Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) Read online

  Death Knell In The Alps

  (The tolling of a bell to mark someone’s death)

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Volume 6

  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.

  Death Knell In The Alps, A Samantha Jamison Mystery, Volume 6

  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 © 20309834/bephotographers

  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: 978-1-939927-22-4 (eBook)

  Version 2014.01.18

  Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit

  The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series

  The Puzzle (Volume 1)

  Without Any Warning (Volume 2)

  86 Avenue du Goulet (Volume 3)

  A Lethal Time (Volume 4)

  Mouth Of The Rat (Volume 5)

  A Samantha Jamison Detour

  The Riviera is Burning (Volume 5.5)

  Chase your Dreams

  & Remember,

  Every Day is a Blessing

  This book is dedicated to the memory of

  Our dearly loved 14 yr. old Miniature Schnauzer

  Samantha I

  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 & Terri Himes

  Steven & Claudia Jackson

  Death Knell In The Alps

  Volume 6

  Chapter 1

  Think This Is Random?

  I swear, this was worse than stealing my manuscript.

  I stood back, surveying the scattered mess strewn across my hotel bed. “Okay, who took my Spanx?”

  “What are Spanx?” asked Martha, my partner in crime.

  “A girl’s best friend: a bodyshaper that hides unsightly bulges. I buy it one size too small, hence my size 2/4. Of course, sometimes it’s hard to breathe, but I try to time it, you know, like how long you can wear certain shoes: one, two, three hours or, if you’re lucky, the whole evening.”

  “But you’re in your thirties and already thin,” she said.

  I scanned her spiky white hair, seventyish attitude and skinny frame. Hmm… She could’ve taken it just for spite.

  Then I eyed our two librarianish (my editor will have a field day with that one) friends, also in their seventies, who initially fooled you (including yours truly) by their proper, old-fashioned behavior. They perfectly counterbalanced the impulsive and in-your-face Martha. Bottom line: they were all adept at sleuthing and I trusted them implicitly.

  Betty smoothed back some gray strands of her upswept bun. “Now, do I look like a candidate for your Spanx?”

  I stared at Betty’s tall, reedy body then at plump, height-challenged and curly, gray-haired Hazel, who laughed.

  “I couldn’t get that over my pinky. I’d strangle myself.”

  I shook my head. “We left here right after checking in to grab a quick lunch downstairs and came right back.”

  Betty rushed for the bathroom. “I had too much tea.” In seconds she rushed right back in, gasping, “I found it!”

  “Found what?” I asked, startled by her outburst.

  “The one thing you can’t live without,” she said.

  “Now, why would you bring up Clay?” chided Martha. “I was enjoying this lively repartee we had going on here.”

  “What does Clay have to do with any of this?” I asked.

  I’ve heard some authors have trouble with dialogue. Not me. All I had to do was talk to these three and it flowed.

  Betty pulled me along with her, as the others followed.

  Barely hanging onto the showerhead was my missing Spanx, sliced and shredded to pieces. A knife? A razor?

  Hazel stepped back, shocked. “Who’d do such a thing?”

  Martha frowned. “Maybe it’s some kind of message.”

  I touched the ruined softness. “…A message?”

  “Think this is random?” Betty asked. “Better call Clay.”

  “If this is connected to Clay,” said Martha, “he would know. He’s the one that invited all of us over here.”

  My anger rose. “But why…?” Mystified, I stared at the mutilated spectacle before me. Was she right: a message?

  “Well?” said Martha. “Are you calling Clay or am I?”

  “Call the concierge first and order a replacement.”

  Martha picked up the phone. “For you or the Spanx?”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we? Call that concierge. I’ll deal with Clay personally when I see him after he arrives.”

  This sure looked intentional, but why?

  Chapter 2

  Well… That Almost Explains Everything

  Annoyed, I sat there glaring at the phone. I had just hung up from talking to Clay, who’d be arriving four days late. Not because of his bookshop, The Bookworm, back in Highlands, North Carolina, but from his PI sideline.

  That gumshoe owed me a nice dinner for all this stress.

  Was that mutilation somehow connected to Clay? Was I over-reading it? Initially, Clay alleged he needed my help, but with what? “All expenses paid,” he’d said. “Bring along the girls.”

  That last part should have made me skeptical. But after all we’ve been through in the past, including my husband’s suspicious death, and afterward our extremely personal on-and-off relationship, I agreed. Now after seeing that visual in my shower, I was having second thoughts about this trip.

