No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7) Read online

  No Hope In New Hope

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Book 7

  by

  Peggy A. Edelheit

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No Hope In New Hope, A Samantha Jamison Mystery, Book 7

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2013 Peggy A. Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. 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.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover Designed by Telemachus Press, LLC

  Cover Art:

  Copyright © iStock/5357640/AdamRadosavljevic

  Edited by Winslow Eliot

  http://www.winsloweliot.com

  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  Visit the author website:

  http://www.samanthajamison.com

  ISBN: 978-1-940745-99-2 (eBook)

  Version 2015.05.28

  Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit

  The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series

  The Puzzle Book 1

  Without Any Warning Book 2

  86 Avenue du Goulet Book 3

  A Lethal Time Book 4

  Mouth Of The Rat Book 5

  Death Knell In The Alps Book 6

  The Lush Life Book 8

  Too Close For Comfort Book 9

  Memoir: The Riviera is Burning

  Visit my website: http://samanthajamison.com

  Chase your Dreams

  & Remember,

  Every Day is a Blessing

  With Love to my husband

  My biggest supporter and confidant

  & My three sons

  Acknowledgment

  & Special Thanks To

  My Editor

  Winslow Eliot

  My Publisher

  Telemachus Press

  Steven & Claudia Jackson

  Steven & Terri Himes

  No Hope In New Hope

  Book 7

  Chapter 1

  I Sure Didn’t Expect (This) Unexpected

  “Aren’t you that author who writes all those fast-paced, can’t-put-down mysteries?” tall, dark and handsome asked.

  Pleased at being recognized, I stopped and smiled.

  He was impeccably dressed: pricey suit, polished shoes. His Louis Vuitton tie sported a fresh red stain: Italian food? About to thank him for his nice compliment, I backed up a step when a gun suddenly appeared aimed directly at me.

  …Maybe that stain wasn’t sauce after all.

  “What is this about?” I asked. “I think you’re confused.”

  Flinching like I’d hit him, he then leaned in menacingly.

  I cleared my throat. “…Okay, let me rephrase that. You might have me confused,” stressing, “with someone else.”

  “…But you solve mysteries, right?”

  “You do realize that fiction isn’t true, don’t you?”

  His face flushed. “Do I look that stupid?”

  “Not with that gun in your hand, you don’t.”

  “You are Samantha Jamison, correct?”

  Should I answer truthfully? “…Why are you asking?”

  “And you’re Clay’s broad, right?” he continued.

  That stopped me… Exactly who was this guy?

  “Well?” he asked, impatiently, tapping his foot.

  “Give me a minute,” I said, holding up my index finger.

  “You’ve both solved several capers, right?” he asked.

  How did he know so much about us? Stay vague…

  “Look, I’m no detective or sleuth, I’m just an author.”

  I knew some readers out there may not like my personal writing style, but this was taking it too far: almost surreal. I pinched myself hard just to make sure this was happening.

  “Ouch!” I yelled, reaching my tolerance limit.

  …I guess I’ll never write a book that pleases everyone.

  “Hey, read the parts you like,” I said, rubbing my arm.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked, like I was the nut. “I heard some authors are flaky, but you? I had no idea.”

  …Everybody’s a critic.

  The guy’s intensity and impatience were mystifying and there was still that lethal issue of his gun between us.

  He whipped out his cell phone, scrolled and held it up in front of me. Damn. It was a shot of me hotly kissing Clay. I took the clueless route, stalling for some time until I could think how to make my exit…you know, run.

  “Why all the questions? Why are you asking about this guy, Clay, and pointing that gun at me?”

  “Tell me that’s not the two of you!” he demanded.

  “I admit, it looks provocative,” I finally conceded.

  “So you are Samantha Jamison, correct?”

  “And if you’re right, what exactly do you want?”

  “I want what’s mine, that’s what! And right now!”

  He surely wasn’t thinking of me personally, was he?

  I heard a click: his gun’s hammer. I winced. “Wait!”

  Hold on. Before I go further with this story, it might help if I take you back to when the whole thing first started…

  Chapter 2

  Backing Up For The Backdrop

  I was standing on the bridge connecting New Hope, Pennsylvania and Lambertville, New Jersey, taking in the wide river views north and south of me. Due to a recent rain, the Delaware River was rippling at a fast clip, so the boaters hadn’t returned. The tourists shopping both sides of the bridge were sidestepping around my slow pace as I headed back toward New Hope, enjoying my walk.

