Mystery: The Sam Prichard Series - Books 5-8 Read online

  The note ended there, and Sam stood silently, reading through it a couple of times. He heard a sound and looked around to see someone come out of a house down the street; it was only a local, who paid him no attention, so he returned the favor, got into his car and drove away.

  The note made it clear that the killer had some way of knowing what Sam was doing and whom he was talking to. With that being the case, he didn't want to even talk about it on the phone to Indie. In fact, he wasn't sure he wanted her to know about it at all, since it had a chilling threat in it that someone he cared about would be the next victim, if he failed to stop his adversary. The warning not to guess who it was only meant that it could be anyone that either he or Indie cared about, from Indie herself, to Kenzie, even to people he and Indie considered friends, like the Mitchells or their children. He couldn't take any chances; this note was for him, and him alone.

  He thought over the “hint” the killer had given him. He was looking for a married woman who was old enough to have “a couple” of grown children, but still had two at home, implying that she had four kids, but the word “couple” could be subject to personal interpretation, so it wasn't completely reliable. On the other hand, saying she was an assistant to someone who knew Sam but didn't like him could have some potential. Now all Sam had to do was figure out which of his many enemies might have an assistant.

  He got home and went inside to find Indie sitting in the kitchen with their mothers, and stifled a groan. He shoved the note into a pocket and said, “Hey, Mom, hey, Kim.”

  His mother, Grace, looked at him. “Samuel, sit down! We have to talk!”

  Sam sighed and sat. Indie looked at him sheepishly, and he knew instantly that this was a “Beauregard” thing. “Okay,” he said, “I'm sat. What's going on?”

  “Sam, it's Beauregard,” Grace said. “He's telling Kim all sorts of things about whatever mess you're in, but he won't let her tell until you're in the conversation.”

  “And it's driving you nuts, right, Mom?”

  “Don't be flip,” Grace said, reaching across the table to slap his hand. “He's saved your life more than once, right? You'd do a lot worse than to listen and see what he has to say, young man!”

  Sam smiled and shrugged. “I'm all ears,” he said, turning to Kim.

  Indie's mom looked at him and smiled a nervous smile. “Okay, Sam,” she said. “First, Beauregard says to tell you he knows you don't believe in him, but that's okay, he doesn't mind. He says it's because of your analytical mind, that you have trouble with things you don't understand, and he can accept that because you were friends in a past life...”

  “Oh, for God's sake, Kim, just get to what he wants to tell Sam!”

  Kim flinched. Sam sympathized; he knew what a pain in the ass his mother could be.

  “Okay, just—well, Sam, Beauregard says the woman you're trying to find is dangerous, and when you find her, you're going to be in more danger than she is, but—well, if you don't find her and stop her from getting killed, then the man you're trying to catch will decide he's won the game, and then he'll feel justified in doing something to hurt you for not stopping him, and—well, Beauregard says that means he's going to hurt one of us. Me or Grace.”

  Grace's eyes went wide, but she didn't say anything. Sam sighed, and put his head in his hands. Beauregard was right about Sam not believing in him, but like Indie, he felt that Kim had some sort of psychic gift, and that Beauregard was her subconscious way of dealing with it. However it worked, Beauregard's warnings had been right too many times for Sam to discount them now.

  “How is the woman dangerous?” he asked.

  Kim shrugged. “He won't tell me that. He just says she's dangerous, and that you have to be careful, or you could be killed. If you get killed, then there's no one who can stop this guy, and he'll only start killing more people.”

  Sam looked Kim in the eye. “Listen, Beauregard,” he said. “Let's forget what I do or don't believe. If there's one thing you and I have in common, it's that we don't want this family to get hurt. Now, if you can tell me this much, then surely there's something more you can give me, to help me win this godforsaken game of his, and put this bastard down. So, I'm begging you. Tell me whatever you can that might help.”

