by Scott Cook
“Uhm…” I said lamely. “What… what the hell…?”
The young woman seemed confused at first until her eyes went wide. She turned around, looked at the photo and then back at me, “Oh… you’re him! Cool. Lionel and Trish said to show you to their table when you got in. Follow me, please, Mr. Jarvis.”
Lisa cast a look at me and I just shrugged. We followed the college age girl around the corner and to a large table near the rear of the restaurant not far from another set of heavy French doors that led to the deck.
“Hey, there he—“ Lionel said as he stood. His big smile froze, faltered and then came back again when he caught sight of who was with me, “Well I’ll be… you’re back?”
“Oh my God!” Trish bubbled and came around the table to hug Lisa, “When did you get here? Are you on vacation… or…”
They both suddenly fell silent and looked awkward. The expression on his handsome dark face and her pretty lightly tanned face were so similar both Lisa and I chuckled.
“Yes, I’m back,” Lisa said, hugging Lionel as well, “I came to my senses.”
“I’m so glad!” Trish beamed and then squeezed me and whispered, “I knew she would.”
Lionel shook my hand, “So what do you think of it so far?”
“Looks great,” I said, “and the food smells awesome… but what’s with the name? And the paintings of our boats… and that blow up of my big stupid kisser at the hostess stand? I know I’m your hero and all, but really…”
Lionel and Trish laughed. She slapped Lionel on the arm, “You didn’t tell him?”
“Figured it’d be more fun to see his face,” Lionel said. “See the shock.”
“Yeah, well I beat you to it, pal,” I said, indicating Lisa by angling my head toward her.
“Goddamned right,” he admitted. “Well… This restaurant officially belongs to Scott Jarvis. Featuring his recipes, or some so far, and his award winning margaritas… if you’re willing to let go with the secret formula. I’ve already made you a profit-sharing partner in the LLC. Unless you decide you’re not into it. It can be changed.”
“Oh my God…” Lisa breathed.
“What…?” I muttered stupidly, nearly speechless from the shock, “You… you opened this place as if it were mine? But… why?”
“Come on,” Trish said with a smile, “A famous novel writing, practically gourmet chef private eye sailor? Who better? You’re like the very picture of Florida life. And don’t you recognize the music?”
I listened and realized that Jimmy Buffett was singing a song from his new album, Life on the Flip Side. The song was called Oceans of Time. It was a moving theme about life and what we do with it. It kind of reminded me of something Justin Heyward and the Moody Blues might have done.
“It’s Jimmy,” I said, “Good choice, but what about it?”
“It’s your Aquatopia playlist,” Lionel said, “Plays all the time… or mostly. Sometimes we pipe in Pirate Radio out of Key West and of course have live bands and local acoustic guys playing. Got one outside now.”
“In this heat?” I asked.
Lionel shrugged, “We’ve covered the deck outside and the one above, which is now open. Fixed up the docks… put several million into the place. Stick your head outside and listen for a second.”
I opened the French doors and was just in time to hear the end of a solo acoustic version of Old Man by Neil young. The rather large crowd, kept cool even on that warm August night with fans overhead cheered.
“Cheers!” The singer and guitarist said, “I’m Robbie Berry. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just gonna take a break.”
I ducked back inside, “Just missed him. Sounded good what I heard, though. You guys… I just don’t know what to say? So what’s my role in all this? Do I have to wash dishes or what?”
Trish laughed and Lionel winked, “You’re a silent partner unless you choose otherwise. I’ve cut you in for twenty-five percent of the profits for allowing me to use some Jarvis recipes, quotes, etc. For you being the face of the place, as it were. That sound fair? We can always negotiate something else, if you want. I just figured you’d like the surprise and you’ve mentioned that you’d love to have a cool Florida restaurant before… so viola!”
It was a lot to absorb. Suddenly, through no effort and risk of my own, I had a restaurant. I was pondering all sorts of cool things to do with the place and the menu when a familiar voice broke into my thoughts.
