Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)
Table of Contents
LOST DISTINCTION
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
LOST DISTINCTION
Jordan James, PI Series
RACHEL SHARPE
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
LOST DISTINCTION
Copyright©2014
RACHEL SHARPE
Cover Design by Leah Suttle
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-625-2
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
I would like to dedicate this book
to Jean and Dick,
for making New England feel like home,
and without whom I would have never
been inspired to write this series.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank God for always guiding and protecting me; my amazing husband, Josh, for always helping me reach that “294th step;” my wonderful parents for the constant love, support, and revisions; my “Yankee” family for all the love, laughs, and wonderful memories; Melissa and Jon for giving me an insider’s look at the Vineyard; my family and friends for all your love and support; Leah Suttle, for bringing my vision to life in your magnificent covers; and Debby Gilbert and the amazing crew at Soul Mate Publishing for this incredible opportunity. To anyone who has ever encouraged my literary aspirations, especially my teachers, and to anyone I have not mentioned by name but has had an impact on my career and life, I offer my humble thanks. Finally, I want to thank you, the reader, for reading my book. You’re the reason I wrote this. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Chapter 1
It’s funny to think that one small decision a person makes can have such a large impact on the lives of so many others. Every choice made, no matter how great or how small, leads an individual down a path and toward an unknown future. I never realized until now the significance of even the most seemingly irrelevant decisions. If one doesn’t choose wisely, the results of those actions can lead to the absolute destruction of the lives of people, one may not even know . . .
“Hey, Jordan. Are you busy?”
I looked at my phone and considered how to answer such an open-ended question. A question like that leads me to believe the inquirer needs something, usually a favor, and with my luck of late, the favor is usually a big one. And, also with my luck of late, they’ve been enormous hassles.
“Hello? Jordan?”
“Yeah, Rick, I’m here.” I felt immediate and immense guilt for having any suspicion when it came to my sweet boyfriend, Rick Michaels. As a junior partner at one of the most prestigious accounting firms in Boston, an achievement he attained less than a year after graduating from college, he had to put in a ridiculous number of hours at work.
Despite this, he still did his best to find time to be with me. The usual minor issue that ended our dates abruptly was my own career. Please forgive me. I’ve always had a tendency to digress. I’m Jordan James and one of the only female private investigators in all of Boston.
Although I’ve only been practicing for about a year, I have managed to solve some pretty noteworthy cases. I’ve recovered historical artifacts stolen from the Boston Tea Party museum, uncovered the culprit responsible for poisoning the fur seals at the New England Aquarium, and the case that put my career on the map was solving the twenty-year-old murder of David Michaels, my boyfriend’s father.
If it weren’t for that case, I never would have met Rick. Actually, if it weren’t for my arm accidentally being broken by my associate, Jon Riché, and his agreeing to help me find my first case to make amends, I would never have met Rick. But, that’s another story.
“What do you think?” Rick’s words interrupted my thoughts.
“Huh? Think about what?”
“You were daydreaming again, weren’t you?”
I looked through the window blinds and watched people walking around six floors below, some of them headed to Fenway Park. It was a beautiful summer day and the Sox were having a great season.
“Maybe a little.”
“Well, what I said was that I need a favor.”
I knew it!
“What kind of favor?” I asked sweetly, praying, for once, it would be an easy one.
“Well, it’s kind of a big favor.” He hesitated. “You know, never mind. Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“No, no it’s okay. Tell me what you need. I’m just a little preoccupied right now. Mrs. Carlson in Apartment 4B asked me this morning to find her missing cat.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“She doesn’t have a cat! The cat in question was one she had way back in the early 1960s. I figured it out when she kept bringing up the fact that she was shocked that we just elected an Irish Roman Catholic to the White House. She’s obviously senile.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “Jon thinks I should just pick one up from the animal shelter and only charge her adoption fees and a ‘small transportation fee’ as he puts it, but I’m not so sure. Now come on. Tell me. What’s the favor?”
“Do you remember my mentioning a guy named Arthur Cross from Crowell Academy?”
