Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Call me schooled. This wasn’t my project, but I was expected to know all of the details.

  “She said she wasn’t feeling well. I asked if she thought she’d be able to make the meeting after the sting, and she said she didn’t think so. That’s cool and all, but she knew the rules were the same. Be in contact via cell phone until everyone has been cleared, and all the johns have been booked.” Cortnie paced a few steps to the left and then back.

  “And she knew this? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

  “Are you kidding me? You think I’d let these ladies do what they are doing if I thought we didn’t have a system everyone understood?” Cortnie stepped toward me. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  I got in Cortnie’s face. “Okay, Mimi, calm down.”

  Cortnie shook her head. “What did you say?” Then she looked up at me with eyes wide and brows raised. “Never mind.”

  I didn’t even look to see Mimi’s reaction. Too much estrogen in one small space. And the space I’m talking about is Earth.

  Mimi pushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Let me give her a call.” She pulled out her phone, dialed the number, waited a moment, then said, “Straight to voicemail.”

  Cortnie leaned against the van. “See what I mean? I won’t be able to sleep until I hear from her.”

  The future of the surveillance project, and the reputation of the agency were in jeopardy if Lena was really missing. As for Lena, she’d better be canoodling with a hot guy, or sick as hell, to justify not answering the phone. If she was in jeopardy, well, I’d cross that bridge soon enough. It was time I took over.

  “Cortnie, go back to the decoys and finish out the night. We need to make a profit here. Don’t even think about Lena. If she felt crappy enough to leave, then maybe she’s out cold and can’t hear her phone.” Cortnie nodded, and then I turned to Mimi. “You need to start looking everywhere. Start by going back to the office and pulling Lena’s file. Get any and all contact information, family, boyfriends, work, you know the drill. I’ll try her house.”

  Mimi started back to her car, then turned and said, “You know, her not answering the phone could be that it’s dead--”

  “Dead?” Cortnie interrupted.

  “Her phone is dead, or that she’s got do not disturb turned on. I’m sure Charles will find her tucked in bed, with the covers pulled up over her head.”

  Something told me this was wishful thinking. The feeling of dread and doom was swirling all around me. It’s not a feeling I get often, so when I do, I get worried. There was no way I was sharing this feeling with the girls; they were freaked out enough as it was.

  “I won’t find anything if you don’t get to the office and get me Lena’s home address.” I nudged Mimi toward her car with a look and a jutting of my chin.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” Mimi got back in her car, slammed it into reverse and skidded out of the parking lot.

  If she was going to drive like that, she really needed to get a different car. In the Land Rover it was just pathetic.

  Cortnie watched Mimi drive off as she pulled out her cell phone. “I have Lena’s address in my phone.” She tapped and swiped her phone’s glass screen.

  “I figured as much, but I needed Mimi to get a move on. She’ll be pissed when she calls and I’m already in Lena’s house.” I winked at Cortnie.

  Cortnie took a screen shot on her phone and texted the image to my phone. God, I love technology.

  I checked my phone to be sure I got the text. “What kind of car does she drive?”

  “A 1985 Ford Taurus, black.”

  “License plate?” I asked as I noted this information on my Notes app.

  Cortnie gave me the license number. I punched it in with the car information.

  “How much longer do you think you’ll be out tonight?” I asked.

  Cortnie pressed the button on her phone and looked at the time. “It’s only eight o’clock, so another one or two hours. It depends if we get our quota tonight.”

  “Let’s forget quotas tonight. I know we’re trying to impress the chief, but we need to make sure this is all going in the right direction. Finish up by nine. If you don’t have the quota, then make something up. Just meet back at the police station before nine-thirty.”

  “Why?”

  “The sooner we get a handle on this, then we won’t have to mention it to Vice, or the chief. As far as they are concerned, Lena went home early.” I thought about it. “You didn’t lose your head in front of the cops, did you?”

  Cortnie shook her head. “I’m not an idiot.”

