Saving Sindia (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 10)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  “He’s never done this before. Not come home.”

  “Does he have a cell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you call it?”

  “Several times, but it always goes straight to voicemail.”

  Maybe he didn’t want to answer, knowing it was her?

  “It could be turned off, you know,” I said gently.

  “But he always takes my calls.”

  I realized with this going back and forth and my shock at seeing her at my front door, I hadn’t asked her in.

  “Would you like to come in?” I said, stepping back.

  I swear, she froze in fear, like I was the devil himself, and backed up a step. “I’ve got to try to find him.”

  I didn’t want to see her leave. Not yet. “Can I help?”

  “No! I think I know where to look now.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind,” I said quickly.

  “No! I’ll be just fine.”

  I didn’t believe it for one moment. She looked terrified.

  She rubbed her crossed arms nervously, as though trying to comfort herself. I wanted to help her, but there was nothing, short of forcing her inside, that I could do.

  I reached out to her, but she jerked away from me.

  “At least give me your name and number in case...” I began.

  She wasn’t buying that and cut me off. “Not necessary. I’m fine, just fine.” She pivoted and hurried off.

  I shut the door and leaned on it, considering what to do.

  I should follow her, shouldn’t I?

  I grabbed the house key from the foyer table drawer, whipped the door open, locked it and ran to the front gate. I glanced down the street. I didn’t see her, so I darted up the boardwalk ramp, halted at the top, and glanced left to right. It was filled with people and she was nowhere to be seen.

  I slumped in disappointment and retreated to my house to document what happened so I wouldn’t forget one detail.

  Journal lesson learned?

  One who protests too much, has something to hide.

  Chapter 20

  Again?

  No sooner had I locked the front door, dropped the key in the drawer of the table, kicked off my sandals and began mounting the spiral staircase, when the doorbell rang again.

  Did she have a change of heart and come back?

  Without thinking, I swung the door wide with relief.

  “I’m so glad you came back...”

  A well-dressed man stood there. Dark receding hairline with a tinge of gray on the sides, brown eyes, clean shaven, wearing a business suit, tie, and dress shoes. Late forties, or maybe early fifties. His mouth tilted upward as he leveled an arched brow in my direction, amused by my greeting.

  He eyed me up and down then smiled. “Back for what?”

  Startled, all I did was stare at him. But then curiosity overcame my surprise and I asked, “And who might you be?”

  He laughed. “Obviously, not who you were expecting.”

  “You can say that again,” I said.

  He stood there waiting, looking somewhat amused.

  I gave myself a mental slap. I was being rude, simply because I was still stewing over having lost an opportunity to find out more about that girl from the beach. I’d let her slip through my fingers, and now took it out on this man with my sharp tone. Not fair.

  I pasted on a smile. “Sorry about that. Can I help you?”

  “I sure hope you can,” he said, smiling back. “I seem to be in somewhat of a dilemma.” He glanced out toward the street at a car, then back at me expectantly.

  “And your dilemma is?” I asked, politely.

  He held his phone up. “My cell is dead. It appears I got a flat tire when I was turning around inside your courtyard. I need to call the dealership.”

  “And you want to use my phone?”

  “If you don’t mind, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  I debated for about five seconds then handed the house phone over and waited, not moving one inch, blocking him from entering further in, while still holding the door wide open, my other hand gripping my cell phone in my pocket.

  Which was an overreaction. It was broad daylight.

  His face brightened with relief. “Thanks.”

  I stood there and listened to his side of the call as he kept glancing about the foyer, pacing, and talking. My mind was going back to wondering about that girl with the scarred leg, when I heard him mention the make and model of his car. I stiffened.

  “It’s a two-tone, silver Mercedes Maybach...”

  I went tone deaf at the rest of the car data he relayed, putting on the brakes, thinking back to what that gardener, who may or may not be a gardener, had told me the day before. I refocused on him when he gave the dealership service department his name. It was Pete Edwards, and most likely that same man the gardener had caught staring at this house.

  Maybachs weren’t exactly a common sight in Ocean City. Now two times in a row.

  Who was he?

  Chapter 21

  Reaction, Interaction, & In-between

  I had already decided he wasn’t getting in the house no matter what, Maybach or no Maybach. He’d have to wait outside for service. Obviously, he had no intention of changing his tire himself or he would have done so already and notified me he was doing so in my courtyard.

  Surreptitiously, I checked his hands. No manual labor detected there. His fingers were slim, smooth, and well-manicured. I noticed his shirt cuffs bore his initials, PE. So here was another male with grooming habits. But this one appeared different, quite a contrast to Santos, the alleged gardener, who, come to think of it, could identify who was standing before me, as most likely the same man who was here previously.

  I speculated on the percentages of Maybachs cruising my street. No, this was probably the same man. The glint in his eyes as they traveled my body felt creepy too. Martha warned me of tomcats sniffing around, like I was in heat.

  Okay, shake that image right now. I overstated my point.

