Woman’s Fiction, Cozy Mystery
Date Published: 9/28/20
Some secrets draw people closer.........after they tear them apart.
Marybeth and Hollister moved to rural New York to escape—both the city life and a checkered past. Their lives were unassuming, until they bought a grandfather clock. They just wanted something to fill the space under their stairs, but they got much more than they bargained for. What secrets could the clock possibly hold?
Jane was sent to Callicoon to find the Eagle diamond, which was stolen from the Museum of Natural History in the ‘60s and never recovered. Convinced she won’t find what she’s looking for, she grudgingly takes the assignment. When she arrives, things aren’t what they seem and Jane finds more than she ever expected.
Excerpt:
Brenda Loring was far too small for the overstuffed capacious
couch. She appeared uncomfortably absorbed by the cushions, hardly consoled. At
first glance, she looked swallowed by the plush off-white arms. It could be
assumed that her body had found a semblance of solace, but the truth was, there
really weren’t any sacred places to turn for comfort; the fluffed-up cotton
squares were far too affectionate and they consumed her behind their good
intentions, providing only a pretense of succor.
Brenda sat up
straight and reached for her glass; next was the cigarette. Comfort was better
found in a nicotine binge and a scotch devoid of ice or water.
Brock was still
not sure if he should believe her, even though she’d been insisting for months.
“I’m not hallucinating,” she kept repeating. “I know what the hell I’m talking
about. It’s all going to hell.”
His thoughts raced
ahead as he watched her light the tip of her cigarette with a lit butt from an
old dish with more ash than a crematory.
Brenda was
birdlike but hardly unattractive, just sticky and twiggy, unlike his wife, who
was a full hug, an eye level kiss. Brenda took a deep drag and looked at him
through smoke.
“What a fuck,” she
said. “Both of them. They are both fucks. I’m telling you, Devon has bought
Glen off, paid him well to screw us over, though I don’t know why he would,
disloyal asshole.”
He shrugged his
shoulders. “It’s hard to believe, can’t wrap my head around it, that’s all.”
Brenda leaned
forward and crossed her tiny legs, shapely but thin. Her fingers seemed long as
arms, her elbows stuck out like wayward bones.
“Peter has lost
control of his people. He's too old to run the organization. That’s what I
think. I have my spies, you know, people who hate Devon and will tell me the
truth when I ask for it. You think he’s above screwing his brother?
“Why let the
organization go to shit now?”
“Why not now? I
heard Peter was sick; maybe that's why he's losing control. Maybe it’s serious.
Maybe Devon doesn’t want anything going to Peter’s idiot wife if he should die.
Imagine Delilah in charge of the LVAJ? Ha!”
“I don’t think
Delilah would want it. Advising Peter in business is not quite the same as
running the entire organization. That’s a mammoth job.”
“Ha!” Brenda took
a sip of scotch. “I wouldn’t underestimate her, Brock. She has a degree in art,
after all. You sound like a misogynist, just because she’s blonde and
beautiful. She’s far from stupid.”
“I didn’t say she
was stupid.”
“Didn’t say she wasn’t either.”
“Look, you think
we ought to go to Peter with this?” he asked, “he should know about our
suspicions.”
“No, I don’t think
we should go to Peter.”
Brock took in a
deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, you’re saying the Prince was a phony,
but what if he wasn’t?”
Brenda threw back
her head and laughed loudly. He noticed that her hair didn’t move, so stiff it
seemed to stand at attention. Her hair is
obedient, he thought.
“Oh, come on,” she
said. “The whole thing was a scam. I’ll bet my ass that the Yellow Diamond is
sitting behind some asshole's velvet pull in Saudi Arabia and nowhere near that
little turd that calls himself ‘Prince Vizueta.’ She drew out the syllables of
the prince’s name and made a face. “Prince of bullshit.”
Brock thought for
a moment. “So, if the Yellow Diamond buy was a scam, what’s next?”
Brenda did all
three things at once. It was quite impressive. She laughed and took a drag off
her cigarette as she put the scotch glass to her lips and drank.
“I wish I knew.”
Brock stood up and
looked at his watch. He hadn’t called home. It was after ten p.m. in San
Francisco. Jane would be angry. One should make a point of calling home when
one is suspected of having an affair.
“It’s getting
late,” he said.
He’d spent months
on the phone with Brenda, ever since she first uncovered what she believed to
be a conspiracy. He wasn't quite so sure. He thought she was a bit hysterical
over nothing. Besides, he was cautious. He liked absolute proof. But with their
constant phone calls, he couldn’t blame his wife for suspecting him of
infidelity. Once Brenda got to Philadelphia for the Yellow Diamond Buy, she
called him several times a day so she could give him the scenario of treachery;
so she could share her anxiety as she nervously sucked on her cigarette and
drew him into her fears like the nightmare fairy.
“Why don’t we wait
for Devon’s next move, see where he’s going with this,” Brock said, putting
Jane out of his thoughts, he’d deal with it in his own way. “No sense making a
big deal out of something that could just be gossip,” he added. “Or paranoia.”
He stared at her.
“Well, it’s been
months since this phony prince put out a bid on the Yellow Diamond and went
back to his phony country with it.”
