Table of Contents
SIMPLE MISCONCEPTION
Acknowledgments
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Epilogue
SIMPLE MISCONCEPTION
Jordan James, PI Series
RACHEL SHARPE
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
SIMPLE MISCONCEPTION
Copyright©2018
RACHEL SHARPE
Cover Design by Leah Kaye Suttle
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-688-9
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Books by Rachel Sharpe:
Cold Ambition
Lost Distinction
Bitter Retribution
I would like to dedicate this book to my children,
who make every day an adventure.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank God; my amazing husband, Josh; my precious children; my wonderful parents; my “Yankee” family; the city of New Orleans; my family and friends; Leah Suttle, for bringing my vision to life in her magnificent covers; and Debby Gilbert and the amazing crew at Soul Mate Publishing for this incredible opportunity. Finally, I want to thank you, the reader, for reading my book. You’re the reason I wrote this. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
1
I’ve found myself in many difficult situations due to my chosen profession. Many times, a lead would take me down a path I would have never considered. I’ve always made it my mantra to go with the flow, trust my instincts. But now? How do you trust your instincts when they put you, once again, in harm’s way?
Two weeks. I was going to be in New Orleans for two whole weeks. When I booked my flight home for Christmas, I had just solved an emotional case, one that gave me a greater appreciation of both life and family. It was while in this state of mind that I agreed to extend my usual, weeklong Christmas vacation through the New Year. Twenty-four hours into it, I was already regretting my decision. For one thing, Heather would only be home for three days.
After her first episode as head writer of Schooling Dad aired, Heather’s career skyrocketed, making Schooling Dad gold and Heather harder to reach. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t begrudge her success. I was thrilled she was doing so well. It just bummed me out when I realized that now she couldn’t take as much time away from work and our girl-time would be significantly reduced.
My mother, the social bee of New Orleans, was far happier about this development than I. When she found out about my extended stay, her mind went right to work. And by the time I stepped off the plane at Louis Armstrong International Airport, I learned that my vacation was packed. There were luncheons and holiday parties galore and I was expected to attend them. All of them. Add to the mix several baby showers, because my older sister Alicia was pregnant with her first child, and you had yourself one full day-planner.
Trying to accentuate the positive, I reminded myself that keeping busy would make the time fly by. Still, after spending two hours at my mother’s book club’s annual holiday luncheon, where I was asked at least twenty-five times when I would be walking down the aisle and having babies like Alicia, I was ready to jump out of my skin. Instead, however, I decided to try a far less drastic measure. I borrowed my mother’s car. After driving around aimlessly, I found myself at a local coffee shop just up the street from my parents’ home. It wasn’t Dunkin’, the most delicious coffee in the world that I would probably die without, but it would have to make due for the duration. I had just taken my first sip of warm, caffeinated goodness when I heard a total blast from the past.
“Hey, Jamestown! What’re you doing back in the dirty South?”
Turning, I found myself face to face with Natalie Weisman, one of the most free-spirited people I had ever met. Natalie went to school with Heather and me from kindergarten through twelfth grade. You would think being stuck together for thirteen years would not lend itself to extended camaraderie, but somehow, we managed to remain friends for all those years. When we were together, it became clear why such a friendship would seem odd. The main reason for such an assessment was that my two best friends were polar opposites. While Heather was the levelheaded friend who kept you on track, Natalie was the wild child that left you sometimes regretting your decisions, but totally loving the ride all the same. I hadn’t seen Natalie in almost six years, but at that moment, it felt like no time had passed.
“Oh my gosh! Nat!” I gave her a big hug. “It’s so good to see you! How have you been? Where have you been? Last I heard you were in . . . Denmark?”
“Estonia,” she said with a grin.
“Estonia. Man, that must have been amazing.”
“Eh, it was all right. Pretty cold most of the time. Not really something I dug, you know? I like to be outside. I like the sun. Really wasn’t much sun there. Plus, after I left Taavi . . .”
“Taavi? Is that where you lived?”
She gave me a confused look. “What? No. Taavi was my husband.”
“Your . . . Your husband? You’re married?” I can’t begin to imagine the look I had on my face at the thought of Natalie Weisman getting married. Thankfully, Natalie was never one to concern herself with the opinions of others.