“Hey, what’s up, honky!” Came Wayne Jackson’s boisterous voice from the area of the bar.
Lionel laughed, “Some things never change.”
I scoffed, “Surprised you didn’t say something ethnically inappropriate.”
He shrugged, “Night’s young.”
Wayne, Sharon and Marcus came up to us and I introduced Marcus to the Argus’.
“Where’s Bob and his gang?” Wayne asked.
“Guess they had other stuf going on,” I replied.
“So what’s up with this joint?” Sharon asked, “Somebody got a Jarvis fetish or what?”
“You could say that,” Lisa said with a wink.
“It’s his place,” Trish explained it to them.
“Damn, son,” Wayne said, clapping me on the shoulder, “Will your winning streak never end?”
Sharon scoffed, “Oh, I don’t think he’s heard, Wayne.”
“Heard what?” I asked as we all sat. I put Marcus next to me.
Just then, a guy in his mid to late thirties walked in. He was about five foot eight with a beard and glasses. He came over and shook Lionel’s hand.
“This is our guest guitarist tonight,” Lionel introduced, “Rob Berry.”
I shook his hand, “Nice to meet you. I caught the end of that last tune. Sounding good, Rob.”
“Thanks,” Rob said, “Glad this place is under new ownership… hey… don’t I know you from someplace?”
I shrugged.
“Yeah, this is Scott Jarvis,” Trish said.
Rob smiled, “Damn. Well, thanks for having me.”
“You got it,” I said, “We’ll be out in a bit to catch your next set.”
“Yeah,” Rob said enthusiastically, “got some good stuff lined up. Well, I’m gonna grab a beer. See you guys out there.”
“So what news?” I asked Sharon after a time.
“John Bryce was damn near blown up in his car today,” Sharon explained.
“Jesus,” I said, “That’s not good news, for Christ’s sake! The guy’s a weasel, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear he got blown up.”
“He didn’t,” Wayne said, “Just knocked for a loop. The weird part though was the note.”
“Note?” Lionel asked, leaning in.
“Yeah…” Sharon said thoughtfully, “It just said ‘The first one’s free.’”
“And it was signed Shade,” Wayne finished.
“Dun, dun, duuuuuunnnnnnn…!” Marcus intoned.
“Oohh…” Trish said, rubbing her hands together, “Is this another mystery for the great detective to solve?”
“To the Mystery Machine!” Lisa enthused.
I chuffed, “Not me. This is one for the cops.”
Well, I’ve never claimed to be a fortune teller…
Chapter 2
There was a lot to figure out. Since Lisa was back in Florida but with no job and no place to live, some decisions had to be made. Fortunately though, she did have a pretty substantial nest egg. Evidently her severance package from EcoLife had been quite generous and she could live quite comfortably until the end of the year without having to lift a finger.
The bits and pieces I got over the weekend about the fallout from our adventure in Costa Rica were only the beginning. Miles Palmer and his ex-wife, Andrea Wellesley, were locked into a power struggle over control of their multi-national company. After what I’d uncovered in Central America, though, it appeared that Andrea would win.
Miles, who’d started the firm twenty years earlier, had mar
ried a younger and far more ambitious wife back in 2007. It was Andrea’s drive, tenacity and business acumen that had propelled the modest St. Louis environmental engineering firm into a nine figure juggernaut. He felt the company was rightfully his because he’d started it, and she felt it was rightfully hers because she’d increased its size by several orders of magnitude.
Miles had also arranged a rather strange situation in Central America as well. He allowed a Nicaraguan rebel leader to kidnap my friend’s family and then lured him into a trap. The plan was to fund this rebel movement and then get a contract to build a large and ambitious city of the future in Nicaragua.
Andrea, who had been pulling the strings all along, allowed this to happen and was herself working with the official Nicaraguan government. Her plan was to expose Miles and turn the tables on him. This would both get her the contract as well as give her the leverage she needed to wrest final control of EcoLife from Palmer.
