Engaged in Danger: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  ENGAGED IN DANGER

  A Jamie Quinn Mystery

  By

  Barbara Venkataraman

  ENGAGED IN DANGER 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, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Barbara Venkataraman

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Books by Barbara Venkataraman

  Death by Didgeridoo (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

  The Case of the Killer Divorce (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

  Peril in the Park (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

  A Trip to the Hardware Store

  (Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

  I'm Not Talking About You, Of Course

  (Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

  Teatime with Mrs. Grammar Person

  If You'd Just Listened To Me In The First Place

  (Short Story)

  The Fight for Magicallus

  (Children's Fantasy Story)

  DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF

  JESSIE SANDLER

  YOUR BRIGHT SPIRIT LIVES ON

  IN ALL OF US

  Engaged in Danger

  Chapter One

  "What do you mean you're going to Australia for three months? If this is a joke, Kip, I don't think it's funny." I pointed my chopsticks at my boyfriend for emphasis.

  When I'm upset I get loud, which could explain why everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. For them, it was dinner and a show, but, for me, it was like being in a sit-com with a live studio audience--minus the laugh track. We had been enjoying a romantic dinner at Heart Rock Sushi (the one in Fort Lauderdale) and drinking enough sake to feel warm and fuzzy when Kip dropped this bombshell on me.

  "I thought you'd be happy for me, Jamie," Kip looked puzzled. His warm brown eyes held my gaze and I couldn't turn away. "I have this incredible opportunity to work with an environmental scientist and save a species from extinction, all expenses paid. And I need a change of scenery--you know better than anyone that being Director of Broward County Parks hasn't been my dream job."

  I smiled. "Oh, right, just because you had to deal with three hundred disgruntled employees, a smart-ass vandal, and a psychopath, it's not your dream job? Anyway, that was six months ago, it's been quiet since then."

  "That's the problem," he said, wedging a piece of tuna roll in his mouth. The wasabi made his eyes water, but he didn't seem to notice. "It's too quiet. It's dull, monotonous and predictable. In a word, bo-ring! I can't stand doing budgets and employee reviews--I want to be outside, doing something real. Know what I mean?"

  I'd suddenly lost my appetite. I knew I was being selfish, but I had my reasons. What if Kip loved Australia so much he never came back? Or what if he came back hating his job more than ever? It was a no-win situation, but I could see I'd lost this battle before it began. I resigned myself to the inevitable.

  "The County's okay with you leaving for three months?" I asked, forcing a smile.

  "Hell, yeah," Kip said with a grin. "They're so glad I didn't sue them after all I went through that they would've given me anything. They even offered me paid leave, but I turned it down. It didn't feel right."

  I shook my head in amazement. "That's a nice chunk of change you're walking away from, buddy, and I'd say you earned it--like combat pay. Look, I know Florida is flat and overdeveloped and could never be mistaken for the great outdoors, but we have endangered species, too. In fact, I was just reading about some creeps who were turtle-poaching. Why don't you stay here and save the turtles? They need you, Kip! I don't think the turtles can survive without you."

  He laughed and reached across the table to take my hand, "I'm sorry, Jamie, I can't pass this up, but I promise that the three months will fly by. We'll talk and Skype every day and you can come visit me. Wouldn't that be fantastic?"

  I refused to look at him, afraid I'd cry. I picked up a chopstick and poked listlessly at the stir-fry congealing on my plate.

  "Babe?"

  I had to stop fighting this and do the right thing. I'd lost Kip once before, when we were dating in high school and he'd gone off to college. We did wind up back together, eventually, but it had taken fifteen years. This time, I'd just have to have faith. Then there was the other problem…

  "I can't visit you, Kip," I said. "I'm going to Nicaragua next month to see my dad--finally--and since I'm the one sponsoring him I can't go to Australia and risk missing the immigration interview."

  No matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes shut, tears were starting to leak out. One was hanging off my nose and I didn't even care. Kip came around the table and sat down next to me. After gently wiping my tears, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I leaned into his chest, my wet face staining his shirt.

  "It'll be fine, Jamie, and who knows? Maybe your dad's situation will straighten out early and you can come over. That might happen, right?"

  I couldn't resist that teasing half-smile, those laugh lines on his tan face. I squeezed his hand.

  "Sure it could," I said, sitting up straight, trying to shake it off. "Now, tell me what you'll be doing out there. What poor creature needs your help so desperately? And I'm not talking about me this time." I mustered a genuine smile and then polished off the last of the sake. It was stone cold, but still burned all the way down.

  Kip's eyes lit up and he became more animated than I'd seen him in a long time. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he showed me photos of a strange-looking animal with gray fur and a short stubby tail. It looked like a combination Koala Bear, housecat, and pig .I had to admit it was very cute. It reminded me of a stuffed animal I'd won at a carnival years ago that I still kept it on my bed because my cat liked to snuggle with it. Okay, I'll admit it, I liked to snuggle with it.

  'What do you think this little critter is?" Kip asked, playing teacher.

  "No clue."

  "Meet the endangered Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat," he said. "There are only a hundred and sixty-three of them left."

