Coup de Glace
Page 20
Zachary wasn’t much to look at himself. Average height, black hair cut too short, his own three-day growth of beard not hiding how pinched and pale his face was. He’d never considered himself a good catch.
He waited patiently for them to move, to look around at their surroundings so that he could get a good picture of their faces.
They thought they were alone; that no one could see them without being seen. They hadn’t counted on the fact that Zachary had been surveilling them for a couple of weeks and had known where they would go. They gave him lots of warning so that he could park his car out of sight, camouflage himself in the trees, and settle in to wait for their appearance. He was no amateur; he’d been a private investigator since she had been choosing wedding dresses for her Barbie dolls.
He held down the shutter button to take a series of shots as they came up for air and looked around at the magnificent surroundings, smiling at each other, eyes shining.
All the while, he was trying to keep the negative thoughts at bay. Why had he fallen into private detection? It was one of the few ways he could make a living using his skill with a camera. He could have chosen another profession. He didn’t need to spend his whole life following other people, taking pictures of their most private moments. What was the real point of his job? He destroyed lives, something he’d had his fill of long ago. When was the last time he’d brought a smile to a client’s face? A real, genuine smile? He had wanted to make a difference in people’s lives; to exonerate the innocent.
Zachary’s phone started to buzz in his pocket. He lowered the camera and turned around, walking farther into the grove of trees. He had the pictures he needed. Anything else would be overkill.
He pulled out his phone and looked at it. Not recognizing the number, he swiped the screen to answer the call.
“Goldman Investigations.”
“Uh… yes… Is this Mr. Goldman?” a voice inquired. Older, female, with a tentative quaver.
“Yes, this is Zachary,” he confirmed, subtly nudging her away from the ‘mister.’
“Mr. Goldman, my name is Molly Hildebrandt.”
He hoped she wasn’t calling her about her sixty-something-year-old husband and his renewed interest in sex. If it was another infidelity case, he was going to have to turn it down for his own sanity. He would even take a lost dog or wedding ring. As long as the ring wasn’t on someone else’s finger now.
“Mrs. Hildebrandt. How can Goldman Investigations help you?”
Of course, she had probably already guessed that Goldman Investigations consisted of only one employee. Most people seemed to sense that from the size of his advertisements. From the fact that he listed a post office box number instead of a business suite downtown or in one of the newer commercial areas. It wasn’t really a secret.
“I don’t know whether you have been following the news at all about Declan Bond, the little boy who drowned…?”
Zachary frowned. He trudged back toward his car.
“I’m familiar with the basics,” he hedged. A four- or five-year-old boy whose round face and feathery dark hair had been pasted all over the news after a search for a missing child had ended tragically.
“They announced a few weeks ago that it was determined to be an accident.”
Zachary ground his teeth. “Yes…?”
“Mr. Goldman, I was Declan’s grandma.” Her voice cracked. Zachary waited, listening to her sniffles and sobs as she tried to get herself under control. “I’m sorry. This has been very difficult for me. For everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Goldman, I don’t believe that it was an accident. I’m looking for someone who would investigate the matter privately.”
Zachary breathed out. A homicide investigation? Of a child? He’d told himself that he would take anything that wasn’t infidelity, but if there was one thing that was more depressing than couples cheating on each other, it was the death of a child.
“I’m sure there are private investigators that would be more qualified for a homicide case than I am, Mrs. Hildebrandt. My schedule is pretty full right now.”
Which, of course, was a lie. He had the usual infidelities, insurance investigations, liabilities, and odd requests. The dregs of the private investigation business. Nothing substantial like a homicide. It was a high-profile case. A lot of volunteers had shown up to help, expecting to find a child who had wandered out of his own yard, expecting to find him dirty and crying, not floating face down in a pond. A lot of people had mourned the death of a child they hadn’t even known existed before his disappearance.
“I need your help, Mr. Goldman. Zachary. I can’t afford a big name, but you’ve got good references. You’ve investigated deaths before. Can’t you help me?”
He wondered who she had talked to. It wasn’t like there were a lot of people who would give him a bad reference. He was competent and usually got the job done, but he wasn’t a big name.
“I could meet with you,” he finally conceded. “The first consultation is free. We’ll see what kind of a case you have and whether I want to take it. I’m not making any promises at this point. Like I said, my schedule is pretty full already.”
She gave a little half-sob. “Thank you. When are you able to come?”
After he had hung up, Zachary climbed into his car, putting his camera down on the floor in front of the passenger seat where it couldn’t fall, and started the car. For a while, he sat there, staring out the front windshield at the magical, sparkling, Christmas-card scene. Every year, he told himself it would be better. He would get over it and be able to move on and to enjoy the holiday season like everyone else. Who cared about his crappy childhood experiences? People moved on.
And when he had married Bridget, he had thought he was going to achieve it. They would have a fairy-tale Christmas. They would have hot chocolate after skating at the public rink. They would wander down Main Street looking at the lights and the crèche in front of the church. They would open special, meaningful presents from each other.
But they’d fought over Christmas. Maybe it was Zachary’s fault. Maybe he had sabotaged it with his gloom. The season brought with it so much baggage. There had been no skating rink. No hot chocolate, only hot tempers. No walks looking at the lights or the nativity. They had practically thrown their gifts at each other, flouncing off to their respective corners to lick their wounds and pout away the holiday.
He’d still cherished the thought that perhaps the next year there would be a baby. What could be more perfect than Christmas with a baby? It would unite them. Make them a real family. Just like Zachary had longed for since he’d lost his own family. He and Bridget and a baby. Maybe even twins. Their own little family in their own little happy bubble.
But despite a positive pregnancy test, things had gone horribly wrong.
Zachary stared at the bright white scenery and blinked hard, trying to shake off the shadows of the past. The past was past. Over and done. This year he was back to baching it for Christmas. Just him and a beer and It’s a Wonderful Life on TV.
He put the car in reverse and didn’t look into the rear-view mirror as he backed up, even knowing about the precipice behind him. He’d deliberately parked where he’d have to back up toward the cliff when he was done. There was a guardrail, but if he backed up too quickly, the car would go right through it, and who could say whether it had been accidental or deliberate? He had been cold-stone sober and had been out on a job. Mrs. Hildebrandt could testify that he had been calm and sober during their call. It would be ruled an accident.
But his bumper didn’t even touch the guardrail before he shifted into drive and pulled forward onto the road.
He’d meet with the grandmother. Then, assuming he did not take the case, there would always be another opportunity.
Life was full of opportunities.
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She Wore Mourning is the first book in the Zachary Goldman Mysteries series.
About the Author
/> For as long as P.D. Workman can remember, the blank page has held an incredible allure. After a number of false starts, she finally wrote her first complete novel at the age of twelve. It was full of fantastic ideas. It was the spring board for many stories over the next few years. Then, forty-some novels later, P.D. Workman finally decided to start publishing. Lots more are on the way!
P.D. Workman is a devout wife and a mother of one, born and raised in Alberta, Canada. She is a homeschooler and an Executive Assistant. She has a passion for art and nature, creative cooking for special diets, and running. She loves to read, to listen to audio books, and to share books out loud with her family. She is a technology geek with a love for all kinds of gadgets and tools to make her writing and work easier and more fun. In person, she is far less well-spoken than on the written page and tends to be shy and reserved with all but those closest to her.
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Please visit P.D. Workman at pdworkman.com to see what else she is working on, to join her mailing list, and to link to her social networks.
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