Too Close For Comfort (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 9) Read online

  Too Close For Comfort

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Book 9

  by

  Peggy A. Edelheit

  Chase your Dreams

  & Remember,

  Every Day is a Blessing

  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.

  TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT: A Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 8

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2015 by Peggy A. Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this eBook, 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 eBook 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 art:

  Copyright © iStockPhoto/8270591/maximahner

  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  Visit the author’s website

  http://www.samanthajamison.com

  ISBN: 978-1-942899-05-1

  2016.10.16

  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

  No Hope In New Hope Book 7

  The Lush Life Book 8

  Saving Sindia Book 10

  Memoir: The Riviera is Burning

  Visit my website: http://samanthajamison.com

  Dedication

  With special love to my husband

  My biggest supporter and confidant

  & My three sons

  Acknowledgments

  Publisher

  Telemachus Press

  Steven Jackson & Claudia Jackson

  Steven Himes & Terri Himes

  Too Close For Comfort

  A Samantha Jamison Mystery

  Book 9

  Chapter 1

  Too Close For Comfort

  “Ouch!” he protested, flinching in discomfort.

  “That was a warning,” I said. “Touch me again and...”

  “It’s this cold cement floor we’re sitting on,” he griped.

  I was furious. My red silk dress was probably ruined.

  “Man up,” I said. “Have you heard me complaining?”

  “Being such a hot broad, how would you understand?”

  “Keep your compliments and hands to yourself,” I said.

  He sighed. “I was just trying to shift my position.”

  “Uh, huh. Right. Like I really believe that.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying to keep my hands warm.”

  “They were traveling where they shouldn’t. Watch it.”

  “Now is not the time for you to be so touchy,” he said.

  “Or you, feely,” I countered, losing my patience.

  “Any guess on the time?” he asked. “Feels like hours.”

  “With it being pitch black here and no windows? No!”

  “My throat is getting scratchy too,” he grumbled.

  “After all your hollering and yelling, I’m not surprised.”

  He exhaled loudly. “I need a good stiff drink.”

  “You aren’t going to start that again, are you?”

  “Hey, you did your fair share of hollering too.”

  I frowned. “Yeah, and no one heard either one of us.”

  “Wherever we are, it must be somewhere remote.”

  “Pray tell. Why do you think that, oh wise one?”

  He chuckled. “Your screams could’ve roused the dead.”

  “Look who’s talking?” I shot back, elbowing him hard.

  “Hey! What’s with you? That hurt!”

  “Wandering hands again,” I hissed. “I warned you.”

  “Are you always this moody or is it a moon phase?”

  “You are so lucky my hormones aren’t in play.”

  “None of this is my fault,” he stated emphatically.

  Our bodies were tied back to back, ankles taped in front, wrists taped behind us, and we were anchored to the floor.

  I was fuming. “I was perfectly positioned, but then you go and sneak right up behind me, yell my name, and draw attention to me. Amateurish at best. This is all your fault!”

  “What about the guy behind you?” he asked. “I guess I was supposed to ignore he was about to chloroform you?”

  “There was someone behind me?” I asked, surprised.

  “One about to pounce, cloth in hand, I might add. What I didn’t expect was someone right behind me. That ether-like sweet odor...everything went black, then I’m here.”

  “Oh,” I said, digesting this latest news. “I didn’t know.”

  “Do I detect an apology somewhere in that sentence?”

  I blew strands of hair off my face. “Ha! You wish.”

  “There’s a lot of things a fella can wish for, such as...”

  I cut Tony off. “Don’t hold your breath, buddy.”

  He laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Samantha.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked, expecting more acerbic wit.

  “We have this love/hate thing going on between us.”

  I laughed at his compliment/jab. “In your dreams.”

  He laughed too. “Kind of a ‘fatal attraction’ thing.”

  Thirtyish, dark, handsome, and well over six-foot, Tony was similar to my very personal undercover PI: private investigator, Clay, but in Tony’s case, in a dangerous way. Tony was dressed ‘to the nines,’ as Martha, another of our sleuthing cohorts says, always wearing his signature, flashy Hugo Boss suits, Ferragamo shoes, and Louis Vuitton ties.

  I yelled, “Hey! I swear, if you touch me again...”

  He snickered. “Just checking if you’re still there.”

  I lapsed into silence, thinking.

  ...Maybe I should just kill him off in my next book.

  Then I heard loud sniffing.

