Sue Ann Jaffarian - Booby Trap

Booby Trap: An Odelia Grey Mystery 2009 by Sue Ann Jaffarian.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition 2010

E-book ISBN: 9780738727646

Book design by Donna Burch

Cover design by Ellen L. Dahl

Editing by Rebecca Zins

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Dedication

For Whitney

Super Agent and Super Friend

Thank you for helping my dreams come true.

Acknowledgments

There is never enough thanks for the folks who make every Odelia Grey novel possible.

As always, to Whitney Lee, my agent; Diana James, my manager; all the good folks at Llewellyn Worldwide/Midnight Ink, especially Barbara Moore, Rebecca Zins, Marissa Pederson, and Ellen Dahl.

Dr. Stacia Spaulding for proofreading the manuscript when my eyes couldnt look at it one more minute.

Attorney Mark Hardiman for providing some of the legal background needed for this novel. Attorney Salvatore Zimmitti for information and discussion about international smuggling.

Lee Lofland, friend and author of Police Procedure & Investigation, who allowed me to pick his brain from time to time.

My many friends and family who cheer me on and keep my feet on the ground, and listen patiently to my constant brainstorming. With special thanks to Miles Holiman, who gave up a Saturday to help me with research.

To the many readers who take time from their lives to tell me how much they enjoy my books. Youre the best!

As soon as I took my first bite, I knew I should have ordered the salad. As soon as I took my second bite, I knew I should never have agreed to lunch.

Sticking a napkin end into my water glass, I proceeded to dab at the small globs of marinara sauce that had dribbled out of my chicken parmigiana sandwich, landing like large blood drops down the front of my baby blue sweater, not once but twice. Once when I took my first bitethe second when my lunch companion made her startling announcement.

I think my son is the Blond Bomber was what shed said.

Yep, Im sure of it. Positively, absolutely, and without a doubt sure that the elegant and lovely older woman sitting across from me had said those exact words.

Odelia, did you hear me?

I kept dabbing at the now rust-colored pattern of stains dotting the blue sky of my bosom and tried to think of something else. Anything else.

Have you ever noticed that small-breasted women almost never have food stains on the front of their clothing? Maybe Shout or Spray n Wash should have plump women with big breasts touting their products on TV. Tiny women with big boobies wouldnt work. After all, no one in their right mind would believe they eat anything worth spilling. Yep, plump women with big, drip-catching boobs that would sell the product to me. I might even audition for the part.

I said, my son might be the Blond Bomber, the serial killer. This was said just a tiny bit louder and with more conviction than the first time. You know, the one in the news.

I heard you the first time, Lil.

My response was gentle, not snappish or impatient. I forgot about the stain on my chest and my marketing plan for stain-removing products and looked up at her just so shed see I wasnt cross.

Lillian Ramsey sat across the table from me, the picture of grace and propriety. She was about seventy years of age, with ramrod posture and impeccable manners. Her hair, a very pale silver blond, was cropped into a soft, wispy hairdo that accented her crystal blue eyes and perfect, yet lined, complexion. Her makeup was flawless, her choice of lipstick perfect. I should look so good at her age. Hell, Id be happy to look that good at fifty, which was in one year and four months. But whos counting?

Lil looked at me expectantly, her eyes sad, her coral-tinted lips down-turned, waiting for my comment on her shocking statement.

Thats a pretty serious assumption, Lil, for anyone. But for a mother?

As tears started welling, she lifted her napkin and dabbed at the inside corners of her eyes. Do you think this was a conclusion I came to easily? Its not a joke.

Her voice was firm, but there were a few cracks here and there. Something told me that once those cracks were allowed to widen, the steadfast emotional dam would break and shed be engulfed by a tsunami of tears. It was easy to see that Lil was trying hard to hold herself together.

Lillian Ramsey was originally from Teaneck, New Jersey. She had been widowed twice: once when she was young, the second time a few years ago. Her second husband, Cecil Ramsey, had left her extremely comfortable. Brian Eddy, her son from her first marriage, is a doctor, a plastic surgeon living and working in Orange County. Dr. Brian Eddy had developed a technique that allowed such surgeries to be done with less pain and recuperating time, making it perfect for actors needing a quick tuck between projects. While other plastic surgeons might be considered tops in the field, Brian Eddy was the top of the top, the surgeons surgeon. His boobs were perkier, his noses straighter, his fannies tighter. He was the Orville Redenbacher of implants and liposuction.

But the Blond Bomber?

The Blond Bomber was the nickname given to a serial killer who had been plaguing Southern California on and off for the past year. So far, four women had been murdered. While they were from different economic stations and varied in age, all the murdered women had one thing in common: they were considered blond bombshellswomen with killer figures, long light-blond hair, and even longer legs. Except for the physical attributes, the women seemed to have no other connection.