  "Let me guess," I said. "There's also a Southern Hairy-Nosed Wombat?"

  "Yup, and there's a third one called the Common Wombat. The Northern is the largest and can weigh up to eighty pounds. I'll be tracking them and exploring locations to start a new population. It has to be somewhere safe because they breed slowly and are preyed on by dingoes and Tasmanian devils."

  "Now if I only knew what a dingo and a Tasmanian devil looked like, I'd have the big picture," I joked.

  Kip spent the next twenty minutes describing the project and the Epping Forest in Queensland where he'd be spending most of his time. I tried to look excited for Kip's sake, but all I could think about was how he'd be gone so long, making friends and having adventures, all without me. Right in the middle of my pity party I thought of something that made me laugh. Other girls might worry about losing their guy to another woman, but not me. I'd already lost mine--to a Hairy-Nosed Wombat. Excuse me, a Northern Hairy-Nosed wombat.

  Chapter Two

  Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jamie Quinn and I practice family law in my hometown of Hollywood, Florida. As you may have guessed, I don't like change much. Happily, I live in a town that feels the same way. Back in 1925, the city's founders had high hopes for Hollywood and in a burst of pride and optimism named the streets for presidents, admirals, and generals. Although the streets retain their illustrious names
today, the founders would be disappointed to see how the rest of it turned out. Modern-day Hollywood is still a small city of just thirty square miles with only one major employer, Hollywood Memorial Hospital, where my mom worked as a nurse for twenty-five years. Point of fact, the hospital employs more people than the city's next ten employers combined. I imagine if the hospital ever closed its doors, the city of Hollywood wouldn't be far behind.

  As one of the few people not employed by the hospital, I have to take work where I can find it, which can be as far south as Miami, as far north as Palm Beach, or as far west (shudder!) as Weston. Like any good eastsider, I hate driving west of I-95 if I can help it, not because it's the boondocks, but because it's the burbs. Honestly, when I hear those smug Westonians boasting about how 'west is best', it irks me. Sure, they have big houses with modern floor plans, but who has all the beaches? That would be us. Besides, our weird little houses have a lot of 'character' (not to mention tiny bathrooms and closets). Although I pretend that unlimited sun and surf make up for all the driving I do, I can't complain. My work keeps me busy and while I’ll never be rich, I won't go hungry and neither will anyone else, not on my account, at least. That's because the 'Law Office of Jamie Quinn, P.A.' is a one-woman operation, which is how I like it. I have flexibility and freedom and the best part is that I don't have to babysit (a/k/a supervise) anybody. Of course, when the work piles up, which happens fairly often, I have no one to blame but myself. Being the boss and sole employee can be awkward at times, like when I order myself to get to work and then tell myself to go to hell, but what can I say? I'm the worst employee ever. We who are self-employed say we that hate working for other people, but the truth is we just hate working, period.

  Although I've been practicing law for a dozen years or so (practice makes perfect), I'm sure you've never heard of me as I'm not the type of lawyer who makes the news. I don't even advertise, all of my business comes from referrals. I handle domestic matters for middle-class people with an occasional freebie thrown in because I'm a sucker for a sad story. I've never turned down a high-profile case, mainly because I've never been offered one, but that's okay. Those cases can drag on for years, nurtured by high-priced lawyers with a scorched-earth mentality and a copy of "Bleak House" in their briefcase. When the money runs out, the lawyers hit the road. I don't blame them for wanting to be paid, I blame them for fueling the fire in the first place. As for me, I don't have the manpower (or the willpower) to tackle a complex case. Plowing through acres of paperwork, deposing hostile witnesses, anticipating an opponent's every move, it's like a game of chess with people as pawns. I love chess, but I hate conflict and I'll do anything to avoid it. Yes, I know, I'm in the wrong profession. Too late to change.

  Monday morning found me at my desk, unable to focus on work with all the chatter in my brain. Had it been only three days since my world had fallen apart? I told myself I'd never return to Heart Rock Sushi, never eat Japanese food or drink sake again (although I may have to rethink that last part). I couldn't stop asking how had this happened? How had a bunch of walking teddy bears ruined my life, leaving me only ten days to spend with Kip? It was like 'the butterfly effect'--a butterfly flapping its wings alters the weather on the other side of the world--only this was 'the wombat effect'. Don't laugh, it's a real thing, and one day someone will make a movie about it, especially when they see how adorable those damn wombats are.

  Obsessing wasn't helping, so I opened my calendar to see what excitement awaited me.

  That couldn't be right.

  I had a consultation at 9:30 and it was already 9:25. The problem was that I schedule my own appointments and I knew I hadn't scheduled this one. For starters, I wouldn't have written 'Nan G.', I'd have written out the full name, along with a phone number and the reason she was coming in. Wow, I missed Lisa! She had been a great receptionist even if she did burst into tears at odd moments. Ever since she'd gone back to school, our shared office had fallen apart; it had been one temp after another and none of them could follow instructions. There was a reason I screened potential clients--I hated wasting time, specifically my time. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about it this time and I had bigger problems: my boyfriend was going to Australia. It's funny how a crisis changes your perspective. Just then, the intercom buzzed and the receptionist (who may or may not have been the guilty party) announced my appointment.

