Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

  I can tell you one thing for certain: Lena was fired.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” I headed back to my car. “I guess I’ll just leave her a note.”

  “’Night, dude. Sorry your surprise didn’t work out.” He went back inside for real this time and shut the door.

  Just in case he was still snooping, I sat in my car and pretended to write a note. I spent most of that time really looking for a piece of paper. Once I found it, I doodled, all the while trying to figure out where a girl like Lena would leave a key.

  Inside the flower box.

  I got back out of the car, making a big deal of folding up the piece of paper in my hand. Walking up to the door, I was sure the neighbor wouldn’t see me shoving my hand in the planter box. I lifted the plastic vines and felt around in the dirt. She’d actually put real dirt in the box, for the plastic and silk plants. Loath to get my fingernails dirty, I dug around in the corners anyway and low and behold, a key.

  I shoved the key in the door and quickly opened it and stepped inside. Closing the door behind me, I turned on the light.

  If only I hadn’t done that. My eyes were immediately assaulted by the IKEA décor. Faux Swedish furniture filled the space. The window to the exterior was actually a dining room window, and just inside was a white table with yellow, blue and pink plastic outdoor chairs. On the table was a clear glass vase with a bouquet of Gerber daisies. I didn’t bother to touch them, but I’d have bet my half of the agency they were silk, too.

  The curtains over the dining room window were an abstract print in the same colors as the chairs, in some sort of cheap fabric with a decent drapery lining. At least she’d taken care to make sure the curtains provided privacy.

  The apartment had a spacious open concept with the living room, dining room and kitchen all in the same space, divided only by the neutral carpet in the living room area, and cheap linoleum in the kitchen. The place was clean enough, but Lena had a few craft projects and other things lying around. Clean, but not neat.

  I looked into the living room and saw more of the same crafty style with IKEA furniture. I guessed she was recently out of college, or her job didn’t pay for crap.

  Walking down the short hallway, which was lined with more Gerber daisies, each one hanging from large test tubes strung with a single piece of wire, I saw a bathroom to my left, and an open bedroom door to my right. I waited. I could hear rustling in the bathroom, so I stopped breathing for a moment. Was it me, or was there really a sound? I waited. There it was again.

  I pushed open the door, and a streak of black flew past me. I flipped on the light. She kept the litter box in the bathroom. How apropos. It smelled like a litter box in there. Maybe she should replace the Air Wick plug in.

  It looked like the cat sprinted toward the bedroom, so I followed suit. Flipping on the light in that room, I could see that some people do still own futons. This one was covered in a handmade quilt that looked to be older than me, and was weighed down with about a thousand pillows in all shapes, sizes and colors. I could see the cat peeking at me from the pile.

  “Hey fur dude, where the hell is she? Your woman skipped out on work. You know what that means? Means she’d rather get her groove on, than make sure you have enough food to eat.”

  The cat backed under the stack of pillows again.

  “Whatever. Keep your secrets. I’ll find out on my own.” I lifted one of the pillows to look the cat in the eyes. “I’m that good.”

  To myself I said, “This was a waste of time.”

  The debate now was should I go through her things? What reason did I have? She’d lied to Cortnie, left for her date, and wasn’t answering the phone because she was screwing her brains out with this dude.

  Heading back out the door, I flipped the blank piece of folded paper onto the dining room table. If the cat didn’t knock it to the ground playing with it, she’d see someone had been in her apartment. I hoped she felt unsafe for the night.

  I opened the apartment door slowly, in case the Mexican guy was standing outside wondering why the hell I was still here. And I’ll be damned, there he was.

  I muttered, “Damn,” as I turned and closed the door.

  I couldn’t exactly put the key back.

  “What were you doing in there?” His dark brown eyes were all squinty.

  “I told you, I was leaving her a note.” I walked away, but he followed me.

  “I thought you wrote it in the car. What took you so long?” Then he thought about it and added, “And how did you get in?”

  I held the ring of the key between my thumb and forefinger and dangled it as my answer.

  I didn’t bother to answer the rest of his questions. I got in my car, put the apartment key in my ashtray, and pulled out of the lot. I could see the little man in my rearview mirror, trying to get my license plate number.

  I put my phone on speaker and called Mimi.

  “Where are you?” was her polite greeting.

  “I just left Lena’s apartment.”

  “And…”

  “And she’s not there.”

  “Okay.” Mimi’s voice was tight and strained.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, police station in five minutes. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Where are you now?” Something in her voice told me not to hang up.

  “I’m just leaving the office.” There was a pause. Then I heard a muffled, “This is my business partner. We have a meeting at the police station if you’d like to follow me there.”

  “Five minutes,” I said. “Do you want to keep me on the phone?”

  “Yes, that’d be great. See you in a few.”

  I didn’t disconnect.

  She must have been holding her phone by her side because I could hear her talking to the person who had her so worked up.

  91

  Mimi

  On the way to the police station, I told Charles who was in the parking lot when I left. I didn’t want him to be surprised when they met at the police station.