  Kim sat there for a moment looking uncomfortable, and then her face began to smooth out. She seemed to become more serene, and Sam heard Indie whisper, “Oh, no…”

  Kim's eyes closed for a second, and then they opened and focused on Sam.

  “Hey, ol' buddy,” she said, but the voice that came out of her was not her own; true, it came from her vocal chords, but there was a southern masculinity in it that Sam had never heard before.

  Sam swallowed; Indie had told him about her confrontation with Beauregard just a few days earlier, and how it had unnerved her. Now he was face to face with what he was sure was just a schizoid splinter of his mother-in-law's own personality, and he wasn't sure what to do or say.

  “Um—Beauregard?” he asked.

  “Yup. It's good to see you again, but I have to say, you're a sight better looking now than when we last saw each other at Valley Forge. Of course, you had a better go of it there than I did, since you lived through it. I froze to death.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Um—I thought Valley Forge was in the Revolutionary War, not the Civil War.”

  “Oh, it was,” Kim said. “I got the privilege of being reborn in time to be old enough to serve in the War Between the States. You didn't; you got back the last time in nineteen and nineteen, but you were in the Second World War. You died in the Philippines, but that's not what you want to talk about, so let's save that for another day.” Kim sighed, a deep sound that spoke of age and weariness. “I'm afraid I can't tell you everything you want to know, Sam. Some things are visible to me, and some are not. What I can tell you is this. If you find this woman, it's going to be a dangerous moment for you, but I don't know how. All I know is that if you are not very, very cautious, you will not survive it, and that would be a very bad thing. Your enemy will take your death as failure, and if you fail to stop him for any reason, he will strike at one of these ladies in retaliation. One of them would die, and I cannot see which one.”

  Sam stared at Kim, wondering what to say, what to ask, what on earth to even think! “Tell me this, then,” he said. “How can I find this woman? All I know about her is that she is married, she has children, two of whom still live at home, and she supposedly works for someone who knows me and dislikes me. Can you give me any help with that?”

  Kim looked up at the ceiling for a moment, her finger tapping on her chin. Sam felt a chill go through him when he realized the gesture seemed familiar, but couldn't recall where he'd ever seen it before. He stared at Kim, and after a moment, she looked at him again.

  “I can give you only one more thing,” she said, still in that eerie voice. “That person she works for is someone you wouldn't think would dislike you, but does. I don't know who she is, but that much I can see. When you figure out which of your female friends is false, and has a helper to do things for her, you'll know who it is.” She sighed again. “I'm afraid it's hard to come out like this, and wears me. I'll be going for now.” She closed her eyes again, and seemed to sway for a moment. Then her face went back to normal and she opened her eyes. She yawned. “Goodness,” she said in her own voice. “Did I doze off?”

  Grace was on her feet. “Doze off? You didn't doze off, you flibbertigibbet; you went to Neverland and let Beauregard take over! And what do you mean, not telling me that we're in danger? Am I not enough of a friend to know that?”

  Kim looked stricken. “I'm sorry, Grace, Beauregard said I couldn't tell anyone until Sam was with us! I have to do things his way, or I'm afraid he'll go away and I won't have him to guide me anymore!”

  “But you should have...”

  “Mom!” Sam said. “Enough! I'm gonna find this guy and stop him, so don't worry about it! Alright?”

  Grace sat back down
and looked abashed. “You're right, Sam, and I'm sorry, Kim. I know Sam will do all he can.”

  Kim looked at Sam. “You met Beauregard?” she asked.

  Sam nodded, too weary to try to argue the point. “I guess so,” he said. “I wish he'd be more help, but I guess I should be grateful for what I can get.”

  “What you need to understand, Sam,” Kim said, “is that Beauregard can't see all the little details. He gets flashes, I guess is how to say it. I know he wishes he could tell you more, but he can't.”

  “It's okay, Kim,” Sam said. “I've got some clues, and everything helps.” He sat there for a moment, and then took out his phone and looked at the time. It was almost three thirty, and the band was scheduled to play again that night at the Casino from eight until midnight. He thought about how to handle things, and an idea hit him. He couldn't involve police, but there was one source of help he was willing to bet the killer didn't know about, so he took out his phone and dialed Harry Winslow's private cell number.

