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    No Quarter: Cleopatra Jones Series, #4
    No Quarter: Cleopatra Jones Series, #4
    No Quarter: Cleopatra Jones Series, #4
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    No Quarter: Cleopatra Jones Series, #4

    By Maggie Toussaint

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    About this ebook

    Amnesia, the doctor says when accountant Cleopatra Jones wakes in the hospital. A few hours later her memory returns, except for the event that sidelined her. Detective Jack Martinez visits Cleo's tax client in the area. Only she's dead, her finances drained. To Cleo's chagrin, she's a suspect. She recovers from amnesia with new goals. But will she follow her dreams before the killer returns?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMuddle House Publishing
    Release dateSep 14, 2018
    ISBN9780996770644
    No Quarter: Cleopatra Jones Series, #4
    Author

    Maggie Toussaint

    Maggie Toussaint has published seventeen books, fourteen as Maggie Toussaint and three as Rigel Carson. She is president of the Southeast Mystery Writers of America and has a seat on the national MWA Board. She is also a member of Sisters In Crime and Low Country Sisters In Crime. Toussaint won the Silver Falchion Award for Best Cozy/Traditional mystery in 2014. Additionally, she won a National Readers Choice Award and an EPIC award for Best Romantic Suspense. She lives in coastal Georgia, where secrets, heritage, and ancient oaks cast long shadows.

    Read more from Maggie Toussaint

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      Book preview

      No Quarter - Maggie Toussaint

      No Quarter

      by Maggie Toussaint

      A Cleopatra Jones Mystery Novella, book 4 in the series

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

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

      Cover design by Maggie Toussaint

      Copyright © 2017 by Maggie Toussaint

      Ebook ISBN: 9780996770644

      All rights reserved.

      First Edition: Aug 2017, Sleuthing Women II Anthology

      Author’s Edition: Sept 2018

      Published in 2017 by Muddle House Publishing

      Muddle House Publishing

      1146 Tolomato Drive SE

      Darien, GA 31305

      In this novella addition to the Cleopatra Jones series, accountant Cleopatra Jones wakes up in the hospital numb and afraid. Amnesia, the doctor says. A man claiming to be her ex-husband finds her. She recognizes him, better yet, she’s able to speak and move with the passage of hours. She feels stronger and remembers more, except for the incident that landed her in the hospital. Detective Jack Martinez catches her case, and based on what her family tells him, goes to visit Cleo’s wealthy tax client. Only Mrs. Taylor is dead, and her money is gone. Cleo, a nosy neighbor, an imposter, and a granddaughter on the lam are the suspects. Cleo recovers from her hospitalization sure of what she wants. But will she have the chance to follow her dreams before the killer comes for her?

      Acknowledgements

      My critique partner Polly Iyer helped sharpen the novella. I’m thankful to Lois Winston for including No Quarter in the Sleuthing Women II anthology.

      .

      An especially big thank you goes to Craig Toussaint for sharing the world of golf with me and for his continued support and belief in me.

      ONE

      MA’AM? ARE YOU ALL right?

      The voice sounded a million miles away. I barely caught the words. Didn’t matter though. I was too woozy to answer.

      The voice persisted. Ma’am. What is your name?

      Go away. Let me sleep.

      Fingers pried an eyelid open, and a light blinded me. Startled, I tried to rear back, only there was nowhere for my head to retreat. The light winked out, then it blazed into my other eye.

      Leave me alone. I tried to curl into a fetal position, only my arms and legs didn’t move. I was paralyzed! Icy fear shot through my bloodstream. I was in danger. Had to hide. Had to sleep.

      Painful tingles lanced my hands and feet. I groaned inwardly at the awful sensations. Why wouldn’t they leave me be? I felt like a slab of meat with people standing around and poking me.

      She’s coming round, the voice said.

      Ma’am, can you hear me? a deeper voice asked.

      Yes, I said, only my lips didn’t move. Cold. I was so cold. I shivered and trembled.

      She’s going into shock, the voice said.

      JOINTS ACHED. HEAD pounded. I squinted through slits of eyelids. White ceiling. White room. Where am I? What happened to me?

      My fingers curled, nails dug into my palms. I tried to lift my head, and pain sliced through me. Beeps sounded. Footsteps approached. My eyes opened wide with terror.

      A woman dressed in white beamed at me as if I’d won a prize. There you are. She punched a few buttons, and the noise ceased. The throbbing in my head lessened.