  What was he up to now?

  “I think my cologne is wearing off,” he grumbled.

  I sighed. “What is it called, ‘Eau de Drive Her Crazy’?”

  He laughed again. “Admit it. It does, doesn’t it?”

  I pinched him hard.

  “Ouch! Not only am I cold, but I’m being abused too!”

  “I warned you...”

  Then he moaned loudly.

  I blew out a breath. Here...we...
go...again.

  “Now what?” I asked, sighing once more.

  “I’m getting a headache,” he complained testily.

  I shut my eyes, speaking low. “If I only had a gun...”

  “I need aspirin and a stiff drink to chase it down.”

  My nerves were already frayed and my temper was now running short. I was about to blow big time.

  “Don’t start, Tony, or I swear, I’ll...”

  He cut me right off midsentence. “Man, you are wound up tighter than a...”

  “Always with the last word. Be quiet!” I said testily.

  ...Ah, silence.

  ...A damn chuckle.

  ...No.

  “I just love feisty women. Why, I remember...”

  Being a connected, armed and dangerous kind of guy, putting Tony on our payroll was supposed to be a semi-trial run after he helped us out with my last mystery, The Lush Life. Now, he was proving to be quite a handful. Literally.

  So I’m asking myself, what in hell was I thinking?

  Chapter 2

  We’ve Got Personality, Personality...

  Let me explain some history.

  I’m Samantha, an author, whose blonde, tousled hair, apparently from being chloroformed and abducted, was trying to wiggle free from a very hands-on Tony. Being on the thin side, the cold cement floor was affecting me, too, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of playing ‘the helpless female’ role. I’ve been through much worse.

  It seems I fall into the most unusual mysteries that have made me semi-famous for solving then writing about them. I first met my crew, Clay, Martha, Hazel and Betty, when I got involved in my first mystery concerning my husband, Stephen and his suspicious death. With their help I finally solved it. Since then we ended up being a close-knit team.

  Now, Tony was another matter completely. He popped up two mysteries ago and latched onto us by helping solve my last one, The Lush Life. He was connected with links I didn’t rest easy associating with, but when someone helps save my life, I develop a soft spot for them.

  Even bad-boy Tony.

  If I recalled correctly, hiring Tony began when my senior sleuthing trio, Martha, Hazel and Betty, approached me about Tony’s assets and why he’d be a perfect addition to our crime-solving team. I think his hunky, good looks may have played a tipping hand in their assessment. No discrimination there. According to those three, a man was a man, regardless of age.

  Being in their seventies, my older friends have proven their remarkable skills. Martha has cropped, spikey white hair, is thin, and sports a very flashy in-your-face nature. She challenges me every step of the way. Hazel is short and on the plump side with curly gray hair, while Betty is reed thin, taller and wears her hair tightly pulled back in a bun. Those last two are lady-like, librarian types, but willing to take risks, while still maintaining their polar-opposite status to their long-time brash and colorful friend, Martha.

  All three are a constant worry and ever-challenging, but compliment our sleuthing team. I have to admit their mental acuity is never hampered by their age. I swear, sometimes I can hardly keep up with them.

  Trust me, a few of their antics even shocked me.

  Tony on the other hand, is a slippery con that proved his skills could be useful in the past, but there’s often reserved skepticism on my part. He’s a ‘Jersey guy’ with attitude, knows what he wants and goes for it in a not-so-scrupulous fashion. Always armed and usually dangerous, Tony can be trusted on occasion to our advantage.

  My chiseled and hunky Clay is my personal undercover PI. Our semi-permanent relationship left us both wondering how we’ve lasted so long with our two personalities butting heads on occasion, okay, on many occasions. It’s always surprising when we finally manage to be in the same place at the same time.

  But when we do, those sparks do fly...

  We were all a mix of personalities, but complimented each other with varied skills: some legal, some not so legal.

  Hey, solving mysteries has fuzzy edges.

  One must be willing to stretch them now and then. It’s the end result that mattered. And as long as no jail time is involved, it worked for me and the rest of us.

  What didn’t work for me was being hogtied to someone who had dreams of overstepping Clay in the romance-Samantha department. Although I’m quite flattered, it ruffles feathers on Clay’s end. But I’ve convinced myself I can handle both of these fine-looking characters, while solving cases with our multi-talented and diversely-skilled team.

