Diced

by Deany Ray

  For us as well? Okay, so this poor woman’s life and marriage just crumbled to the ground and I’m thinking of my check? Which I’d done a lousy job of earning when it came to the fleeing Stanley.

  “We’re looking for witnesses now,” Alex said to her. “Our men are on the streets. It’s too bad most of the stores are already closed. They’re talking to diners in the restaurants here. Hopefully somebody saw something or heard something, anything that we can use. Several people on the sidewalk told us they heard singing.” He shook his head and laughed. “Some dumb song about a frog. Isn’t that the darnedest thing?”

  “That was us,” I said, not daring to meet my client’s eye.

  Alex sighed.

  “It was not a dumb song.” Marge sounded hurt.

  Deborah looked furious. “Are you sure that you’re detectives?”

  Alex glanced back at his notebook and crossed something off. “And someone reported hearing snoring coming from a car parked just across the street. We’re hoping that person might have woken up and noticed something going on. Perhaps a waitress on a double shift catching a few winks?”

  “Or perhaps a private eye who was just exhausted,” Marge said in a low voice. Although I was hoping that little detail could be our little secret.

  Deborah stare was like a dagger aimed right at our faces.

  “Shifts!” I said. “We work in shifts!”

  Celeste, to my surprise, moved to Deborah’s side and put an arm around her. “I was wide awake the whole time. I’m the town’s top expert when it comes to no-good men. I’ve shed myself of quite a few, and I promise we’ll find yours. We’re gonna find your Stanley.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Deborah nodded slowly. “And when you find him, you can keep him. I just want my money.”

  Alex held a hand up. “Let’s get one thing straight. This is a police case. As you might have noticed, there was a knife in someone’s throat. If you go chasing Stanley, you’re gonna meet up with some lowlifes who aren’t afraid to kill. Let the experts handle this one.”

  Celeste tightened up her scarf. “The experts were on the case already, long before you zoomed up with your flashing lights.”

  “Who’s to say it wasn’t Stanley who did it? As far as we know, he was the only one in the store. Apart from the dead guy,” I said.

  I was met with a stare from Alex. “That’s only conjecture. We need solid proof for that.”

  Deborah frowned at Alex. “I hired these three to do a job, and I’ll give them one more chance. I don’t have much confidence in cops.” Then she turned to us. “I can pay you a little bonus if you find the jerk. But don’t mess up again, you hear? He can’t get away with this.”

  “Hon, we’re on the case,” Marge squeaked.

  And with that, Deborah stalked away.

  “Ma’am!” Alex called out after her. “You need to come down to the station and give an official statement.”

  She turned around and pointed at us. “They know everything that I have to say.”

  “That’s not exactly how things work…” Something in him seemed to give up on keeping us out of the case. “Cripes. Why couldn’t I have worked in the mines? Mrs. Bickford, we would appreciate your cooperation with the police as well.”

  “Fine, why not?” Deborah said. “Might as well have everybody looking. Then I can only hope that every single dang police plus three latte-drinking detectives can find one deadbeat husband. Stanley’s not all that bright. Don’t let him outsmart you.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said wearily. He nodded toward the officer who’d stayed with us while the scene was being processed. “Les is waiting for you. He’ll drive you to the station.”

  “We can drive ourselves, thank you very much,” Celeste said in a huff. “Marge was still a licensed driver in the state of Massachusetts the last time that I checked.”

  Alex touched my hand and gave me a pleading look. “Charlie. Please. Please be careful this time.”

  Celeste smiled. “We’ll be on it like ants on a picnic salad that you forgot to cover up.”

  I smiled at Alex. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  It felt good to know he cared. He’d singled me out with the warning. Could it be because I was prone to trouble? Or because Celeste would bite his head off? Or was it something else?

