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

  Good, hopefully, we made a connection of trust.

  I felt being direct was the best route to take with her, so I plunged ahead, trying to get more information as to why she sought me out. Marilyn sounded like she might need help, but was hesitant to elaborate, which in itself was intriguing. I had to keep her talking.

  “Do you mind me asking, who pushed you?”

  Chapter 4

  Blindsided

  Marilyn anxiously glanced around the small bistro.

  Was she fearful someone might overhear her?

  “Although pushed, I didn’t actually see who. They were behind me and caught me by surprise like you and...and...”

  “And you were busy falling and hurting to glance back to pay attention as to who was pushing you, right?” I asked.

  All I got in return was a silent stare.

  Why the hesitation? She had approached me. I kept talking.

  “I went through the same scenario myself. When you’re seeing stars and in excruciating pain, you don’t have the presence of mind for details. You shut down, praying the pain away. It takes over your whole thought process. I totally get where you’re coming from.”

  “...That’s right,” she finally said, nodding in agreement.

  I had to ask. “Who do you think might’ve pushed you?”

  Her eyes honed in on something beyond me. Or was it a someone? “...Oh!” she said, startled.

  Why was she acting so edgy?

  I turned to look, curious as to what caught her eye.

  She was staring out a window, but no one was standing there or walking by outside the just-filled parking lot.

  I felt her grab my arm, and quickly turned back to her.

  She whispered, “I need your help, the sooner the better.”

  I found myself whispering back. “For what?”

  “I need you to find out about someone for me. A man.”

  I needed more than that.

  Was it a boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I need to make sure of something first.”

  Not satisfied with that, I added another, “Why?”

  She waved that one off. “Not important right now.”

  Figuring she’d give me the specifics later, I grabbed my phone to take down his name and description.

  “His name?” I asked.

  “He goes by the name of Tony G.”

  My fingers froze in place.

  Now, what were the odds? My Tony G? No way!

  “...Does this Tony G. have a last name?” I asked warily.

  Folding her arms and leaning back, she said, “I know this sounds made up, and it probably is, but he said it was Giuseppe. Tony Giuseppe.”

  There was an uncomfortable gap of silence, mine.

  “It’s just like the name of that pizza place,” she said.

  Exactly like the name of the pizza place.

  I looked down at my coffee. I needed something much stronger. I’m still shocked by the unexpected. And this certainly qualified.

  Marilyn’s eyes briefly darted about then she slipped her hand inside her purse, dug out her phone, and glanced at it.

  I hadn’t heard anything. Had someone just texted her?

  A slight tremor in her hand drew my attention.

  This was a small bistro. I spotted several other patients from rehab. They all seemed friendly enough and looked quite harmless, as they waved to me in recognition then returned to their coffee and conversations. But Marilyn’s distracted and anxious behavior was unsettling.

  “Got a description?” I asked, wanting to be absolutely sure we were talking about the same person, Tony.

  She glanced away briefly then sighed. A trace of a smile curved her lips upward. I knew that familiar swoon from all the females who met Tony G.

  “Good-looking, well over six-foot, muscular, dark hair scraping the collar of his designer shirts and suits. Plus his Ferrigamo shoes and those stylish Louis Vuitton ties...”

  Should I reveal I knew exactly who he was?

  I didn’t think so. I don’t know why, but instinct told me to keep quiet. I was having second thoughts on this whole pitch of hers. Why had she really approached me with this off-the-wall story involving Tony?

  Was Tony capable of pushing her? Possible, but still...

  Was this woman legitimate or was she setting me up? Crazy, I know, but that’s the way my cynical mind worked. It strayed off the charts of normal thinking. I have learned in the past, that nothing, and I mean nothing, surprised me when it came to a con.

  So I constantly second-guessed what people said, weighed their words guardedly, while doubt hovered on the periphery. Was I dealing with a con setup? Something felt off. Was this whole thing legitimate?

  One way to find out. Go to the source, Tony G. himself.

  Chapter 5

  Setting Up The Backdrop

  Since my sleuthing crew and I were still in New Hope because of my ongoing rehab at the local clinic, Clay had taken on a new case. And so with his overseas plane ticket in hand, he passionately kissed me goodbye days earlier, leaving me weak-kneed and breathless, saying he’d be back in no time. And like many times before, I wasn’t holding my breath until then. He’d show up when he showed up. That was our arrangement.

  Martha, Betty, and Hazel had gone to catch a murder mystery play, no surprise there, at the Town & Country Players, an old, local barn theatre. It wasn’t far from where we were residing: a smaller home near where we stayed during my last two mysteries in New Hope.

  New Hope, Pennsylvania was an hour and fifteen minutes from New York City, an hour from Philadelphia, two hours from the Pocono mountains, and an hour-and-a-half from the Jersey shore. We were staying in the center spoke of a wheel of entertainment.

  We had plenty of diversions, for which there seemed never enough time.

  With sleuthing, a lack of entertainment is never an issue.

