Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

“You okay?” I asked again.

  He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then said, “Cops told me to stay in the car, so I did.”

  He was a better man than me. I would’ve been in the house, right behind them. I told him to head home. I’d get a ride from the cops. Or maybe I’d stay. Hell, I had no idea what would happen next. He got out and handed me my bag and briefcase. I thanked him, and he drove off.

  I went back up to the porch and heard Lauren speaking slightly more coherently.

  “We just got back from San Francisco. She was there. Like that. She was there,” Lauren stammered. Sweat soaked her hair, and rolled down her forehead.

  “Where’s your husband?” Natalie said.

  “Upstairs?” She looked up at me. “You went to get him. Where is he?”

  I stood on the top step, not daring to come any closer. “I told you, he’s out cold. Does he always sleep so soundly?”

  “He usually doesn’t sleep much at all,” Lauren said.

  The uniformed officers came out onto the porch, Henry staggering between them. He was awake, but barely. They placed him in the rocker next to Lauren.

  Lauren leaned forward. “Henry, what did you take?”

  Henry didn’t answer.

  She looked at me. “This is all my fault.”

  “What makes you say that?” Natalie said.

  “What?” Lauren asked.

  “How is this your fault?” Natalie said. She squatted down in front of Lauren.

  “The scene. In the dining room. It’s staged just like a scene from my newest novel, Prey. Did you see the hair? Esme had a shoulder length bob. That haircut is Sophie’s. They even cut her hair.”

  Now that she’d said it, I remembered. Sophie has a pixie cut, short and choppy, because she cut it herself. This was getting freakier by the second.

  “Sophie?” Natalie asked.

  “I write a series about a thousand-year-old vampire named Lawrence who is very powerful. He has slaves and minions, and even groupies. And then there’s Sophie, who is a vampire slayer.” Lauren paused and swallowed.

  “Abel, Lawrence’s main follower, is jealous of Sophie, and wants her gone. When he can’t get rid of her, he decides to kill her.” Lauren took a deep breath and continued, “Anyway, in the scene, Abel has Sophie tied to a chair. He’s going to decapitate her and leave her for Lawrence to find. He pulls his sword, but before he can kill Sophie, Lawrence approaches from behind and swings his own sword. He picks Abel’s head up and places it in a bowl on the table, then pushes the body against the wall. Abel’s body lands in a chair and blood spatters everywhere, awakening the other vampires in the house. He unties Sophie and they leave Abel there, oozing blood for the other lesser vampires to feed on.”

  Since I had read all of Lauren’s books, I could easily visualize this scene. Only in my head it was more gruesome because I was seeing Esme, not Abel.

  “Somebody killed Esme because of me. Whoever did this has read my latest book.”

  “So that narrows it down to…” Natalie was clearly frustrated.

  “How many people have read it?” I asked.

  “With advance readers’ copies, and the books in the stores ready to distribute, Esme and whoever she shared the book with, it could be hundreds of people.”

  Natalie said, “Not hundreds of thousands?”

  I explained. “The book just hit shelves today. That wouldn’t leave much time to read the book, plan the murder, and then find out where Lauren lives.”

  “So whoever knows the scene had to have read the book before the release.” Natalie chewed on the information.

  Lauren slammed her hand on the bench. “Henry, where were you? How did this happen?”

  Henry just sat in the rocker and stared forward. I was pretty sure he didn’t even blink when Lauren slammed her hand down.

  “We’ll find who did this,” Natalie promised.

  “Mimi, what am I going to do?” Lauren whined.

  “We are going to have the CSU team go over your house tonight. Is there a place you can stay?” Natalie said.

  I could almost see Lauren’s brain trying to focus on the question. “We’ll stay in a hotel. But I’m not going back in that house. I’ll go shopping tomorrow and get some new clothes.”

  Natalie stood. “As soon as the CSU guys are done, I’ll get some clothes for you. Let us know where you are staying, and we’ll send an officer over.” She handed Lauren a business card.