  She was acting like one so far. “Concerning this, I’d say you’re pretty close.”

  “Screw you.” She flipped me off and jumped back in the van, pulling out of the parking lot like a normal person, even if I’d made her mad.

  I stood and watched as she drove back toward Market Street, where the girls were working tonight. “Okay, Lena, let’s make this all for nothing.” I looked at the address in my text message, opened the car door, and then sat for a moment, trying to get my head right before I visited Lena’s house.

  Lena lived in North Salinas, in an apartment complex off of Alvin Drive. It seemed like a nice neighborhood for North Salinas, but it was night, and I couldn’t see everything. There were no cars on blocks in the driveways of the nearby homes, so that was a good sign. I couldn’t remember what Lena did for her day job, and wondered if it paid much, since she was doing this decoy gig at night.

  My phone lit up as I pulled in the complex’s parking lot. Mimi had texted me the address. “Thanks,” I said out loud. I put my phone in my pocket, and put my snub nose.38 in the waistband of my pants, in the small of my back. A man can never be too careful.

  There was a black Taurus parked right outside her apartment, but I was no expert on this make and model, so it could have been a 1985 or a 1995 for all I knew. It was a Taurus, and this was good, right? I mean, how many people drive a Ford Taurus these days? Maybe everything was going to be okay after all. I looked at the license number, then looked at the number I’d gotten from Cortnie. Not a match. This particular Taurus did not belong to Lena.

  The rest of the apartments had standard lighting that the management had provided, black metal sconces with a frosted glass ball over the light bulb, but Lena’s porch light had been transformed. What is it with Mason jars? She’d strung three Mason jars at different levels; two of them had light bulbs (different styles in each), and the third was stuffed with white mini Christmas lights. Along with the rest of the complex, her lights were on.

  To the left of the door was the window of the apartment. She’d installed a window box, and had stuffed it with beautiful greenery. I touched the leaves of the ivy, because it looked to have water droplets, and the sucker was fake. She’d stuffed the planter full of silk plants. Pretending to look at the plants more closely, I got close enough to the window to see in the slit between the curtains. There was a light on somewhere in Lena’s home.

  I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. I was going to do my best not to rip her a new asshole for ruining my night.

  89

  Mimi

  I really wanted to be at home with my Doberman, Lola. I already felt bad about abandoning her for my date, and then I realized I hadn’t even asked Bruno if he liked dogs. That is a deal breaker for me. Love me, love my Lola. Or better, if Lola loves them back, they are good to go.

  But I wasn’t on my date, or with Lola, I was in my office, pulling Lena Dahl’s file. Not wanting to remove the file from the office, I had pulled out my phone and was taking quick pictures of the pages in the file, sending them via email to Cortnie and Charles. This way we’d all have what we needed at our fingertips, and nothing could get lost. As I flipped through the pages, I couldn’t help but skim the information.

  I looked briefly at the interview pages: Lena was from Minneapolis, recently moved to Salinas with her mom. She had a sister. No mention of a husband, boyfriend, father, stepf
ather. She worked for Central Valley Bank, loan department. Hobbies: knitting, crafting and cooking. Cooking is a hobby? Needs the extra money because she’s saving for a house?

  No red flags in her file.

  I checked the reference and emergency contact phone numbers, and saw that her mother was listed. It wasn’t an emergency, but maybe I’d make a few calls to see if anyone had heard from Lena tonight.

  I called her mom first.

  “Hello?” the woman sounded groggy.

  “Wilma Dahl?”

  “Yes?” Less groggy now and more concerned.

  It wasn’t that late. I looked at my watch. Only 8:35 pm.

  “Hi, Mrs. Dahl, I’m looking for Lena. Have you talked to her tonight?”

  I could almost hear her sit up, like she’d been asleep on the couch or in bed. “Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry. This is Mimi Capurro from the Gotcha Detective Agency.”