  Since the Worths: Alicia and her husband, Chris, returned from Europe, taking possession once again of their lux stone French house we inhabited while solving our last two mysteries, we reluctantly left. Our latest abode? A short-term lease. (Tony’s arrangement) Though it had less square footage, it worked just fine for us. Tony was bedded down at his place in his connected hometown in New Jersey. (my arrangement) Thus I had no worries with his testosterone and me falling for a pass from him while Clay was gone working undercover on another case.

  So when I made plans to meet Tony, it was in Peddler’s Village in Lahaska, a touristy, quaint shopping village, a several minute drive away. We stood in the shade of an old oak tree, sipping coffee out of Styrofoam cups in the busy main courtyard. Even though I semi-quasi trusted Tony, I chose a public venue for our meet-up over this Marilyn woman and her claims.

  I eyed him doubtfully. “What do you mean she’s lying?”

  Marilyn had described Tony perfectly.

  Tony eyed me back. “Just what I said. She’s lying!”

  With Tony there could be several interpretations of his version of the truth. One: Her name wasn’t Marilyn, but the incident happened. Two: He knew Marilyn, but didn’t push her down the stairs. Three: Both were untrue, she made up the whole damn thing. He always fudged the facts.

  I’m sure there were more scenarios, but you get the idea.

  I felt like I was arguing with Clay once again, playing mental leapfrog with someone manipulating the English language so the real truth was hard to decipher.

  I know this explanation doesn’t make much sense, but that is my reality when dealing with Clay and Tony. Both are experts at stretching and twisting facts when they don’t want me to know what’s really going on. Sometimes I was lucky enough to wrestle half-truths out of them.

  Frankly, it was a constant mental challenge I relished.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re stalling?” I asked.

  He winked. “So you’ll get jealous?”

  I figured if I stomped my foot, which I felt like
doing, I’d seem petulant, which, on occasion, I tend to be. Instead, I stayed silent, which completely threw Tony off his flirting game. Then I detected a nervous tick in his right eye and the pulsating jugular vein in his neck.

  I merely smiled, enjoying that.

  He leaned in and whispered, “Sam, you are so sexy.”

  I bit back a retort, kept smiling, and remained silent.

  He got closer. “If I wanted, I could kiss you right now.”

  “Not worth it. I’m too close to the family jewels.”

  He leaned back, sighing. “...Okay, I kind of know her.”

  “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “And you want to know...what?” he asked innocently.

  I felt like I should create a twelve-step program to deal with Tony and Clay. They both pushed my gray matter to the limit, while I contemplated how I’d ever survive their constant evasive techniques.

  Usually men are easy targets to read. With them, it’s all about sex: how to get some, talk about, compete against, and race for. If they only knew we women already had their number in that area. And of course, let’s not forget sports, another topic I could rant about on occasion too.

  But on this particular occasion, something felt off.

  Chapter 6

  Parsing Words

  “Exactly how do you know this young woman, Marilyn, and what significance does the story she handed me have to do with the actual facts,” I countered. “And don’t you dare ask me, what facts, okay?”

  Tony grinned, then smugly proclaimed, “...I guess you’d call her a wannabe.”

  I paused, not expecting that reply. “...A wannabe?”

  “You heard me.”

  “A wannabe what?” I asked, confused.

  “I think she’s been hanging around ever since we solved your last mystery together, when you included my name in your book and I began to notice...”

  I choked out, “We solved? Where’s your broken ankle?”

  “Must I remind you,” he said, “that my mother is out of sight and out of circulation, all with my help. Dealing and chasing my mother down was...”

  I grudgingly cut him off. “Touché. I guess pain can be multi-relevant when is comes to your crazy mother.”

  “I’d take offense at that, but I happen to agree,” he said.

  She was safely back in that sanatorium, being treated for anger issues.

  But I was still confused by Tony’s explanation. “Keep it simple, okay? I’m not getting what you’re saying.”

  “That woman, Marilyn, has been dogging me lately.”

  Then I got it. “You mean she’s a groupie of yours?”

  “Whatever... she’s become a pain in the ass.”

  “Sounds like a rabid fan of yours is hassling you.”

  He nodded. “Everywhere I turn... Any suggestions?”

  “Well, obviously, you knocking her down a set of stairs didn’t work,” I said, looking for a telltale response.

  “I swear, I didn’t do that. I was preoccupied elsewhere.”

  I arched my brow. “Doing what?”

  His face colored as he smiled. “Kind of following you.”

  I felt myself getting hot under the collar. “Where?”

  “To your physical therapy sessions.”

  “So how long was she following you, following me?”

  “Until I saw her at your therapy sessions herself.”

  “Oh, that explains so much,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Maybe she threw herself down the stairs,” he countered with not a twitch of deceit that I could detect.

  Was he telling me the truth?

  “Why were you following me? Are you my groupie?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Your groupie?”

  Almost insulted by his reaction, I asked, “And what’s so funny about that?”

  “For your own personal information, I do not, I repeat, do not, chase women. They all chase me.”

  This time I broke out laughing. “What an ego!”

  He frowned slightly. “...Okay, you’re the one exception. You usually ignore me.”

