Payback Read online

  Payback

  Jonnie Jacobs

  Books by Jonnie Jacobs

  Kali O'Brien Novels of Legal Suspense (in order)

  SHADOW OF DOUBT

  EVIDENCE OF GUILT

  MOTION TO DISMISS

  WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE

  COLD JUSTICE

  INTENT TO HARM

  THE NEXT VICTIM

  The Kate Austen Mysteries (in order)

  MURDER AMONG NEIGHBORS

  MURDER AMONG FRIENDS

  MURDER AMONG US

  MURDER AMONG STRANGERS

  Non-series books

  THE ONLY SUSPECT

  PARADISE FALLS

  LYING WITH STRANGERS

  PAYBACK

  About the Author

  Jonnie Jacobs is the best-selling author of thirteen previous mystery and suspense novels. A former practicing attorney and the mother of two grown sons, she lives in northern California with her husband. You can visit her on the web http://www.jonniejacobs.com.

  Chapter 1

  Marta knew her presentation was going to be a disaster the moment she stepped to the front of the conference room. Right off the bat she stumbled, and her subsequent attempts at wit fell like lead weights on crystal. It became increasingly clear that the bleary-eyed corporate drones she was addressing didn’t share her vision for their project, or her sense of humor. She forced herself to speak slowly, fighting her natural inclination to rush her words. The proposal was well organized and understandable, yet she sensed herself treading water against a tide of disinterest. And she had no idea how to turn it around.

  Marketing wasn’t her usual role. Marta was the nuts-and-bolts side of the partnership. It was Carol who was the saleswoman and rainmaker. Carol was naturally gregarious. She connected with people in a way Marta envied but had never mastered. It was Carol who’d prepared the presentation. Carol who was supposed to be making the pitch. But she’d woken the morning of the trip with a one-hundred-and-three-degree temperature and a stomach that would tolerate nothing but small sips of water. Dropping the presentation in Marta’s lap at the last minute was hardly her fault. Nonetheless, as Marta concluded her remarks and opened the floor to questions, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed.

  The silence that filled the room was deafening. Marta forced a brave smile. She hadn’t dared focus on individual faces during her talk for fear of losing what little confidence she had left, but now she let her gaze sweep over the small group seated before her. A ruddy-faced man in the second row was whispering to the woman on his left, but most of the audience had already turned to scanning messages on their cell phones. Marta was vaguely aware of an attractive man at the back of the room who watched her with a smile. She could only conclude it was a smile of pity.

  She gathered her notes. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to lay out the benefits of choosing C&M Advantage for your public relations and communications needs. If you have further questions, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

  Further questions indeed. There hadn’t been a flicker of interest the entire time. Marta made her way to the exit, grateful that no one tried to engage her in conversation along the way. In the hall, she picked up her pace, mentally shaking off the bored and disdainful expressions that had sucked the air from her lungs for the past half-hour.

  Thank God it was over.

  The hotel elevator took an eternity to arrive, and Marta then endured half a dozen stops before finally reaching her own floor. When she slid her key card into the slot on the door and the lock failed to flash green, she cursed under her breath. She felt like screaming and kicking the door as hard as she could.

  All in all, it had been a bad day.

  A terrible, horrible, very bad day, to quote from the book that had been one of her daughter’s childhood favorites.

  What a way to spend her fortieth birthday!

  Farther down the hallway, two younger women exited a room. They were wearing exercise clothes that fit their athletic bodies like a second skin, and they walked jauntily past Marta, ponytails bouncing, without so much as a glance in her direction.

  Just wait, Marta admonished them silently. This isn’t the life I envisioned twenty years ago, either.

  Marta sighed and neither kicked nor screamed—drama was decidedly not part of her makeup. Instead, she set her briefcase and purse carefully at her feet and tried the card a second time, sliding it in and out of the slot with the care of a lock pick. The light switched to green, and Marta dragged herself into the stuffy, overly warm room. If the windows had been operable, she’d have thrown them open and let in the cold evening air. But the windows were sealed, like the entire hotel. Like, it sometimes seems to Marta, her own life.

  She kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the king-size bed. It was her birthday, dammit. And here she was stuck in a bland hotel room, a thousand miles from home. For what? Had she and Carol actually thought they might have a chance to land the Century Solar account? Or any national account?

  The sad part was, they had.

  Sure, the companies at the conference represented a stretch for them, but they were confident they could deliver. Weren’t the Pollyanna pundits of personal growth always advising people to dream big and believe in yourself?

  What a crock. What she needed was a magic wand.

  And she had lost hers a long time ago. She wanted to dig a hole, crawl in, and stay there forever. Or better yet, set sail for some uninhabited tropical island. At the very least, she wanted to expunge the entire day—the entire year really—from memory.

  She flopped back onto the bed, where the soft comforter cushioned her like a fluffy white cloud, and closed her eyes. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, she thought, mimicking her mother’s stern tone, she had responsibilities.

  For better or worse, her mother’s words had shaped Marta’s life. Level-headed and dependable, conscientious and sensible—not traits she necessarily aspired to, but she was who she was. Wife, mother, and struggling entrepreneur. Someone who could be counted on to steer a safe course whatever the waters.