  Alert changed to sheer panic. “Detective agency? Oh, God, is Lena alright?”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Mrs. Dahl. I haven’t been able to get in contact with her.” For some reason, my words weren’t coming out as reassuring as they should have been.

  “I don’t understand why a private detective is calling about my daughter. Is she in some kind of trouble?” Wilma’s breathing seemed labored.

  “No. She works for us part time. She called in sick tonight, and well, we have a policy to make sure our employees are safe. We do come into contact with some pretty shady people in our line of work, so we like to be sure we can stay in touch with our employees.”

  Not that Lena was an employee; she was more like an independent contractor.

  “We talk almost daily, and she never mentioned this. What’s the name of your business?”

  “Gotcha Detective Agency.”

  “And your name?”

  Are you kidding me? “Mimi Capurro.”

  “Ms. Capurro, I have no idea if you are telling me the truth. I’ve never heard of you, and I’m not going to give you information about my daughter’s whereabouts.”

  Great. “I can come over and speak with you. Do you still live on San Miguel Avenue?”

  Enraged now, she screamed into the phone. “How the hell do you know where I live? I have your number on caller I.D., and I’m going to call the police.”

  I heard the click as she hung up the phone.

  Reluctantly, I dialed the next number, one of Lena’s friends.

  “Hello?” Emily Barker sounded wide awake, chipper even.

  I was going to do better this time.

  “Hi, Emily, I’m Mimi Capurro. I own the Gotcha Detective Agenc--”

  “Yeah, I know who you are. Lena told us all about you. She loves working for you.” Emily must have been a cheerleader in high school.

  “Great.” This was already going better. “There has been a miscommunication, and I can’t seem to get in contact with her. Do you know how I can get in touch?”

  Emily didn’t answer right away. I waited for the click and the sound of silence.

  “Hmm, I’m pretty sure she said she was working for you tonight.” She paused. “We’re having a dinner party, and she was supposed to come, but she said she’d be entertained in a different way tonight.”

  Entertained? Weird. “Okay. That doesn’t help me much.”

  “Do you have her cell number?”

  I told her that I did, and that she wasn’t picking up.

  “That’s not like Lena at all. She’d answer even if she was in the middle of an orgasm. FOMO and all.” Emily giggled.

  “FOMO?”

  “Yes, FOMO, Lena had it bad. Fear of missing out. It’s a real disease you know.”

  “Fear of missing out on what?” I asked.

  “Everything. Lena was so afraid something fun or great was going to happen, and she was going to miss out. She was always snooping around, researching, looking into things. She just knew she was missing out on something.” Emily’s voice grated on my nerves.

  “Thanks,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure what I was thanking her for.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more help. If I hear from her I’ll make sure she calls you.”

  “Emily?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just curious, is Sophia de la Cruz at your dinner party tonight?”

  Less bubbly, she said, “Yes, do you need to talk to her, too?”

  I told her I was good and hung up. The only other numbers I had were for Lena’s job, and her boss, Richard Jimenez. After eight on a Friday night was definitely too late to call a bank.

  For a moment, I thought about looking up the Jimenez home number, and then thought better of it. Instead, I’d head back to the police station and sit in on the meeting Vice had at the end of the decoy arrests.

  I double checked the photos on my phone, to make sure the phone numbers were clear, in case I needed to make more calls, then left the office.

  It only takes one break in to make a girl paranoid, and our office had been broken into, so I went upstairs and checked all the windows to make sure they were locked tight, then back downstairs.

  As I checked the window locks and closed all of the drapes, I once again marveled at the business I owned. My little private eye business was growing up.

  Charles had redecorated the offices while I was working from home. All with my permission, and lots of stopping by to see if I liked the colors, fabrics, and office furniture. Sometimes I thought he was stopping by to make sure I hadn’t killed myself.