  “I’m in no condition to drive.” She looked to the driveway. “Did my driver leave?”

  “I’ll call you a taxi,” I said.

  “No, I’ll call the service and they’ll send another car. But Mimi, I do need you to get started on this right away.”

  “On what?”

  “You have to find out who did this. I have to know who did this to my Esme. And, oh God, we have to tell her mom.” Lauren began sobbing. She dropped her head in her hands and wailed.

  “Lauren, I’m protecting you on your tour. This is a police investigation. The police will notify the next of kin.” I said, not wanting any part of a murder investigation.

  “You don’t understand. I can’t finish the book tour. I’ll be a wreck,” Lauren whimpered through her hands.

  Nick stepped onto the porch. “I just have a few questions for you, then the officers here can take you to a hotel. But I think it’s best you keep to your planned schedule. As long as we can get in touch with you if we need to.”

  Lauren looked up toward Nick, “Excuse me?”

  “Keep your normal schedule. If we need you we’ll call you,” Nick stated casually as if this wasn’t a murder, but something as minor as a broken finger.

  “Are you kidding me?” Lauren spat.

  “No. It will keep the publicity down, and help us do our job with less interference.”

  Looking puzzled, Lauren said, “Okay.”

  “Martinez? Can you please take Mr. and Mrs. Silke to whatever hotel they’d like to stay at for the night?”

  Martinez and his partner helped Lauren and Henry to the patrol car. Bet they weren’t looking forward to that drive, because Lauren had to smell just peachy.

  I waited until they were loaded up and pulling out of the driveway before I said anything. Once the car was out of site I said, “Um, I’ll need a ride too.”

  Nick looked at me with what could have been a scowl, or possibly gas.

  4

  “I had no idea fiction readers were such fanatics,” Charles said.

  “I didn’t either.”

  “So do you think a fan killed that cute little Esme?” Charles seemed concerned.

  “I have no idea. I can’t imagine even the biggest lunatic would kill someone over a work of fiction.” But then again…

  “Well, that one lady was lunatic enough to punch out Lauren. Which was good because we got a much needed client, but bad because look where we are now.”

  We were sitting at the 1950s Formica dining table in the breakfast nook of Gotcha’s kitchen. Charles wore khaki Dockers, with monochrome argyle socks and leather tasseled loafers. The temperature was only supposed to be sixty-five, so he wore a pale blue rugby shirt. He put his feet up on the table and crossed his ankles.

  Gemma had apparently just dragged herself out of bed when I’d called her into work. She arrived wearing a pink long john shirt, and surgical scrub bottoms. It was entirely too cold for the flip-flops she had on her feet. Gemma’s one of my junior detectives, and she doesn’t have a P.I. license because the state of California requires an inordinate amount of hours under supervision before you can apply.

  “Give me all the gory details,” Gemma said. Her golden brown, shoulder-length curls bobbed as she hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter.

  I told her about walking in and seeing Esme’s head on the table and how her body was posed, giving all the details, except the part about Nick Christianson.

  “Esme seemed like such a happy girl. Even when Lauren snapped at her, she took it in stri
de. I can’t imagine anyone would want to hurt her. But what did I know, I’d only met the girl twice.”

  “I’m curious, does seeing her like that change the way you see her in your mind?” Gemma said.

  Good question. I know most people like closure. You know, open casket, to be sure the person is really dead. I’ve always been a closed casket kind of girl. I wanted to remember the person as they were in life. I avoid funerals as much as possible, and until the last couple of years, I’d been pretty good at it. I’d only been to my fifth grade teacher’s and my grandmother’s funerals. When Dominic died, I didn’t have to worry about what I’d see. They never found his body.

  Dominic and I had been married a little more than a year when his plane went down on a charter flight to Idaho. He’d been with one of his clients, and Dominic, the client, and the pilot all died. No bodies were recovered. A part of me died with Dominic, and it’s been a long road back.