  I recalled our shared history and being involved in and eventually solving a few mysteries since we met. If you’d asked me about my trust factor back when I first met Clay, I would’ve said you’re crazy.

  Was Clay testing that trust again?

  First off, why did Clay invite me to the Swiss Alps? He said, “Bring your skis.” I didn’t own any. Oh, I’ve skied many times before, but never took it seriously. I couldn’t even
throw snowballs straight. The one thing I could do was ride a sled, but even then the odds weren’t always in my favor. I was usually one curve away from disaster.

  While questions lingered about Clay’s unusual invite to Switzerland, my curiosity kicked in too. By this point, I was becoming more intrigued than outraged by this creepy in-your-face message hanging in my shower. Like many times before, it was usually the why that drew me in. Plus, Clay stressed ‘do not’ report the Spanx episode because he said I must keep a low profile. He’d explain later. Hmm…

  Instead, I might want to take some professional ski lessons to improve my skills so I wouldn’t get bored while waiting for his late arrival. Clay’s friend, Peter, who sidelined as a ski instructor, would tutor me. Besides, these slopes were not only scenic, but might prove more challenging than I was used to. I should take advantage of Peter’s expertise.

  I asked him what was Peter’s main job? Was it similar to Clay’s: a private investigator? With Clay absent, and my body armor sliced and diced, I felt exposed and was now on the lookout for some nut with an aversion to bodyshapers.

  As usual, Clay glossed right over that question claiming that the ladies were accomplished skiers and I wasn’t. What would I do while they were all out having a great time?

  Clay finally won me over by conveniently bribing, I mean offering, to FedEx a Spanx replacement and a spare. That man knew just how to get on my good side. Plus, he had killer good looks, soft lips, and those hands of his…

  I smiled. …If I added this delay to his accumulating payback tab, why he’d be reimbursing me forever.

  Clay signed off with the fact that he’d booked his own room, which surprised me, but then didn’t. I already knew my suite had been registered in my name. So I figured my rooming arrangements with the ladies would be explained later and the real reason why all of us were there. I was flexible. I could just switch rooms when he arrived. In the meantime, skiing was the perfect distraction. I could do the vacation thing until then. Clay would be there soon enough.

  Besides, what else could possibly happen in four days?

  Chapter 3

  Sidestepping & Slipping

  After grabbing and slipping the offensive evidence back into the bottom of my suitcase, I felt somewhat better. Nothing would be said to the hotel staff about that vicious act to my personal undergarment, which still annoyed me. Would I ever find out who got into our room and went berserk in the shower? I sighed. Who knew? If Clay was involved, I got most of, but not quite, the whole truth. With all his sidestepping, he could have been a dance instructor.

  “I could go talk to housekeeping,” offered Martha.

  “It can’t hurt,” I said. “Just be careful what you say.”

  “Hazel and I are going downstairs,” Betty added, “to see if our missing skis have arrived yet.”

  Hazel shook her head in amazement. “It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? Our luggage arrived, but not our skis. Now, who would take a bunch of beat-up, old skis?”

  “I can tell you,” snapped Martha. “There’s going to be hell to pay if that airline lost my skis. They’re collectible.”

  Hazel chuckled. “You mean they are as old as you?”

  Betty stepped between them. “Don’t start, you two.”

  I flopped down on the bed, thinking out loud.

  “Why would someone go through my luggage?”

  Martha sat by me. “Hey, it could’ve been random.”

  “Possible,” said Betty, sitting down on a nearby chair.

  “But what kind of sicko would cut it up?” asked Hazel.

  “Well, I…” My peripheral vision caught movement.

  The door handle jiggled, moving back and forth.

  Betty caught it too. Her hand flew to her lips.

  Hazel was about to speak, but stopped herself.

  Martha stepped over to the door and gently placed her hand on the handle. She looked over at me and I nodded. She then took the handle in both hands, quickly turned it and pulled the door open. She poked her head out into the hallway and looked both ways. “Nobody.”

  By that time, the rest of us were leaning out too. There wasn’t a soul either way. …No movement. …Nothing.

  “I’m not crazy,” I said. “I saw that handle move.”

  “So did I,” said Betty, “after catching Sam staring at it.”

  “Who do you suppose it was?” asked Hazel.

  Martha shrugged her shoulders. “Wrong room?”

