Unlawful Alliances: Book #1 in the Jenny McNair Mystery Series

By Felicity Nisbet

Against the backdrop of Scottish pubs, ferry boat rides, Puget Sound Islands, lawyer bashes, elegant fundraisers, and lavish funerals laden with coffee bars, Jenny McNair Campbell unravels the truth of Amy Morrison's life as well as her death. She also realizes some truths about her own life.

In the first book in the Jenny McNair Mystery Series, Unlawful Alliances, Jenny's father, Charlie McNair--Scotsman, trumpet player, professor, ladies' man, and private detective--involves Jenny in yet another of his cases of the unfaithful spouse. Her world is turned inside out as she spies on members and family members of her own husband's law firm. When the subject of the investigation, Amy Morrison, drowns in her hot tub, Jenny's father wants her off the case, but she refuses to quit. She was, after all, aside from Amy's murderer, the last person to see Amy alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felicity Nisbet
• Release date: Jan 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463425817

Book preview

UNLAWFUL ALLIANCES

#1 in the Jenny McNair Mysteries

Mystery Series by Felicity Nisbet

Cover by Mary Sue Roberts

©2012-2018 by Felicity Nisbet

First edition published 2012 by The Fiction Works

Second edition published 2018 by Felicity Nisbet

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

I NEED YOUR HELP, Jenny. Call me. My father’s husky voice rumbled through my telephone answering machine. I might have panicked, had I not recognized my father’s effort to engage me in another of his cases, as if this one were more serious than any that had gone before.

I put my Books Inc. bag on the butcher block table and shrugged out of my raincoat. Water sprayed in every direction when I shook my head like a puppy fresh from the bath. With my one dry pinkie, I pressed the button beside my father’s name on my telephone memory registry, waiting as the seven digit number played its tune.

McNair and Associates.

I laughed. Associates, eh? What haven’t you told me? Who’s your latest associate, Charlie?

Why you, Jenny, of course. Was it my imagination or was his Scottish brogue getting thicker with age?

I told you, Charlie, I’ll only help out on occasion. So far this year, we’ve exceeded ‘on occasion’ twice over.

"Don’t be cheeky now. I’d be happy to give you full billing. Reverend Campbell and Associates. What do you think, luv?"

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Charlie was one of the few to acknowledge my new and hard-earned title.

"Sometimes you are so weird, Mom. Why would you even want to be a minister?" Holly had asked.

"So I can work with people, do spiritual counseling, lead support groups—" But my daughter had already drifted off to her Dance Magazine.

"Cool, Mom. Matthew’s congratulatory best. What religion is it again?"

"Nondenominational."

"Oh. Right. But then reality struck. Will it change you, Mom?"

"Only for the better."

"Does it mean I can’t swear in front of you anymore?"

"It means I’ll love you better—even when you do swear in front of me."

And Joe. Hmmm. A nod or two, then a pat on the back. Well done, Jenny. My husband’s attempt at honoring my work, an effort that did not fall short of patronization.

So, what is it this time, Charlie, another case of the unfaithful spouse?

You do me proud, darlin’. I knew I could count on your intuitive abilities.

Hush, Charlie.

What’s wrong? Don’t want Joe to hear?

He’s not even here. As a matter of fact, he’s at the office waiting for me right now. I wish you would not make such a big deal about my intuition, especially since lately it seems to be muddled more often than not.

It had not always been that way. My intuition had been quite trustworthy, although dishonored in my youth. However, over the past couple years, it had become jangled. Nothing I could explain. It just meant I could not trust myself as I once had.

I was simply making an educated guess, from past history, I told Charlie.

So, will you help me?

I hate spying on people. You know that.

Aye, I do, but I think you might be able to help me out on this one. I’d just like you to tune in, you know. It could save me a lot of time. I’m not sure I should even take this case.

Then don’t.

Well, it’s a bit awkward. It’s one of my regular clients. However, I’m not sure—

I glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. If I left now, I would only be thirty minutes late. Unfortunately I still had to shower and dress. Can we talk about this later? I really have to meet Joe. They’re hosting a party for the other law firms in their building.

You hate these bashes. Come visit with me instead, luv.

Sorry, Charlie. It will have to wait until tomorrow. I promised Joe I’d make an appearance this time around.

Even if I did embarrass him, he wanted me there. Apparently my absence drew more attention than my unglamorous attire or my honest and often loose tongue or my lack of enthusiasm for small talk—especially the legal kind.

Standing under the bathroom heat lamp, I undressed, tossed my jeans and sweatshirt in the direction of the clothes hamper and jumped into the shower.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, was going round in my head. What was wrong with me? I was humming a Christmas carol in May. I retraced my steps back in my mind. The cleaners, then Pike’s Place Market for fresh salmon, the mall, the book cafe. Aha. They were ordering for Christmas. Cards with cats. Dogs weren’t as popular. What did they know? Their coffee wasn’t even that good.