  As promised, we drove to the police station. It didn’t take long to give our statements. After all, we’d pretty much already told them everything we knew. Still, it was almost eleven thirty by the time I got back home. It would have been amazing to just fall in bed and not set the alarm. But we’d agreed to get together the next morning at nine o’clock. I knew we had to work fast. Stanley might be getting further from our grasp even as I turned my key into the lock.

  I was almost too tired to wonder why there were cars lined down the street. Was there a party somewhere? On a Thursday night?

  I walked in very quietly. Everybody should be asleep already. My dad often got up early to greet the breakfast crowd at Jack’s.

  Oh, but no such luck. I heard voices from the kitchen. A lot of voices, really. What was up with that? Almost scared to look, I peeked into the room. Even for my parents’ house, the scene was…well, surreal. It was kind of like a movie about wild teens on spring break, the kind of movie where you just know that everyone will misbehave within the first ten minutes. Except these teens were stooped and wrinkled, and one or two of them were leaning against walkers as my mother served them drinks. Fancy drinks with garnishes of olives and lime twists and tiny drink umbrellas.

  Somehow, I’d known it all along; my mother’s new obsession would be bad news for me.

  “Charlie!” My mother pulled me into the room. Her curls were bigger and wilder than usual, and she wore a hot pink tank top that was way too small. Did I have a sweater handy? I wanted to wrap my mother in it as soon as possible.

  “What can I fix you, darling?” She stood back to study me. “You look like…” She paused. “You’re a Sunrise Champagne Mojito.”

  The group burst into wild applause.

  “Thank you?” Was that a compliment? I was too tired to think. “Just a water, please.”

  An old woman grabbed my wrist and peered into my face. She smelled of rum and a lilac-like perfume. “You don’t look like water,” she decided. “Perhaps a whiskey sour.”

  Soon a whole crowd of old folks had me surrounded, trapped. Each one yelled out a different drink.

  “Daiquiri!”

  “Zinfandel!”

  Across the room, my father, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, raised a glass to me. “Hey Charlie, I have a new joke. Here we go. Knock, knock.”

  Was I asleep already? This must be a dream.

  “Who’s there?” an old man asked. I tried to back out of the kitchen before I could hear the answer.

  My mother grabbed me by the waist. “Oh honey, this cocktail class is so much fun. You should take it too. My teacher says that I’m a natural. He says I’m so creative.”

  My dad appeared beside her and gave her a big kiss. “Who doesn’t love a sexy woman who can make you a strong drink?”

  She ran her finger through his hair, and he backed her up against the wall for a longer kiss.

  “Oh well, I have to go.” I absolutely had to leave before the movie turned R rated, starring Mom and Dad. “Mom, you have some guests to tend to. You should keep an eye on all these people. Because they’re kind of…fragile. And perhaps a little drunk? And dad, I’m sure all these lovely party guests want to know who’s there.” Had he forgotten all about his knock-knock joke?

  Perhaps it didn’t matter. I glanced around the room. Most of the drinkers were already half-asleep.

  I was almost out the door when my mother called to me. “Honey, you just got home,” she cried. “Tell me about your day.”

  “It was exhausting, and tomorrow won’t be any better. I need to get some sleep.” Not that I wasn’t glad to see my mother proud of her little party and of learning somet
hing new. “I’m glad you liked your class,” I told her with a smile.

  I barely had the energy to brush my teeth and wash my face before I collapsed onto the bed. I thought about how much had happened in one day.

  A man had picked me to fix his laptop. Me, Charlie Cooper, who still was sometimes baffled by the question of how to mute my phone. Me, who couldn’t change my ringtone from the clucking chicken that Brad put on there as a joke.

  Then there was the world’s most unpleasant client, who wanted us to find her husband, which we were going to try to do because we had to make some money.

  Let’s also don’t forget the dead dude who somehow managed to get stabbed while three ace detectives who were right there on the scene didn’t see a thing. You couldn’t make that up.

  And now my kitchen seemed to be the place to go if you were over ninety and looking for a good time.

