Jeopardy In July (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Book 5)

Book summary

In "Jeopardy In July," the fifth installment of the Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries series, attorney Jamie Quinn delves into a perplexing case at La Vida Boca, a luxurious assisted living facility in Boca Raton. Despite the facility's stellar reputation and the apparent natural causes of several residents' deaths, Jamie's investigation, aided by her new ally Jessie Sandler and trusted P.I. Duke Broussard, unveils a forty-year-old crime. As the mystery deepens, Jamie races against time to thwart a hidden killer, risking becoming the next target in a series of unnervingly discreet murders.

Excerpt from Jeopardy In July (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Book 5)

Chapter 1

With lights flashing, an ambulance pulled up to the front door of La Vida Boca before screeching to a stop. Prior to their arrival, the paramedics had disabled the siren out of deference to the three hundred elderly residents, all of them in their eighties and nineties with a few centenarians mixed in. It was wise not to startle them since only one stretcher fit in the back of the ambulance at a time. In truth, the old folks never got too excited about the ambulance anymore, but if a fire engine happened to show up, that got them out of their chairs in a hurry (relatively speaking) because who doesn't love a shiny red fire engine?

"Here comes the meat wagon again," Herb Lowenthal remarked, barely glancing up from his newspaper.

I was sitting in the opulent lobby of La Vida Boca, a five-star assisted living facility in Boca Raton, Florida and although I'd just met Herb I already had a pretty good handle on his world view.

"Welcome to God's waiting room," he added, laughing at his own joke. "Nobody in this place buys green bananas, if you know what I mean."

Not sure how to respond, I nodded and smiled. This was a first for me, hanging out at an old folks' home, and it was an eye-opener. Herb laid his crumpled newspaper down so he could study me over his smudged spectacles. Although his bushy eyebrows looked like two white caterpillars taking a nap, his inquisitive eyes missed nothing.

"What brings you here, Miss Jamie Quinn, is someone getting a divorce? Since when do lawyers make house calls?"

I gave him a friendly smile. "I can't tell you that, Herb. It's called attorney-client privilege. Just like on TV."

"Aha!" He pointed a knobby finger at me. "Someone is getting a divorce. Is it the Millers? Those two can never let go of anything. They're still arguing about whether Dewey defeated Truman. I wish I was kidding, oy vey."

I glanced at my watch. My clients were late, but I didn't care, I would get paid no matter where I sat. "Before you go starting any rumors, Herb," I said, "you should know that I also prepare simple wills."

But I wasn't there to prepare a will; I wasn't wearing my 'lawyer hat' at all that day. I was there as a family mediator to mediate a divorce settlement--and no, it wasn't the Millers. I had mediated hundreds of cases over the years, but never one like this. After sixty years of marriage, Shirley and Clarence Petersen had suddenly decided to call it quits. As a divorce lawyer who had seen it all I shouldn't have been surprised, but as a woman who was recently 'engaged to be engaged' I was thrown off kilter. If Shirley and Clarence couldn't make it after six decades of trying, what hope was there for me and Kip? I pushed that thought away to focus on the work ahead.

My first order of business would be to establish whether both parties were competent. A basic tenet of contract law is that you can't enter into a contract if you're not in your right mind. Normally, each party would have an attorney who would've made that determination already but these two didn't want to pay for attorneys. That made it tricky for me. How could I tell? After all, a person with dementia could have lucid moments. As the saying goes, even a broken clock is right twice a day.

"Here they come with their next victim," Herb said matter-of-factly.

Two extremely buff male paramedics hustled by us pushing a wheeled stretcher between them. One of them held a portable oxygen mask over the patient's face, blocking it from view. I couldn't tell how serious the situation was but nobody seemed to be panicking. A few staff members followed them outside with paperwork and within five minutes the ambulance was on its way, siren turned back on.

I looked around the lobby wondering where my clients could be. Maybe they were already there waiting for me? I had no idea what they looked like. Before I could turn around, I had the wind knocked out of me and almost fell right out of my chair. A large chocolate Labradoodle had lunged out of nowhere and was now standing on his hind legs, front paws in my lap, trying desperately to lick my face.

"Marley!" I exclaimed, scratching his head. "Aren't you a long way from home?"

Chapter Two

Suddenly, everyone in the lobby sprang into action. Maybe sprang wasn't the right way to describe it, but two dozen old people were suddenly on the move, grabbing their walkers and canes, pulling dog treats out of their pockets, calling Marley's name and moving towards us at varying speeds. It might've been a little alarming but for the fact that they all looked so happy. I heard a familiar giggle behind me.

"Jessie Sandler!" I said. "What brings you all the way from Hollywood? If you and Marley were heading to the beach, you took a wrong turn, my friend."

She giggled again. "Hey, Jamie! How's it going? Believe it or not, we came here on purpose. We're here every week to do pet therapy with the residents and visit my Uncle Teddy. How about you? You're pretty far from Hollywood yourself. Looks like you got that blue paint out of your ears!"

The last time I'd seen Jessie had been a few weeks earlier at Precious Paws, her 1960s-rock 'n' roll-themed dog rescue where we had painted 'masterpieces' with the dogs while dancing to the Rolling Stones.

"That paint took a long time to wash off," I laughed, "but I had a blast! Did you sell the pictures?"