  Sometimes I have to overlook their missteps for the greater good of solving a particular mystery. I’ve become proficient at balancing Clay’s numerous disappearances and Tony’s numerous advances. So there was nothing to worry about. And for the thousandth time, I’m asking myself another often-repeated question.

  Who was I kidding?

  Chapter 3

  Déjà vu All Over Again, Mystery Wise

  It all began when I started my physical therapy sessions locally in New Hope. Boredom is a dangerous thing for me to latch onto. When you’re used to being busy, after five weeks of being confined to a wheelchair due to my fall in my last mystery, rehab looked good, my ticket to recovery.

  After the whole crutch program of having to learn to walk again, the doctor then ordered physical therapy, where I was put through exercises I swear had me considering a real murder of my own. But like the therapist said, “These exercises will hurt, but you must work through the pain.”

  I told him he seemed to be enjoying putting me through those painful workouts way too much and maybe that’s why he chose this profession. Okay, so maybe I exaggerate, not about my therapist’s dedication, that was genuine, but about him enjoying my pain. But after several weeks of agonizing stretches and exercises, I was finally able to wear sneakers and move about quite well. I had to admit my therapist knew what he was talking about. No pain, no gain.

  Eventually, you can’t help but notice your neighbors on the other therapy tables. They began talking to me briefly and waving hello and goodbye. All of us were a wide assortment of shoulder, knee, ankle, and hip injuries, even joint replacements, many of which were sports-related.

  I was in therapy from snooping alone where I shouldn’t have on my last mystery, sneaking up one-hundred-fifty-year-old stairs then being pushed hard while descending, fracturing and breaking my right ankle. My sleuthing injury was quite a novelty to all the other patients in rehab.

  I don’t think they considered sleuthing a sport.

  I described the mug given to me sitting on my desk:

  ‘Watch what you say. You may end up in my next novel.’

  I got mixed reviews and stares on that one too.

  And as usual, my ego came into play after an unfamiliar rehab patient whispered, “With your sleuthing skills in writing mysteries, you’re just the person I need to talk to.”

  Of course my ears perked up at being recognized and a potential case falling onto my exercise table, so to speak, recalling my mantra...well, actually, one of many.

  ‘Always expect the unexpected.’

  So while still pacing through my exercise routine and not missing a beat, I whispered back to her, “Why don’t we meet for coffee and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

  Later at Duck Soup, a local bistro, I watched as Marilyn silently stirred sugar in her coffee mug. Thirtyish, like me, she had short brown hair with several freckles sprinkled across her petite nose, complimenting her fair complexion. Overall, she had well-proportioned features. Not exactly beautiful, but pretty. As she glanced up at me, the worry lines edging her eyes deepened. Instead of speaking, I waited. Most people were uncomfortable with stretches of silence.

  They usually felt a need to fill the void. So I waited.

  “I know you must be busy writing, but I think that fate has played a hand in bringing us together here,” she said.

  I tried to get a bead on her, but was disappointed in my feelings one way or the other. I wasn’t getting the sl
ightest inkling on my part regarding dishonesty at her end, but then again, she hadn’t said much yet, had she? And as usual, I was jumping the gun again, always guessing intent.

  She nervously swiped at a wisp of hair that had fallen in her eyes. “I’ve read and loved all of your mysteries and figured you’re the perfect person to help me.”

  Although flattered, that didn’t clarify why she was there.

  What was she proposing?

  Then she fell silent once again, so I took the lead.

  “Did you hear any details about my injury?” I asked.

  “No, just that you hurt your ankle on some steps.”

  So I briefly described falling down those old steps while trying to solve my eighth mystery.

  “Mine involved steps, too, but my injury resulted in a bad sprain, not a broken ankle like yours.”

  “I’ve heard a sprain is sometimes more painful then a break, but not in my case,” I said. “I’ve taken my fair share of pain pills from my break and fracture.”

  Then she whispered, “If I screw this up, I might not get another chance. I refuse to give up. I’m committed.”

  “And I’m not going back to my wheelchair,” I added.

  “Sounds like we’re both determined to see this through.”

  I found myself saying, “Did you know I was pushed?”

  “What a coincidence,” she said to my surprise. “So was I!”

  “I found out the painful way,” I added. “Someone had an agenda: stealing a pricey antique book worth millions. I was a nuisance, stepping in their path to get it first.”

  “I had no idea your mysteries could get so dangerous.”

  As I’d hoped, she looked reassured and relaxed.