Jozsa Andromeda Fox: Kidnapped

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4835-4527-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 129 Seiten

Kidnapped is the 4th book in the Andromeda Fox romantic mystery series set in contemporary Melbourne. Mathilda enters Andy's painting Sleeping Angel in an art competition to be held in Sydney. He's delighted and so is she, as she thinks that for once they'll be able to have a peaceful holiday away, seeing as how their last attempt failed miserably. Their first couple of days in Sydney is fine, until Andy goes to collect some ice from the machine in the hotel corridor and never returns. Tildy fears the worst and hunts for him but comes up empty. Returning to her room she finds a note under the door demanding she contact his father. Chalmers Fox hurries to Sydney on her call. He prefers to keep his wife in the dark as she fell apart the last time when they lost their daughter to a kidnapper. This time he has every intention of following the kidnapper's demands to the letter and keeping the police out of it. Little does he know that the police have been after this particular kidnapper for the last ten years and when they learn he has withdrawn a million dollars in cash, they bug their rooms and listen in with the intent of arresting the kidnappers when they collect the ransom. This almost costs Andy his life, and it is only thanks to his clues and Mathilda's investigative ability that he is saved in the nick of time. Even Mr Fox gets in on the action once Mathilda informs him his son is safe. He takes out the kidnapper personally, grimly motivated when he learns that this is the same man who murdered his daughter eighteen years previously.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jozsa, Magda

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE

Andromeda Fox entered Fox Realty and greeted the salesmen at the front counter with an easy familiarity. They had come to know him when he worked for his father earlier in the year. He flashed a smile at the receptionist, only to be rewarded with a rather wan one in response. She’d lost her enthusiasm for him since he chose Mathilda Harris over her. Not that there was ever any competition in Andromeda’s mind. She wasn’t to know that though. She’d been hopeful that she could nab the boss’s son.

“Is Dad in?” asked Andy of no one in particular.

“In his office,” offered Bob Akkers, one of the salesmen. “He’s with a client though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait outside until he’s through.” Andy went past them and up the stairs to where his father’s office was located. He made his way to the box room, which he had once used as an office, and still did on occasion whenever his father needed a new ad layout. He had no aspirations to be a salesman. It didn’t appeal to him. Fortunately his father utilized his main talent, which was art. Working here had been the turning point in his life. It was here that he decided to give up his rather generous allowance and earn a living on his own. At the time his father doubted that he could make an adequate living as an artist, but soon changed his mind.

Andy was proud of everything he’d achieved since then. Not only was he making a comfortable living, but he was also gaining a reputation as an artist of some renown and he hadn’t had to ask for any money from his parents for over eight months. He relished being independent and often wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner, after all he was twenty-five years old. That’s what came of being an only son and spoiled. He’d had life pretty easy. Still, things were different now. Not only with regard to his independence, but with his father as well. They were a lot closer now, having developed a mutual respect for one another.

He entered the box room and sniffed. It smelled a bit musty, not to mention it was rather stuffy from disuse. He sat down behind the desk, but after five minutes couldn’t stand it any longer, deciding it would be better to wait for his father in the corridor instead. He leaned against the wall and pulled out a comb from his back pocket, making an effort to smooth his thick, unruly straw coloured hair. His father always claimed he looked scruffy, but it wasn’t intentional. After a few minutes he gave up. It was an impossible task. As he slipped his comb away he heard voices being raised in his father’s office.

“Damn you, Fox!” growled a loud, angry voice.

Andy didn’t hear his father’s reply.

“You cheated me!”

Andy strained his ears, but still his father’s voice was too soft. Clearly he was keeping his cool in the face of this irate client.

“That’s what you say. I don’t believe you. You cheated me just to make a quick buck. You’ll get yours. No one cheats me and gets away with it. I’m going to get my money back one way or another.”

This time Andy did hear his father’s reply. “Threats won’t get you anywhere. There was nothing illegal involved in this deal. I only bought the property off you as a favour to you. One would think you’d show some appreciation.”

“You under quoted me, damn you. You ripped me off. You bought it for less than it was worth and sold it at a profit. Some favour. With friends like you I’d rather enemies. You’ll get yours, Fox. You’ll see. I’ll make you suffer for what you’ve done.”

Next moment the door was wrenched open and a ruddy faced man strode out, storming off down the stairs.

Andy stuck his head around the still open door. “Hello, Dad. Are you all right? He seemed like a nasty character.”