  Harry was an aging secret agent. After years with the CIA, he'd been moved over to Homeland Security sometime after 9/11, and for the past couple of years, he'd been working undercover in Denver, running a drug ring because that was one of the most popular ways for terrorists to get money and weapons into the country. When Sam had stumbled across Harry’s operation on his very first case, he had thought Harry was the bad guy, but when he found out the truth, the two of them had fought side by side in a battle against almost a dozen professional assassins and won, capturing a high-ranking American agent who had gone rogue.

  Then, when the terrorist plot had come up, Harry had recruited Sam because he was short-handed, and Sam had ended up saving the country again. Harry was still in deep cover, and Sam knew that even the local cops had no idea who he really was.

  “Sam?” Harry answered in his old southern drawl. “I'm going to guess that you're not calling to invite me over for a barbecue, so what can I do for you?”

  “Harry, do you remember Beauregard?”

  “As if I could forget,” the old man said. “And incidentally, when you see Kim again, you can tell her that he was right once more. I was told unofficially this morning that I'm being promoted. Uncle is bringing in new blood for the local operation, and I get to set up a whole new field office here, with actual agents and everything! No more undercover drug operation, isn't that wonderful?”

  “Gee, Harry, does that mean you won't be calling me every time you get into trouble?”

  Harry laughed. “Son, you can't get that lucky! Now, tell me what it is you need from your old buddy today?”

  “Beauregard says the killer I'm after is likely to go after Mom or Kim if I fail to stop him,” Sam said. “Can you get me any kind of cover on them, invisible cover? Just in case?”

  Harry was quiet for a moment. “I gather you don't want police involvement?”

  “I don't dare,” Sam said. “This guy seems to know everything about me, including who I talk to there and what about. I need help that won't show up on his radar.”

  “Sam, in the drug organization, we have enforcers, people who will do whatever they're told without question—but make no mistake, these are not good guys; they are criminals. I get their loyalty and obedience because of the money I pay and the fact that, old and decrepit as I am, I scare the hell out of them. I can put a few of them around your family, and I can personally assure you that they are as deadly as they come when it gets down to carrying out my orders. This is all unofficial, of course, and all they'll know is that the people they're protecting are people I care about who may be in danger from person or persons unknown. With your permission, I'll start setting it up right now, and I've got enough of them to put some on your wife and daughter, as well.”

  “Do it,” Sam said, “and thank you.”

  “Hey,” Harry quipped. “Gotta take care of my best secret agent, right? Where are the ladies now?”

  “Right here at my kitchen table. Kenzie is down at the Mitchells' place; she'll be staying there again tonight.”

  “Tell them not to look for my people. They won't see them, and if they did, it would probably give them nightmares.” The line went dead, the same way it always did when Harry was done talking.

  Sam looked at the women at the table. “Harry's putting some people on to watch over you, and he says they're up to the job. If I miss, this guy won't get to any of you.” He looked at his wife. “And that includes you and Kenzie. He says you won't see them, but they'll be there.”

  Grace smiled. “I just love that old man. If he were only ten years younger, I'd marry him!”

  Sam smiled. Harry had survived a long time, through the Cold War, the start of the War on Terrorism, and almost all the way through the Obama Administration, but there was no way he'd live through a month under Grace's thumb. He made a note to remind Harry how lucky he was to be in his seventies.

  “Indie and I have to go to the office for a bit,” he said, “so you guys just hang out here for a little while. Harry's people should be here soon, and then you can go. Are you coming to the show tonight?”

  Indie stared at him. “Sam? You're going to the Casino tonight, with all this going on?”

  He nodded. “I think it might shake our guy up a bit. If he thinks I'm cocky enough to go ahead and perform, then he might do something to expose himself. The first victim, this woman I've got to find, is scheduled to be killed at one AM, and we'll be off the stage at midnight. If we can figure out who this woman is, then I can get to the showdown in time. If we don't—well, then I may have to cancel at the last minute.”

