Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Collection E-Book

Barbara Venkataraman

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

All six books in 'Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries', a series by Barbara Venkataraman, now in one volume!

Death By Didgeridoo: Attorney Jamie Quinn is on a six-month hiatus from practicing law to deal with her beloved mother's death. Rarely leaving the house, she shares most of her days with her late mother's cranky cat. But soon, Jamie is forced into action by a frantic call from her Aunt Peg, whose autistic son Adam is in police custody and suspected of murdering his music teacher. It's up to Jamie to find the real killer, but can she piece together the evidence and bring the murderer to justice before it's too late?

The Case Of The Killer Divorce: When a bitter divorce case turns into a murder investigation, Jamie's client becomes the prime suspect. When she can't untangle truth from lies, Jamie enlists the help of Duke Broussard, her favorite private investigator, to try to clear her client's name. Jamie's also hoping that in his spare time, Duke can help her find her long-lost father. But can the two find out who the killer is, and bring him to justice?

Peril In The Park: Someone has decided to make life difficult for Jamie Quinn's boyfriend, Kip Simons: the new director of Broward County parks. There is trouble in the park, but who's the culprit? Is it the angry supervisor passed over for promotion, or the disgruntled employee Kip recently fired? Or maybe there's someone with an even bigger ax to grind. In any case, there's a dead guy in the park and Kip has gone missing. With the help of her favorite P.I., Duke Broussard, Jamie must race against the clock to find Kip before it's too late.

Engaged In Danger: Life is finally good for reluctant family law attorney James Quinn. Her father may get his visa soon, her boyfriend is the bomb, and her law practice is growing like crazy. But when she agrees to take on a high-profile divorce case, everything falls apart. What looked like an opportunity to work with her friend Grace and make some serious bucks has turned into a deadly game, one that could destroy their friendship and tear their town apart. Why couldn't Jamie just leave well enough alone?

Jeopardy In July: The fifth book in the Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries series leads Jamie to La Vida Boca: a posh assisted living facility in Boca Raton where old people are dying at an alarming rate. With its sterling reputation, dedicated staff and top-notch medical care, none of the deaths are considered suspicious. But when members of the poker club start to die under strange circumstances, attorney Jamie Quinn finds herself once again embroiled in a mystery. With help from her new friend, Jessie Sandler, and her favorite P.I., Duke Broussard, can Jamie stop the killer in time, or will she become the next victim?

Malice In Miami: Reluctant family law attorney Jamie Quinn is loving life - and why wouldn't she? Her boyfriend Kip is back from Australia, her long-lost dad finally has his visa and she's about to start her dream job. It all falls apart when Jamie is accused of stealing priceless art from a rare book collection. If she can't find out who framed her, she can kiss her dream job goodbye, and her law license too. Meanwhile, Kip has problems of his own. Now an environmental activist, he uncovers a deadly secret - one that just might get him killed. Jamie's in trouble, Kip's in danger, and Duke Broussard has gone AWOL. How could Jamie's favorite P.I. abandon her at a time like this?

Leseprobe

JAMIE QUINN COZY MYSTERIES COLLECTION

THE COMPLETE SERIES

BARBARA VENKATARAMAN

CONTENTS

Death By Didgeridoo

The Case Of The Killer Divorce

Peril In The Park

Engaged In Danger

Jeopardy In July

Malice In Miami

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 Barbara Venkataraman

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

DEATH BY DIDGERIDOO

JAMIE QUINN COZY MYSTERIES BOOK 1

For all of their support, advice and enthusiasm, I want to thank all of my "reader girls:" Janet, Jodi, Joette, Kahlia, Linda, Mai, Michele, Myra and Nanette.

CHAPTER1

I don't know why I feel guilty, it's not like I killed the guy. I didn't even know him, but I heard he was a real bastard. Let me put it this way, when word got out that Spike was dead, that he'd been murdered with one of his own musical instruments, celebrations broke out all over town. Some people toasted his demise with expensive champagne, while others clinked bottles of cold beer; it just depended on the neighborhood. And while many stories were told that night--none of them complimentary, I assure you--there was a common theme: Spike was a liar and a cheat, a poor excuse for a man who'd steal from his own mother, if he knew where she was, or sleep with a friend's wife, if he had a friend--which he did not. Spike's only companion was his dog, Beast, a German shepherd that went everywhere he did, and wasn't very friendly either.

You're probably wondering how Spike had such a successful music store when he was such a major jerk. The answer is simple--he was a rock star. Literally. His drum solos were legendary. After The Screaming Zombies' first album, Deathlock, went platinum in 1999 and Spike won drummer of the year, there seemed to be no stopping this garage band of high school dropouts. But Spike found a way. With his huge ego and flair for paranoia, he managed to piss off everyone in no time, including the band's manager, agent, publicist, producer, all the way up to the head of the record label. The roadies especially despised him. They would set his drums up the wrong way or turn his speakers off whenever they could get away with it. And let's not forget the rest of The Screaming Zombies, Snake, Slasher and Slime, a/k/a Daryl, Marcus and Ricardo; they had a million reasons to hate Spike--most of them crisp and green, with pictures of dead presidents on them. They blamed him for the band's implosion and spectacular crash to the bottom that left them as broke as when they started. People say it takes only ten minutes to get used to a luxury, but a lifetime to get over losing it. Lucky for the Zombies they were always stoned, so their memories of the good life were too hazy to be painful.

Fast-forward three weeks to the present where Spike, still dead of course, has somehow taken over my life, causing me to put my house on the line, my reputation at risk and my sanity over the edge. Well, let's face it, I wasn't all that stable to begin with, but still…

It's hard to know where to start, but here goes. My name is Jamie Quinn. Jamie isn't short for anything; my mom just thought it was a good name, one that offered more opportunities than say Courtney or Brittany. She didn't want to burden me with society's stereotypes by choosing a name that was too girly, or sounded like a playboy bunny. She was always thinking ahead like that, which also made her a great nurse. Because she could connect the dots faster than anyone, she always knew when a patient was about to take a turn for the worse. Her co-workers at Hollywood Memorial Hospital (one of the top hospitals in Florida) were so impressed that they started calling her "Psychic Sue." Although she brushed it off whenever they did that, I think she was proud of her nickname. It was her super power, she would say. Superman may have had x-ray vision, but he could never match her diagnostic skills.

