Death of a Debtor

Death of a Debtor

A Sophie Parker Coupon Mystery

Jenna Harte

Kenmore, WA

Praise for

Death of a Debtor

Jenna Harte pulls you in and holds you captive with a cast of quirky personalities in a fast-paced story. You’ll worry, laugh and cheer with your favorite murder suspect, the wacky, irresistibly funny Sophie Parker as she tries to untangle a plot that put a target on her back. A fun and exciting read that will warm the cockles of your heart.

—Diane Fanning, Edgar-nominated Crime Writer

"Look out, there’s a new amateur sleuth to love! Sophie Parker is sharp, witty, and trouble seems to find her. Death of a Debtor, is a funny, fast paced mystery. Jenna Harte has given us another sleuth to love!"

—Mollie Cox Bryan, Agatha Nominated Author of the Cora Crafts Series

If you love Stephanie Plum, you’ll love Sophie Parker. Broke, daughter of a convicted felon, unemployed with a degree in folklore, returns home to take care of her aunt, who doesn’t need any care. Happenstance lands her next to her high school crush in a grocery line and puts both of them on the scene of a murder, one suspected of doing the killing. Watching Sophie get herself in and out of trouble is a roller coaster ride with a most satisfactory ending.

—Betsy Ashton, Author of the Max Max Mysteries

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www.jennaharte.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Aubrey Anderson

Death of a Debtor

Copyright © 2019 by Jenna Harte

ISBN: 978-1-60381-756-1 (Trade Paper)

ISBN: 978-1-60381-757-8 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: tbd

Printed in the United States of America

To Jay—Thank you for supporting

this crazy dream of mine.

Chapter One

W e don’t hire people like you, Miss Sophie Parker.

At the mention of my name, I looked up from my resume I was reviewing. I needed this job, so I wanted to make sure I covered all the salient points in the interview. Not that there were many. I had two things going against me: a useless college major, and no marketable job skills. I hoped my ability to learn fast would get me the job at Denny Coker’s bail bondsman business. That hope quickly faded as I looked into the pinched-faced middle-aged woman wagging a bony finger at me.

Like what?

That look like you. Or criminals.

I blew out a breath. The criminal comment wasn’t anything new. I’d been hearing it ever since I moved back home to Jefferson Grove, Virginia, six weeks ago. But in the few other job interviews I’d gone on and not been hired because of my family’s criminal history, I hadn’t been screened out because of my appearance.

I glanced at my wardrobe. Yes, my clothes were mostly used, but I bought them at the thrift shop closest to the affluent Monticello Heights neighborhood. The black, one-size-too-big skirt was Anne Klein, and the white Talbot blouse, while a little snug around the girls, wasn’t risqué.

What’s wrong with how I look? I glanced toward the very pregnant receptionist for help, but all I got was a shrug and a bored expression.

The woman wearing a drab olive-colored dress that hung loose over her stick-thin body glowered at me. It occurred to me that if her face was the same color as her dress, she could pass as the Wicked Witch of the West. We run a Christian establishment here, she said.

This is a bail bondsman place. You work with criminals.

They’re clients, not employees. And Mr. Coker doesn’t need a temptress like you luring him into sin.

I chanced a look at the pregnant receptionist and wondered if she’d lured him. Or maybe Mr. Coker was a frequent visitor to Booty Burgo, a pirate-themed sports bar where I currently worked as a wench waitress until I could find a real job.

I need a job. I’ll wear baggy clothes and no makeup.

And what will keep you from robbing us blind?

I’m not a crook. It was true, even though it wouldn’t matter.

The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. Does your brother share a cell with your father?

Having had this discussion more times than I could count, I stood. Sins of the father, I get it. But I’m not sure Jesus would agree.

Well! The woman blustered. You can’t talk to me like that.

I can because you’re not the boss of me. There was no sense in trying to be polite anymore.

The receptionist snickered. The muscles and veins on the witch’s forehead and neck throbbed to the point I worried she might explode. I took a step back, just in case.

The door opened behind the receptionist and a portly disheveled fiftyish man appeared. He had barely any hair, but what he did have, he apparently didn’t think needed care, as its greasy strands clung on his shiny head. Ms. Parker? Ready for the interview?

I was, but I don’t think I’ll be a good fit.