"Yes! I meant to tell you, I took your idea and made greeting cards and stationery. I also framed some of the prints and they're selling like wild. We made enough money to buy dog food for a year! Any time you're ready, we can do it again. My new dogs would love to paint--you know, express their creativity."

Only Jessie would think dogs had creativity to express. I was pretty sure my cat, Mr. Paws, wasn't stifling any artistic urges. He had no trouble expressing himself, especially when I left him alone overnight. Then, his royal highness would share his feelings by knocking a plant off the windowsill or a knickknack off a shelf--exactly what Picasso must've done when he was pissed off.

"I'd love to!" I said. "Don't know when, but soon." I stood up, leaving Marley to his admirers (which included my cheery new friend Herb) and pulled Jessie aside. "Do you know who Shirley and Clarence Petersen are? I was supposed to meet them here."

Standing next to Jessie, I marveled at how petite she was. Her energy and sparkle made her seem much taller than she actually was. Maybe because she was always smiling, I didn't pay attention to her other features, like her dark hair streaked with purple, or her pixie face with those sleepy eyes.

"I don't think I know Shirley," she said, "but Clarence is my Uncle Teddy's poker buddy." She scanned the room. "Nope, he's not here. Do you have their phone number?"

I shook my head. "I left it in my office, I'm such a space case."

Jessie walked me over to the front desk where a middle-aged black woman was busy answering the phones. After waiting patiently for the woman to notice her, Jessie interrupted.

"Hey, Glenda, quick question--have you seen the Petersens? They had an appointment with this lady and they're late."

Glenda gave Jessie a surprised look. "Didn't you see? Clarence Petersen was just taken away by ambulance. He collapsed on the shuffleboard court."

"How awful!" Jessie exclaimed.

I felt guilty that I hadn't been more sympathetic when I saw him carried out. It's like when you're stuck in traffic because of an accident and all you think about is how inconvenient it is for you. You forget that someone else is having a really terrible day. Maybe the stress of a looming divorce had made Clarence ill--although it seemed to me like he was the one pushing for it. Change was hard and I couldn't imagine doing it at the age of eighty-three.

"That's terrible news," I said. "I didn't know that was him they were carrying out. I hope he's okay." I looked around the lobby one more time and shrugged. "Well, I guess I'll get going, Jess, but I'm glad I got to see you and Marley."

"Do you really have to go?" she asked sweetly. "I could give you a tour."

Since I'd planned to spend several hours on the Petersen mediation (now officially canceled), I had nothing else going on. And while I had zero interest in learning about the whirlwind excitement of assisted living, I did like hanging out with Jessie.

"Sure," I said. "Why not?"

Chapter Three

"Next number, B-22. I'm warning you, people, someone better yell 'Bingo' soon. It's almost time for happy hour and there's a double martini calling my name."

Everyone in the Bingo hall laughed. The tiny white-haired woman with the big attitude was seated at a table in front facing the players. She continued calling out numbers and cracking jokes at a steady pace.

"That's Darlene," Jessie told me as we stood in the doorway. "She just turned a hundred and two, can you believe it?"

"She should do stand-up comedy," I said. "I'd have a drink with her."

Jessie nodded. "Me, too! But I'm not sure about the stand-up. I think she'd have to do sit-down."

I laughed. "That will be me someday, playing Bingo for nickels and counting the minutes 'til happy hour."

"Sounds like fun," Jessie said as she linked her arm in mine and led me away.

We peeked into the arts and crafts room where residents were busy making bracelets before moving on to the library with its overstuffed armchairs and extensive collection of thrillers, mysteries, and classics. A shelf dedicated to harlequin romances also held some racy bestsellers. A sign on the wall announced that Book Club met on Wednesdays. The thought of discussing Fifty Shades of Grey with women who reminded me of my grandmother sent shivers down my spine. You couldn't pay me to join that book club, not even for a million bucks. Well, maybe a million. Hell, I'd eat a cockroach for half that. Of course, a portion of my earnings would need to be set aside for psychotherapy and once the doctors invented a cool name for my syndrome--maybe Cockroach PTSD-- I'd be famous for the most disgusting reason imaginable. Go big or go home, I say.

"Next stop,” Jessie said as we turned a corner, “you'll meet the coolest guys at La Vida Boca. They call themselves The Card Sharks."

I laughed. "So, they cheat at cards, but they let people know up front? Very considerate."

We passed a poster advertising movie night. The flick was Pal Joey, starring Frank Sinatra, Rita Hayworth and Kim Novak. It was easy to see why they had been such big stars; the women were beautiful and glamorous and Old Blue Eyes looked like he was loving life. Strolling through La Vida Boca was like traveling in a time machine. I wouldn't have been surprised to see people wearing 'I like Ike" buttons and humming Elvis Presley tunes--or to see Dr. Who hovering outside in the Tardis. How fun would that be?

"Tell me about pet therapy," I said as we continued walking through the long winding corridors. La Vida Boca was bigger than I'd thought. "How does it work?"

Jessie's face lit up. "Hooray! I get to talk about my favorite topic. Did you know thatspending just fifteen minutes bonding with an animal sets off a chemical chain reaction in your brain that lowers your heart rate, blood pressure, and stress levels? Isn't that amazing? Pet therapy also helps people recover from illness and surgery and it can even help with memory. Have you ever heard of Sundowner's Syndrome?"