Read Mouth of the Rat (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) for Free Online Page A

one.”
    “Marco never told you about the first one?”
    “I just found out!”
    “How, at the spa, like us?” Martha asked.
    Mona briefly glanced around. “I met my contact there.”
    My ears perked up. “Contact? Like in FBI?”
    “I was warned not to reveal too much to you two.”
    Martha chuckled. “Why, do we have a rep?”
    Mona laughed. “Yeah, one of far-reaching interference.”
    “Look,” I said. “I’m here at your request, remember?”
    Mona sighed again. “I know that, but they don’t!”
    I figured as much. She just confirmed it. “I see.”
    “I guess we’re your silent partners then,” said Martha.
    I leaned in. “Do you know how the first wife died?”
    “…Yes. And it was very disturbing to say the least.”
    I swear I could hear the drum roll while we waited.
    “…She was in a car accident. She was run over.”
    “Well that doesn’t sound very sinister,” I said.
    “Twice?”
    Martha cleared her throat. “…Yup, that would do it.”
    “How long ago?” I asked.
    “…Four months ago.”
    “How fast does this guy marry?” Martha asked.
    “It seems he was married to both of them.”
    “And neither knew about the other?” I asked.
    “Apparently,” replied Mona. “Wife two was livid.”
    Martha frowned. “Maybe we should start packing.”
    “What’s the rush?” I said. “This is getting interesting.”
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 20
    Note Taking & Taken By Surprise
     
     
    Note taking helped me catch up to figure out what was going on and what direction I should take for answers.
    Was it possible both Sylvie and Bunny felt they were spotted poolside while talking to me and that’s why they cut it short? Did they see Thug One before I did? Possible.
    The more I thought about it the more I played it out. Maybe he stood listening to what we were talking about by the pool wall where the iron fence portion was located and the two women both caught sight of him.
    But if that was the case, how did they know him? I shook my head. That scenario didn’t make any sense. It had to be something or someone else, or maybe I was being hyper imaginative and they were only reacting to forgetting their tennis date at the club with Irving.
    I was now in the questionable phase that always drove me crazy, starting to doubt motives and behavior that didn’t feel right. And none of this felt right. Something was off. And as usual I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
    I heard a beep, beep . I leaned across the bed to retrieve my cell where I had tossed it earlier. Who was texting?
    It was my friend and agent, Sandra.
    I scrolled the short message.
    “Where are the first few chapters you promised?”
    I texted her back.
    “Didn’t you get them?”
    Then I turned my cell off, my stall tactic. I quickly got to work typing what Martha often refers to as convenient gibberish: Typing, but not saying much of anything pertaining to what was really going on. Sandra wouldn’t believe it anyway. Besides, it was still in the raw stages.
    I was getting proficient at giving her short chapters and polished at cranking out a whole bunch of nothing with just enough necessary mystery and thriller jargon to stir her interest, but still not give away what I was really thinking about actually writing. I sat back, admiring my work.
    I needed to placate and stall her for a week until I had something more substantial. I stopped typing. Someone was ringing the doorbell. As usual, Mona had disappeared. Martha was playing Bridge in the club card room to mix and mingle.
    By the time I got to the door it was ringing again. Just as I opened it a crack, it jerked open. I lost my balance and promptly fell on my ass. As my eyes traveled upward, I took inventory: Sturdy gray walking shoes, blue polyester slacks… Then four familiar, heavily-ringed hands reached out to help me to my feet.
    I laughed.
    It was Hazel and Betty, the rest of my entourage.
    “Isn’t this exciting? We’re on another case!” said