“Was . . . is . . . whatever. We’re not together anymore so it doesn’t matter.” She paused, staring up at the illuminated menu adorned with cheap plastic garland behind the counter. A bulb on the far right side of the sign had begun to flicker, suggesting its imminent demise. “Technically, we’re still married, but . . . whatever. It’s over. He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
“I’m so sorry.” I shook my head, still trying to compute Natal
ie being married. “Are you okay?”
“What? Of course!” She laughed, brushing her hair back again. “Girl, that’s old news. Life happens, you know? All I’ll say on the matter is . . . well, you know how they say nothing good ever happens after two in the morning?” I nodded. “Yeah, that goes double in former Soviet republics. Anyway, enough about my boring life. What’s up with you? Heard you were in . . . New York?”
“Boston.”
“Boston, right.” She took a sip of her iced coffee. “So what’s that like? Haven’t been up there yet.”
“Well, it’s not like Estonia, but it’s pretty cool. Definitely colder than here, but no humidity which is always a plus.”
“Always,” she agreed, taking another sip. “What do you do?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope. I have my own firm.”
“So what do you do?”
“Solve cases.”
“Huh.” She took another sip of coffee, her eyes surveying the almost-deserted shop with minimal interest. “What kind of cases?”
“Depends on the client.” I paused to sip my own coffee. During our conversation, it had become lukewarm. The lack of heat and the fact that it wasn’t Dunkin’ made me want nothing more than to throw it away, but I didn’t want Natalie to think I was bored with our conversation, so I choked down another mouthful. “I’ve handled some cold cases, missing person cases, and murder too.”
At this, her eyes widened as they returned to mine. “No kidding? Murder?”
“Yep.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. After a long pause, she asked, “So what’re you doing here?”
“What do you mean? Like, here in this coffee shop, or here in town?”
Had I been talking to Heather, the response to such an obvious question would have been a dry, sarcastic remark. Natalie, however, was not like Heather. Not in the least. Brushing her hair behind her ears, her colorful, beaded bracelets clanged into each other. “Town.”
“Well . . . it is Christmas.”
Natalie looked around again, as if noticing for the first time all the red and green holiday décor. She nodded to herself.
“Right. Christmas. Totally forgot . . . guess it’s jet lag or . . . whatever.”
I stood there, watching her in silence. Although I couldn’t put my finger on it, there was definitely something different about Natalie that had nothing to do with jet lag. She looked the same—still wearing chic yet earthly blouses, short jean shorts in winter, and trendy ankle boots, but she seemed somewhat off. “So . . . when did you get back?”
“Uh . . . today. Just got in. Took an Uber from the airport.”
“What about your parents? They didn’t meet you?”
At this, she raised her signature right eyebrow and shot me a dubious stare. “You mean my dad and wife number five?” Laughing to herself, she shook her head. “Didn’t bother telling him I was back. Figured I’d head to the Quarter, meet up with some old friends and chill. Save the . . . bonding time . . . for later, you know?”
“Right.” I nodded, offering a half-smile.
Somehow, I had forgotten another key difference between Natalie, Heather, and myself. While Heather and I both came from semi-annoying yet loving families, Natalie, ever since I could remember, had lived with her dad. It had been so long that I couldn’t recall the story about what happened to her mother, but I thought that it had something to do with her walking out on them when Natalie was very young.
I had never met her mother and never even seen a picture of her. It was a sore topic to be sure, and one I didn’t intend to bring up now. After the end of his first marriage, Dr. Weisman managed to go through several other wives and girlfriends, each one seemingly younger, prettier, and faker than the last. It got to the point where whenever we hung out at Natalie’s house, which, by the way, was like a gorgeous mansion you would expect to see on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, we avoided her dad and she didn’t bother introducing us to the latest fling. The memory of it made my heart ache as I realized things, clearly, were no better between them now.
“So you in?”
“Huh?” I blinked twice. As usual, I had managed to zone out during a conversation. I really need to work on that.
“God, Jamestown, you’re still the same.” She laughed, her gray-blue eyes shining. “I said, you wanna come with?”
“With you?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
Grabbing my coffee, she lifted the lid and took a sniff. When I offered a perplexed frown, she replied, “Just checking. I know it’s early, but I mean, you’re acting a little . . .”