Immediately his eyes went to the old witch. Madge, what did you say to this poor girl?

You know what I said. I told you I was going to say it.

Mr. Coker rolled his eyes and looked toward me. You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s under the mistaken assumption she works here.

Wife. That made sense. He moved closer to me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. Perhaps the wife was right about the temptress thing. His leering made me want to gag and take a shower.

Why don’t you come into my office? We’ll talk. I knew your dad, though I was smart enough not to invest with him. There was something shifty about him. But I can see you’re not like that.

A tug-of-war battled in my brain. I needed this job. I didn’t want to spend my life schlepping burgers and beer in a wench uniform. But I didn’t want to work for a lecher or his mean wife, either. On the other hand, what was the difference working for a lecher versus serving them in a pirate-themed sports bar? It might be easier to avoid one man’s attempt to grab my butt versus a whole bar of them. Still, Madge was part of the deal, and I didn’t need a hostile workplace on top of everything else I had to cope with.

Thank you so much, Mr. Coker. I appreciate the opportunity, but I’m going to have to pass.

His jovial demeanor dropped a notch. There isn’t anyone else in town, besides the Booty Burgo, who’ll hire you. Not after what your father and brother did.

So far, that was true. I interviewed for the job at the local bank and, while sympathetic to my situation, Mr. Bryson couldn’t hire me. It would make our patrons uncomfortable to have a member of the Parker family around their money. The public school never responded to my applications as a substitute teacher and classroom assistant for the upcoming school year. Dax Hampton, the local big wig real estate broker laughed and hung up the phone when I followed up on my application for an administrative assistant position. I wasn’t qualified for the other job openings in Jefferson Grove. I didn’t have a social work or accounting degree, so that eliminated the child welfare job at the county Department of Social Services or an auditor with the County Treasurer. Going to another town wasn’t viable either. Jefferson Grove was the metropolis compared to all the tiny Virginian Blue Ridge towns surrounding it, which meant a significant commute to find work in a larger town. So, the smart thing would be to interview with Mr. Coker.

I appreciate your considering me. I really do. I glanced at Madge. But I just can’t.

Because I didn’t want to be talked out of it, I turned and left the bail bondsman’s office as quickly as possible. I sat in the Brown Bomber, the name of my poop brown Volvo wagon, which, at thirty, was three years older than me. It was ugly, beat up, and big enough to live in, which might be a real possibility if my luck continued to tank.

The car had air-conditioning, crucial for Virginia’s humid summers, and it ran, most of the time. Although lately, there was a slight delay between when I turned the key to when the engine turned over. It was long enough to have my stomach clench and make me wonder if I was driving on borrowed time.

I steered the Brown Bomber back to the center of town. Jefferson Grove was a wonderful place to grow up but not a great place to come back to when your father and brother were doing time after running a Ponzi scheme. My mother was never arrested because she ran off with her personal trainer to Nicaragua or some South American country that didn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. I received a postcard about a week after she left telling me she was fine, but I might not hear from her in a while. I was a daddy’s girl, but that didn’t stop the sting from being abandoned by my mother especially with my father and brother in jail. Even so, I wasn’t surprised she’d left. I’d known ever since I’d learned the word selfish that everyone, including her family, came second to her own wants and needs.

I’d grown up in the lap of luxury and, as far as I knew, all my father’s business dealings had been legitimate. But when the economy tanked, apparently so did my father’s business and he engaged in some creative, illegal, and hurtful money-making schemes. At least that was what the FBI explained when they were interrogating me about my knowledge and participation. Fortunately, being daddy’s little princess meant I knew nothing.

But it didn’t change the fact I was the sole non-criminal in my immediate family. Well, me and my great-aunt Rose on my father’s side, who escaped the sting of being shunned because she didn’t give a rat’s butt about what others thought. She’d been labeled a crazy mean old lady long before my father stole his first million.

Given the choice, I wouldn’t have returned to Jefferson Grove, but with my father and brother in prison, and my mother MIA, I was the only family left to watch over Aunt Rose, who, in her eighties, was physically healthy as a horse, but mentally, a few wires had come loose. She lived independently, but needed someone to check on her. It was a job my father had until his incarceration and he’d asked me to take over the duties since there were no other Parkers able or willing to do it. At first, it seemed like an ideal situation. I needed get my life together and how hard could it be to watch over her? But last week I came home and found piles of packages from a home shopping television show totaling nearly a thousand dollars on the doorstep. They were addressed to her, but she fussed at me for ordering so much stuff that would clutter her house. I sent them back and then blocked that channel from cable service.