Unfortunately, like any super power, my mom's could be used for good or evil. And there were secrets behind those green eyes. When her cancer came back, she was the first to know, but she kept it to herself until it was too late for treatment. I'm sure she had her reasons, but I can't think of a single one that makes any sense. As usual, she had planned ahead. Her life insurance paid off the small house I grew up in on Polk Street and left me with enough cash to take some time off and gather my thoughts. The thought-gathering was her idea. Now, six months later, I am still trying to gather them, but it's no use. They are shadow puppets, gray wisps flitting through my brain, and they refuse to be caught. Somehow my mother knew that after she was gone I, too, would take a turn for the worse. Psychic Sue strikes again.

There is another thing you need to know about me--I'm a terrible sleeper. Let me put it this way, if I were taking a class in sleeping, I would get an 'F' (with an 'A' for effort, which doesn't count). But don’t think I'm throwing a pity party for myself--I'm not. This is all relevant to the story. Because I don't sleep much, I wander the house at night like the ghost of Hamlet's father (also named Hamlet, of course), but I am much quieter about it. I rattle no chains and make no demands of anyone. I do, however, need to sleep later in the day than most people, just to catch up, which I am able to do now that I'm not working. I'm only telling you this so you'll understand how I slept through my Aunt Peg's call and her hysterical message on my answering machine.

It was Monday, July 1st, the day that Spike (newly dead) took over my life. I had staggered out of bed around eleven (a.m.) after a particularly rough night (although it's getting harder to rank them at this point), so it wasn't until my second cup of coffee that I noticed the blinking light on the phone. Hardly anyone calls me on my landline anymore, so I figured it was just a telemarketer or someone conducting a survey. When I finally gave in and pushed the button, the ragged sound of my Aunt Peg crying made me spill my coffee all over my lap. What she said sent my adrenaline level spiking to new levels.

"Oh my God, Jamie, where are you? I can't find your cell number…I don't know what to do. I need your help…Adam's in trouble (she's sobbing at this point and I can't understand what she's saying) he's….he's… been arrested! I'm so scared. Please call me the minute you hear this…"

Now I was officially freaked out. First, because my aunt sounds so much like my mother on the phone. Second, because my cousin Adam is not someone who should be in jail, ever. And third, because how could anyone expect me to help with a crisis of this magnitude? I could barely take care of myself!

There's one more thing I should tell you about myself, but I don't like to bring it up. Since I have no choice, I'll just throw it out there and hope you don't think less of me, or make assumptions about my honesty or integrity. The truth is…I'm a lawyer. There, I said it. I hope that hasn't changed your opinion of me. I practice family law exclusively, which means that my limited area of expertise includes divorce, adoption, paternity, custody and child support. I use the word 'limited' because it's the only area I know, and it's hard enough to keep up with that. The problem is that friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers tend to ask my advice in areas that I know nothing about. I'm truly sorry, but I can't help you with a real estate closing, or tell you what your back injury is worth; I can't help you file your Social Security claim, or advise you whether to file for bankruptcy. And I sure as hell can't represent you in a criminal case.

For Adam's sake, I hoped that wasn't what my aunt had in mind.

By the time I called her back, Aunt Peg had gone from hysterical to eerily calm and I don't know which one worried me more. She said that they were at the Hollywood police station where Adam was being held. She needed to stay with him, so she couldn't talk, but she'd fill me in when I came down.

"I'll get down there as soon as I can," I said. "You guys hang in there, okay?" I wanted to sound reassuring, but I'm not exactly the cavalry.

"I'll try, Jamie," she said, her voice cracking. "But there's something else I need you to do…"

"Of course, Aunt Peg, what is it?"

"Can you please come dressed like a lawyer?"

What scared me the most, starting out as a new lawyer, was that I couldn't begin to fathom the depths of my ignorance. The more I learned, the more I realized how much I didn't know. I've heard law schools actually teach students how to practice law these days, and not just about research and writing. Well, it's about damn time, I say. Now that I've been practicing law for ten years, I know what to do and where to stand, how to dress and how to negotiate and, if I'm not sure about something, I can usually bluff my way through. I've also learned how to size up my opponents: the nervous ones with shaky hands, the blustery ones with something to prove, and the cool, confident ones I longed to emulate. But, as my first boss used to say, half the battle is just showing up. The other half is preparing the best you can with the information you have.

In this instance, I had no information to go on except what I already knew about Adam's situation. I sat down at my computer to find the statute I needed and quickly printed a copy of it, along with the amendments. Then, looking in the mirror, I adjusted the lapel of my navy blue "power suit." After putting on my mother's elegant gold necklace, I touched up my hair and make-up and finished by dusting off my briefcase. My ensemble was complete. If I weren't already a lawyer, I could have easily played one on TV.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd left the house, but it had to be at least a week. The days all blurred together. It turns out that when you aren't working, it doesn't really matter what day it is. After grabbing my umbrella from its perch by the front door, I slid behind the wheel of my Mini Cooper. There was no need to check the weather, summer days are always the same here--hot and muggy in the morning, thunderstorms in the afternoon.

When you think about south Florida (and how can you avoid it when we're always in the news?) you probably think of trendy South Beach or swanky Palm Beach, where Donald Trump has a mansion; you may even think of Fort Lauderdale, where Spring Breakers used to swarm the beaches in drunken hordes until they were chased away, but you probably never think of Hollywood, the quiet town that lies between Miami and Fort Lauderdale. With an area of only thirty square miles, Hollywood is unpretentious, affordable and quaint. The streets are named for presidents, admirals and generals, which can turn a trip to the grocery store into an American history lesson. I suppose GPS has taken all the fun out of that. It's strange how technology enhances life and diminishes it at the same time.