  “You’re lucky I never killed you off, on paper that is.”

  Tony came within a hair’s breath of my lips. “Never.”

  I swallowed then loosened my neck scarf reflexively.

  Was it hot outside or what? Maybe it was the coffee...

  He leaned closer, making further talking impossible.

  “Well, isn’t this interesting? What have we here?” asked a very familiar voice.

  My breath caught.

  Tony and I turned to look.

  Caught red-handed and now red-faced.

  Damn...

  Chapter 7

  Spotting, Discussing & Pushing

  Of all the places...

  “Uh, what are you three doing here?” I asked Martha, Hazel, and Betty, who kept eyeing me and then Tony.

  “The play ended earlier than we expected. We were looking for a portable hotplate at the kitchen store. Seems like you found your own,” said Martha with a devilish wink at me.

  “...I...I can explain,” I said guiltily, like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I glanced over at Tony, who I had to admit was one hot-looking cookie jar.

  “This is not what you think,” said Tony, defensively.

  Both Tony and I were familiar with how prickly Clay became when Tony invaded the Samantha-zone. Although Clay didn’t own me, the jealousy factor usually came into play where Tony was concerned. So there was no reason to add fuel to the fire with more speculation by these three.

  Which brings me to another one of my mottos.

  Keep them guessing. So I did. Both Tony and Clay.

  The ever-proper Hazel tsked in snickering disapproval.

  Betty waved her hand. “None of our business anyway.”

  “Yeah,” smirked Martha. “I was just surprised you two chose busy Peddler’s Village for a meeting of the minds.”

  “It’s about a client,” I said brightly, trying to change the subject.

  “Real peculiar,” agreed Tony. “Could pose a problem.”

  “A wannabe groupie of his,” I added, smirking at Tony.

  The three knew Tony well. He loved to boast how, as my old-school senior trio referred to females: the skirts, always chased him. My indifference toward him had Tony stumped and bothered him. Apparently, that attracted him to me even more.

  I’d now become his pet seduction project.

  By the time Tony and I explained what happened, they were intrigued by Marilyn’s odd tale regarding Tony.

  Martha appeared doubtful. “Did she seem believable?”

  Hazel turned to Martha. “Why would she lie?”

  “Are you sure she’s a groupie of Tony’s?” posed Betty.

  No one said a word for a full minute, considering that.

  “That’s so off-the-charts it makes sense,” said Martha.

  “Ergo, that means she’s interested in Samantha,” said Tony, looking directly at me.

  There was silence once again as the rest turned to me.

  I squirmed, thinking of the complications of what their stares were implying, regarding Marilyn: unpredictable.

  “You think it’s possible, that she’s a fanatical fan of mine?” I asked, laughing at the absurdity of that possibility.

  My cell phone rang. Startled, I looked down. “Oh!”

  It was Clay.

  I raised my hand to the others for silence.

  As I stepped away to talk, I said, “Hi, how’s it going?”

  “Maybe I should be asking you,” said Clay evenly.

  I glanced around, like Clay had been privy to that close encounter in the courtyard with Tony and me.

  “Excuse me?” I said uncertainly.

  “You did get my email, didn’t you?” he asked.

  I quickly flipped to my emails on my phone, skimming quickly. Was it possible I hadn’t heard the incoming ding? That’s
when I spotted Clay’s email and briefly scanned it.

  “...Oh, yeah, I remember. Hit me again with the facts.”

  This was always a contentious issue between us: I only checked my emails occasionally. Why didn’t Clay text me instead? He expects me to be available to him, even though he is not available to me. Regardless, I probably should have checked and read my emails sooner, an unfortunate blunder on my part.

  “She’s investigating insurance fraud, works undercover, needs extra help. Asked for you, who are perfect for this.”

  “How so?”

  “She said you’re already in rehab. So it must be related to that. It’s a natural you handle this. She’ll approach you.”

  “Got it. But I’ll need something more to go on to get a handle on this whole thing beforehand. What is the name of the insurance company? Exactly what is her full name? In other words, I need more detail than what you gave me, Clay. You know how we work. It’s all in the details.”

  There was a pause in his response to my queries. Why?

  “...Listen. I was racing through the terminal to get to security in time to catch my flight when she called on my cell. It was a lousy connection to begin with, then with the loud speakers in the terminal announcing the different arriving and departing flights, I honestly couldn’t make out half of what she was saying. I’m sorry. Being an insurance company backing her that pays well, you know the financial aspect will be worthwhile for us.”

  This was business as usual and wouldn’t be easy.

  “It’s unfortunate you didn’t catch all her information, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I said confidently.

  “She’ll act interested in your mysteries and what you do without raising suspicion with outsiders. Just let it play out on her terms, okay? You can get the rest of the facts when she contacts you today or in the next few days.”

  “So where will...” I stilled as I realized who the she was.

  Uh-oh... Marilyn was the undercover investigator?

  And I had raised suspicion about her with three of the biggest blabbermouths, including a very gossipy Tony.

  But none of what happened so far made any sense.