  My full leg cast was off from my trip to Switzerland: the setting of Death Knell In The Alps, my last mystery. Still edgy when it came to the sound of bells, I turned to look when a church bell chimed nearby. It would be some time before I forget that vacation and my near brush with death.

  I sipped my coffee from Starbucks: a trendy pick-me-up in a trendy historic village Clay suggested for our romantic getaway. I was surprised by the heavy traffic of families, motorcyclists, antique, local art and craft admirers, and all those interested in immersing themselves in a little bit of history. I heard both towns had great restaurants too.

  Some romantic rendezvous.

  My first surprise came when I found out we’d be guests of Clay’s friends, Chris and Alicia Worth, at their old stone French house. No B&B? I was already settled in the apartment over their garages minus Clay, who was delayed once again. Chris and Alicia lived north of N
ew Hope and owned Worth Gallery in the busy downtown tourist area. Since I flew in first, and the two were usually at their gallery, they dropped me off to wander the town and get acclimated to the area until Clay arrived, while they met with some clients. I’d see their art gallery later with Clay.

  Clay and I go way back to Highlands, North Carolina. You see, after my husband was killed under suspicious circumstances, I needed to find out who was responsible. That’s where I met Clay, who lived close enough down the mountain to be considered my neighbor. He also owned a bookstore in town. Later on I learned of his sideline: being a footloose private investigator with an iffy network of contacts. So, did I trust him after all this time? Not as far as I could spit. But I’d never let that stop me from having great undercover moments with him … He was hot!

  Being well versed in how Clay’s mind worked since I’ve known him, doubt always hovered. This trip was too convenient. So in spite of Clay’s relationship with these friends of his, I would remain skeptical until proven wrong.

  Of course, I’m suspicious of just about everything to begin with: hence the mystery novelist in me constantly stumbling into situations that didn’t necessarily serve my best interests. I just had to know the why behind everything. Otherwise it drove me crazy until I did. Would this be one of those occasions? This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

  Where was that romantic escape I was promised?

  Chapter 3

  Absentia

  Later on at the house, after stepping from my shower, I thought I heard one of the four garage doors beneath me. Had Clay arrived? I hastily wrapped a towel around myself and ran to the window, only to catch Chris and Alicia driving off in their Land Rover with luggage stacked inside.

  Where were they going? I looked over to the apartment door wondering why they hadn’t knocked to let me know. That was when I spotted a small envelope that apparently was slipped under the door. I grabbed it and tore it open.

  Samantha, Sorry to spring this, but we are headed to the airport for London. We have a chance at purchasing a few private oil paintings from Willow Gallery. Of course, Chris always has to see the pieces in person. He’s a stickler for that. So here we are rushing off to catch the next flight out of JFK. I do hope you understand our sudden departure. Enclosed please find our keys to our other SUV. Feel free to use it while we are gone. Best, Alicia

  I reread it then pulled keys out of the envelope: Jeep.

  So I was on my own. What else was new?

  I was sure they would let Clay know as well, but I still reached for my cell to verify. Maybe if he knew I was alone in this big house he might arrive a lot sooner.

  When his voicemail came on, I left a message, I texted too. He was either out of range or too busy to talk. That had happened so much in the past I should be getting used to it. I didn’t necessarily like it, but still half-expected it.

  I dressed, headed down the apartment steps, exited the side door, walked through an open porte cochere, and then entered the garage to have a peek at my wheels. I stopped in my tracks. It was a red and tan Jeep. I hadn’t expected a ragtop. Nice and sporty. I continued to check the rest of the garages. In the third bay was an older red Ford pickup in mint condition: another surprise.

  I entered the fourth and smaller last bay through an open doorway. It was a small workshop with an all-terrain Gator, like they used on the fields of football games. And tucked beside that, right next to its large garage door, sat two partially covered Harleys, attached to trickle chargers. With these two additional toys sitting around, I guessed that dealing in the world of art had its fringe benefits.

  My curiosity satisfied, I worked my way back to the house, locking the garage door behind me. The sun was starting to set and since I was the only one in the house now, I locked that door too and returned to the apartment. In order to scrape something together for dinner later, I had to check my food supplies first then go check my emails.

  Alicia mentioned she’d lightly stocked our refrigerator with food to tide me over until Clay arrived. I opened it for the first time and gaped. It was completely filled. Was there anything these people hadn’t thought of? I chuckled…

  Yeah, where’s my missing blue-plate special: Clay?