I’ve been a dog person all my life. I would have liked to have a dog in my life now. I wasn’t bitter about Joe’s claims that dogs are dirty, slobbery, loud, flea-biting creatures. Really, I wasn’t. The gold fish he had bought Holly when she was seven, and the turtle he had bought Matthew at nine, didn’t quite do the trick. Nor did the cat he offered but I rejected. It would have felt like a betrayal of all the dogs I had ever known, from Eleanor Rigby to Jude. (Okay, so I was in love with Paul McCartney in my youth.) I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it. I was too ornery and loyal to do it. I had to be. After all, my dogs had always been loyal to me.

As I lathered and scrubbed myself, top to bottom, my mind took an inventory of the clothes hanging parallel to Joe’s. It didn’t take long. Joe’s suits filled the length of one wall, his shirts, another. My side of the closet was a different matter. Joe’s hanging garment bags took up a good chunk of space, as did Holly’s prom dresses and ballet costumes. The rest of the space was mine. More than enough for my three blouses, two skirts, and four dresses.

I chose the lavender gown, floor length and as elegant as I ever got. And it was the only outfit I owned that Joe didn’t completely hate and call a throwback to my days as a hippy.

You’re not wearing that again, are you?

I turned and glared at my daughter whom I had failed to notice sprawled across the down comforter on our king-size bed when I slipped naked, but for a towel, from bathroom to closet. A little privacy would be nice.

Sorry. She circled her legs underneath her body and climbed off the bed, all done with the grace of a ballerina. Don’t you think you could use some new clothes, Mom? She grabbed the hanger out of my hand. You’ve worn this to the last four parties.

Have I really?

Holly released her long golden brown hair from the security of a scrunchy, letting it fall across her shoulders and down to her waist. I’ll take you shopping if you’d like.

Thanks, but I don’t have time. Besides which, I had just returned from a shopping expedition.

How about tomorrow?

I looked at my daughter out of the corner of my eye as I fastened my well-worn Maidenform bra behind my back. Okay, what do you want?

She grinned. There’s a huge sale at Macy’s. Wouldn’t it be fun, just you and me? I really do need to start shopping for college. I only have four months, you know.

I’ll think about it. Now give me back my dress and zip it up for me, will you, before your father divorces your mother on the grounds of tardiness.

Five minutes into the party, and I decided to take Holly up on her offer. I definitely needed some new clothes. It wasn’t the satin black elegance and the sparkly sequins, but rather the exchange of looks that did me in. If I was going to survive in this world, I was obviously going to have to play the game. I was going to have to put on my mask and dance with the rest of the crowd.

Then there was Joe. His disappointment that my shopping spree had obviously been unsuccessful was loud and clear. I had tried. I’d actually made it through four boutiques before the force from the book store had lured me into its web. All was lost once I settled down at that table with a cappuccino and the latest Wayne Dyer book. Had I anticipated my husband’s disappointment, however, I might have resisted.

He didn’t say anything. It only took a sigh, and of course, his effort to cover it with a smile and a welcoming kiss. That was one of the things I loved about Joe, his vigilant regard for my feelings. I glanced around the room, wondering how many wives could say the same about their husbands. That thought, as catty as it was, might just help me survive this shindig.

Joe went to get me a glass of wine and I settled onto the abandoned easy chair in the office reception area. I reminded myself that it could have been worse. At least Joe didn’t pester me to entertain at home. I think he was afraid I’d serve tofu hors d’oeuvres again.

Hello, Jenny, why sitting by your lonesome? Meredith Fleming sat down on the arm of my chair.

How are you, Meredith?

Bored. These parties are all the same.

I laughed. You noticed.

But what do you expect from corporate lawyers?

I don’t know. I’m kind of glad we’re married to corporate lawyers. They don’t have as much opportunity as perhaps—

Ah yes, the temptation of the new divorcee seeking comfort from her dependable and very married attorney? Speaking of which, at least Morrison, Gimble, Stratton, and Morrison are here. That should spice things up. But so far, no tasty bits of gossip to chomp into.

I liked Meredith. We had little in common. Actually, outside of our husbands being law partners, we had nothing in common. And we would never be great friends. But I did enjoy her candor.

Amy Morrison does look down in the dumps. Wonder if that adorable husband of hers is cheating on her. Well, ciao for now. Off for some of those scrumptious hors d’oeuvres. Have to make dressing up tonight worth the effort.

I watched her sway her way over to the prawns, salmon, and caviar table. Sometimes I thought I’d do better to live on a remote island instead of in the city. Even Seattle seemed to have become too sophisticated for me.