      I’m Nurse Holly Ann, and you’re in the hospital, she said in a perky voice. We think you were in a car accident. Do you understand what I’m saying?

      Car accident? No way. I’m a safe driver. I tried to tell her, but my words came out gibberish. My pulse thrummed in my ears.

      Take it easy, Nurse Holly Ann continued. I’m going to check your vitals now.

      Vital signs. I’m alive. That was good news. A cuff squeezed my arm, sending my heart rate into a gallop.

      The nurse stuck a device in my ear briefly. Temp is ninety-seven. A little low, dear, but that’s to be expected.

      Why was it expected?

      She must’ve read the question in my eyes. Because of the cold weather. It’s January. You were wandering on a Christmas tree farm in northern Virginia. The farmer called an ambulance, and now you’re safe in the hospital. Sit tight, and I’ll get the doctor. He’ll tell you more.

      A tree farm? This was all so confusing. What happened to me? I tried to remember, but static filled the void where my memory should be.

      The charge nurse said you were awake, a man said.

      I opened my eyes, tried to speak, and got gibberish again. So frustrating.

      Ah, hello there. I’m Doctor Garwood. Good to see you’re conscious. You may be experiencing a headache. You have a concussion, and we’re monitoring you. Your CT scan came back fine, so there’s no internal bleeding. Blink twice if you have a headache. Blink once if you have no pain.

      I blinked twice at the tall man in the white coat, and he smiled.

      You’re doing fine, he said. You may experience temporary problems with speech and memory. That’s routine for your type of injury. Most cases like this resolve satisfactorily in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

      An injury? I had no memory of an accident or injury. Then I rewound more of what he’d said. Oh. Memory loss. The mental fog made sense now. Regardless, I wanted out of here. I wanted to go home. I blinked twice and waited. Home. Where was home?

      We’ll get you squared away in no time, he said. Do you remember your name? Three blinks for yes, two for no.

      My name. Somebody asked me my name earlier. It’s . . . what is it? I couldn’t remember. I blinked twice.

      That’s what I thought, but your memory should return shortly. You have a bump on your head. Nothing broken and no other swelling, so you’re good there. Since you carried no identification, we sent your photo to area police departments.

      Photo to the cops. Good. My family would find me. Wait. What was that about a bump on my head? I blinked three times in a row.

      He jotted notes on a chart, ignoring me. I tried to sit, but my stiffened joints protested.

      Dr. Garwood glanced over at my thrashing. Be patient while your body reboots. We’re still waiting on your toxicology reports and hoping for a positive ID. Sit tight.

      Sit tight. As if I could leave. I flexed my fingers again and then I tried my toes. They didn’t respond. Not good. I wanted to lift my head and see if they were still attached to my feet, but that would trigger alarms again, which would make my headache pound harder.

      With each passing moment, mental clarity strengthened. I tried to piece the facts together. Something happened to me, and I was in a hospital. It was January, and I’d been walking through a tree farm. The farmer hadn’t recognized me, the cops didn’t know me, so I must not be local. Why was I walking around someplace I didn’t belong in the middle of winter?

      I thought and thought until I gave up. Somebody must be searching for me. Somebody would come for me. My eyes drifted shut again.

      CLEO! A MAN SAID.

      He spoke the name again. A warm hand caressed mine. I opened my eyes and gazed into the concerned blue eyes of a man I recognized. Comfort flowed from his touch. Except for his illuminated, concerned face, the white room seemed drenched in shadows. Darkness filled the window behind him. Night must’ve fallen.

      We’ve been so worried, he said. It’s so good to see you. He paused a moment. Can you understand me?

      Who? What? I managed, proud that my efforts sounded like words.

      I’m Charlie Jones. You’re Cleopatra Jones. We have two beautiful daughters together.

      Charlie. The name felt right. The man felt right. Was this my husband? Girls?

      The kids are fine. They’re home with your mom and Bud in Hogan’s Glen. That’s in Maryland.

      The details sounded familiar, but I wouldn’t swear to anything right now. Day?

      It’s still Monday, though it’s nearly midnight. We had a hard time convincing people you were missing, but Britt did a database search of missing persons once the first credit card call came in, and that’s how we found you.

      I didn’t know who Britt was, but right now I didn’t care. Credit card? I was delighted to get out two more

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