I find living in Hollywood comforting, not only because I grew up here, but also because it doesn't change much. I can relive my favorite memories as I drive past my favorite landmarks--the Wings 'N' Curls restaurant where we used to meet after high school football games; and Stratford's Bar, where we went for billiards and cheap beer in college. If you're lucky enough to live and work in Hollywood, there's no such thing as a commute; everything is close by. Case in point, it's only four miles from my house on Polk Street to the Hollywood Police Station, but I still took the back streets to avoid the traffic lights. I would be arriving all too soon as it was and the thought of Adam--poor defenseless Adam--under arrest was twisting my stomach into knots. All the other times I hadn’t been there for him were now prickling in my brain. I needed to focus if I was going to help him.

I arrived just minutes later and found a shady spot to park, but didn't turn off the car. I was feeling a little panicky, I must admit. Ten years as a lawyer and what did l know about criminal law? Only what I'd learned from watching a Law and Order marathon one Sunday--and I'd slept through most of it. In other words, nothing. Although the AC was blowing ice cold, beads of sweat dotted my upper lip and my hands were starting to feel clammy. Before I started sweating all over my best silk shirt, I decided to call my friend Grace. She'd know what to do. Grace was in-house counsel for a large securities firm, but she'd been a public defender right out of school. The call went straight to voice mail and my heart sank. I'd have to go in blind, what choice did I have? I felt my pulse throbbing in my left temple as I took a few calming breaths and turned off the ignition. Just as I was psyching myself up to get out of the car, my phone beeped. A text from Grace! Technology to the rescue! I take back everything I said before. With a sigh of relief, I turned the car back on and studied my phone with an intensity I usually reserve for pictures of Hugh Jackman.

Hey J--I'm stuck in a meeting, you ok?

Not so good, Gracie - my cousin Adam's been arrested!

OMG! What the hell happened???

No idea...I'm about to walk into Hollywood police station. Need your help, I'm clueless!

Ok, let's make a plan--if he's been charged, call me ASAP, and don't let him talk to anybody.

It might be too late…

True. The State attny could push for a psych eval but you'll hv to fight that or they can hold him 72 hrs.

Oh God, that's the last thing Adam needs!

Exactly. Now, if they don't charge him, you're golden. Just use the right buzz words & you'll hv a get out of jail free card. I'll send you the link now…

Gracie, you're the best!

Yeah, I know. Call me later.

Will do. Wish me luck…

As I crossed the short distance from the parking lot to the front door, the asphalt shimmered in the midday heat, creating watery mirages that popped in and out of existence. Towering palm trees loomed over me like self-appointed sentinels. (To be honest, I've been leery of tall palm trees ever since the day I almost got brained by a humongous palm frond falling from thirty feet up. Right in front of the courthouse! Talk about a personal injury case waiting to happen. The witnesses would've all been lawyers, except for that one lucky guy (or girl) that I (or my estate) hired to take the case. What a slam dunk that would've been. But what a stupid way to die, right?)

Although I'd driven by the police station hundreds of times on my way to court, I'd never been inside. In fact, I'd never been inside any police station--why would I?--and I had no idea what to expect. Maybe the hours I'd spent watching Castle and The Mentalist had prepared me for the real thing, but I had my doubts.

I guess I was expecting to walk through a metal detector, since that's the drill at the courthouse, but that wasn't the case. Instead, I found myself in a small lobby jam-packed with unhappy people. It was a zoo. On one side, a distraught woman with a screaming baby was crying to a female officer while, just a few feet away, two scruffy-looking men were in each other's faces, yelling about a broken lawn mower. At least I think that's what they were fighting about. I had to push my way through to reach the receptionist, who was safely ensconced behind bullet-proof glass. She was a bored twenty-something with magenta hair who barely looked up from her computer to acknowledge me. She seemed immune to the commotion in the lobby. It could have been happening in another dimension, or on a distant planet.

"You an attorney, ma'am?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm here for Adam Muller. I believe he's in custody."

"I'll need to see your Florida Bar card and ID. Are you carrying any firearms or weapons of any kind?"

"No, I most definitely am not." When did my hometown turn into the O.K. Corral?

After a cursory glance at my ID cards, she dismissed me with a nod. "Second door on the right," she said, buzzing me in with a flick of her long purple fingernail.

As I pulled the door open, I glanced back at the lawnmower guys who were now cursing each other out in what sounded like Russian. An officer built like a linebacker was heading their way and he looked grim. Keeping the peace seemed like a messy business. In fact, I thought it looked like the worst babysitting gig ever.

The contrast between the lobby and the other side of the door was remarkable. One little step had taken me from chaos to a well-ordered universe where everyone had a purpose and a destination. All around me, uniformed police officers and civilians were bustling about, some carrying folders, others having quick discussions in the hallway. If the lobby resembled an anthill that had been kicked over, then the inner office was a humming beehive. Alas, I must report that it looked nothing like the set of Castle or The Mentalist. How disappointing. I knew my day would be going downhill from there…

The second door on the right wasn't marked, so I knocked lightly before I opened it a crack. A shrill but familiar voice immediately pierced the silence.

"Leave us alone! My son has rights!!"

"Calm down, Aunt Peg, it's me," I said, as I slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind me.

"Oh, Jamie, thank God you're here!" she said before she collapsed into my arms, sobbing.

I patted her on the back and made soothing noises while I glanced around the stark room. The blue Berber carpeting was new and the walls were freshly painted, but there were no decorations or pictures to break up the startling whiteness. In the center of the room was a small round table with four modular chairs and, curled up in a corner, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, was my cousin Adam.

CHAPTER2

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" I asked.

My aunt and I were sitting at the table, not talking, despite my best efforts. Adam was still in the corner, shutting out the world just like he did when he was a kid--before intensive therapy and an obsession with music helped him learn to cope. He would come around when he was ready. Until then, it was best to leave him alone. Poor Aunt Peg looked so haggard; it was as if twenty-two years of safeguarding Adam had finally done her in. Not even when she and Dave were divorcing, their marriage collapsing under the strain of caring for Adam, had she looked this defeated. She was only forty-two, but she looked sixty-two at that moment, with bags under her eyes and deep wrinkles on her forehead. I watched her pick up a paper clip from the table, twisting and untwisting it until it finally broke. She looked up at me.