I scanned the crowd and came quickly to Meredith’s same conclusion. No scoop in this bunch, especially not Joe’s Hunter, Fleming, and Campbell firm.

Joe brought me a glass of Chardonnay and a plate filled with mini crab cakes, iced asparagus, smoked salmon and what appeared to be crackers, but with a French name no doubt. The thought crossed my mind that Joe didn’t want me swishing up and down the catered tables in my overseen dress. I swiftly smacked my cheek mentally and told myself that could not be the case. My husband was proud of me. And if he wasn’t, well, he should be.

Thanks, honey. It looks delicious.

He smiled and sat in the chrome chair across from mine. Want company?

No, I’m fine, I told him.

His sigh betrayed his relief. I smacked myself again. I was doing a lot of that lately. But then, it was my job to catch any self-deprecating thoughts and get rid of them. I wasn’t sure smacking them out of me was the best way, but it seemed to be working.

"Just because you’re ministers, Ellie had told us after graduation, doesn’t mean the work stops here. In fact, it’s just beginning."

We had unanimously groaned. We all knew what that meant.

I found myself longing for the company of some of my ministerial buddies, especially Ellie. Unfortunately they lived two states away in California, where I had flown once a month for three years.

When Joe returned to playing host, I returned to people-watching. Divorce attorneys definitely made for better gossip. Morrison, Gimble, Stratton, and Morrison. Down the hall and around the corner from Hunter, Fleming, and Campbell. Just a few steps away, but oh so much more fascinating.

I scanned the room. My eyes settled on Amy Morrison’s soft, China doll face. Meredith was right. Amy Morrison did not look well. Dressed to the nines in black satin, she looked as beautiful as ever, but her porcelain skin looked as if it were about to shatter. If, at that moment, she were to be cast in a play, she would be given the part of the tragic beauty rather than her usual role of ingénue.

As I saw the pain reflected in her blue eyes, I wondered if her husband was after all following in his father’s rumored footsteps as a philanderer. I hoped not. I liked Scott. But something was bothering Amy. It did not take any degree of intuition to see that. Her immaculate make up job could not completely cover the red splotches that were all the more apparent because of her perfect skin. Even her long black hair that was always so carefully swept up in an elegant comb seemed to lack its usual luster.

I laughed at my overly-dramatic imagination and looked away. Joe was dutifully serving drinks to Rosemary and Anthony Morrison, Scott’s parents. Anthony took the high ball glass, and Rosemary, the martini. Anthony was inching toward the group of men behind him, as Rosemary chattered on about the lovely party and the delicious new office decor and the scrumptious delicacies. Joe was admirably indulgent. Only I, his wife of twenty-one years, could spot the impatience in his anxiously vibrating heel.

Anthony Morrison turned his attention from the more stimulating conversation for a moment to reprimand his wife. Why don’t you talk to one of the wives about these things, dear? I’m sure Joe is not interested in hearing about furniture and food.

Oh, I’m so— Yes, of course— So, sorry, I didn’t— Rosemary took a large sip of her martini between stammers.

Actually, I’m glad you mentioned the modern decor, Rosemary. I’m very pleased with it as well. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one. Dear sweet Joe. His sensitivity to women must have come from his premature role in his youth as man of the house—a house which contained five females.

When Joe politely excused himself to attend to his duties as host, he first kissed Rosemary gently on the cheek. I knew I had married that man for a reason.

Rosemary turned at that moment, meeting my eyes straight on. There was nothing for me to do but smile back at her still-floundering smile. This was a woman who was not comfortable being left on her own, even for an instant. No doubt she was one of so many of her generation who went from their parents’ home to their husband’s. That was an analysis, not a criticism. After all, who was I to talk? I was still at college when Joe and I decided—rather our firstborn, Matthew, decided—that it was time for us to get married.

Jenny, how are you? Rosemary swept across the room to sit in the chair Joe had abandoned a few minutes earlier. It’s been too long, my dear.

How are you, Rosemary?

I’m fine, just fine. How long has it been? Why I think I haven’t seen you since Christmas.

The September Gala, I believe.

Oh, my. You didn’t attend the holiday banquet?

I’m afraid I wasn’t able to. I was helping my father with something. Celebrating at his favorite Scottish pub. Since I was the main reason he had been able to solve his latest case, I felt obligated to be there. Good excuse, Jenny.

Oh, I see. That’s very important, isn’t it? Our Scott is like that, completely devoted to his parents. And of course, to his wife. Have you met Amy?

Yes, a few times, I believe. She’s lovely.

Yes. Rosemary’s eyes drifted toward the young woman who seemed so burdened this evening.