  As I began to drift to sleep, I pictured the Busy Bee with all its secrets. We’d screwed up pretty badly. The next day could only get better. At least, I hoped it would.

  I let the voices down below help lull me off toward sleep. I tried to channel the confidence Celeste dug up for every challenge. I was a detective with a big case. I was smart and I was brave. I was a champagne mojito!

  And soon I was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  I woke up to a quiet house – which never, ever happened. The alarm clock was going off and I turned to glance at it. Eight o’clock, no sound at all except for the alarm. What was up with that? Most mornings were filled with lots of noise. There might be rock and roll music if my mother had a class. Or I’d hear my father laughing at some stupid joke. Perhaps he’d just put a fake bug in my brother’s cereal. (It fooled Brad every time.) My mother’s blender might be going or a car starting in the drive.

  Most mornings my parents had crossed five things off their list by the time I rolled over and hit snooze and contemplate getting up.

  Now, I got up to explore, peeping into the hall. The mystery was solved. I could hear the familiar pattern of my brother’s snores: a rise, a fall, a snort. The weird part was the same sounds coming from my parents’ room. It was a symphony of snores. My parents never slept that late. Crazy stuff.

  That’s when it hit me: my parents were hungover. The house still smelled like liquor.

  Hello, Charlotte Cooper. Welcome to your life! Eight years after college, you’ve moved into a frat house. And this time it’s your mother who’s handing out the drinks.

  A loud burp came from somewhere. Who in the world was that? Actually, it would be better not to know. And what would happen the next night when Alex came to dinner? Best not to think about that either.

  Trying to brush away all bad thoughts, I jumped into the shower, then put on some jeans and my favorite light blue t-shirt. I cleaned my glasses, pulled my hair into a ponytail and headed to the kitchen.

  Still, no one was stirring. I made some coffee and found some cookies. Leftover chocolate chip! I wrapped the cookies in a napkin; I’d have breakfast in the car. Whenever I met the girls, I always seemed to be the one who got there last. But not this time – oh, no. This time I was determined. I’d be the one who got there early and was already hard at work when one of them walked in.

  However, my hope was crushed when I arrived at the office. Celeste was chatting on the phone, looking a bit concerned, a pencil poised above an envelope, ready to take notes. Marge was at her desk, glancing between a laptop and an open book, frowning at them both.

  “What’s up?” I asked Marge. I handed her a cookie. “Looks like you need a treat.” It was my last cookie; I was a good friend.

  “Thanks hon,” she replied. “I’m thinking I can fix this thing. How hard can it be?”

  She gave the laptop a withering look, as if it were a stubborn child who could absolutely start back up but wasn’t gonna do it.

  This whole thing kind of scared me; Marge could do some damage.

  “Marge,” I cried. “There’s no way you’re gonna fix it. Computers are just crazy. It’s like they speak a foreign language.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced down at the book. “How do you defragment? What does that even mean? And do you have a clue how to unplug…” She flipped back through the pages to something she’d underlined. “Unplug your peripheral? The first thing they should do is define the stupid word. They’re just trying to sound smart.” She picked up the laptop and shook it very gently. “And what exactly is a floppy drive? Nothing that flops on this thing!” She shook the machine again. “Nope! Nothing flops or flaps. Not a single thing.”

  I took the laptop away, alarmed. Then I picked up the book. Be the Boss over Your Laptop: Making It Behave.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I asked. “Marge, you can’t learn to fix computers from a book. If you take that thing apart, it might never work again. Who knows what all those thingies on the inside do? They must be all important. They put those parts there for a reason.”

  “We’re supposed to be the experts.” Marge looked a little sad, then stuffed the cookie in her mouth.

  “Yeah.” I sat down beside her. “We picked a stupid business to tell people we were in. We could have been a research firm. Or manicurists maybe. What were we even thinking?”