  I thought about my Spanx and wasn’t so sure. “Could be they thought the room was vacant and came back…”

  Hazel shivered. “…For what?”

  “Not my underwear,” warned Martha.

  Betty got her purse. “Hazel, let’s go to the lobby.”

  Martha grabbed hers. “I’m leaving too.”

  I headed for the phone. “I’m calling Peter. Clay’s right. It’s time I became more proficient at skiing.”

  “Knowing your nonexistent athletic skills,” said Martha, “we’d be grateful and the world would be a safer place.”

  I was already dialing by the time they shut the door.

  I’d show them all. I had to be good at some sport.

  Chapter 4

  Waking Up & Walking Out

  Someone grabbed my shoulders and was shaking me. I blinked my eyes open and Martha slowly came into view.

  “I must have fallen asleep waiting for you guys.”

  Must be jetlag.

  “That is the absolute worst possible thing you could do right now!” said Betty shaking her head.

  I was still foggy-headed. “…What?”

  “Fall asleep,” said Hazel, peering at me.

  “So, what did Peter say?” asked Martha sitting down.

  I shook my head. “You first, Martha.”

  “I spoke to the front desk. Apparently, the cleaning staff assigned to our suite is an older Italian couple, a husband and wife team, who have been working for the hotel for a while. They were both busy, so I couldn’t speak to them. Maybe we can catch them when they come to turn down the beds one evening. Perhaps they saw someone or heard something out of the ordinary.”

  I turned to the other two. “Any luck on your skis?”

  “Oh, we have great news,” said Betty, excitedly.

  “They’ve arrived,” said Hazel. Then she gave Martha a side-glance. “Even your relics.”

  Martha jumped up. “Hot dog! Let’s hit the slopes.”

  “Hey, you guys,” I said. “Remember my call to Peter?”

  Martha turned back to me. “And…?”

  “I’m meeting him at the ski shop to get outfitted.”

  “Good,” said Betty. “Now we can go ski guilt-free.”

  “Peter said he’d teach me to be more skilled and…”

  Martha was already rooting through her bags.

  Betty and Hazel left for their adjoining room to unpack.

  “Don’t you want to hear what else he said?” I asked.

  Martha looked up at me. “You can tell us later.”

  Betty poked her head in our room. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I jumped off my bed. I couldn’t blame them. What good was hanging out in a hotel room when there were great ski slopes to go skiing on? A few minutes later, I shut the door to our room and locked it. Alone in the hallway, I looked both ways. Was someone really trying our door handle by mistake or was it a return visit? Had they decided against it when they heard us all talking inside? Why my suitcase?

  I shook off further questions. I’d save my paranoid thinking for a fictional book I hoped to write someday right after my crazy life stopped being book worthy.

  As it is, my fans think my books are fictional now.

  My editor and agent don’t mince words and would most likely agree. My agent, Sandra, was bottom-line oriented.

  “How could you top what happens to you in real life?”

  Ditto for my editor’s sidebar comment in bold red.

  “Are yo
u joking? You expect readers to believe this?”

  They were right. My life read like fiction.

  Hey, maybe I’d test the waters with a brief memoir!

  Chapter 5

  Finding The Store & My Way

  I dodged shoppers and skiers, who were deftly balancing their ski equipment on their shoulders as I walked through the village, catching snippets of German, French, Italian, Japanese and several other languages being spoken. It was sunny, but cold. I tucked my bright-red scarf around my neck tighter, passing by sparkling snow banks along the sidewalk. I glanced upward. I’d read that the spectacular snow-covered mountain peaks in the background included a well-known glacier. This was a skier’s paradise.

  A popular multi-cultural ski hub, the Swiss village of Grindelwald was not only known for its skiing, but was a picture-postcard village with a private train. As if on cue, snowflakes fluttered to the ground. This venture of mine was looking up. The skiers I’d passed so far were laughing.

  And not a cast or crutch was in sight.

  I scanned across the street, and then turned, spotting the ski store behind me and hustled over.

  I glanced about the busy shop. Well-dressed customers circulated among skiers. Where exactly was my instructor? I’d forgotten to get a description of what he looked like.

  I couldn’t just yell out the name Peter, could I?

  He mentioned he’d be wearing a red ski jacket. Sadly, so were several other men in the store. I was just about to approach one of them and ask if he was Peter when a finger tapped me on my back. I swung around.