“Crowell? That’s the name of the boarding school for boys you attended in Connecticut, right? The one for rich kids?”
“The one for troubled ones,” Rick corrected. “Yes, that’s it. Did I ever mention Arthur?”
“Not that I recall. Was he a friend of yours?”
“Sort of. Actually, he was my roommate for all four years.
A really great guy.”
“You know something, his name does sound familiar but not in the sense that you mentioned him being your roommate. Is he anyone I should know? Famous or something?”
I moved from sitting behind my large, mahogany desk to lying down on my relatively new, chocolate leather couch. I had purchased it about a year ago because my original sofa, a dilapidated and hideous, green monstrosity, was destroyed when I was investigating Rick’s father’s death and one of his murderers broke into my office. This new couch was appealing and Jon insisted on it. Despite its comfort, I begrudged having to replace my old one.
Rick hesitated. “Have you heard of Ambassador Gatlin Cross?”
I sat straight up. “As in the United States Ambassador to Great Britain?”
“That’s the one.”
“Of course.”
“Well, Arthur’s his youngest son.”
“No kidding? And he was your roommate in high school?”
“Yes.” The tone in his voice was one I recognized easily as the one he used when there was something in his past he didn’t wish to discuss. When we began dating over a year ago, it became clear to me that besides his father’s murder, there were other things Rick didn’t want to discuss. I learned to read the signs and dropped a lot of subjects because of it.
“So what’s the favor?” I repeated, picking up one of the stiff, leather pillows that fell to the floor when I sat up.
“Well, it’s not a favor for me. I mean, it’s a favor for me but for someone else, too.”
“Okay. What is it?” I could tell he was tormented about discussing this matter, too. Despite my caring for him deeply, Rick’s approach to certain subjects was both irksome and tiring. I lay back down, fluffing the pillows and staring up at the floating tile ceiling. One of the tiles was so water damaged I could have sworn I saw through it. Recently remodeled my foot, I thought, frowning.
“Arthur graduated from college with an English degree. His father didn’t mind because he was under the impression Arthur was going to law school after graduation just like his brothers, but Arthur had other plans in mind.”
Waiting for him to continue, I picked up the latest issue of Brown Insider, the newsletter from my alma mater. The silence of this particular tête-à-tête was almost maddening. My investigative instincts sensed that Rick was withholding a very crucial fact, one detail that would explain this entire roundabout discussion.
I was about to say something when he finally spoke again.
“Instead of going to law school, he took a job working as a teacher at Crowell.”
“So he’s teaching at your old school?” I tossed the newsletter on my desk and began tapping my fingers on the couch’s arm.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Rick, but I don’t see where I fit into this equation.” I used every ounce of energy I had to hide my exasperation. Since opening my private investigation firm, I have dealt with clients who were not forthcoming. Many of them needed help but feared divulging too much information to a stranger.
I understood this concern. If I were in their shoes, I’d be the same way. I tried to be patient because in the end, they revealed what I needed to know in order to help them. When it came to my own boyfriend, was it too much to ask for a straight answer?
“The reason I’m calling you is because his father personally asked me to. Jordan, Arthur’s missing.”
“Missing as in . . .”
“Missing as in he hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly a week.”
I let the scant details Rick provided me with sink into my mind before inquiring any further. Rick’s friend, who happened to be the son of the ambassador to Great Britain, a teacher at a prestigious school for wealthy and troubled boys, vanished nearly a week ago. His father, a powerful and well-connected man, calls some random friend from high school requesting that this friend’s girlfriend take the case.
There were so many missing variables in the equation that I almost didn’t know where to begin. The first and most obvious question was, why had the police not been contacted already?
“Mr. Cross doesn’t want to contact the police if it’s at all possible,” Rick added, as if he could read my mind. “The publicity would not be good for Arthur or for the family.”
Deciding not to remark how that decision made it appear the ambassador’s career meant more than his son’s life, I asked the next obvious question, “Why me?”
Rick breathed in before exhaling slowly. “Well, because, um, you’re almost family.”