  I should have grabbed more cookies. And insisted that we pretend to do a job – any job – that was not impossible. Because, duh, if you say you fix computers, someone might hand you one. Three detectives in the room. Not one of us thought of that.

  Marge leaned back in her chair, having given up the fight. “This morning it kind of hit me. I could pretend the laptop was just another mystery. Considering that I’m good at solving those.” She held up the book. “Here’s where I’d find the clues then.” She turned to a bookmarked page. “See? They even have a chapter – When Your Laptop Won’t Turn On. But the title was the last thing that made a lick of sense.”

  “Yeah. Those kinds of books are bad,” I said. “The title’s in plain English. Then the rest is all these long words that make you go Say what?”

  “Do you know what else I’m thinking?” A small smile spread across her face. “If the novel is really good, the one that’s trapped in there, the guy might thank us in the credits. How awesome would that be?” She stared at the computer. “Do you think it’s a romance? Oh, don’t you hope it is? A novel about true love that wins the day – despite shocking twists and turns? Don’t you just adore a book like that?”

  “No!” Celeste slammed down the phone. “That kind of book is stupid. In real life, true love loses. Or Prince Charming is a jerk.”

  “Or he’s absolutely perfect,” Marge said with a smile.

  Celeste sighed. “Some of them you can tolerate. What you absolutely can’t do is take that man’s computer apart. We’ve talked about this, Marge.”

  Marge shrugged. “It was worth a try. Nothing ventured…”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing broken. Or nothing broken worse than it is already.” Celeste turned to me. “How you doing, Charlie? I hope you slept well.”

  I smiled. “Ready for some action. I’m here to solve the case.” What I wanted was to make a buck so I could pack my bags and not live on the movie set for Old Folks Going Wild.

  “Who was on the phone?” I asked, hoping for some news that might get us a little closer to finding out where Stanley was. Not that I expected news that soon in the day. But when Celeste was on the phone, anything could happen. When you needed news, advice, a car repair – anything at all – Celeste knew a guy.

  “Celeste knows a guy,” Marge said. “Who’s a genius at bringing laptops back from the brink of death.”

  “Where do you find these guys?” I asked. Did she have the goods on them like she did with her ex-husband?

  “I don’t know a guy for everything. I just know who to ask. I know a guy who knows a guy who goes boating with a guy who knows his way around computers. The only problem is, this guy will charge us more than Deborah’s paying us to find her deadbeat hu
sband and more than the laptop guy is paying us.”

  I got up from my chair and began to pace the room. “So while we’re dodging guys who play with knives and who ram them in people’s throats, we’ll be getting poorer? If I wanted to get poorer, I’d just go out and shop.”

  “Time to go to plan B,” Marge said.

  “Time to think of plan B,” I said.

  We all thought about it. We all came up blank.

  “We’ll deal with the laptop later.” Celeste flipped her notebook open. “Let’s talk about our case. Since Bert is on vacation and is too much of an asshole to just pick up the phone, there’s no way to get the inside scoop on what the cops have learned. And the main guy on the case is, unfortunately, Alex. When it comes to information, he’s not inclined to share.”

  Understatement of the year.

  “Unless Charlie asks him.” Marge grinned at me and winked.

  I wished she’d cut it out already. “He’d just tell me to leave it to the big guns and to go back where it’s safe,” I said. Which would be a real jerk move, but probably what he’d do.

  Hmm. Maybe he’d get boozed up and tell me everything over dinner at the party house where I currently resided. That might be a lucky thing; booze loosened up the tongue. I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t think about the dinner night. I was already mortified, and the dinner hadn’t even happened.

  I turned my mind back to the case. We had to find a way to beat Alex at his game. We had to find Stanley before the cops could do it. Wouldn’t that be fun to show them up like that? I stood up and did some stretches while I thought about it.

  “We need to think of something,” I said to the girls. “We need to hurry if we want to find him first. The cops might know all kind of things that they aren’t telling us. Like who the dead guy is, for starters.”