And yes, in case you’re wondering, dear reader… this is going to be a Jarvis book. I’d even started jotting down some notes and had a tentative title of A Fortune in Blood… and yes, this will be on the test!
The point of all that was that I had to figure out what to do with Lisa. Would she find a job and her own place as before… or would I ask her to move in with me?
There were pros and cons to both options, naturally. The biggest con to having her move in was merely a distant worry. That the old axiom “familiarity breeds contempt” would kick in. That we’d grow to take each other for granted and the extreme passion and chemistry we shared would fade into a comfortable complacency. The kind of thing I saw all too often between married couples or those in a long term relationship with co-habitation.
It never ceased to amaze me when I’d see couples out and about who never seemed to touch. They walked and talked together but didn’t hold hands or steal a kiss at every opportunity. The kind of little intimate tenderness’s that bespoke of a deeply shared passion.
I didn’t want that for us… especially after having had nothing of it for so long.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lisa asked as we sat on my back porch and enjoyed our Monday morning coffee.
She’d followed me back to town on Sunday night at my invitation. No matter what, I thought she should come and stay with me for a bit while we figured things out.
“Nothin’,” I mumbled and winked at her.
“There you go,” She teased. “Typical man answer. It must be nice to just have nothing going through your mind.”
I laughed, “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, punkin’. And you can pass this along to all your lady friends and every female comedian, too. When a guy says nothin’, what he’s really saying is that it’s none of your bees wax. That his inner thoughts are his own and he’ll either share them or he won’t.”
“But don’t crowd me,” Lisa said. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Especially in your case. A smart man like you isn’t going to have an empty head. Turd.”
I laughed, “Now, in my case, I’m actually happy to share my thoughts with you. I was pondering what we should do next.”
“You mean do I get a place or move in here?”
I nodded.
“And you’re worried that if I move in, our love and sexual heat will cool down to a simmer?”
“Pretty sharp.”
She sighed, “Scott… I seriously doubt that would happen with us. We’re neither of us the kind that takes the other for granted. You’re proactive. An action-taker. A man of deep passions and I just can’t imagine that going away. As for me… well, I think we’re similar in that respect.”
“I agree,” I said thoughtfully, “that’s why I like ya’.”
“Like?” She asked with a smirk.
“Maybe I like ya’ a lot,” I teased.
“Well, if I’m to get my own place then I need a job,” Lisa observed, “and as we know from last year, it could take me a while. Although at least now I have a glowing letter of recommendation from Andrea Wellesley herself.”
I nodded, “That’ll help. As for immediate employment, I can help you there. We can list you on the books as my secretary again. I can even claim that you’ve never left when asked. I think we’ll call it something more impressive sounding, though. Like office manager or even junior investigator.”
“Not just eye candy?”
“Nah,” I said, “I don’t want to get in trouble for sexual harassment.”
She snorted, “yeah, no danger of that happening! So you mean you’re not gonna pinch my ass or call me sugar tits? You’re not gonna suggest that if I pay a little close attention to your naughty bits there might be a little somethin’ extra in my paycheck?”
“Geez…” I said with a head shake.
She laughed.
“You know… working with me could also be used as time earned on your P.I.’s license in Florida, in case you wanted to register here, too,” I suggested.
She nodded and sipped, “That could be interesting.”
“In truth, there are a lot of cases, and potentially more, where you’re MBA and business knowledge could come in handy,” I added.
“Okay, that sounds great,” Lisa stated. “I’ll agree to this only if you sexually harass me on a daily basis.”
I grinned, “I can’t make any solid guarantees there… but I will promise to try.”
“Then what about living?” Lisa asked.
“For the immediate future, you just stay here with me,” I said. “Let’s see how it goes.”
“Do you think we can live and work together every day?”
