Jeopardy in July: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Venkataraman

  ***

  It had been a long day and a tiring one, considering how little I'd accomplished. Before packing up to leave I sent a quick e-mail to Jessie about Shirley Petersen's outburst and asked her if Uncle Teddy might know who betrayed Clarence. The plot thickens! Dun dun dun!

  When I got home, I checked my mailbox and found another surprise waiting for me. This one was wrapped in brown paper and shaped like a book. That's because it was a book--one I desperately needed, according to my friend Grace. The card read: I expect some awesome Christmas presents this year! Xoxo. Inside was a classic tome essential for pet owners everywhere: "Crafting with Cat Hair: Cute Handicrafts to Make with Your Cat". Laughing, I went inside to feed His Majesty after which I planned to send Grace a special book of her own: Frog or Prince? The Smart Girl's Guide to Boyfriends.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  To cap off my week, I went to a mediation on Friday that was surreal. It started out fine, almost pleasant, which should've been my first clue. The mediator served bagels and coffee, the opposing counsel was a decent guy, and the parties seemed reasonable. It was a short marriage, no kids, and it didn't take us long to divide the property and allocate the debts. We were wrapping things up (or so we thought), congratulating each other on a job well done when my client said to his client "I'll be over to pick up Roxy and Rico this afternoon", to which her future ex-husband replied, "Like hell, you will."

  To be clear, under Florida law, dogs are property; they are not in any legal sense considered children. Nevertheless, the five of us worked well into the afternoon, incurring over a thousand dollars in legal fees per side, drafting a shared custody agreement for two mutts that had been adopted for free. We even established a holiday visitation schedule and doggie health insurance, I kid you not. That is why family lawyers never say "Now, I've seen it all" because they know they'd be lying.

  I shouldn't complain--it's not like I do physical labor or anything--but mediating is exhausting and when it's over I don't have two brain cells to rub together. Once, I even forgot to pick up Mr. Paws from the vet and he almost had to spend the night. He was not pleased and, let me tell you, that cat can carry a grudge forever. You don't have to ask Mr. Paws how he really feels, he'll swat you in the head just for looking at him.

  Because I couldn't think straight after four hours of discussing whether Roxy and Rico would spend Thanksgiving with "Mummy" or "Daddy", I forgot to make copies of the information packet for my upcoming seminar at La Vida Boca. What I mean is I forgot to ask Nicole to do it. What a waste of a barbershop quartet! All that good will would be gone by Monday. No way was I staying late on a Friday night to copy and collate, even if it meant taking a weekend trip to the office. I just didn't have it in me. All I wanted was to go home and plant myself on the sofa, remote control in one hand, glass of wine in the other. Then my cell rang and I saw that it was one of my favorite people.

  "Hey James, TGIF! You have plans tonight?"

  I sat back down and propped my feet on the desk. "As a matter of fact, Gracie, I do. See if you can guess."

  She laughed. "Hmmm, does it involve making cute handicrafts with your cat?"

  "Bingo! Christmas is only five months away and Mr. Paws is quite the temperamental artist, as you know. One wrong word and he storms off in a huff."

  "Or scratches your eyes out," she added.

  "Judge the art, not the artist, Grace."

  "We're still talking about a cat, right?"

  "I'm not sure," I said, "my brain clocked out a few hours ago. What's up, my BFF?"

  "I was wondering--do you want to check out a new brewery in Fort Lauderdale? They have games and food trucks."

  "But do they have beer?" I joked.

  "They have kegs and kegs of the stuff--with flavors like coffee, and peanut butter and jelly."

  "Call me old-fashioned," I said, "but I like beer-flavored beer. Do they have any of that?"

  "Tell you what," Grace said, "If they don't, we'll go somewhere else. Deal?"

  "Deal. Pick me up? I don't feel like driving."

  "Sure! You at work?" she asked.

  "Yup."

  "We'll see you in fifteen."

  "Who's we?" I said. But she'd already hung up.