  I straightened the files on my desk, fluffed my hair, and stood up to greet the woman walking through my door. She was tallish, medium build, maybe late fifties, dressed casually in a lavender ensemble. Anyone else that fair-skinned would've looked washed-out, but not her; the lavender perfectly highlighted her stunning silver hair, which looked natural. Having hair like that would almost make it worth going gray. She took my outstretched hand in a brief handshake, gave me a timid smile and waited until I invited her to take a seat.

  "Hello, Nan," I said. "I'm Jamie Quinn. What can I do for you today?"

  She fiddled nervously with the clasp of the designer purse perched on her lap and then peered inside as if searching for something, maybe the right words to say and the nerve to say them. She finally looked up, took a deep breath and blurted out:

  "Someone is trying to kill my husband, but I don't care anymore. I just want a divorce."

  Chapter Three

  How did the crazies always find me? I wondered. Was someone passing my card out in the psych ward? This lady had seemed so normal, too. I glanced at her hand; she had nicely manicured nails, but no wedding ring. Perhaps her husband was imaginary. Even if he was, it was all the same to me. I offer a free fifteen minute consultation to everyone and she still had thirteen minutes left.

  Keeping my voice neutral, I said, "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Nan?"

  She locked her eyes on mine as if holding them prisoner and then jumped right into her story--if you can call it a story. Look, I don't mind if someone starts in the middle--sometimes that's the best way--but words were pouring out of her so fast, they were trampling each other like shoppers on a Black Friday. I could only catch every third word or so, but my ears perked up for the juicy ones, like 'underage girlfriend', 'Russian assassins', and 'goddamn liar'.

  This wasn't working, but, luckily, it wasn't my first time in this situation. With a reassuring smile, I held up my hand to say 'hang on' and dialed the receptionist.

  "Could you please bring me a coffee?" I gestured to Nan and she nodded. "Make that two coffees, thanks." Personally, I didn't think Nan needed any more caffeine, but it wasn't my call.

  I leaned forward in my chair. "How about if I ask you some questions, Nan? Then we'll see whether I can help you."

  She relaxed, softening her ramrod posture and loosening her grip on the edge of my desk. "Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

  "How long have you been married?" I asked.

  "Thirty-five years."

  "Kids?"

  "One daughter."

  "Over eighteen?" I added.

  "Yes." Nan smiled.

  "Are you and your husband living together?"

  "Separated since last year."

  "Do you work?" I asked.

  "Just volunteer work for charities," she answered.

  I nodded. They must have money.

  "Do you own real property?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you give me an idea of what you own?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't."

  I stopped taking notes and looked up. "May I ask why not?"

  Nan G. pushed her silver hair back from her forehead in frustration.

  "Because I don't know.

  "Alright," I said. "Is there a marital home?"

  "Yes, that's where I live. He moved into a penthouse on the beach."

  "And do the two of you own the penthouse?"

  "I believe so." She sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not much help. My husband keeps me in the dark about everything--our finances, what we own, what's going on. I'm so sick of it!" Tears started rolling down her cheek.
br />   I handed her the box of tissues on my desk. My clients go through them quickly, which is why I buy them by the case.

  "How do you support yourself?" I asked as gently as I could.

  "My husband pays the bills and I have a credit card I can use for whatever I need."

  "Doesn't sound like a bad deal," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Nan shook her head. "It's not the money. The problem is he's doing business with some very sketchy people. He thinks he's so slick, but he's in over his head. Not that I care. And the girlfriends, they get younger and younger. Now he's dating some bimbo who's our daughter's age. It's disgusting and it's humiliating…"

  I patted her hand, which was resting on my desk. "Believe me, nobody will think less of you because of his bad behavior. But I understand how upsetting this is."

  I gave her a moment to regain her composure before giving her the tough news.

  "Nan, I have to tell you that in cases like yours, there's a lot of work to do. The attorney has to be a combination detective and treasure hunter to track down all the assets. It takes mountains of paperwork and tons of time. A forensic accountant usually has to be brought in to analyze everything. The process is called 'discovery' and it can get very expensive."

  She nodded. "I know what discovery is. My husband is a lawyer."

  I started to have a bad feeling about this case. What wasn't she telling me?

  She pointed to 'The Florida Bar Journal' on my desk. I always read it cover to cover although it rarely had articles that applied to me. Considering that I had to pay my bar dues in order to receive it, it was the most expensive magazine subscription I ever bought. That's why I made myself read it; I'm a woman of principles.

  When I handed her the magazine, she opened it and pointed to a picture of a man shaking hands with the governor.

  I recognized him immediately. Of course I did--he was in every society page, on every charity's donor roll; he had just opened a night club and a restaurant and drove a different sports car every week. For some reason, he felt the need to have bodyguards with him at all times. He was only the most famous/infamous attorney in town and his name was Marvin Glasser. I was confused, but Nan soon set me straight.