"Jamie, I want to wake up from this nightmare, but I can't! It all started this morning…I dropped Adam off at his music lesson, like I always do. He's been taking drum lessons at the music store on Harrison Street. When I went to pick him up an hour later, there were police cars and an ambulance blocking the road. I almost crashed the car I was so terrified--I thought something had happened to Adam! Any mother would’ve panicked, but it was worse for me because of Adam. He doesn't see trouble coming. He's too trusting, even after what happened with those horrible kids…"

She started crying again and I dug a tissue out of my purse. Divorce lawyers always have tissues handy.

"Then what happened, Aunt Peg?" I couldn't imagine where this story was going.

"I stopped a policeman--it was more like I grabbed him--and demanded to know what was going on. He said there had been a homicide! I started crying and screaming for Adam and then…he…he said…Adam wasn't hurt, but they were taking him into custody!"

She was on the verge of hysteria, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. I'd seen Adam use this calming technique before.

I waited a minute and then gently prodded her, "Aunt Peg?"

She continued as if she were in a trance. "I followed the police car back to the station. At first, they weren't going to let me in here because Adam is over eighteen but, when they saw him like this, they changed their minds." She stopped and looked at Adam with tears in her eyes.

"Margaret Muller, look at me!" I snapped.

"What, Jamie?"

"Will you tell me who died already?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I told you--it was Adam's music teacher, Spike. One of the other teachers heard a scream and ran into the room. He saw Adam standing over Spike's body. And he had blood on his hands… "

I jumped up from my chair. "Oh my God, that's terrible! But Adam must've found him like that, right?"

"That's what I said, but they arrested him anyway!" She buried her face in her hands.

I felt the room closing in on me. The air was so stifling I thought I would pass out. This was way worse than anything I could've imagined. Think, Jamie, think! Whenever I have a crisis, I try to put things in perspective by asking myself: If I screw this up, is anybody going to die? Usually, the answer is no…

Grace would be able to fix this, I was sure of it, but I needed more information. I started pacing back and forth, wearing a path in the new carpeting.

"Aunt Peg, we're going to get through this, okay?" I put my arm around her shoulders, it was only a half-hug, but it seemed to do the trick. She nodded.

"Tell me what happened since you got here, has Adam said anything?"

"Not a word."

"Has anyone come in to talk to you?"

"Yes, a Detective Hernandez and a young man in a suit. I told them our attorney was on her way. I'm supposed to tell them when you get here."

I decided it was a good time to take out my phone and read the information Grace had sent. Talk about your crash course in criminal law! I was so far out of my comfort zone I didn't think I'd ever find my way back. I remembered the statute I had in my briefcase (it was the only thing in there, aside from a legal pad) and took it out. I told my aunt to stay put, I was going to find Detective Hernandez.

"One more thing," I said, "and this is really important. Pretend we are not related. It's better if they don't think I have a stake in this, okay?"

"Alright, but what should I call you? Miss Quinn?"

"Actually, I prefer 'your highness' or 'my royal lady,' but you can call me Jamie. Just for today." I laughed and kissed her on the cheek. In return, she squeezed my hand and gave me a weak smile. It seemed like a fair trade.

CHAPTER3

I was making my way down the hall when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, are you Jamie Quinn?"

I turned around and found myself face to face with a GQ cover model. From his shiny wingtip shoes to his tailored Armani suit to his glossy black hair, this guy looked like he was going places--if he hadn't already arrived. I was pretty sure he was not Detective Hernandez.

"I see my reputation precedes me," I said with a smile. "And you are?"

"Nick Dimitropoulos, State Attorney's office." He shook my hand firmly but briefly, all business.

"I've been assigned to the homicide case from this morning. Are you representing Adam Muller?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but I could tell he was stoked, like a lion circling a herd of wildebeests. Well, this guy was messing with the wrong wildebeest.

"I am." Did those two words really just come out of my mouth?

"And what firm did you say you're with?" he asked, eyeing my two year old suit, purchased off the rack at Macy's. As my mother used to say, the classics never go out of style.

I smiled sweetly. Only rookie lawyers judge you by your appearance. I stored that tidbit of information in my brain. "I'm a sole practitioner, my office is downtown. So, jumping ahead a little, have you charged my client with anything?"

Before he could answer, one of his assistants walked over and whispered something in his ear. She handed him some paperwork and then left. Nick (I was sure he wouldn't mind if I called him Nick) glanced at it and frowned. Turning his attention back to me without so much as an apology, he said:

"Not yet, but we're working on it."

"Do you have any evidence, besides the fact that he wandered into a murder scene? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time isn't a crime, as far as I know."

He looked disdainful. "Then, Ms. Quinn, you don't know much. Your client made several incriminating statements."

I was so angry I could hardly contain myself. "You spoke to my client without me present? After he told you he had an attorney?"

"Of course not. He hasn't said a word since he was brought in, and nobody asked him anything. But he did make spontaneous utterances at the scene."

Skimming the papers in his hand, he said, "It's in the report. I'll read it to you:

Victim deceased, apparently from blunt force trauma. Suspect found standing next to victim. When undersigned approached the suspect, suspect made the following unsolicited statements: 'It's all my fault, I did a bad thing,' and also: 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…'"

Oh, Adam! How was I ever going to talk my way out of this? I would have to go all alpha dog on Mr. State Attorney.

"Listen, Nick," I said, "I know how that sounds, but here's the story. My client says all kinds of things because he has Asperger's Syndrome. Are you familiar with it? No? Well, you might want to read up on it. People with Asperger’s Syndrome have difficulties with social interaction and often display unusual behaviors. The bottom line is this--Adam Muller is protected under the Americans with Disabilities Amendments Act of 2008. Here's a copy of the statute. So, if you're not going to charge him, you have to let him go. Immediately. Or we'll be filing a claim against the department under the ADA."

His expression was a mix of contempt and barely-controlled anger. I must say it took away from his chiseled good looks, all that venom. When he was through glaring at me, he turned and walked off without so much as a "nice to meet ya." What's up with people's manners these days? I blame it all on the internet.