  Wilma Dahl arrived before me, and was standing outside her tan convertible Thunderbird, smoking a cigarette, sucking off the filtered end as if it was her lifeline. She flicked the ashes onto the asphalt, and then sucked in another deep breath of tar and nicotine.

  I had no intention of approaching her until Charles arrived. I parked three cars away and sat with the doors locked until I saw Charles’s Spyder scream through the yellow light on Gabilan Street.

  He pulled into the parking lot very slowly, checking out Wilma as he drove by. I could see his head nearly turn 180 degrees to keep her in sight as he drove past her and toward my car.

  It was late enough that we pretty much had the parking lot to ourselves, so Charles didn’t even pull into a space. He parked with his Spyder taking up a full three spaces. God forbid someone should drive in and park close enough to ding his precious baby.

  Cortnie’s van was parked across the street, in front of the police station. I didn’t see her, but I expected she was already inside, sitting in on the follow up meeting after the decoy operation finished up for the night, and the arrests were in the books.

  Charles got out of his car and walked past mine, directly to Wilma.

  I scrambled out of my car, as I’d expected him to stop. When he didn’t, I decided I didn’t want him talking to Wilma without me present. Somehow I knew he wasn’t going to like her, and he’d offend her in some way.

  I caught up in time to see Wilma toss her cigarette on the asphalt, lift her perfectly manicured foot and twist the sole of her sandal on the discarded butt.

  Here we go…

  “Ma’am?”

  She looked up, but didn’t respond.

  “Humor me a moment.”

  She still didn’t say anything.

  “Where are you standing?”

  The perplexed look on Wilma’s face made the deep creases in her leathered skin furrow even deeper.

  “A city parking lot?�
�� She spoke the statement as a question.

  Charles grinned. “Very good. Not an ashtray, right?”

  I jumped in before Charles’s head exploded.

  Wilma furrowed her brows, not like she was questioning what Charles had asked, but because she was wondering who the hell this asshole was.

  “Wilma Dahl, this is my business partner, Charles Parks.”

  Wilma wore a strappy tank top, showing way too much over tanned, over freckled skin. Her nipples were the only indication of the chill in the air. Her micro-mini denim cutoff skirt exposed more rawhide, but this skin was sagging, almost folding over her knees. With no makeup, she looked plain, but I could see the beauty of Lena in her eyes. Her processed red hair was long and curled in ringlets, but even with it pulled back tight into a high ponytail, it couldn’t minimize her crow’s feet.

  “And the cigarette butt police apparently.” She scowled at Charles, who didn’t put his hand out to shake hers.

  Instead, Charles reached into his pocket, pulled out a tissue, bent down and picked up the cigarette butt. He wrapped it up in the tissue and continued to hold it.

  “Mimi says she explained who we are, and why we wanted to talk to Lena.” Charles acted as if nothing had happened, and he didn’t have a tissue in his hand.

  “After I talked to you,” Wilma turned to look at me. “I called Lena’s cell phone, no answer. Then I called her house, still no answer. So I got worried and called the police. They confirmed that Lena was working with you, but they wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

  I didn’t know how much I should share. I mean, this was an undercover operation, and I hadn’t even told my date what I was doing, but this was Lena’s mother.

  “Mrs. Dahl, do you know if Lena had a date tonight?” Charles seemed to be able to look past Wilma’s transgression and be at least business-like.

  “Could have.” Wilma reached in her purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a Bic lighter, and sucked hard on the cancer stick as she lit up the end.

  Charles and I changed our position to be upwind of the smoke. We waited.

  Wilma blew out smoke as she said, “We had a little fight the other night.” A sheepish grin. “I don’t like the guy she’s dating. I don’t know him, but from what she’s told me, he’s married.”

  Charles and I looked at each other. No boyfriend was listed on her application, and I’d told him as much when I spoke to him on the phone on the way over.

  “Have they been dating a long time?” I asked.

  “Six, seven months, maybe? He says right now isn’t the time for him to leave his wife. Something about family obligations.” She puffed on her cigarette again, and flicked the ashes in Charles’s direction. “So now I don’t even ask anymore.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Nope.”

  “How old he is?”

  “Older than Lena.” She fidgeted with her scarlet painted fingernails.

  “So you’ve met him?” I was getting tired of dragging information out of her. “Anything you can tell us that might be helpful?”

  “All I know is that my Lena hasn’t been my Lena for a very long time.” Wilma took a deep breath and coughed hard, not covering her mouth. “She’s been going off the deep end. She may be doing drugs, but I’m not sure. The last few months have been the worst. I’ve never met the boyfriend. He’s a secret, along with so many other things in her life this past year.” Lena wiped at her right eye.

  “Does she talk to her sister at all?” I remembered there was a sister back in Minneapolis.

  Wilma looked up at me as if I was the devil, her eyes wide with fear. “Her sister is dead.”

  Well, just one more thing Lena forgot to tell us.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” I felt like crap for bringing it up. I know how I feel when someone brings up Dominic. When I say he’s dead, there is that look of panic, like, “What do I say now?” And I get it. There really isn’t anything you can say in the situation. Nothing seems quite sincere enough.

  “I thought you knew my daughter. You said you did.” Wilma spat out the words.