  But the questions remained. Why me? Why here?

  After giving directions to my house, Pete hung up the phone and handed it back to me then began to thank me profusely. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”

  I personally didn’t see how. He could’ve walked to one of the other houses. No, this smelled like a setup. One for my benefit, so he could meet and talk to me.

  But why? What did he really want?

  I sounded like a broken record asking these questions, but the whole thing felt fishy. This wasn’t even my house to begin with. I was renting. So, why was this man standing there and heaping thanks on me for just using my phone? I was about to find out, but not inside the house.

  He remain rooted where he stood on the threshold. I guess he was hoping I’d invite him inside to wait, but I went into defensive mode instead. I may be a blonde, but one shouldn’t underestimate me as a stupid one.

  I cheerily said, “Why don’t we wait outside together?”

  While we waited, I figured I would see what I could find out: who he was and why he was at my courtyard twice.

  He paused, startled his plan to come in further was shot down so smoothly. Having no other option, he nodded. “Sure. The company would be appreciated.”

  He then turned around and reluctantly exited, while I followed right after locking my door securely behind me.

  Chapter 22

  Expedition/Interrogation

  Once we were in the courtyard I checked out his car. Sure enough, he had a flat. I watched him staring down the street. Was this intentional? Had he let the air out of his own tire to talk to me so I’d invite him inside?

  If I were to dispel the unsettled feeling hovering, I had to probe into his identity and find out why he was there. Because if he disappeared like the others had, I’d remain clueless.

  “May I ask what you do for a living, Mr. Edwards?”

  He turned to me, startled by my candid query. “I own P. Edwards Exp
editions, Inc.”

  “Must be profitable. Your wheels are impressive.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I can see your assumption on that.”

  “You expedite?” I teased.

  “We try to,” was all he said.

  Well, he wasn’t expediting verbally, was he?

  “What needs expediting?” I asked, pushing on.

  “Shipping, salvage operations, reselling salvage.”

  I looked from him to his car then back again at him.

  Obviously, he didn’t do it himself.

  “Salvaging what?” I asked.

  “Reclaiming iron ore: stripping old ships and tankers for what is no longer viable and seaworthy that’s up for sale to resell. There’s big money to be had in salvage.”

  “Sounds like a fascinating field to be involved in.”

  “Excuse me,” he said, pausing to text something on his phone. Then he turned to me again. “Where were we?”

  I stared. He had just used his phone to text. This flat tire incident wasn’t an unfortunate mishap—it was a setup. Suspicion washed over me. This man was too confident, too smooth, too rich, and now, apparently, too stupid. Somehow his cell phone had just recharged its own battery.

  A miracle!

  For a nanosecond I had seriously considered maybe he and the gardener were in this together. But then I dismissed it. Santos could very well be the gardener, protectively wondering why this guy was lingering and staring at the house, and he thought it worth mentioning. How many two-tone silver Mercedes Maybachs cruised my street in Ocean City, twice?

  “Mr. Edwards...”

  He tore his eyes from his phone again. “Hmmm?”

  “Why were you at this house the other day?”

  Just then a tow truck pulled in. He walked over to the driver and spoke to him then came back to me. Instead of the guy changing the tire, he was pulling it onto the flatbed and securing it.

  I turned to him. “Mr. Edwards...”

  It was as though I hadn’t spoken. Vaguely, he said, “They’re taking care of this at the dealership and dropping me off at my appointment on the way, then bringing my car back to that destination.”

  I persisted in getting his attention. “Mr. Edwards!”

  “Please call me Pete, uh...I don’t even know your first name to even thank you properly.”

  I felt like laughing out loud. He probably already knew, like everyone else. I wasn’t fooling anyone. But I felt I had to keep up my persona in case I was misreading everybody.

  “It’s Samantha...Weber.”

  This felt too rehearsed and rushed to be anything else.

  “Well, Samantha, I appreciate your help in letting me use your phone...”

  I cut him off. “It seems yours is not dead after all. You just texted on it.”

  He glanced down to it. “Well, what do you know, it isn’t dead, is it? I must have my phone checked out.”

  “Unbelievable!” I said.

  He stared back innocently. “Inconceivable.”

  “Sort of like us meeting like this, huh?” I challenged.

  Ignoring my last words, he smiled then rounded the tow truck, jumped into the passenger side of it, and waved through the cab to me as they drove away.

  Now, what was the owner of P. Edwards Expeditions really doing at my rental house?

  Chapter 23

  Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

  Once back inside the house I sat down at my desk. My mind kept going back to Pete Edwards and his unusual visit. I grabbed my journal and wrote the incident down before I forgot the details. Then I sat pondering the odds of the why of this, which prompted another event that was just as baffling, only this time to my mother, involving me.

  My Journal

  I must have been about twelve at the time and already beginning to confound and confuse my mother as I grew more independent. I remember it was summer and hot. My bedroom was on the second floor and the pitched roof over our garage in the shade of a big oak tree called out to me. The wind was blowing and the temptation was too enticing.