His father looked up. “Oh, Andromeda. Have you been out there long?”

“A couple of minutes. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d drop in and see if you wanted to join me for lunch.”

Chalmers Fox sighed. “I’ve lost my appetite. That’s the last time I’ll do anyone a favour.”

“Why? What was all that about?”

“Fellow’s name is Thomas Barrett. I’ve done business with him in the past. He came to me about eight months ago begging me to sell one of his properties because he was in dire straits financially. The place was fairly rundown. It had been rented to less than ideal tenants for the last ten years so you can imagine its condition. I couldn’t find a buyer, not for the price he was asking. The only thing going for the house was its location. Other than that it was a dump. He was ringing me nearly every day to see if I had a buyer. In the end I took pity on him and offered him two hundred and fifty thousand for the place—that’s fifty thousand more than the house was worth at the time. He was trying to get three hundred thousand for it, but I told him that was impossible unless he fixed the place up. He said he couldn’t afford to fix it and wanted me to sell it as is. I convinced him that two-fifty was the best offer he was likely to get. He took it.

“After I took possession of it, I spent another fifty thousand renovating and repairing it and sold it for three hundred and ninety thousand six months later. He found out, not sure how, and is now accusing me of having cheated him. I did tell him he would get more if he renovated it, but he didn’t want to do it. He wanted the money in a hurry. I helped him out and this is the thanks I get. There was nothing untoward about the deal. I paid him over the market value for the place despite its appalling condition. He’d have been lucky to get two hundred for it from any other firm. And he’s got the nerve to come in here and threaten me.”

“That sucks, Dad. Is there any way he could make a case against you and charge you with crooked dealing?”

“No. Fortunately I have before and after photographs, and I had the property independently valued prior to making my offer for it. In fact it was the low valuation that caused me to make the offer in the first place. It was valued at one hundred and eighty-five thousand. I knew Barrett was desperate so I upped the figure, just out of the goodness of my heart. If he took me to court he’d come out looking foolish. Everything is above board. If he spent money on fixing the place up, he could have got a much higher price for it.” Chalmers shook his head. “That’s the last time I’ll take pity on someone.”

Andy sat down in front of his desk and smiled. “Maybe you ought to send him a copy of that valuation so he knows just how generous you were with him.”

“It probably wouldn’t make any difference. Some people are born ungrateful.”

“Well I’m not. Don’t forget you and mother are invited to dinner on the weekend. You’re going to love Tildy’s cooking. I’m getting positively fat.”

His father looked over his lean frame and smiled. “That’ll be the day. I have never met anyone who could eat as much as you do and still remain thin. Poor Mathilda. It must be a full time job feeding you.”

Andy grinned. “She enjoys it.”

They chatted for a while longer until Andy managed to coax his father out to lunch. It proved to be a pleasant interlude succeeding in dispelling all memory of the unpleasant Thomas Barrett from their minds.

After lunch, Andy’s next port of call was Fairchild’s gallery. It was Felix Fairchild that gave him his big break into the art world by giving him an exhibit. It proved to be a huge success and since then his paintings had been in demand. The paintings were selling but the money for them was slow in coming. He didn’t know if that was the buyers’ fault or Fairchild’s. He figured to give the gallery owner a gentle reminder that there was money owing, quite a considerable amount in fact. As he made his way to Fairchild’s office he heard raised voices. It seemed today was his day for walking in on arguments.

“Why can’t you sell my paintings?” demanded someone with a whiney voice. “You used to sell them.”

“There’s just not a market for them anymore. Everyone who comes in wants a Fox,” replied Fairchild.

“Damn Fox! You gave him an exhibition. You never gave me one.”

“That’s because his paintings are brilliant.”

“You saying mine aren’t?”

“Yours are okay, but water colours, abstracts and impressionist styles aren’t as popular right now, especially when compared to the vivid oils of Fox’s work. Your paintings look insipid alongside them. I’ve had to take them off display. If you want me to sell your work, you’ll have to start painting with oils, and it wouldn’t hurt if your subject matter actually looked like what it was, rather than just a blob on the canvas. Give your work more colour, more depth, and more imagination and I’ll see what I can do. Come to me with something as magnificent as Fox’s Sleeping Angel and I’ll have no trouble selling your work. As it is now, I can’t even give it away.”

“Fox this, Fox that. I’m sick of hearing that bastard’s name!”

A faint smile curled at Andy’s lips on hearing that. He...