night shrouded us. My eyes needed to adjust to the low light. The man who stared back at me was about my age. Dark brown curly hair, brown eyes, crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. But there was no disguising the muscle in the arms that held me firmly, nor the rugged planes of his face. Or the eyebrows that swooped into a fro
wn.
“Hey, I know you,” he said. The dark eyes went wide.
I froze. Memories of high school danced in my head. Football. A souped-up Camaro. A botched attempt at backseat seduction. Dino getting into a fight with the guy staring down at me now. My older cousins breaking it up. Me sneaking away before the lecture started…
I never could resist a fast car.
Crap! I knew who he was. Mac, Mac… what was his name?
This was so not part of the plan.
“Who are you?” he whispered. Man, that voice was sexy. His big hands locked on my upper arms.
I looked him in the eyes then. I tried to look sad and sincere.
“I’m sorry,” I said mournfully. “I really am.” And I would have been. It was only out of sheer necessity that I was going to knee him in the crotch.
The stream of freezing water came out of nowhere and hit us both.
“Shit!” I shrieked. “Holy freakin’ hell! Ritz!!” This wasn’t part of the plan either.
“Son of a—” (sputter, gasp, spit).
She moved the blast from him and me to him, and he took it right in the face. The big hands released me. I leaped back out of reach as the poor guy started gagging.
“Move away from him, Del!”
I stumbled farther back.
Ritz dropped the hose, ran forward and lifted her right arm.
Whomp.
I watched in horror as the poor guy crumpled.
“Run!” yelled Ritz.
I didn’t run. The only thing that moved was my head. I stared down at the man on the ground. He didn’t move.
I was soaked, and it suddenly got colder out. “Is he dead?” I croaked.
“Nah. Just out of commission for a while.” Ritz was a whiz at martial arts. Which didn’t exactly jibe with her appearance. Imagine a pint-sized Brunhilda.
I peered down at her victim’s face. It looked serene. Innocent and serene. Sort of…sweet. Like a little boy having a dream.
“You gave him quite a whack there.”
Ritz shrugged. “I do my best.”
I touched him with the tip of my toe. He didn’t move.