His response took me aback. “I’m not sure I follow you,” I answered, careful because I sensed we were treading dangerously close to one of those taboo topics Rick preferred not to mention.
After another long pause he said, “Well, when I was in high school, I had some problems. You know, run-ins with the law and stuff. My mom didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t anything serious. I was just an angry kid because of what happened to my dad. Arthur had a similar problem. His dad wasn’t around much because of work.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Arthur’s being the youngest in a large family didn’t help him garner attention when his dad was there. So he resorted to, sort of, acting out for attention. When he did, they shipped him off to Crowell, because it was easier than dealing with him.”
I sensed slight disdain in Rick’s voice.
“Okay. So how does that make me almost family?”
“Arthur and I became close. We were roommates and alike in many ways. When he went home on weekends and holidays, I was always invited. I went because, well, my mom was going through her own stuff.” He trailed off. “Anyway, his dad saw how Arthur and I related. I guess Arthur wasn’t as angry when I was around. Ambassador Cross, he became almost a surrogate father to me. Even though Arthur and I rarely have time to get together anymore, we’re still in touch. When you were all over the news after you solved my dad’s murder, the ambassador noticed you. He wanted to keep the matter in the family and asked me to see if you could help.”
I sat in silence as I let this new revelation about Rick’s past sink in. When we first met and he assisted during the investigation into his father’s murder, I was startled to learn such a sweet and polite guy knew how to hotwire a Lamborghini. I was equally shocked when I discovered he was friends with Ace Larkin, the late rock star from the band, Tarnished.
In my life, I’ve never exactly been lucky in love. I tend to gravitate to bad boys and jerks. Rick was neither. He was a complete gentleman. He was the perfect boyfriend. Still, sometimes, I could tell he was keeping me at bay. The greatest and most difficult case I had ever attempted to solve was the complicated mystery known as Rick Michaels. Despite all this, I found it promising that our relationship meant enough to him that I was considered family to his friend’s relatives.
“So I guess if you’re free this weekend we could stay there,” he finished. I was grateful he couldn’t see me because I knew that I was blushing. Tuning your boyfriend out once during a conversation is acceptable. Twice makes it seem like you don’t care what he has to say. If you tune him out a third time, you might as well start checking the personal ads online.
Wanting to avoid giving him the wrong impression, I enthusiastically exclaimed, “Sure, sounds great!”
“Really? Are you sure?”
The surprise in his voice made me doubt my hyperbolic exuberance. Still, I pressed on.
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight. It should only take about an hour to get there if the traffic isn’t too bad.”
Confused by his statement, I asked, “Tomorrow? What about dinner tonight?”
“I’m sorry but if we’re going to be out of town all weekend I need to get in some last minute work. I
s that okay?”
“Oh yeah, that’s fine,” I hoped he didn’t pick up on the disappointment in my voice. A sudden noise at my office door made me jump. I let out a sigh of relief when Jon walked in. He gave me a quizzical look before throwing his keys on his small, studio desk.
“What was that? Is everything okay?” Concern grew in Rick’s voice.
“Yeah, Rick, everything’s fine. It’s just Jon. I’m sorry. I was startled, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Rick replied, a little abruptly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight.”
“Sounds good.”
“I love you.”
I stared at the phone and then at Jon who was now sitting in his swivel chair and watching me with alarming interest.
“Love you, too,” I replied so quickly that I slurred the words into a single one. We ended the call, and I glanced up at Jon again. “So what’s up?”
“Big plans?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. “Is Mr. Wonderful finally gonna take you to the soda shop for an ice cream sundae? That would be swell.”
“Shut up.” I threw one of the pillows at him playfully. “The answer to your question is no, he has to work tonight since we’re going out of town this weekend.”
Jon’s left eyebrow arched as he stared at me with growing suspicion. “You’re going out of town with him? Only the two of you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Where are you going?”
I opened my mouth to reply before remembering I didn’t actually know. I could tell from his suddenly sour expression that Jon was not pleased with this development. Besides Heather, my best friend who lived in Los Angeles and worked as a writer for a popular sitcom, Jon is my closest friend.