I yelled after him, "I'm entitled to a copy of the police report."

He turned around and walked back over to me. "Listen, Quinn,” he said, coldly, “I know your guy did it and when we're through analyzing the evidence, there will be charges. Try hiding behind your statute then."

He stormed off again and, this time, he didn't come back. Man, what a sore loser! He probably wouldn't have been a gracious winner, either. I took a deep breath and shook the tension out of my neck and shoulders. Unclenching my jaw would take a bit longer. You can relax, Jamie, I thought, Adam is safe. At least for now….

CHAPTER4

"I've never been so glad to get home in my life!" Aunt Peg said, throwing her purse on the dining room table and kicking off her shoes. "I'm exhausted."

"You and me both, sister," I said, collapsing into a comfy recliner in the corner.

No sooner had I sat down than two exuberant puppies jumped in my lap and started licking my face non-stop.

"And who do we have here, Adam?" I smiled at my cousin, who was sitting on the floor next to my chair, petting the dogs.

"The black one is Angus Young, he's a Scottish terrier and he's six months old. The reddish one is Bono and he's an Irish setter. He's only three months old."

"I'm sensing a theme here…" I laughed as I watched Adam roll around on the floor with the puppies. He looked like an overgrown puppy himself. I couldn't think of a dog breed with blond curly hair like Adam's, but if it existed, that's what he'd be.

Aunt Peg brought me a glass of iced tea and an orange juice for Adam. Then she sat down on the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

"You know, Adam, I don't think I told you this before," she said, "but I took Jamie to a U2 concert when she was sixteen."

Adam's mouth dropped open, his brown eyes wide. "Wow! I wish I could've gone."

"I tell you what," I said. "If AC/DC or U2 perform in south Florida again, I'll take you."

"That's awesome, Jamie! I can't wait! Can I show you the music stuff in my room now?" he asked, trying to pull me out of the chair. He was hard to resist since he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. Nobody would ever guess we were cousins because he was tall and fair and I was short and olive-skinned. I'm told I take after my father's side, but I wouldn't know.

"Sure, Adam, but I need to talk to your mom first, okay?"

"Why don't you take the dogs for a walk, sweetheart? They haven't been out all day," Aunt Peg said.

After Adam bounded out the door, I sat down next to Aunt Peg and gulped my iced tea like a person who had just crossed the Sahara. I didn't even give the ice a chance to melt. My aunt jumped up to refill my glass.

"I can't remember the last time I was here," I said, making conversation while she fussed in the kitchen.

To my surprise, Aunt Peg burst into tears. I rushed over to comfort her.

"It's been a rough day, I know," I said, patting her shoulder.

She pulled me into a tight hug.

"Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry, I haven't been there for you at all. Since Sue died, I've been such a mess, I could barely function. It's all I could do to make myself go to work and take care of Adam. Sue wasn't just my big sister, she was my best friend…and I can't believe she's gone."

Then we were both crying. Me, because I hadn't thought about anyone else's grief except my own. I had to be the most selfish, self-absorbed person on the planet.

"I wasn't there for you either, Aunt Peg, and I'm sorry." I grabbed a tissue out of my purse and blew my nose. "What would my mom say if she saw the two of us crying like this, with mascara running down our faces?"

My aunt smiled through her tears. "She'd say 'guilt is a stupid waste of time. If you feel bad, get off your butt and do something about it.'"

"Exactly. So, you and I are officially giving up on the guilt trips, okay? Personally, I'd rather take a trip to just about anywhere else." We walked back to the living room together and sat down on the sofa.

"Deal," she said. "And thank-you so much for today, I don't know how you convinced them to let Adam go. You're amazing!"

"And I don't know how you got Adam out of his meltdown! It was like magic."

She laughed. "I have years of experience! Actually, all I had to do was tell him we were going home and the dogs were waiting for him. But I did set up an emergency appointment with his therapist for tomorrow, he definitely needs that. And I should probably make an appointment for myself, too. I'm so glad this nightmare is over."

I couldn't tell her the truth, but she'd find out soon enough. It wasn't over. It was just getting started…

CHAPTER5

Exactly one week later, I was having dinner with Grace at my favorite birthday restaurant, Le Bonne Crepe, in Fort Lauderdale. Except that it wasn't my birthday. We'd picked it because it's next-door to Grace's office on upscale Las Olas Boulevard. (I mentioned that she works for a big securities firm, right?) Also, I knew she had bad news for me and I felt that I deserved a treat, like a prisoner's last meal.

"How about Crêpe Suzette?" Grace said. "When they light it on fire, it's like dinner and a show. Not to mention it's scrumptious." Grace always got excited about dessert.

"Are you kidding?" I said. "That's the reason I come here. I love Grand Marnier. Crêpe Suzette is an after-dinner drink disguised as dessert."

"Vanilla ice cream on the side?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

She laughed. "Just testing you. So, should we get to work now?"

"You're ruining my dessert buzz, Gracie!" I said, throwing up my hands.

"Okay, okay, sorry James, it can wait…"

After we had eaten every bite, licked our fingers and the forks, we sat back in our upholstered chairs and sipped our coffee, soaking up the cozy ambience of the French Bistro.

"I would've licked the plate if you weren't here…" Grace said, wistfully.

"You know I don't judge."

"See? That's why I like you," she said with a laugh.

Grace and I had been friends since our second year at Nova Law School when we discovered we were in all the same classes. It turns out when you run into a person four times a day, every day, eventually you'll strike up a conversation. Grace was motivated, one of those people who actually wanted to be a lawyer, serious about school, but with a crazy sense of humor. I was an English Lit major who had drifted into law school for lack of a better plan. Being friends with Grace made law school so much better.

One night, we were at Grace's apartment studying for a Torts exam. Around three in the morning, we started getting punchy. We'd just finished reading about the "eggshell plaintiff" (someone more susceptible to injury than the average person) when Grace darted off to the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later holding a plate and giggling her head off. On the plate was a little person she'd made out of eggshells with the words "Help me Jamie!" in ketchup next to it. I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

"Grace, you 'crack' me up!" I said, feeling quite witty. Of course, at three a.m., my standards tend to drop considerably.