I shrugged, “Let’s see what happens. We’ll both agree that if after a little time, either one of us isn’t quite ready for all that… then you get your own place… or a different job… with no hard feelings. How’s that sound?”
She set her cup down and climbed into my lap and kissed me, “Like paradise, baby.”
After playing fetch with Morgan and Rocky, who was just as cheerful and friendly as ever, we set the dogs up with food and water and jumped into my shower.
“I can’t believe you’ve got a house,” Lisa said as she gently rubbed her soapy hands on my back, “it’s so weird.”
I chuckled, “I know, right? Guess I’ve got to grow up sometime.”
“Let’s not get crazy here,” Lisa admonished sternly and then laughed, “What’s even weirder is that you freakin’ moved into Bulldog’s house!”
I chuckled, “You mean Todd? Yeah… but it became vacant rather quickly after we rescued Jill and Marcus that night… so what the frig?”
“What the frig?” She scoffed, “Is that a northern expression?”
“Fughgetaboutit.”
We rode together in my Jeep downtown and walked into my office building at the corner of Hughey and Central. The Richardson building was an old eight floor red brick office block and was among the oldest in town. It had its charms, including a corner entrance, nineteenth-century New York exterior and quiet and well-lit lobby. I’ve never been much of a fan of old homes but old buildings are another matter
The elevator was in good working order today and we rode to the fourth floor without incident. Well… Lisa did pat me upon my fundament but I hardly thought that was something to bring up to the super.
I unlocked the outer office door and waved Lisa in, “Welcome back, girl Friday.”
She twirled around once with a grin, the navy blue skirt of her suit ruffling, “It’s good to be back. Nothing has changed.”
I grinned, “Oh, something has, as you might remember from reading Sins of the Fatherland.”
I led her into my inner thought factory and opened the two windows, “Tah-dah!”
“Oh my God,” She said, placing a hand to her heart, “Look at you. Oh, and a fern as well? My little baby is all grown up.”
I chuckled, “That’s Ferny. Ferny the fern. Say hi, Ferny.”
Ferny said nothing.
“She’s shy,” I said, patti
ng the plant on her… head?
Lisa just shook her head, “Like I said, nothing has changed. You’re still as nutty as a fruitcake.”
“I resemble that remark.”
She slid into one of the new client chairs and leaned back, the chair’s backrest providing a spring mechanism for just this sort of comfort-generating activity. I closed the windows, as it was August and already quite toasty on the late Monday morning.
I settled myself into the command chair and treated myself to a brief swivel.
“So what’s on deck for today, boss man?”
I shrugged, “Dunno. Guess we need a case.”
“What about that Bryce guy getting blown up?”
I waved that off, “None of my business. Besides, that’s definitely a police matter. Sharon will keep us apprised, though. Otherwise, we wait for the phone to ring. I already checked messages and nothing new since last week. I just closed out an investigation for Central Florida Casualty, though. Should be a nice check arriving in the mail soon.”
As if our ponderings had conjured her up from thin air, a potential client chose that moment to step into the outer office. At my raised eyebrows, Lisa turned and looked.
The woman was in her thirties with a main of thick lustrous black curls that seemed to flow well past her shoulders. She was not much over five feet tall with a sturdy but voluptuous body and a pretty swarthy face that just screamed southern Italy. She wore a pair of white capris, three inch wedge heels and a short sleeved red scoop neck blouse that displayed plenty of cleavage and a thick golden necklace with a diamond pendant.
“I’m lookin’ for Jarvis,” the woman stated in a no-nonsense tone. Her voice was heavily accented with the Bronx. Although not unpleasant, I expected coarseness.
“And you’ve found him,” I said, getting to my feet, “Please come in and have a seat, Miss…”
The woman strode into my office and sat. Her movements were economical and yet sultry, as if her curves had a mind of their own no matter how she tried to reign them in.
“This is my assistant, Lisa,” I introduced, “And you are?”