  The ping of her cell phone announced a new text. She rolled over to read it.

  Happy Birthday. The evening is young—kick up your heels and have some fun.

  Love you,

  Cassie

  At least her sister was sober enough this year to remember her birthday. And a text from Cassie was often more gratifying than a phone call. Actual conversations between the two of them had a way of going downhill fast.

  Marta checked the time. It was already six o’clock in Georgia. Jamie should have been home from school an hour or so ago, but she hadn’t yet called, as she was supposed to. Now that her daughter was driving, Marta worried more than ever, especially when she was out of town and unable to monitor Jamie’s comings and goings. What if she’d had car trouble? Or an accident? Or, God forbid, done something really stupid, as teenagers were apt to do?

  The wise course would be to hold off calling. Give Jamie a chance to call and check in, as they’d agreed. But a niggle of worry had already lodged itself in Marta’s chest. After a day that left her feeling wounded and raw, she needed a touch of the familiar. She wanted to hear her daughter’s voice, and to know that she was safe.

  Jamie answered on the fifth ring, just before the call rolled into voice mail. “Hi, Mom.” She sounded breathless.

  “Hi, honey. Where are you?”

  “Home. Where’d you think I’d be?”

  “Home.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  Because the phone rang five times before you answered and you sound out of breath. Because even though I shouldn’t, I worry. But Marta bit her tongue. “How was your day?”

  “Okay. How was yours?


  “Pretty lousy, actually.”

  “That sucks. Do you know we’re out of toilet paper?”

  Had she actually expected sympathy? Or a happy birthday? At least she’d scored big time with the touch of familiar. “No, I didn’t know, but I left money for groceries and stuff.”

  “I haven’t really had time.”

  “Maybe you could get your dad to go. Is he home?”

  “In the garage, where else?”

  Gordon was refurbishing a 1967 Mustang—an undertaking he approached with an inexplicable determination, given that he wasn’t at all mechanical. Marta suspected the appeal lay largely in the fact that it was an excuse to retreat, alone, to the garage.

  “You want me to get him?” Jamie asked.

  Remembering the argument they’d had the morning she left, Marta thought it better not to disturb him. “Just tell him I called, will you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Is Alyssa still coming to spend the night?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “She got invited to a party.”

  And Jamie obviously hadn’t. “It must have been last minute. Maybe you’ll still get invited, too.”

  “You’re clueless, Mom.”

  “I’m—”

  ”I know, you’re the best mother I have.” It was an old joke but Jamie no longer laughed at it the way she used to. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  *****

  Despite having skipped lunch, Marta wasn’t hungry, but she could most certainly use a glass of wine. Or two. She eyed the room’s minibar, then decided to take Cassie’s words to heart. Fun was out of the question, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d kicked up her heels, but she deserved more than a plastic water glass of cheap wine in a dreary hotel room.

  No way, though, was she going to take the chance of running into someone from today’s fiasco. Rather than head for the hotel bar downstairs, she bundled up and walked two blocks to the Sheraton.

  The bitter night air stung her face, and already the predicted snow had begun to fall, not softly like in a Currier and Ives painting, but with the sharpness of icy needles. Marta crossed her arms, lowered her head, and pushed on against a fierce wind. She was not going to spend her fortieth birthday feeling sorry for herself!

  The bar in the Sheraton was hopping with activity, and Marta thought about abandoning her plan until she spotted an empty booth toward the back. She made a beeline to grab it before someone else did. She scanned the wine-by-the-glass list, then contemplated the menu of specialty drinks propped on the table in front of her.

  Wine was such a predictable choice for her. Chardonnay or Zinfandel, depending on the time of day and her mood. A pleasant enough routine, but a rut all the same. She was turning into her mother, Marta thought with sudden horror. Habit as a substitute for living. Before she knew it she’d be wearing her glasses on a chain around her neck and making orange Jell-O with marshmallows, calling it salad.

  Marta pushed the wine list aside and ordered a Pink Moose instead. She had no idea what it was, but the name appealed to her and it was made with rum, which she liked. Her phone buzzed in her purse. She checked caller ID, hoping it was Gordon, coming out of his mechanic’s lair long enough to ask about her day and wish her a happy birthday. But it was Carol.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “We’re not going to get the Century Solar contact. Or anything else.”

  “I should have been there. I feel bad foisting it off on you at the last minute.”

  “There’ll be other opportunities. How are you feeling?”

  “The worst of it is over, I think. I hope you don’t catch it. What a birthday present that would be. Happy B-day, by the way. I’m sorry you have to spend it on the road.”

  “I doubt it would be champagne and cake even if I was home.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Gordon is miffed at me for suggesting he attend a neighborhood cocktail party without me. We’d already accepted, and it was a farewell for a couple who are moving. But you know Gordon. I had to practically twist his arm to get him to agree to go in the first place, and then when I wasn’t going to be there—”

  “My fault. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, Carol. It’s not a big deal. Gordon would thank you, in fact.” Always a bit reserved, her husband had pulled even further into his shell since losing his job at Tufts a year and a half ago.