The next day, during the exam, all I could think about was Grace's poor little eggshell person and I had to stifle my giggles. Everyone in the room must've thought I was nuts.

"Jamie, it's that time, I'm afraid…" Grace looked serious.

"I guess I'm ready." I said, leaning forward. I pulled a pad of paper and pen from my purse and laid them on the table.

"Do you want the bad news, or the really bad news?"

"Is 'neither' an acceptable answer?" I sighed. "Whatever you think, Grace."

She signaled the waiter for the check, which he promptly deposited in the center of the table.

"Okay, I reviewed the police report and the forensics report from the crime scene. You already know about the incriminating statements Adam made, but there's more. The victim's blood was found on Adam's shoes, but only on the soles, which could have happened when he walked over to the body." She paused to look at her notes. "Moving on to cause of death, the victim, Spike, who doesn't seem to have a last name, was killed by a blow to the head. The murder weapon was a didgeridoo, which was found at the scene."

"What the hell is a did-ger-i-doo?"

"I had to look it up. According to Wikipedia, it's an Australian Aboriginal wind instrument. Basically, it's a long wooden tube around four feet long that can weigh up to ten pounds. This one weighed six. According to the report, there were several sets of fingerprints on it, including the victim's." Grace looked at me sympathetically. "And Adam's…"

I groaned. "Just because he touched the didgeri-whatever doesn't mean he murdered his music teacher! He plays lots of musical instruments, that's his thing. And Adam would never hurt anyone, even if they were pounding him senseless. Remember when he was in middle school and those kids beat him up and broke his arm? He couldn't even defend himself! He had no reason to hurt his teacher."

Grace nodded, her long dark hair falling into her face. "I know, Jamie."

"Well, what news could be worse than that?"

"The State Attorney plans to press charges against Adam next week."

"Damn it!" I slammed my pad of paper on the table. "Have they even looked for the real murderer? Someone with a reason to kill this guy?"

"It doesn't seem like. Their golden boy, Nick Dimitropoulos, is handling the case. He's a hotshot right out of school who wants to make a name for himself. I hear he's planning to go into politics, like his father…"

"Oh my God! Don't tell me he's Theo Dimitropoulos' son! That's just great--the son of a state senator is gunning for my disabled cousin…" I felt like crying, or screaming, or both simultaneously. "What am I going to do, Grace? I can't represent him, and my aunt doesn't have the money to hire a lawyer. She's an elementary school teacher."

Grace looked thoughtful. "What about Adam's father?

"Dave?" I shook my head. "No way, he's broke. He isn't even part of Adam's life anymore. He got remarried and moved out of state. I think he has three more kids."

"Well, here's my advice: let the public defender represent him. This is a high-profile case, so they'll put their best person on it, and that's Susan Doyle. She's very good and she's been at this a lot longer than 'Slick Nick'. We used to work together at the PD's office and she won't mind if I help her strategize. You know I'll do whatever I can for you…"

I felt a glimmer of hope. "What if I mortgaged my house? It's free and clear. Then I could hire a great defense attorney--nothing against Susan, of course."

Grace shook her head. "That won't work," she said gently. "You can't qualify for a mortgage because you're not employed. And you may need to use your house as collateral."

"Collateral? For what?" I asked.

"To post bail, Jamie," she said.

CHAPTER6

It had been a long weekend and Grace had given me a lot to think about. Too much, in fact. Trying to keep myself from curling into the fetal position was a challenge, but I needed to stay upbeat for Aunt Peg. She had no idea what was coming, and I wasn't ready to tell her yet. The only thing keeping me sane was focusing on Adam and preparing for the ordeal to come. And so, first thing Monday morning, I made a phone call.

"Susan Doyle speaking."

The voice on the phone was confident, authoritative. She had a tone that said, 'This better be important, I have no time for nonsense.' She'd only said three words and I liked her already.

"Hello, this is Jamie Quinn, I'm Grace Anderson's friend… "

"Oh yes, Miss Quinn, I've been expecting your call. Grace told me about your cousin's situation. Unfortunately, it looks like the case is moving forward. On a personal note, I'm appalled that the state attorney has decided to prosecute with only circumstantial evidence and no apparent motive, but he's under a lot of pressure to put someone behind bars. Not to mention, there's a lot of publicity to be had," she added wryly.

"So I've heard," I said, feeling my jaw tighten. "I wanted to touch base with you for a few reasons. First, I'd like to know what to expect. My cousin may be twenty-two, but emotionally and socially, he's much younger. Adam is a gentle boy and he'd never hurt anyone; he's just not capable of it. With his Asperger's, he can't handle stress and I'm afraid this is going to destroy him…" I started crying, like I knew I would, and walked over to the kitchen sink to splash water on my face. I had to get a grip.

"I understand, Miss Quinn--Jamie--and I've been thinking about that. Adam will have to go through arrest and booking, but there are some things we can do for him. The state attorney will want a flashy arrest, but we can avoid that if Adam agrees to turn himself in. In addition, because of his Asperger's, I can ask the judge to appoint an attorney ad litem to protect him. Finally, I can ensure that Adam goes straight to court for his initial appearance, without spending any time in jail."

I breathed a sigh of relief--no jail! "How will you do that?"

"I think the state attorney will agree it would hurt his case if Adam had a breakdown in jail and ended up in a psychiatric hospital."

"I'm so glad you're on our side!" I said. "What will happen at the hearing?"

"The judge will determine if there's probable cause for the arrest. If the answer is yes, then he or she will appoint the public defender and set bail."

"That was my next question. How much would the bail be?" I was pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room.

"Hard to say. Your cousin certainly isn't a flight risk, but this is a capital crime and it's also a political hot potato. I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises."

"I understand. Just so you know, I'll be the one posting bail. What happens after that?" I had stopped pacing. Now I was chewing my nails.

