Free Without Any Warning (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 2) by Peggy A. Edelheit Page A

off to the side. It was raining so poor visibility was my perfect camouflage. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice me following a car or two behind her.
    Within minutes, she eased on by. I lowered the newspaper I was using to shield myself and smoothly slipped into traffic two cars behind her. She headed north, and then followed as she drove over the toll bridge towards Atlantic City. I wondered if she was going back to the Borgata to meet with the mysterious gentleman that Bill had described.
    Instead, after numerous turns and traffic lights, she surprised me by veering off into an inexpensive motel parking lot. She jumped out, locked her car and quickly headed for cover under the protection of a canopy that ran the length of the one story motel. I parked across the street where I wouldn’t be seen to watch. She searched through her purse, and proceeded down the walkway, then stopped at a specific door, looked both ways, and then opened it and disappeared inside.
    I sat there confused. Why was she going to a motel? For what purpose? A minute later, another car pulled up next to hers, a nondescript, dark sedan. Two men wearing raincoats, I know that sounds so clichéd, but it’s true , got out and then walked directly towards the same door, knocked, and were promptly let inside.
    A few cars passed me on the street as I sat there trying to figure out what was going on. Who were they?
    Binoculars in hand, I scoped for the room number and zeroed in on it. Well, I’ll be! It was number seven!
    I waited patiently for about an hour, keeping close tabs on the door to that room. Finally, the two men exited and drove off, then a minute later, Mona emerged, too. She closed the door, locked it, and drove away in her car, heading back toward the island.
    Why had she met with those two men? I had to take a chance and find out what was going on.
    I got out of my car and ran across the street, walking past mystery room number seven and headed directly toward the motel office. I pulled my collar up, tucked my hair inside it and slowly swung the door open. A bored young kid was manning the desk, watching a small television on top of the counter. I cleared my throat loudly to get his full attention.
    He turned in my direction, annoyed apparently by my poorly timed interruption. “Yeah, what?” he snapped.
    I had to talk quickly in case Mona came back unexpectedly. “I thought I saw an old friend of mine leave number seven a minute ago. It’s been years. Of all places! I couldn’t believe it. Will she be shocked when she sees me. I can’t wait to surprise her. I just know that once…”
    He held up his hand to stop me. “Okay, lady. What? What?” he asked impatiently. “All this chit chat is making me miss my show. Get to the point! What do you want?”
    I stood there, hesitating, and then said, “…Is number seven registered under the name of Mona Burman?”
    “Crazy broad,” he mumbled, while opening the motel register and quickly checking the names.
    Obviously, this motel had not arrived at the internet/computer era. I wondered why? I looked around the lobby. The words hourly rates abruptly came to mind.
    “No,” he said and slammed the register shut.
    I opened my purse and quickly slipped him a twenty, deciding to take a long shot. “Try another name. How about Paula Foster, her pen name. She’s an author.”
    He eyed the money, latched onto it and ripped the book register open once again, quickly running his finger down the names. He stopped. “Yup, that’s her.”
    I heard a car pull in. Afraid to turn around, I whispered, “Mind if I use your side exit?” I didn’t wait for permission and headed straight for the door, running out into the rain.
    “Go for it,” he called after me, and then cranked up the television volume full blast.
    I hastily ran around the corner, skirted some trucks, jumped into my car and drove off, making a fast U turn and aimed for home, more confused and disturbed than before.
    What were