  Grace had tricked me. If I weren't so tired, I would have asked the obvious--who else is going? Now, I was stuck. Making small talk with my frenemy was not my idea of fun on a good day. The worst part was not being able to leave when I wanted to. But I really was too exhausted to drive and drinking would only make it worse, even if the beer was infused with coffee. Yuck!

  ***

  "Hello, Quinn," Nick said pleasantly enough after I hopped into the back seat of Grace's Prius. "It's been a while. How have you managed to stay out of trouble so long?"

  "Funny, Nick. As you may recall, it hasn't been that long since Grace and I were trapped in a sauna."

  "Worst spa day ever!" Grace chimed in as she maneuvered through rush hour traffic.

  "Yeah," I said, "we were literally sweating to death. Hey, next time let's get stuck in an elevator, okay?"

  "Agreed," Grace said, grinning at me through the rear-view mirror.

  Nick was incredulous, "Are you looking for trouble, Quinn?"

  I shook my head. "I don't have to, Nick, trouble always finds me."

  "Can't argue with that," he said.

  After Grace parked we waited together at the light to cross the street.

  "I just love it when you two get along!" she said, throwing her arms around our shoulders. It wasn't quite a group hug, but still too close for comfort.

  I had to laugh. "You know, when I first met this guy, he pissed me off so much I wanted to dump hot coffee on his fancy suit. Now, we're going out for drinks together. Hard to believe."

  "You forgot the part about how he's dating your friend," Grace added, nudging me. "That's the best part."

  "No," I said, "the best part is that I can dump a coffee-flavored beer on him later and pretend it was an accident. As they say, revenge is a dish best served cold--ice cold is even better."

  Nick cracked a rare smile. "Good luck finding a ride home, Quinn. You could always take an Uber."

  "One of us may be taking an Uber, but it won't be me. You shouldn't test Grace's loyalties like that, Nick--and so early in the relationship, too."

  "If you two don't knock it off," Grace laughed, "you'll both be taking an Uber."

  We entered the crowded brewery where I looked in vain for somewhere to sit, but Grace had a different plan and guided us through a side door to a quiet enclave outside where there was an empty table.

  "This is good," I said, scooting into the booth across from them. "If we could only get a beer, my life would be complete. I can't wait until Nick starts drinking and spills all his secrets. Won't that be entertaining?" I smiled at Grace.

  Nick took off his expensive jacket and loosened his tie a smidge, but he still looked like a state attorney. It was the haircut and the way he squared his shoulders that gave it away. What did Grace see in him, anyway? Sure, he was handsome with his chiseled features and a body that regularly hit the gym, but he was about as much fun as watching the weather channel.

  "You'll have to find your entertainment elsewhere, Quinn, I don't drink."

  I smacked my hand down on the wooden table. "Not cool, Nick. I'm going to get drunk and spill my secrets and you'll be sitting there taking notes! Seriously, Grace?"

  She took my hand like she was my nurse and I was her unhinged patient. "It's okay, Jamie, don't worry. Nothing you say tonight can be used against you in a court of law." Grace flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and then kissed her boyfriend on the cheek. "Nick knows not to mess with my BFF. I'm going to grab some menus. You two behave while I'm gone, you hear?" She gave us a warning look and swished out of the booth, steady on her high heels.

  "Don't blow this, Dimitropoulos," I said as we watched her walk away.

  "I'm trying not to," he said sincerely. His classic Greek profile w
as softened by a look of genuine affection. I don't know why I was so surprised.

  "Wow, Nick, you do have a heart. All this time, I thought you were an android sent to spy on us by our alien overlords. I hate it when I'm wrong."

  "Surely you must be used to it by now, Quinn," Nick said with a half-smile.

  "You crack yourself up, don't you?" I joked. "Hey, aren't you two supposed to be at a meet and greet tonight?"

  He nodded. "Apparently, my opponent was so intimidated by me that he canceled. Not really, it's being rescheduled." Then he gave me a quizzical look. "I ran into a friend of yours yesterday."

  "Who? Please don't tell me one of my friends came before your grievance committee."

  He shook his head. "As if I would tell you about a confidential proceeding, come on, think about it, Quinn, it will come to you."

  "Just tell me, Nick, I've had a hard day, I don't want to do any more thinking. My brain is fried."