  Being let go was not the same as being fired, Marta had reminded him more than once. Especially for an untenured professor. But they both knew that the sexual harassment allegations Gordon faced were the real reason he’d lost his job.

  “It’s the bigger things that are important in a marriage anyway,” Carol reminded her. “And Gordon is a good man.”

  “You’re right, he is.” It was just that lately good didn’t feel like enough. Marta sometimes wondered how the attractive, fun-loving guy she’d married eighteen years ago had morphed into a humorless wet noodle.

  The waitress brought Marta’s Pink Moose—a tall, frothy drink with a spear of pineapple. Marta considered moose and pineapple an odd pairing. Shouldn’t a drink with pineapple be called a Pink Palm or a Hawaiian Sunset? But then, what would go with moose? The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that it was a question better left unanswered.

  “You ever heard of a Pink Moose?” Marta asked Carol.

  “A dessert or the kind with antlers?”

  “It’s a bar drink. And I just ordered one.”

  “You? I thought you were a wine kind of girl.”

  “I am. Or I was until tonight.” Marta swizzled the pineapple spear and discovered a maraschino cherry at the bottom of the glass. “I should let you go. Talk to you when I get home.”

  Two-thirds of the way through her drink, she became aware of someone standing nearby. She looked up and into the eyes of a tall, athletically built man, considerably younger than her, dressed in dark slacks and a light blue shirt, open at the collar.

  “This place is packed, isn’t it?” he noted wryly.

  Marta nodded. He had the most amazing blue eyes she’d ever seen. They were almost teal with flecks of amber, and set off with laugh lines at the corners.

  He nodded at the largely empty booth. “Would it be okay if I joined you?”

  “I . . . I, um . . .” She felt an inexplicable flutter in her chest. “I’m not very good company, I’m afraid.”

  “Your company has got to be preferable to spending time with myself.” He slid into booth across from her, signaled for the waitress, and ordered a double scotch for himself. “And she’ll have another of whatever that is.”

  “A Pink Moose,” Marta told him.

  “Never heard of it.”

  Marta laughed. “Me either. I think it’s a house specialty.”

  “Any good?”

  “Yeah, actually it is. I usually stick to wine but this is . . . tasty. Want to try it?”

  The words were out of Marta’s mouth before she realized it. What was she doing offering a sip of her drink to a total stranger? It must have been a much stiffer drink than she’d imagined.

  The man raised his eyebrows and smiled. And then took a slow sip of her Pink Moose.

  ”I’m Todd,” he said, extending a hand.

  She returned the smile and tried to ignore the roller-coaster sensation in her stomach. “Marta.”

  Chapter 2

  Jamie hadn’t been totally honest with her mother. She’d been careful not to tell an outright lie. And she wasn’t doing anything really sneaky, either. She intended to tell her dad where she was going, and she’d make sure to be home by curfew. Her dad wouldn’t press for details like her mom would, and his mouth wouldn’t get all tight with disapproval when she said she was going to the movies with Harmony Shaw. Her dad wouldn’t care, but her mom didn’t like Harmony.

  Jamie didn’t actually like Harmony either. It was hard to like someo
ne so stuck on herself. But Harmony was pretty and popular and way cooler than anyone else Jamie knew. Being around Harmony was an adventure. Not that Jamie had much opportunity to hang out with her. In fact, if they hadn’t both gone to the same dopey summer camp last year, Harmony wouldn’t even know Jamie’s name. She’d actually been surprised when Harmony called. All her real friends must have been busy. Whatever the reason, Jamie was excited.

  She tried on four pairs of pants before settling on the blue cargo pants that camouflaged the extra weight she’d been fighting for as long as she could remember.

  “You’ve got curves,” her mother always told her. But Jamie knew better. She had flab.

  The place she wasn’t curvy was up top, where she actually wanted to be. She chose a yellow blouse with smocking along the neckline that made her breasts look fuller than they were. She took one last look in the mirror, grabbed her purse, and went to the garage to tell her father she was going out.

  “I thought Alyssa was coming here for the night,” he said, his voice muffled from under the old Mustang.

  “She couldn’t make it, so I’m going to the movies with another friend.”

  He scooted out from under the car and gave her his all-purpose smile. “Have fun, Toots.”

  Jamie hated the nickname, but complaining just made him use it more often. He thought he was being funny.

  Jamie drove the short distance to Harmony’s house, parked in front, and waited for her friend to show. After five minutes she texted, “I’m here.”

  A few minutes later, Harmony bounded down the stairs, her sleek blond hair swinging around her shoulders. Her mother stood at the door and waved to Jamie, as though she and Harmony were best friends.

  “Let’s go,” Harmony announced.

  As soon as they rounded the corner, Harmony unbuckled her seat belt and pulled her sweatshirt over her head. Underneath, she was wearing a low cut and very tight pink T-shirt with rhinestone trim. Next, she reached for her backpack, pulled out a pair of stretchy black pants, and unzipped her jeans.