  They went to the office, and Sam showed Indie the note he'd found on his car.

  “So, this woman works for someone who doesn't like you, another woman, if Beauregard is correct. How many women do you know who have assistants?”

  “Darned if I know,” Sam said. “But Beauregard also said the woman she works for is someone I think is my friend, but really isn't. That sort of threw me, cause I can't think of who that could be. I have very few female friends, and I don't know that any of them have assistants. On top of that, I'd be willing to trust my life to just about any of the ones I can think of; this is a hard one.”

  Indie stared at the note. “She knows you, but doesn't like you, and the woman you have to find works for her. Okay, let's start by listing all your female friends and what they do for a living.”

  Sam sighed. “Okay, let's see,” he said. “Karen Parks, but her assistant is a guy named Brenner, so she's out...”

  “I'm putting her down anyway, so we get a complete list.”

  “Okay. Candy and Janice from the band, but I doubt either of them has an assistant for anything. Anita Mitchell, she's a housewife. Carol Spencer, the lawyer, I'm sure she has an assistant. Who else we got?”

  The two of them sat and went through every female Sam could think of that he knew, but none of them, as far as he could tell, would fit the description he'd gotten from either the killer or from Beauregard. He listed every female cop, every female doctor, every female attorney, even every female bar manager he'd ever known, but still, he couldn't find one that he believed could fit the description of someone he thought of as a friend, but who didn't actually like him. Those he thought of as friends he was sure of, so he felt certain that he had to be missing something.

  5

  “What about people from your past?” Indie asked. “Maybe from when you were shot, like nurses, physical therapists, doctors?”

  “Nurses don't usually have assistants,” Sam said, “and my doctors and physical therapists were all male. My gut says this is someone I've met recently, but I don't know who it could be. A woman who doesn't like m, but who I think of as a friend. I can't think who it can be, I really can't.”

  Indie rubbed her eyes. “Okay, let's try another angle,” she said. “What about women you only know socially? Who would you think of as a friend, who might have an assistant?”

  “Babe, I haven't had a social lif
e in almost a year...” He trailed off suddenly. “Wait a minute—before I met you, I dated a few women, none of them more than once. I'm trying to remember—no, none of them would fit. I don't think of them as friends, and I'm pretty sure none of them had any sort of assistant.” He shook his head. “Geez, I'm drawing a blank, and someone's life is at stake. This isn't good!”

  “Yeah, well, don't forget that, according to Beauregard, your life is at risk here, too. If you find this woman, you're going to be in danger somehow, and Sam Prichard, I do not want you getting yourself killed! Remember that you promised Kenzie you wouldn't get shot again! She'll be so mad if you do...”

  Sam realized that Indie was crying, suddenly, and he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. He just held her for a moment and let her regain her composure, whispering that he loved her, and would come home safe, no matter what.

  “Sam,” she said, wiping her eyes and sitting up again, “think. We're running out of time; it's almost five already.”

  He shook his head again. “I'm just at a loss. I can't think of any woman I know of that might fit. Heck, I don't even seem to know that many women, at all, now that we're going through them, do I?”

  Indie was staring at the list on the pad in front of her, and shook her head. “Not really. What about—no, that wouldn't make sense. She hates your guts, for sure.”

  Sam wrinkled his brow. “Who?”

  “Well, I was thinking of Sheila Smith, but she's sitting in jail awaiting trial for murder, thanks to you, so I don't think you would think of her as a friend, and I doubt she has an assistant of any kind, now, anyway. It was a random thought.”

  Sam was staring at her. “Something just hit me,” he said. “Beauregard said, 'surprisingly, it's a woman' that this woman I'm looking for works for.”

  It was Indie's turn to look confused. “Yeah?”

  “Who's the most surprising woman I know? And the last time I saw her, I could say it was on friendly terms.”