I’d have preferred to live somewhere else and checked on her, as my father had done, but my finances were in bad straights, so living with Aunt Rose was my best option. She balked at first; worried I’d get in the way of her card parties or mess up her kitchen. She acquiesced when the situation was presented as she was taking care of me, instead of the other way around. I suppose it wasn’t far off the mark. I needed a place to stay until I could get my life in order. Plus, it gave my father some relief knowing someone was watching out for her, and I was glad to help ease his conscious about that.

I paid rent, plus half the utilities and for all my own groceries. It was a fair deal, but the Booty Burgo didn’t pay much, so I was usually running out of money before the end of the month. Especially since I’d accumulated a lot of debt when I first became financially independent after the government seized my father’s assets and he could no longer help support me.

Since I had no food, my next stop was the grocery store. I pulled into the parking lot of the local IGA and found a spot near the shade of a tree. Normally I shopped at the chain grocery store on the edge of town because it had a larger selection and better deals. But the IGA was having a sale on soup, buy three get two free, and I had a save seventy-five cents on three cans of soup coupon that would double to $1.50 off. If I did the math right, I’d get five cans of soup for 60 cents each.

I opened my coupon binder to get my list and coupons. The women in my couponing group always brought their binders in the store, but I already had to suffer through the looks and snickers of the locals who knew my family members were crooks and I was broke. I didn’t want to highlight how dire my situation was by lugging around a two-inch-thick binder containing what few coupons I’d been able to gather or trade at my weekly group.

That had been the worst part about coming home from New York City. You wouldn’t know it now from the way people whispered and looked at me sideways, but I was once well-liked in Jefferson Grove. I had lots of friends in high school, and they weren’t just the other kids from well-off families like mine. I’d never been one of those mean girls you saw on TV and in the movies. My friends came in all sizes, shapes and socioeconomic backgrounds. I even had friends from Cooters Hollow. You didn’t get any lower on the social totem pole than that.

But coming home, nearly everyone forgot I’d been nice. No one wanted to hire me for fear I was a thief like my father. The few friends from high school that still lived in Jefferson Grove avoided me, except Lani Lafferty. She was the one who introduced me to the coupon group. As an administrative assistant in the local county sheriff’s department, she was about as broke as me. The coupon group was a mixed blessing because, while most of the ladies were nice enough and I was learning to shop for less, my high school nemesis, Vivie Danner, was in the group, and she was as mean as ever.

I put my shopping list and coupons in my Prada purse, left over from when I had money, and double checked my wallet for the twenty dollar bill I’d withdrawn from the ATM that morning. God, I hoped I’d done the math right. The coupons should cover everything but $19 and a few cents. They better, because that twenty was all I had.

I made my way through the store, keeping my head down as I gathered the few items on my list before going to the checkout. Once the items were scanned, I handed the young, bored-looking checkout girl my store rewards card and then my coupons, in the order the ladies in the coupon group told me to give them.

Twenty-four dollars and fifty-seven cents.

I handed her my twenty. Wait. What? No, no, no! Did you get all the coupons?

Yes ma’am.

Are you sure? Panic built. The embarrassment was as bad as when my credit card was denied trying to buy fifteen dollars’ worth of clothes at the thrift store.

The checkout girl, whose name tag said Amber, stared at me for a moment before huffing out a breath and pointing to the register screen. They’re all there.

I’d never been one to swear, but I was seriously considering taking it up. What about the deal on the soup? That’s supposed to be buy three get two free.

Amber rolled her eyes, scanned the screen and then pointed. I couldn’t read grocery tallies very well, but the two items with minus $1.50 in front of them had to be the soup discount.

I swallowed my humiliation and lifted my chin. It was one thing to feel embarrassed. I didn’t need everyone noticing it. I guess I’ll need to put something back.

Amber stared again, her expression saying, Duh.

I surveyed my items, trying to decide what I could live without until I got paid from the Booty Burgo. All of a sudden, the air around me changed in a way that made my spirits rise and drop in quick succession.