“Right, and there
hasn't been anything since, no bids out on any precious stones at all.”
“But it doesn't
mean there won't be,” she said. “I sense it in my bones that we’re being
screwed with.”
"Look, if
someone out there really has the Yellow Diamond other than the Prince, wouldn't
they have contacted Peter and told him he was being made an ass of, that you
can’t purchase what someone else owns?"
"Why should
they say anything? Anonymity is what matters to us, not friendship, you know
that."
Brenda stood up
tall but barely reached his chest. She went to a wall of windows and looked out
from her thirty-second-floor Manhattan condominium. The night was dark, but the
city shone against the sky. It seemed like a false movie set, almost too
perfect to be real.
She turned to face
him. “Let’s confront Glen, find out what the hell is going on. If he knows
we’re aware he’s a turncoat, he’ll tell us everything. When it comes right down
to it, he’s a wimp and he’ll play both sides. Glen has no loyalty. “
Brock raised his
eyebrow. “And you think Glen is going to admit he has his own agenda?” he said.
“Just like that?”
“Where is it going
to leave us if Devon takes over the
American operation?”
“Under Devon’s
employ, that’s where.” He realized Brenda was being too emotional; one of them
had to be rational.
Brenda sat and
puffed; taking deep drags and pushed the smoke out through her teeth.
Brock paced a bit
around the room. “So, according to you, Devon paid the commission out of his
own pocket? To make it all look legit?”
Brenda moved her
head, barely a nod but he knew that’s what she’d intended.
“Right. He has a
plan,” she said. “I just don’t know what it is. I mean, a phony bid? A phony
buy? I don't get it.”
Brock sat on the
arm of a chair so thin it hurt his backside and he moved quickly onto the couch
with false substance.
“It has to have
something to do with discrediting Peter, that’s what I would guess. What else
could it be? Devon has finally gotten sick and tired of sharing his customers.”
Brenda squashed
her cigarette out. He was relived she didn’t relight. His throat felt raw from
her smoke, and the nicotine stunk.
“Devon has thought
this whole thing up, a fake prince, a ludicrous bid ─ and he sent it all to
Peter on a silver platter. I watched Glen go through the motions of recovering
the Yellow Diamond; it was clear bullshit.” She looked back out at her
seven-million-dollar view. “I never saw the diamond with my own eyes; I never
watched any money exchange hands. He had me answering the phone and reporting
back to Peter all day while he said he was doing business.”
Brock wet his lips
with his tongue. “Why would Devon approach Glen and not me, or not you, for
that matter, if he’s plotting against Peter? I mean, why Glen?”
Brenda rocked her
body just a bit. She was flirting, which was always her way, her constant
affectation around men. Brock smiled, but only to himself. He’d never wanted
any other woman but Jane from the moment they'd met. It was absurd that she now
thought he did, especially Brenda, whose scantily fleshed out body reminded him
of an adolescent boy. He wanted to flip open his cell phone and call his wife,
just to tell her that her father was a bastard and the only thing he wanted
from Brenda was assurance. If all this were real, it changed everything.
“Because you’re
married to Jane and Peter was always more of a father to his daughter than he
was. Jane would never let you betray Peter. And me?” Brenda winked at him. “My
few one-night stands with Peter could be interpreted as loyalty, though God
knows, I have none.”
Brock stood up. He
towered over her and nearly reached her eight-foot ceiling.
“Listen, if what
you’re saying is true, I want a takeover. I want no part of this war between
Peter and Devon. Let them chew each other up. You and I together have enough
contacts to go on our own.”
He stared at her.
He was surprised at his own words, but he meant it. If he had wanted to work
with Devon, he would have stayed in England. Devon was a mean bastard. He was
also greedy; his split had been an absurd five percent.
“I was hoping
you’d say that.” Brenda lit another cigarette without leaving his gaze.”
“That would make
us partners,” he said, “just you and me, I’m not opening this up to anyone
else.”
“I’m yours,” she
said, sending him smoke rings. “Peter is getting too old for this and Devon is
a creep; we can’t trust him. This idiot ploy of his is going to splinter the
whole operation, so let’s take our contacts and run.”
Brock slipped on
his jacket. “Let me think this through,” he said. “I’ll be back in touch. Id
this is real we're bound to hear of another false buy very soon. If this is
Devon's plan, to discredit Peter, he won't wait very long to send him more
bullshit about a precious stone that’s surfaced.”
“Maybe art this
time, who knows? What about Jane, will you tell her?” she asked.
“Of course, I tell
her everything,” he said and paused at the door. “Not right away though, she
might not like it.”
About the Author
I am an award-winning hybrid author of southern and women's Fiction, including Dancing Backward in Paradise, The Story of Sassy Sweetwater, Where the Wildflowers Grow, Pleasant Day, Marybeth, Hollister & Jane and Lies a River Deep. As my alter ego, Olivia Hardy Ray my books include Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem, Annabel Horton and the Black Witch of Pau, and Pharaoh’s Star. The first novel I ever wrote, Dancing Backward In Paradise, won an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and an Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Reviews and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater has been named a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards. I have published in ESL Magazine, Christopher Street Magazine and I have also written early childhood curriculum for Weekly Reader and McGraw Hill.
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