  Seeing Esme must’ve brought those thoughts back. I dreamed of Dominic last night for the first time over a year.

  “Sort of. I have to make an effort to see the live Esme,” I said.

  “I don’t think I’d be able to get the decapitated head out of my mind,” Gemma said around a piece of cinnamon toast.

  “I’ll bet her head was flying before she even knew the sword had sliced her,” Charles said. He swept his arms in front of him, as if he held the sword.

  “You are a sick puppy,” Gemma said. She hopped off the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, top me off,” I said.

  Gemma brought the pot over and topped off my cup. Then she eased toward Charles and brushed her breast on his shoulder as she filled his cup. Charles flinched, putting his hands up to fend her off. Gemma laughed.

  Gemma, with her tanned, athletic body, had never met a man who didn’t want her, until Charles. She was sure she could convert him, if only he would accept her advances. Her lifetime goal was to get Charles to have sex with her, I was sure of it. I’d bet she got tired of the challenge before he gave in.

  Gemma creeped him out. He hated when she touched him, much less rubbed her body parts against him. I kept telling him to reciprocate, and she’d give up. Maybe even suggest a threesome with the love of Charles’s life. Charles wanted no part of it. The whole scene was fun to watch most days, but irritating on mornings like this.

  “Gemma, get off him,” I snapped.

  She rolled her eyes and put the coffee pot back on the burner.

  “So what happens now?” Gemma said.

  “You, my dear, get to fly to Los Angeles, and then spend the next several days with the lovely Ms. Silke,” Charles said.

  “Yup,” I said.

  “By lovely, you mean she’s a real pain in the ass,” Gemma said.

  Charles and I smiled.

  “No, but she’ll be really freaked and probably very jumpy. Just be aware.”

  Bored with Gemma, Charles turned to me. “The cops are bringing Esme’s laptop over this morning. The one she used at work.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just so happens, I’m the best computer forensics agent around.”

  I stuck my finger down my throat and lurched forward.

  “Whatever. They are backed up, and I always take their overflow. You want me to process it here, or at the school?” Charles said.

  Charles was a graduate of the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey. Being in good standing, he had access to all of their computer forensics equipment. I had a fair amount of money invested in my own equipment, so I’d just as soon have Charles do the work in house.

  “Do it here. I want to know what’s going on, even if I’m not making money on the deal.”

  Charles grinned. He made a lot of money on the side. The man was a computer genius. Gemma, Jackie, and I were barely able to download songs onto our iPods, so we were completely dependent on Charles and he knew it. He also loved it.

  “I thought you’d say that. Some cop is going to drop it off. Hopefully soon.”

  “Guess I’d better head home and get packed. Anything I need to know before I leave?” Gemma seemed anxious to leave.

  “Square your cases with Jackie,” I said. Jackie’s forte is stakeouts, but she’s also a great decoy.

  “I don’t have much going on. I just finished with finals, so I’ve only been serving papers.”

  Gemma was taking criminology, forensics, and investigative technique classes. She still had a lot of hours of actual work time to put in before being eligible for her P.I. license. Now that school was out, I’d have her work some skip traces, and a lot of GPS tracking. She was too young and too impatient for stakeouts. She had a sixth sense when she was working, so Gemma was the perfect bodyguard. She had a black belt in Tae Kwan Do, so she had plenty of practice both in offensive and defensive maneuvers. Lauren would be in good hands.

  “Have eyes behind your head, just like in all protection jobs,” I said.

  “Yes, Momma Mimi,” Gemma said sarcastically. Everyone who worked for me was a smart ass. It’s probably why I hired them.

  “Most of Lauren’s fans are normal. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a book signing, but they attract all walks of life. Be suspicious of everyone.”

  “That’s a given,” Gemma said.

  “Why ask if you know it all already?”

  “I like to make you feel important,” Gemma said.

  Charles dropped his feet off the table and laughed.

  “Shut up,” I said to Charles, and then I threw a dishtowel at Gemma.