Taking a deep breath, I turned my head and starred into the sapphire eyes of AJ Devlin. Good criminy, he was even better looking than the last time I’d seen him, which should have been impossible, because he’d been perfect ten years ago. Looking at him took me back to high school in the same way the scent of paste brought back memories of kindergarten. I swallowed as all those teenage feelings of love and lust swirled in my gut, along with mortification that made me want to run.

He’d never returned my feelings of love back then, but he’d been my friend. Of course, now things were different. It was possible he’d feel the same way about me and what my father and brother had done as many people in town did.

He gave me a lopsided smile, making my belly do another looptyloo, as he handed money to Amber. I got here just in time. I would’ve gotten an ear full later for taking money out of her wallet if I hadn’t. She always says, ‘AJ, if I ever get stuck at the store and don’t have enough money to pay the grocery bill, I’ll be so mad.’ While you’re at it, add these too. He slid two sports drinks and two deli sandwiches toward Amber.

The humiliation remained, but I smiled in gratitude. He was helping me save face.

I’d always wondered what it would be like to see my teenage crush again, now I was all grown up. In my fantasy-filled world, I’d imagined it much differently. For a long time, the dream involved him seeing me and instantly falling in love, confessing he’d always loved me and then, like a hero, whisking me away. Now that I’m older, and know fairy tales aren’t real, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Still, never in a million years had I conjured up this scenario. Then again, in many ways, even in this situation, he was my Prince Charming, rescuing a damsel in distress. Not romantic, but I’d learned firsthand from my riches to rags life that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

At seeing AJ, Amber’s mood improved. I couldn’t blame her. AJ was good looking, with his crystalline blue eyes and dark auburn hair he kept short, but not so short it masked the thick waves. Even more attractive, he had an amazing smile, which he turned on me and I nearly swooned.

I watched, unable to say or do anything as AJ paid for the difference in my groceries and his food. A part of me wanted to run and hide, but that would be bad manners. And let’s face it, it was AJ Devlin.

Once our items were bagged, he motioned me to the exit.

I picked up my bags and started toward the door. Thank you.

You’re welcome.

Then I didn’t know what to say, which was crazy. I’d known him well during high school when he worked odd jobs around the house for my family. It was no accident I was by the pool when he was there to clean it, or laying in the sun on the deck when he was there to cut the grass. I’d had a crush on him from the first time I saw him as a freshman in high school. He was a junior, and if he knew how I felt, he never let on. He never showed any romantic interest in me, but he was always friendly, and by the time I’d graduated from high school, and he’d finished community college and decided to join the military, we were friends. Good enough friends that at one time, I’d have given him a hug at seeing him again. In fact, I’d probably have run and jumped in his arms. But I wasn’t a teenager anymore and nearly ten years was a long time.

I didn’t know you were in town. I managed to choke out as I put my groceries in the back of the Brown Bomber.

I’m passing through.

My heart sank. Coming home might not be so bad after all if AJ was around.

I’m surprised you’re here. AJ closed the hatch of my Volvo for me.

I had no choice. Someone needs to look after my aunt. I opened the driver side door and got into the Bomber. I wanted to spend more time with him, but what good would that do? Thanks again, AJ.

For a minute, it looked like he might say something, but then he nodded and shut my door.

I turned the key in the ignition and nothing happened. I swallowed and tried again. This time my stomach clutched and my heart stopped. No, no, no! Of all the times the Brown Bomber could die, this was the worst. I turned the key one more time, and when nothing happened, I did the only thing I could, I burst into tears. I don’t cry easily, but apparently, I’d hit my frustration threshold and I couldn’t stop the wail of despair.

The door opened. Hey, Soph?

I waved my hands as if that would stop the tears. But having AJ see me cry was the last straw. It’s just been a bad day. I’m tired and frustrated …

Let me take a look. Maybe you just need a jump. My car is over there. I’ll be right back. He turned and walked away.

I used the time to heave in deep breaths and pull myself back in control. He drove back in a nondescript blue sedan. It wasn’t what I would have imagined for AJ. He’d always been a country boy, so a truck would have been more appropriate. This looked like a rental or company car, which reminded me he was just visiting. Probably his mother in Cooters Hollow.

I pushed the lever to pop