  "I'll give you a hint," he said, "It's a woman."

  "Way to narrow it down, Nick. That's only fifty percent of the population."

  "She said she used to think your name was Babe."

  "Jayashree Patel? What is she doing in town?"

  Just then, Grace returned with menus, a bag of cheddar popcorn, and a flight of four beer samples ranging in color from light to dark.

  "I don't know," Nick said. "But I think there's something big going on."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "Of course it's something big, Nick," I said. "The FBI doesn't come to town to drink mojitos on the beach, you know."

  He gave me a look that said he was ready to call that Uber for me.

  "Whoa, what did I miss?" Grace asked after setting the beers and popcorn down and distributing the menus.

  "Your boyfriend is keeping secrets," I said, taking a swig of the lightest beer. "Hey, that's a good one, dibs!"

  "Your best friend is telling lies," Nick said, making a face at me.

  "So much drama at this table!" Grace laughed. "If Nick is keeping secrets, Jamie, I'm sure he has his reasons. Like client confidentiality or national security--"

  "--Or he wants to keep all the fun cases for himself," I said. "Come on, Nick, tell us why Jayashree is here, she wouldn't mind. You know, I helped her bust that money laundering operation and before that a corrupt commissioner. I mean, I'm practically an FBI consultant."

  Nick's face had an odd expression, like he was holding back a sneeze and then he burst out laughing. Grace joined him a few seconds later.

  "You--an FBI consultant--that's the funniest…thing…I've ever…heard!" he gasped.

  "I told you that you watch too much TV, Jamie," Grace quipped.

  Nick wiped his eyes. "Are you Castle or are you Monk?"

  "Well," I said, "since they're both off the air, neither. And I'm not Psych or that hot guy from White Collar either. I'll be starting a new series with a female consultant. It will be called: Jamie Quinn, FBI Secret Weapon.

  They both cracked up again and this time I did too.

  "You know," Nick said. "I don't watch TV but I'd watch that. I'd even record it so I never missed an episode."

  I nodded. "That's because you can totally picture me as an FBI consultant, just admit it. The show would have to be a dramedy, of course. I can't bottle up all this hilarity, it bubbles over."

  "Right!" Grace said. "I'm thinking I Love Lucy meets Murder, She Wrote."

  "Now, you're being ridiculous, Gracie," I said. "I look more like Desi Arnaz than Lucille Ball. He was Cuban, right?"

  Grace took a sip of the darkest beer in the flight and smacked her lips. "That's funny already--a girl with an Irish name who looks Cuban."

  Nick grabbed a handful of popcorn. "Be sure to include the scene where you find a missing key by rolling around in paint with a bunch of rescue dogs."

  I threw popcorn at him, but he ducked.

  "Hey, that's my dinner, don't waste it," he said.

  "Now, Nick," Grace said, "give credit where credit is due. Jamie's technique may be unusual but she does stumble onto clues somehow."

  "Yeah, Mr. State Attorney, how about that?" I said, downing the rest of my tiny beer.

  He laughed. "Stumble is the operative word, Quinn. Having the Russian mob try to kill you doesn't seem like much of a technique."

  "Shows how much you know. At least Grace gets me, right, Bestie?"

  "I get you alright," she said. "And when you start calling me Bestie, I know you should eat something before you have another drink. Let's check out the food trucks, shall we?"

  "On one condition," I said. "Nick has to answer a question truthfully."

  "I always tell the truth, Quinn. When have I ever lied to you?" He leaned back in the booth with that self-righteous air of his.

  I thought about it. "How would I know? Besides, a liar would say the same thing."

  "Just ask your question already," he said with an eye roll.

  "Okay. If you find out what Jayashree is doing here, will you tell me?"

  "Not a chance."

  I shook my head. "You blew it, Nick. When I get my own TV show, I'm making you the villain."

  "Can't wait," he said. "Make sure my character is good-looking."

  "Yeah, but remember, the bad guy never gets the girl," I said. "That's a fact."