  I quietly shut my bedroom door then removed the screen from the window. I dragged over a chair, crawled through the window, and balanced on the downward angle of the roof facing the backyard. I sat cooling off and deliberating.

  Then I began inching along the roof to where it flattened until I reached that tree. I grabbed it, and climbed down branch to branch until I could swing to the ground safely.

  (I laugh out loud as I write this youthful perception.)

  I descended that garage roof without fear for my safety!

  Once on the ground though, I stared up at that pitched roof, marveling at how I did that without killing myself. I then chuckled and entered the house through the back door and passed my mother, who was busy baking. She glanced up, surprised at seeing me walk in through the back door and did a double take, like she was seeing things.

  “I thought you were up in your room?” she asked.

  “I was outside,” I said nonchalantly, grabbing an apple from the counter and heading for the stairs to go right back up to my room.

  I glanced back at her. She was shaking her head, and mumbling, “I must be imagining things.”

  I did it one more time, but this time she wasn’t there when I walked in. To tell you the truth, she probably would have grown suspicious if she had seen me a second time.

  But after that incident, I found that my shaded slanted roof was a quiet place to write in the journal I’d started that year. It was a clandestine place to hide and write my secret thoughts, dreams, wishes, and a fictional story or two.

  I didn’t tell my parents about my risky behavior until I was an adult. My mother was shocked. No longer interested in writing on that roof in cloak-and-dagger intrigue, I then began reading mysteries, fascinated by their risk-taking danger from the relative safety of their pages. Now? I marvel I’ve survived my own mysteries.

  I closed my journal. What transpired with Pete Edwards that triggered my memory of that long, hot summer afternoon? What common link sparked the other? I hadn’t thought about that roof for ages. Back then I was gently playing with my mother, and what she thought she knew to be true, but then thought she was mistaken when she saw me walk in.

  I was trying to convince my mother I wasn’t upstairs when she knew for a fact I was. Even back then I was interested in psychology and how people perceived one thing, but then began to question what they thought they knew to be fact. This had played out again today.

  Pete was saying and doing one thing, but an altogether different something was going on here.

  Possible?

  I had a lot to mull over before I jumped to conclusions.

  I smiled after linking the significance of the two events.

  Journal lesson learned?

  What you see may not be what think you see.

  It’s what you don’t see that counts.

  Chapter 24

  Getting A Line: Online

  I settled myself in front of my laptop to find out more about Pete Edwards and his shipping company, P. Edwards Expeditions, Inc. I was curious to see whether it was indeed a legitimate enterprise. I thought of that old line: trust but verify. In Pete’s case, the trust factor was AWOL at the moment. I was verifying.

  What was the guy doing in Ocean City in the first place?

  My fingers clicked away on the keyboard then stopped.

  P. Edwards Expeditions, Inc. bought salvage from retired, or wrecked ships from ship-breakers, who basically scrap tools, parts, and components. His company worked with ship-breaking operations, in addition to restoring and selling salvaged items. Their inventory list of expensive pieces was impressive. They also bought scrap from shipyards by the ton. Okay, I got it. This could be lucrative.

  I sat back, studying Pete Edwards’ impressive website. At least he had made one truthful statement. His business looked lucrative and it appeared quite legitimate.

  So what was with the sham of his phone being
dead? I let my crazy mind wander over different scenarios. His visit sounded like a complete ruse, but for what purpose? Was it me he wanted to find out about or this house?

  It was a house that anyone could have rented out, even him, if he wanted to get inside that bad. Or he could have asked the realtor for a showing to see if he wanted to rent it when I’d left. Both those scenarios would be so easy to pull off. But using his phone after he’d claimed it was dead was a blunder.

  Had I thrown him off by not inviting him inside?

  And if I had let him in, what then? Unknown.

  I focused back on his website, scanning it for a phone number. I could call, but I couldn’t identify myself. Maybe they had caller ID. So that wouldn’t work. Besides, what would I accomplish by calling? That he had a receptionist?

  His name was listed as the CEO. So that was legit too.

  I drummed my fingers on my desk, thinking. Other than him reappearing again, there was nothing I could do about something I didn’t understand in the first place. What do I do when a man shows up at my door unannounced, without stating his true intentions?

  I broke up laughing. That had happened so many times in the past, I couldn’t count. So, what did I do in the past? I waited patiently for another incident. Meanwhile, I would ask around to those I knew if they ever heard of him. The thing is, the few people I’d met here weren’t easily found.

  Back to square one. Keep searching the internet.

  I went to another site with his company name and began scanning it. I clicked on the tab, about us, and froze. It had a clear picture of the CEO of P. Edwards, Expeditions, Inc. I sat back stunned, not expecting this.

  Guess what? It wasn’t the guy who was here...

  Chapter 25

  Taking Another Look

  Bright and early the next morning, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take another look around the rental where I was staying and see if anything was different from when I’d stayed here last time. A really good look, this time.