  Chapter 4

  Bump In The Night

  I checked my emails and was paying some bills when my fingers stilled: it was a loud thud from the main house.

  …And I was alone. Or at least was supposed to be.

  It was now dark outside and not my favorite time of day for being alone, especially in a large house in which I was unfamiliar. Since I was the only one there, as their houseguest, I should do a walkthrough, right? Not hearing anyone talk me out of it, I reluctantly stood up to go check.

  I grabbed my heavy guest flashlight, just in case, and made my way down the backstairs. Light was coming from beneath the door to their family room. I listened before entering. Silence. I peeked inside. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath and let it out. Several haphazardly-stacked heavy books had fallen from the top of a bookcase.

  I had a hunch on why the light was on and walked over to a wall outlet: a timer. I decided I’d check the house, so I walked toward the hallway. Alicia and Chris had explained they mixed originals with reproduction art on purpose.

  The effect was not only impressive, but also clever. It was a museum of incredible artwork. No wonder they said they had an elaborate security system and hidden driveway annunciator. I found two more lights on in different rooms on other floors. Timers were attached to them too. Motion sensors and cameras were in key locations. All doors had deadbolts and key entries. Excellent. I felt better already and relaxed. I was retracing my steps back to the family room when I noticed a door ajar: a stairway going down.

  I was afraid of that. The basement. Ugh…

  With determination and my trusty flashlight, I opened the door wide, flicked on lights and stared downward. The steps were fully carpeted: a good sign. Maybe this wouldn’t be so creepy after all. I descended slowly and then hit another light switch and gasped. It was a lushly-carpeted second family room with a large TV.

  I then turned and headed down a hardwood hallway to another darkened area. I felt for and found three more light switches. I pressed to turn them on, but then everything went black. My breath caught then I remembered that flashlight in my pocket. I whipped it out and flicked it on.

  First thing I spotted was the closed circuit breaker panel directly across the room and went right for it. If these lights were out, they could be out in my apartment too. I’d check that panel first. Why waste my time going back upstairs? I crossed the dark room but then stopped dead in my tracks.

  I sucked in air. …What was that? I waited in silence.

  Nothing…I kept going, but then froze again.

  There it was: a rustling noise…

  It came from a shut door I’d just passed in the hallway. First things first: the panel. I focused on moving forward.

  Breathe in. Breathe out…

  Chapter 5

  Nothing But Something

  I’d investigate after I checked out that panel. Flashing a light around in the dark had its disadvantages. I needed more light. I stared down at my flashlight: my only weapon.

  I opened the panel and sure enough, some breakers had tripped. Relieved, I hit the switches, turned and gaped at a full-sized pool table with a massive tiffany light above it. Stools and tables were clustered for guests. A hand-painted, multi-paneled screen of the Italian countryside covered one whole wall. Then I swung my gaze to that hallway door.

  As usual, my curiosity was killing me. I had to check it.

  I pre-dialed 911 on my cell, but then sighed, frustrated.

  Scratch that. There was no signal in their basement.

  I grabbed a pool stick then stopped. The room’s door handle had a lock. I tried it. Unlocked! I hit the lights and glanced around taking inventory: boxes lining the walls and a long counter loaded with supplies for packing. It w
as nothing but a combination packing/storage room.

  Then I asked myself, so why the lock on the door?

  A flash caught my eye up above then disappeared in the rafters of the unfinished storage room. I jumped back when debris unexpectedly fell onto my head. I swiped at it and inspected my hand. It was seeds and nuts and whatever that I couldn’t identify. After living in North Carolina in a log cabin for well over a year, I recognized those telltale signs: squirrels were inside the house wreaking havoc, having some fun. That might explain the breakers shorting out.

  I laughed in relief. I’d rather deal with a squirrel or two, who were nothing but rats with good PR, than deal with an intruder: the human kind, who from past experiences rated much lower on that scale.

  I brushed more debris from my hair, replaced the pool cue and made my way back to the room with the TV where I’d seen a sizable cabinet and wanted to take a closer look, curious as to what it held. It was padlocked with a darkened glass center covered over in iron grillwork. I got closer and peered inside: rifles and lots of them.

  Was Chris a hunter? Were they collectable or were they for protection? I noticed a drawer at the bottom. I reached down, expecting it to be locked, too, but it wasn’t. The heavy drawer slid open when I pulled. My jaw dropped.

  It was filled with ammunition.

  Of course it would help to know exactly what I was looking at, so I knelt down and started reading the boxes, the most deadly of which was hollow nosed points.