  “That was a good one Gemma,” Charles said, still laughing.

  Gemma grabbed the towel and threw it at Charles. “It wasn’t that funny.”

  Charles sobered. “A girl just got her head lopped off, and we’re here joking over morning coffee.”

  “Nothing we can do about it now. She’s dead,” Gemma said.

  “Only thing we can do is find the killer,” I said.

  The atmosphere cooled considerably.

  “I’m going home and pack,” Gemma said.

  “I gave Lauren’s publicist your home address. The car will meet you at your house.”

  “Sweet. My parents will be excited to see their daughter climb into a limo.”

  “It’s not a limo, it’s a town car,” Charles said, doing his best to burst Gemma’s bubble.

  “Oh, whatever,” Gemma said.

  “Don’t let Lauren out of your sight,” I said.

  “So I go to the bathroom with her, too?”

  “Yes, even if you’re in the hotel room. You check before she goes.”

  “Got it. See ya.” Gemma turned to leave.

  When she grabbed the handle on the back door of the kitchen, a man came up the steps. Gemma opened the door, holding the door with her left hand and the wall with her right, effectively blocking the entrance. No one ever came to the back door.

  “Can I help you?” Gemma said.

  “Is Charles Parks around?”

  “Oh, yeah, a hot guy, I should have known you’d be looking for Charles,” Gemma said.

  “I need him to sign for a computer I’m dropping off,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ, Gemma, let him in,” I said.

  Gemma stepped away from the door, and I wished I could take back my words. Nick Christianson stepped into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing here?” Nick said.

  “I own this place,” I said. My voice could’ve iced my coffee.

  He looked past me. “Charles?”

  Charles was struck dumb. He scanned Nick from crotch to peepers.

  I would never admit it aloud, but Nick looked good. He wore gray slacks with polished black shoes and a gray V-neck sweater that complimented his eyes. Nick’s wavy black hair looked windblown, or maybe just finger brushed. I’d bet Charles had mentally run his fingers through it already.

  Charles stood, and stepped very close to Nick when they shook hands. Charles did the “I can grip your hand harder
than you can grip mine” squeeze. Men.

  “You are?” Charles said.

  “Detective Nick Christianson.”

  “Well, detective, do you have the computer, or is this a social call?” I said.

  Nick looked at me like he just barely remembered I was in the room. I stood and pushed between Nick and Charles. I felt a jolt as my skin touched Nick’s.

  He backed up. “The computer’s right here.” He raised the laptop case with his left hand. Charles took it.

  “Thanks, we’ll get right on it,” I said.

  “We? I’m releasing custody of the computer to Charles,” Nick said.

  “That’s what she meant. I’ll get right on it,” Charles said.

  Nick had Charles sign papers for chain of custody. Charles grazed Nick’s arm as he handed the papers back.

  “Do I call you or your lieutenant when I have the report written?” Charles said.

  Nick handed him a business card. “My cell number is on the back. Natalie and I are headed over to Santa Cruz to talk to the victim’s mother, so leave a message if I don’t answer.”

  “You’re going to talk to Esme’s mom? Does she know yet?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t know anything yet. We’re going to tell her about her daughter’s death without going into the gruesome details if possible,” Nick said.

  “Natalie is really good with families,” I said.

  “So I’ve heard,” Nick said. He turned to leave.

  A small part of me was sad to see him go. I didn’t keep in touch with many people from college. It felt good to see him, but the tension between us was palpable.

  “So Mimi, do you have some time tonight?” Nick asked.

  God damn it if my heart didn’t skip a beat. “For what?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about the murder. We didn’t get a decent interview last night.”

  “Not tonight. I’m having dinner at my mom’s.”

  Nick’s eyes flickered. He had liked my mom, and she liked him. God knows how, but he had charmed my mother. She had invited him for dinner regularly when we were still in junior college. I’d come home and Nick would be sitting at the kitchen table while my mom cooked fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I almost mentioned, we were having chicken tonight.