"An arraignment hearing is usually held within 21 days of the first appearance. At that hearing, Adam will plead not guilty. The judge can revisit the bail at that time. Next, the state attorney reviews the case and decides if there is enough evidence to proceed. If they find enough evidence, then Adam will be formally charged. This must happen within 175 days of arrest." I could hear her talking to someone in the background.

"Thank-you so much. I don't want to take any more of your time, but please tell me what I can do to help…I'll do anything. I'll even make your coffee and sharpen your pencils."

Susan laughed. "What a great offer! Not necessary though. There is something important you can do, if it's within your means. We're on a tight budget over here. If you could hire a private investigator to dig around for information, it might make all the difference. You'll need one willing to stretch the rules, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Of course I'll do it! What kind of information do you need?"

"How about I e-mail you a list later today?" she said.

"Perfect! I can't thank you enough." I said, starting to tear up.

"So much appreciation and I haven't even done anything yet," she said with a laugh. "We'll talk soon, Jamie."

The smile left my face as soon as I hung up. Where was I going to find a dirty private investigator?

CHAPTER7

True to her word, Susan Doyle e-mailed me the list a few hours later. It was three pages of questions that seemed impossible to answer. I felt as panicky as when I was in law school and dreamt I had a test I hadn't studied for, in a class I'd never been to.

Studying the list, I wondered how anyone, even a sleazy PI, could uncover some of these facts, like whether Spike had enemies, or whether he'd been in any arguments the week of his murder. I took a deep breath and looked at it again. There were actually a few questions I could answer myself, using public records. Before tackling this online scavenger hunt, I would make myself some coffee to ensure maximum alertness. Since I hardly slept anyway, one more cup wouldn't matter.

After sweeping the bills and my mom's estate papers off the desk, I sat down at my computer and pulled up the site for Florida Secretary of State Corporations. I decided to start there. Under 'corporate entities', I typed in "The Screaming Zombie," which was the name of the music store. Although I'd seen the store on Harrison Street many times, I'd always assumed it was a bar. When nothing popped up, I typed the name "Spike" under corporate officers and got a hit: "Spike Enterprises, Inc. d/b/a/ The Screaming Zombie." Spike was listed as the director. The only other officer was the treasurer, Marian Wolinsky. Need to find Marian Wolinsky I wrote on a legal pad.

I decided to pull up the music store's website and typed in: The Screaming Zombie. To my surprise, I got dozens of hits. Who knew The Screaming Zombies was the name of a heavy metal band? Apparently, everyone in the world did, except for me. I found online fan clubs and chat boards, as well as YouTube videos and downloadable songs. I even found a chart ranking the greatest drummers of all time, and Spike was one of them. At least now I understood the name of the store. Although The Screaming Zombies broke up in 2001, they still had many devoted fans, all of them heavily tattooed and pierced. I watched a video of the Zombies performing on You Tube and then watched an interview with Spike, which spooked me a little. While I never speak ill of the dead (at least I never have before), I will make an exception for Spike. After watching his interview, I was able to draw certain conclusions: 1) he was stoned; 2) he was an egomaniac; 3) he was a legend in his own mind; and 4) he was nasty and mean. He did say one interesting thing though: every time he went on a drinking binge, he brought home a new German shepherd. By the looks of him, he must have had quite a collection...

Next up, the actual website for the music store, where I found lots of information. I saw that they sold a wide array of instruments, and provided lessons for even more. The only instrument I didn't see listed in either category was the didgeridoo. I made a note on my pad. Whose didgeridoo was it? Next, I clicked on the 'Meet Our Instructors' link and hit the jackpot. All four instructors were listed (including Spike), with the instruments they taught and their photographs. I printed the page and made a note to Google each instructor later. I moved on to the 'About Us' section, which should have been called, "About Spike," because all five pages paid homage to him. Reading that, you'd think Spike was the greatest drummer ever born; that he'd been the star of the "The Screaming Zombies", and that the city of Hollywood should be grateful he chose to live there.

I must've dozed off for a minute with my head on the desk, because the next thing I knew my cellphone was ringing next to my ear. My ringtone is Vivaldi's violin concerto, Spring, and I was dreaming I was at the symphony with my mom. I woke up and fumbled with the phone.

"Hello?"

"Jamie, were you sleeping? I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Aunt Peg…" I was still disoriented. It had been such a lovely dream…

"I hate to bother you, but…"

I sat up, suddenly wide wake. "What's wrong?

"Adam isn't doing well, he's having nightmares and he's barely eating. He's refusing to do his homework, or even play any music. His therapist started him on anti-anxiety medication, but it isn't working. He thinks we should try hypnotherapy to help Adam get past his traumatic experience." My aunt sounded exhausted and worried.

"Can you give the therapist permission to speak with me?" I had the beginning of an idea.

"Of course I will," she said, "but Jamie, I had another reason for calling. They were talking about the murder on the 11:00 news. They said Spike was killed with a didgeridoo..."

"I heard that, too."

"Jamie, I don't know how much more of this I can take!" Aunt Peg was crying into the phone.

"I don't understand," I said.

"The didgeridoo--they showed a picture of it. It was Adam's."

CHAPTER8

Things just kept getting worse and all I wanted was to go back to my imaginary symphony. Was that so much to ask?

Now, I know I should've told my aunt what was going on when I had the chance, but I couldn't do it. You might judge me for it--but you weren't there. When Margaret Muller says she can't take much more, she means it, and I didn't want to be the one to push her over the edge. Still, I needed to know how the didgeridoo ended up in Spike's office, so I eased into asking Aunt Peg about it. Her explanation made sense to me: Adam had been teaching himself to play, and wanted to show off for Spike, so he brought the didgeridoo to his lesson the week before. Unfortunately, I knew that my nemesis, Nick the state attorney, wouldn't see it that way at all. To him, it would be proof that Adam had planned the attack. I spent a few more minutes comforting my aunt and then wrapped up the call, promising to keep in touch.

Although it was after midnight, and officially Tuesday, I was too wired to even try to sleep, so I went back to my scavenger hunt. First, I googled the music teachers.There was a married couple, Steve and Rosa Michaels. Steve taught trumpet and saxophone, Rosa taught flute and piccolo. My search revealed they had been high school sweethearts at Hollywood Hills High, where they'd played in band together. How cute!