  I looked at Charles, who was content to let me dig as deep a hole as I wanted. Instead, I decided I’d had enough. This was Cortnie’s program, and she could deal with Ms. Dahl.

  “Come on. Let’s go into the police station, and I’ll introduce you to Lena’s handler in this program. She can explain everything.”

  Wilma scowled, and flicked her cigarette butt into the street. “Go get it if you want,” she said, to Charles, then walked toward the entrance of the station.

  I jogged to catch up. “Ms. Dahl, they aren’t going to let you in. I’ll have to come with you.”

  I looked back over my shoulder to see Charles unwrap the tissue he had, and drop the cigarette butt onto the driver’s seat of Wilma’s car.

  I shook my head.

  Charles didn’t even try to catch up. This wasn’t a good start if we were going to find out what happened with Lena.

  Inside the reception area, I told Wilma to take a seat, and I’d go inside and find Cortnie. I flashed my badge at the police officer manning the waiting area and went into the bowels of the station.

  The door barely shut behind me when Charles touched me on the shoulder. “She blew us off for a date with a married man.”

  “I’ll tell Cortnie.”

  Lena was no longer going to be working for the decoy program. I didn’t care how desperate she was for money. She could go out and hook on the streets as a real prostitute for all I cared.

  I saw Cortnie standing in front of the conference room, addressing the ladies. When I looked to my left, I saw the vice cops at their desks, booking all the johns who were caught by our decoys.

  I could only see the backs of the scumbags, but one looked familiar. Before I could contemplate it deeper, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  Nick stood behind me, looking a bit pensive, but smiling.

  Charles looked back, smiled, but kept walking.

  “Hey.” My heart pitter-pattered at the sight of him.

  He’d either gone home or to someone else’s house since I saw him last. He was freshly shaven and his black hair still wet. It made his waves look more like curls. I breathed deep, taking in the fresh smell of soap. Wearing Wrangler jeans and a pale blue crew neck pullover sweater, he looked comfy and sexy. I looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes, and saw he wore the Vans sneakers I’d bought him a few months ago. I liked this casual look.

  “Hey, yourself.” He kissed me on the cheek. “You’ve been here a lot lately. Spying on me?”

  I gave him a lopsided grin. “I don’t need to be here to do that. The GPS I put on your car, and the surveillance camera outside your house tell me all I need to know.”

  The whites of his eyes were suddenly more visible. “Really? Then you know I’ve been working a lot of overtime.”

  I didn’t know squat, and I was trying to keep it that way, move on, and find a nice guy. “Sorry, Nick, I don’t really care about what, or who, you are doing.”

  Not that Nick wasn’t a nice guy. He had his moments. But since the fiasco with Dominic’s family, he’d been distant and almost cruel. The womanizing Nick I’d known in college had been long gone, and we’d had such a good thing. I really thought he was going to be the last man I ever loved. I was even looking forward to a longer last name. Not that he’d indicated we’d ever get married or anything, but a girl can fantasize.

  Like right now, I was fantasizing about standing up on my tip toes and kissing him full on the mouth. Instead, I shook the thought from my head and walked toward the conference room.

  Nick followed.

  This time he grabbed my shoulder. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks.”

  Really? This was news. “Well, I’m here now. Maybe you put my cell number in your phone wrong. Or you forgot where the office is located.” Oh, the snark was on full tilt.

  “I called a couple of times, bu
t it was obvious you’d blocked my number.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If you did that, I was sure you didn’t want to see me in person.”

  I never blocked Nick’s number. Wait… Charles, the meddling butthead, had made sure I had the chance to move on. “You might want to talk to Charles about the blocked number. I don’t care enough to do that.”

  I did care. I wanted to take him to a private room and strip him naked, then touch every inch of his flesh with my tongue. I mentally slapped myself in the face. Stop that. You’ve been Nicked, as in past tense. No more Nick.

  “I care,” Nick said, his gray eyes meeting mine. “I saw you earlier tonight and wanted to say something, but then Charles announced your date to the world and I realized you had moved on.”

  I looked toward the conference room. I had to go to work. I needed to let Cortnie know about Wilma, and tell her she’d been stood up for a date with a married man.

  Just then, Detective Powers stood and it caught my attention. Or, I should say, the person she was escorting to the cell caught my attention.

  This couldn’t be. As if on cue, the handcuffed man Powers had by the elbow looked over his shoulder at me and grinned awkwardly.

  I didn’t think this night could get much worse, but at that moment, I lost the ability to stand, and had to grab Nick’s shoulder for balance.

  92

  Charles

  Coming out of the conference room, I saw Mimi’s face. Not sure what the pale skin indicated, I looked in the same direction she was staring.

  Something about the man Powers was leading to the holding cell had her rapt attention. And, being me, I needed to know what the hell was going on.

  I nodded at Nick as a hello. To Mimi, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  She punched me hard in the gut. Good thing I wasn’t prepared, so she didn’t break the bones in her hand on contact.

  “Ugh--” I caught my breath. “What the hell was that for?”

  She pointed to the holding cell. “See that?” She jabbed her finger. “That was my date tonight.”