Page 4 of Calling His Bluff
But that nagging feeling persisted. He decided to check into the “inheritance,” thinking that was the problem. He’d known Josephine’s great Aunt Clara Bodine. It had been at one of her famous poker parties that he’d first laid eyes on Josephine when she was but a girl. He knew it was possible that Clara had won Seaside Vows in a poker game.
He also knew that Clara had a fondness for her niece. What bothered him was how quickly news of the “inheritance” had gone viral after the local weekly newspaper in Clara’s small Montana town ran the story. Josephine’s name was mentioned in the article about Clara’s “big win,” her leaving it to her niece, and then dying in a fall. According to the article, Josephine Bodine hadn’t been available for comment.
But a photo of Clara and Josephine had run with the piece, a photo from that summer Jack had met the two of them—when Josephine was twelve. The moment he saw the story online, he’d known Josephine would have hated the publicity. He’d noticed the way she avoided the media, turning down interviews after big wins and living a very private life, never staying in one place long. He suspected it had something to do with her parents’ nasty and very public divorce. Her parents were both public figures—the last thing Josephine wanted to be.
His instincts had him digging deeper. He found out that Josephine’s elderly aunt had been on a fixed income, lived in a mortgaged house, and barely managed to pay her bills on her monthly government check. He knew Clara ran poker games in her home for “spending money.” It was unknown what she might have made, but upon her death, no ill-gotten gains had been found in her accounts or hidden in her house.
Neighbors all said Clara had been barely getting by.
They also said she was in fine health and were surprised that she’d died in a fall since she was an avid walker.
Yet, if the story were true, Clara had won the bridal shop in a poker game, changed her will to leave the shop to her niece with everything else going to a local charity, and died less than a week later. The timing had set off more red flags. He kept wondering how the woman who wrote the article for the newspaper had found out about all this, given the timeline.
When he was told that she too had died, he knew something was very wrong. While the woman hadn’t died in a fall, she had lived alone and died in a house fire. The editor at the paper said the woman had often brought in human interest stories he published.
Convinced the two deaths were too much of a coincidence, Jack just knew he had to get to Oregon and Josephine. He couldn’t understand how all the pieces fit together. Only one thing was clear. Josephine was at the center of it.
Had someone purposely set this whole thing in motion from the card game where Clara won Seaside Vows to her leaving the bridal shop to Josephine?
For what purpose?
To get Josephine out on the West Coast?
For what end?
It all started with a card game that night at Clara’s. Had someone made sure she won the bridal shop and left it to her niece? Someone who had frequented the underground poker games and seen Clara as a mark? Or someone from Josephine’s past with a grudge? What the two women had in common was poker.
If he was right, Josephine was now the new mark.
-#-
“How soon do you think a buyer can be found?” Josephine asked the Realtor, a woman named Patsy Carter. Her photo online showed an older woman with silver gray coiffed hair and a predator smile.
“To be honest with you, it’s not a buyer’s market right now. You’d be much better to wait until spring,” Patsy told her. “Nothing moves this time of year, you know, off season.”
“I really don’t want to wait,” she told her. “Please do the best you can.”
“I’ll try. I have your number, but where can I reach you?”
Josephine glanced toward the ceiling. She hadn’t been upstairs to check out the living accommodations. “Here. At Seaside Vows. At least temporarily.” She disconnected, disappointed. She’d hoped for good news, like Patsy knew of a prospective buyer right away. She realized her luck wasn’t that good, which brought up the image of Jack Rawlins standing in this very room.
“Guess I better check upstairs,” she said, but first she made sure the front door of the shop was locked and bolted. At the back, she took creaky stairs to the second floor and opened the apartment with one of the keys the lawyer had provided her.
As the door swung in, she braced herself for the worst and was pleasantly surprised. It was small and narrow like the building itself, but everything she needed was there. Living area, kitchen, bedroom, bath, and all furnished. In the kitchen there were even cabinets with dishes and utensils, pots and pans, towels, and cleaning supplies.
Not that she planned to cook. In the small refrigerator, she found a bottle of unopened champagne chilling.Odd,she thought.
In the bedroom and bath, she found both bedding and towels. Someone had cleaned and supplied the place. Was this Aunt Clara’s doing in her will? Or the lawyer at her aunt’s bequest?
So why did it make her uncomfortable? Because friends aside, she wasn’t used to anyone doing something for her without expecting something in return.
Just can’t help looking that damned horse in the mouth, can you, she thought. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. While the champagne was tempting, she wasn’t about to have a glass on an empty stomach. On the way through town, she’d seen a pub just down the street. After the long drive here, she had no desire to drive anywhere.
On the way downstairs, she noticed another door, this one opening to a dark alley. She also noticed that the lock looked flimsy. Tomorrow she’d install a deadbolt.
As she stepped out, she turned up her collar to the damp gray afternoon. The salty air stung her eyes. But it wasn’t the Oregon Coast weather that had her looking over her shoulder as she hurried toward the back door of the pub.
Nor was it knowing Jack Rawlins was in town.