The only other teacher, aside from Spike, was Olga Gonzalez, who taught piano and guitar. Nothing came up on her. While I was at it, I figured I'd do a search for Marian Wolinsky, the treasurer of Spike's corporation. I found that she managed a fan site dedicated to Spike, in all of his awesomeness. There were photos of Marian and Spike together all over the site. Marian looked like a biker chick, leather vest, tight jeans, black boots, and lots of tattoos. In almost every picture, she was looking at Spike adoringly. I wonder how much he had to pay her to do that!

Next up, the Broward Clerk's website, to search for criminal and civil court records. Not surprisingly, Spike had over a dozen speeding tickets and other traffic-related offenses, as well as drug possession charges from way back. The civil records told another story: Spike and Spike Enterprises, Inc. (d/b/a The Screaming Zombie), were being sued by none other than Snake, Slasher and Slime, a/k/a Daryl, Marcus and Ricardo, a/k/a the rest of the Zombies! The suit was over Spike's use of the band's name for his store. The plaintiffs were accusing Spike and Spike Enterprises, Inc., of unjust enrichment, trademark infringement, etc. That sure sounded like bad blood to me, but was it a motive for murder? I made more notes on my legal pad.

While I was on the court website, I ran Spike's name through probate and found that someone had already opened an estate for him. Only the personal representative can open the estate, so I scrolled down to see who that was. Drum roll, please….it was… Marian Wolinsky! I definitely needed to have a chat with this lady. I also planned to visit the courthouse to read Spike's will. Since Spike's beneficiaries stood to profit from his death, I wanted to know who they were. My legal pad was filling up.

Finally, I ran criminal checks on all of the staff. Marian had some old possession charges, as well as a charge of disturbing the peace, hardly shocking. She and Spike must've been partying pretty hard that night.

Olga Gonzalez, the piano teacher, had no criminal record, but the high school sweethearts were another story. It turned out Rosa Michaels had filed domestic violence restraining orders against Steve on three separate occasions, but then dismissed them. The most recent one was obtained only two weeks before Spike's death, and she had filed for divorce at the same time. It could be nothing, it could be something, but Steve sounded like a man in need of an anger management class, or two…

I'd had enough, my brain was fried. To quote Miss Scarlett, tomorrow is another day. I fell into bed, in search of Vivaldi.

CHAPTER9

I woke up way too early because the cat, all twelve pounds of him, jumped on my head, yowling and demanding to be fed. He was always demanding something. I didn't mention that I have a cat before because I'm in denial. Mr. Paws was my mother's cat and I promised her I'd take care of him, even though we despised each other. That is, Mr. Paws and I despised each other, not my mother and I, just to clarify. Naturally, we don't get along any better now that it's just the two of us. I did take the liberty of changing his name from Mr. Paws to Mr. Pain in the Ass, but he never answers to anything anyway, except the sound of food being poured in his bowl.

After feeding his royal highness, I took a quick shower and got dressed. I poured my coffee into a to-go cup and grabbed a granola bar before dashing out the door. As you can tell, I'm not big on breakfast. Before I fired up the old Mini Cooper, I texted Grace.

"Morning, Sunshine! I'll be at the main courthouse later, you free for lunch?"

"I wish! How about I meet you over there for a quick visit?"

"Great! Lots to tell you. What time?" I texted back.

"10.00? Cafeteria?"

"Perfect, see you there. I'll be the one with the black cloud over her head."

"I think I'll recognize you…"

The line to enter the courthouse was snaky and long, like it was most mornings. That’s because all the judges schedule their motion calendars for 8:45 a.m. These non-evidentiary hearings are supposed to last only five minutes, but they never do, which causes crowds of people to spill into the hallways. It makes me feel claustrophobic and crabby. I knew it had to be a Tuesday because that's when the bearded preacher man with the wire glasses graces us with his presence. There he was, standing on his crate by the courthouse doors, yelling advice he got straight from Jesus. Deep sigh. I was in no mood to hear proselytizing...

I had no problem checking out Spike's probate file from the clerk. What I hoped to glean from the will was a clue that would point to someone other than Adam as the killer. But that didn't happen…

"You're kidding me! I can't believe it. Tell me again what the will said," Grace was buttering her everything bagel. We were in the courthouse cafeteria and I was catching her up.

"You heard me. Spike left his entire estate to a German Shepherd Rescue organization. The only other bequest was that he left his dog, Beast, to Marian Wolinsky, with $10,000.00 for his care." I was shaking my head, amazed by Spike's generosity. Maybe he wasn't as big a jerk as I'd thought.

"Go figure!" Grace said. "So, that's pretty interesting stuff you found, that lawsuit the Zombies filed, and the music teacher with the domestic violence problem. What's your next step?"

"I have a million questions for Marian Wolinsky, so that meeting needs to happen. Also, I have to find a PI who walks on the dark side, according to my new best friend Susan Doyle, and I have no idea how to find one…"

"Jamie! I thought I was your best friend. I'm going to let that slide. Do you remember my favorite Zen saying? You already have everything you need." Then she looked at me expectantly.

"What are you saying? That I know a dirty PI?" Maybe I was too tired to understand…then it came to me, like a flash. "Duke? You want me to call Duke Broussard? No way! He's a creep."

"Exactly!" Grace laughed. "And he owes you, big time. You saved his skin when you handled his divorce. Right?"

"Oh, my God! His wife was so furious when she caught him cheating on her--she reported him to the IRS, the Better Business Bureau, the PI licensing board, the newspapers, and Angie's List. She trashed him all over Facebook and Twitter too. Talk about a woman scorned!" I laughed.

"Didn't she also buy a billboard on I-95?" Grace glanced at her watch and started tidying the table.

"Yes, she did! I forgot about that. Not the bimbo he thought she was, huh? Don't worry, Grace, I'll clean up. You get back to work," I said.

She gave me a peck on the cheek and turned to go. "Call him, Jamie. You know I'm right."

"Yeah, you usually are." I said.

CHAPTER10

When I got home,