  Grace reached over and squeezed his arm. "Yes, but in this case we can make an exception."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thanks to Grace and her food intervention, I wasn't too hung over the next morning. I did have a little headache but willed it away with the power of positive thinking--that, and a couple of aspirin. As a result, I was feeling pretty good by the time my neighbors Sandy and Mike called to invite me over for a pizza party. It was their niece Katie's eighth birthday and the first time they would have a house full of sugared-up kids. I interpreted the invitation as a cry for help, a plea for reinforcements, and an acknowledgement that they were in over their heads. While I didn't relish spending my afternoon with a dozen shrieking little girls, I took pity on them and agreed to "drop by".

  A few minutes later, I followed my lazy cat out to the patio as I cradled my second cup of coffee. My stomach wasn't up for drinking it but holding the warm cup eased my slight queasiness. As I basked in the sun and counted the number of newly-hatched caterpillars on my milkweed plants, I couldn't help but wonder again why Jayashree Patel was in town. It wasn't like Hollywood, Florida was a hotbed of criminal activity. And despite rumors to the contrary, I never went looking for trouble--it wasn't my fault if I had an inquiring mind. That same inquiring mind urged me to go inside and search the internet for the news about Hollywood and the FBI's most-wanted list. Who knew that the FBI had more than one list of bad guys? Fun fact, their white collar list includes several women who are big-time con artists. Amateurs need not apply.

  Feeling a bit apprehensive, I clicked on the next list, the one with the cyber criminals, knowing what I would find: Eugeny Belov, alias Viktor Volodin, was still number one. He was the bastard who had hijacked my computer, tried to kill me and Grace, and murdered Katie's parents. Unfortunately, the FBI still hadn't caught him, but thanks to me they now had his picture. Another victory for Jamie Quinn, FBI Secret Weapon. Take that, Nick D.

  Aside from Belov, none of the career criminals on any of the FBI lists had a connection to Florida. Did that mean Jayashree had come back for Belov? Could he be looking for me? A shiver ran down my spine. Hold the phone, Jamie, if Belov was after anyone, it would be Marvin Glasser. Belov only tried to kill you in order to frame Glasser. Although I would have been just as dead, it was comforting to know it was nothing personal. Anyway, if I were truly in danger, Jayashree would have warned me and that made me feel better. It was funny how I spent so much time talking my clients off the ledge (metaphorically speaking) without realizing I needed to give myself that talk once in a while.

  As for news about Hollywood and its environs, I couldn't find anything, which was not surprising. It was the dog days
of summer, the tourists were gone and the wealthy people had fled to cooler climes. The only stories of note were about a woman who faked her own kidnapping to test her boyfriend's loyalty and a man who dressed in scrubs so he could steal drugs from the hospital. Welcome to South Florida where novelists can lift plots right from the headlines, no embellishment required.

  My cell rang and when I saw whose picture popped up, I answered it. "Speaking of strange people in South Florida, how's it going, Duke? Aren't you up kind of early after your wild night?"

  Duke chuckled. "Darlin', what you call a wild night, I call Tuesday. Let me tell ya what a wild night looks like--"

  "I'll pass," I said.

  "Some other time then," he said. "I'm actually calling to hear more about your conspiracy theory. Are secret agents tailing you or what?"

  "If they were, I doubt that I'd know about it," I reasoned, taking a sip of tepid coffee and instantly regretting it.

  "Yeah," Duke agreed. "They're pretty lousy spies if you can catch 'em in the act."

  "So true, but maybe these guys were disguised as rappers," I teased. "Then they would blend into the crowd."

  "You got that right, Ms. Esquire. No conspiracy then?"

  "Don't sound so disappointed, Broussard. Hey, how's your investigation going with the forged Chagall?"

  "The who?"

  "The painting, Duke. You know, the forgery?" I walked into the kitchen and cracked some eggs into a bowl. Breakfast time at last.

  "Why didn't you just say that?" he groused. "Tell you the truth, I'm out of ideas."

  "But I'm not," I said, excited. "Do you think Jeff would let you borrow the painting for a few days?"

  "Course he would," Duke said. "It's not worth anything."

  "Good, because I found an art appraiser who can take a look at it."