  I stood in the entryway of the reception area with its hardwood floors that had been stripped and stained a deep mahogany, then finished to a blinding shine. The reception desk was now higher, like the kind you see at hotels, with a granite top, and a lovely hammered copper vase with a flower arrangement that was changed weekly. Behind the desk, reclaimed wood was covered with all of our mandatory licenses framed in black, and arranged amongst photos of criminals such as Bonnie and Clyde, and Al Capone. Charles was a sucker for the Prohibition Era.

  I checked the locks on the front doors, and then pulled the custom shades. When drawn, they revealed replicas of the headlines of major newspapers Daily Mirror and The American Issue with their prohibition announcements. Like I said, Charles likes that era.

  In the living room, which was the waiting room for our clients, I checked the windows and pulled the drapes. This room had been a dark color with terra cotta walls, but was now light and airy, even after the sun went down.

  The hardwood floors extended from the entry into this room, and Charles had the walls painted a clean white. The sage curtain fabric was heavy, which I realized every time I unhooked the matching tie backs and let the drapery fall shut. It always reminded me of Tara, and the dress Scarlett O’Hara had made from the drapes in that house. As I looked around the room at the antique furniture Charles had “borrowed” from his mother, I could feel the ghosts of visitors passed, and almost see their footsteps on the ivory colored antique tapestry rug.

  As I checked the last locks and made sure the kitchen door was locked, I wondered when Charles would get around to redecorating this room. It currently looked the same as it did when Dominic ran his produce brokerage (if that’s what he really did) out of this house.

  I walked back to my office, which would remain untouched, because Charles wouldn’t spend a dime to redecorate my space (because it already looked incredible), and grabbed my coat and briefcase. Looking in the corner, I felt sad that Lola wasn’t there to leave with me. But she’d be at home, and pissed as hell that I left her there. I didn’t even want to think of the mess I’d have to clean up. Woman scorned, my ass. A Doberman scorned could outdo a woman scorned any day.

  I grabbed my keys and flipped the light on before stepping out onto the porch.

  When I put my key in the deadbolt, I thought I heard footsteps, so I stopped to listen, and look, but no one was there.

  I wasn’t about to step off the porch and have someone accost me from
behind, so I waited.

  That’s when I saw the shadow of the street lamp. Someone was standing beside my car.

  Wearing a coat and hat, I couldn’t see if it was a man or a woman. I had my gun in one hand, and my cell phone, poised at 911, in the other as I approached my car.

  “Can I help you?”

  90

  Charles

  I made sure I had the names, phone numbers, and addresses of Lena’s mom, boss, work, and the two friends she had listed. If she didn’t turn up, I’d be digging a lot deeper.

  I waited, listening closely to see if I could hear any noise. Nothing. I’m not sure how long I waited, but no one came to the door. If she was in bed, it might take longer than normal for her to answer.

  I knocked again, and as I was turning to leave, the neighbor opened his door.

  “She ain’t home.” He was a short, fat Mexican man, with a perfectly round belly, who spoke perfect English. Dressed in a spotless white V-neck tee and baggy plaid boxer shorts, his skinny limbs looked comical in relation to his belly.

  “Really?” I spared no effort in keeping the sarcasm from my tone. “Thanks.”

  “Was she expecting you?”

  “Not really.” I didn’t want to waste time with a nosy neighbor, but they were good for information, mostly useless, but sometimes good. I ad libbed, “It’s a surprise.”

  “Not much of a surprise if she ain’t here.” He stepped back into his apartment.

  I took a step toward his door. “Excuse me, sir?”

  He hadn’t gone very far inside, and the door was still open. “What?” He peeked his head back out.

  “I don’t suppose you know where she was headed?” I figured if he was nosy enough to know she wasn’t home…

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I heard a horn honk, and she came running from the apartment, jumped in her car and took off.”

  Running? That bitch wasn’t sick after all. I’d bet she had a date. Why on Earth would she have scheduled a date on the same night she was supposed to work the decoy program for Gotcha?