“Oh, shut up.” I couldn’t help but grin. After a moment, she returned the smile, but there was a strange sadness in it. “What?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, shrugging. “Just good to see a friendly face. Anyway, are you in? I’m going to the Quarter. Need a little normalcy after . . . anyway, need a little normalcy. What do you say?”
I stood there for a moment, gripping the cup and thinking. According to the clock on the wall, it was almost three. Thirty minutes from now, my mother was expecting me to be back home to help her get the church’s children’s choir ready for their Christmas program, an event she had coordinated ever since Alicia was in grade school. The thought of it made me cringe. It was a great program and very generous of her to donate her time to this and many, many other church events, but that was not how I wanted to spend my Christmas vacation.
After everything with Rick and now the added craziness with Jon, I just wanted to have a little fun. I just wanted to turn my brain off for a bit, to be spontaneous, and to enjoy my life. Suddenly, Natalie no longer looked like an old friend I happened to run into by chance, but an escape from societal obligations. And a really fun one at that.
“Well? What do you say?”
Now, there’s a little voice inside everyone’s head that helps them distinguish between right and wrong. Call it common sense or call it conscience, it’s there to keep people from making really stupid decisions. While I’ve never been one to seek out danger, it does tend to find me on occasion. And sometimes, I’m too dense to notice until it’s too late. That’s why Heather is such an amazing best friend.
Heather has always been a very, very vocal, human version of common sense for me. She’s been the voice of reason who helped me get through innumerable instances where things could have gone from bad to worse very quickly. And I loved her for it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Heather who was standing before me in that little coffee shop on that less-than-frigid winter afternoon. It was Nat. Natalie Weisman, the friend who says, “Why not?” when you should be asking, “Why?” Slowly, a smile crept across my lips.
“Totally,” I grinned, tossing the nasty coffee into the plastic trash can nearby. “Let’s see what this town has to offer.”
“All right, Jamestown!” She returned my grin and led the way to the shop’s glass doors. Turning back, she added, “I’m so glad I ran into you. Coming back here might’ve been the best decision of my life.”
Still smiling, I sent my mother a quick text explaining I would not be able to make the program.
Her response was instant: ‘Oh no!! You’re going to miss a fab show!!!’ I sent a follow up explaining I ran into an old friend and she texted, ‘All right, sweetie. Have fun. We’ll miss you. Don’t be out too late. XOXO.’
Relieved, I followed Natalie out of the building. Had I known then that in less than seventy-two hours I would be dealing with a kidnapping, a dead body, and a crime ring that spanned four continents, I would have jumped in that car and sped off to church, saying a prayer of thanksgiving for my life and all the trivial inconveniences in it I found unbearable.
2
“Hey, get up.”
“Huh?”
“I said, get up.”
“What . . . I . . . huh?”
“Jordan!”
“Okay! Yeah. What?” Blinking my eyes, the distorted form looming over me slowly became clear. I realized I was looking up at my older sister, Alicia. She did not look happy. “Uh . . .”
“Is that really all you have to say?” I licked my dry lips and continued to stare at her. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. “Jordan!”
“Yeah, I’m awake, okay? Geez!” Rolling my eyes, I tried to sit up, only to have the room begin to spin. Groaning, I lay back down. I had a sudden headache that rivaled any I had ever experienced. And I felt slightly nauseous. Alicia flipped on the light, sending bright white beams of pain straight into my tired eyes. Shielding them with my hands, I grumbled, “Could you, like, turn that off? Please?”
“Oh, Jordan.” Sighing, she switched off the light. She sat beside me on the bed. Before I could react, I felt her pull my hands away and force my eyes open.
“Hey! Back off!” I stammered, slapping at her hands. “What are you . . .? Why are you here? You don’t even live here anymore.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, her voice suddenly icy. “I don’t live here anymore. I have my own house. And my own husband. And my own job with really long hours. And soon, a baby.”
“Thank you for that wonderful recap,” I mumbled, rolling onto my stomach and seeking out my soft pillow. “Glad we could catch up.”
I felt the pillow ripped from my grasp, sending me face first onto the purple comforter which, after many uses and repeated washes, was not all that comfortable. Angrily, I rolled onto my back again, filled with aggravation and ready to do whatever it took to get my super obnoxious older sister out of my room so I could get a little sleep. Suddenly, I felt like I was going to puke.
Simple Misconception (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 1