I felt a sudden jolt in my solar plexus, my third chakra to be exact. It only confirmed my suspicion that indeed, something was disturbing Amy Morrison, deeply disturbing her.

Well, I’d best get on with my mingling. Will you join me? As Rosemary stood up, she straightened her beautiful blue satin gown over her exquisite figure. I wondered how hard she worked at maintaining it. I certainly would not have known by her appearance that she was in her fifties.

I’m rather comfortable right here, to tell you the truth.

But Rosemary would not take no for an answer. She grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet, her arm embracing my back to assure her that she would have a companion on the long walk across the room to the security of her husband, son and daughter-in-law who were encircled by the other members of their law firm.

You all remember Jenny Campbell, I’m sure, Joe Campbell’s wife? Rosemary said.

Her husband, Anthony, nodded a polite hello, and smiled. How could we not? You look beautiful tonight, Jenny. The man oozed charm. It was quite clear what women saw in him. He was handsome, still in excellent shape, his graying hair only adding to his distinguished appearance. And he had the charisma of a Kennedy. Rumors claimed that he lived by the belief that variety was the spice of life. It must have been those rumors—to which I was usually immune—that prejudiced me against the man—charm, charisma, and all. But I knew it was unfair to judge him, particularly by rumors. If I had learned anything in my forty years on the planet, it was that people were rarely the way they seemed, especially at parties.

Jim Gimble’s nod was on the short side of friendly. The other senior partner of Morrison, Gimble, Stratton, and Morrison obviously did not appreciate the interruption to his story. His wife smiled for him. Was there an apology behind it? I liked Dana. She was a high school history and political science teacher, and the only one, yours truly aside, who was not dressed to kill. A bit on the pudgy side, she seemed more comfortable in her role as mother and school teacher.

Richard Stratton, a junior partner along with Scott, was too busy straightening his John Hardy cufflinks, to acknowledge my existence. Appropriate. He was known as the weak link in the firm, Joe had commented more than once. I trusted that there were some redeeming qualities to Jim Gimble and Richard Stratton. They were just a bit hard to spot at first glance. I knew enough to keep searching. And to stop judging—at least to try.

Scott Morrison stepped across the circle and shook my hand. It’s good to see you, Jenny. Was it his mother’s prompting? I didn’t think so. His brown eyes met mine with comfort and honesty. Scott was not as handsome as his father. While Anthony Morrison seemed a debonair blend of Laurence Olivier and Marcello Mastroianni, Scott had the vulnerability of a naive Robert Redford but with dark eyes and sandy brown hair. He was too boyish to have his father’s charisma. What he did have was an impish smile and a single dimple in his right cheek.

Scott, sweetie, can I refresh your drink? Erica, Richard Stratton’s wife, stepped in between us, grabbing his arm possessively.

Thank you, Erica. Scott handed her his glass. Amy, would you like something?

Amy shook her head. I didn’t miss the miffed expression on Erica’s face as she left the group to get a drink for her apparent favorite man in the bunch.

Anyway, as I was saying, if that bitch thinks she’s going to get another penny, she has another think coming, Jim Gimble picked up where he left off. This case is in our pocket.

We’re in mixed company here, Jim, Scott reminded his crude and somewhat overweight law partner. Dana Gimble’s right eyebrow quivered in surprise, or perhaps disapproval, as she tugged on her husband’s arm in an effort to give him a similar message to Scott’s.

Jim ignored his wife, rubbing his burly beard as he eyed each of us women, one at a time, grinning as he went. I’m sure you girls don’t mind my language. Do you?

Rosemary smiled. Erica, returning with Scott’s glass, patted Jim’s stomach and said, Oh, Jimmy, I’ve known you too long to let your crude mouth bother me. Amy stood quietly, saying nothing, despite the tint of pink climbing up her cheeks.

And I? Well, if I’d just gotten myself out of there a little faster, or better yet, if I’d never let Rosemary drag me across the room in the first place, or let Joe talk me into making an appearance tonight . . . But as my Grandmother McNair used to say, "If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers." So really, it was Joe’s fault. He invited me here, so he couldn’t very well complain about my loose tongue.

Actually, since you asked, Jim, your language does bother me, I said above the chuckles and snickers. "Bitch is not a word I like to hear used in reference to the women I know, and girls is a word I like even less. Now if you’ll excuse me," I turned and walked away from Rosemary’s cozy circle, but not before noticing Scott’s wink in my direction and Amy’s flicker of a smile. I nearly laughed out loud at myself. I did, after all, use the word girl myself on occasion. It must have been the condescension with which he said it that I found objectionable.

Safely back in my easy chair, the only comfortable piece of furniture left since the office make over, I finished my glass of Chardonnay and returned to one of my favorite hobbies, people-watching. Again