by Dara Girard
Clay jerked his head at Tanya. “I’m taking her home.”
“She doesn’t want to go home.”
“That’s too bad. I suggest you put that knife away before you hurt yourself.”
“I’m not going back to jail.”
“If that knife touches me, you won’t make it to jail.” Clay spun around when he heard a soft sound behind him. He grabbed Tanya’s wrist before she struck him with a beer bottle. His dark eyes pierced hers. “Don’t,” he said, his eyes as cold as his voice. She dropped the bottle; it shattered on the ground. He turned back to Frank. “She’s going home. Play your cards right and her father may be lenient.”
Police sirens pierced the air. Tanya screamed, “Run, Frank! Get away.”
He hesitated, then ran out the back door.
Clay held out his hand to help her down from the stool. She ignored it and stared at him with disgust. “You’re a bastard. You don’t know anything about love, just money.” She spat in his face, then stormed out the front door.
A heavyset man with tired eyes came up to her. “Tanya, you had us worried.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, but I love him.” She saw the police cuff Frank and screamed again. “No! It’s not fair. Dad, do something. Frank!”
Clay frowned as Mr. Patten led her away without looking at him or Mack. “You’re welcome,” he muttered.
Mack shrugged. “His thanks will come in the form of a check. That’s good enough for me.”
They watched Patten’s gray Jaguar drive past. Tanya flashed them a rude gesture.
Clay sighed. “So much for the damsel in distress.”
Mack said, “Don’t try to play the white knight and you won’t be disappointed.”
“Yeah. Want to hear a news flash?”
“Sure.”
“I postponed a great evening to return her home to her family and I’m a bastard.”
Mack patted him on the back. “Welcome to the club.” He looked at his watch. “There’s enough time to get back to your date.”
Clay walked over to the police to give his report.
***
I should just go home, Clay thought as he rode the elevator to Jackie’s place. That’s usually what he did after a night like this—get a beer then crash on the couch. It was exactly what he would do once he left. He stared at the door a few moments before knocking.
She opened the door with a smile. “Did everything go well?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He stepped in, then halted at the sight. On the coffee table were pretzels, popcorn, and chips. Next to it, a cooler. He lifted the lid and saw beer on ice. He swore.
She frowned at him “What’s wrong? Isn’t that the right brand?”
“It’s the right brand.” He sat, then said with regret, “You’re beginning to know me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Clay lifted a can and shook his head, amazed. “For me, yes.” He grinned up at her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She curled up beside him. “What happened?”
He hesitated. He didn’t usually talk about a case. But, strangely, he wanted to talk to her; he didn’t analyze why. In broad terms, he told her about the case and what had happened tonight. “And then when I tried to help her down from the stool, she spat on me. Now—”
Jackie stiffened. “She did what?”
“Relax, I’ve had worse.”
“What’s her name?”
He laughed. “Are you planning to cause a little mischief?”
“You’re not the only one allowed to play pranks. What’s her name?”
Clay rubbed the top of her head affectionately. “I can’t tell you, so forget it.”
She turned on the TV and they watched it together in silence. Clay fell asleep, but a half hour later, he woke up. The TV was on low and Jackie rested beside him. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. How many beers had he had? He glanced at the coffee table and saw only one. Weird. He didn’t usually let his guard down like that. He looked at Jackie sleeping peacefully, enjoying the feel of her next to him, and the faint scent of her papaya cream lotion. He brushed his lips against her forehead. He didn’t want to wake her but knew it was best to go. He gently nudged her and watched her eyes flutter open.
“I’d better go,” he said.
“You can stay if you want,” she muttered against his chest.
“No. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“That’s okay.” She looked up at him. “I tried to carry you to bed, but you were a little heavier than I thought.”
He gazed down at her sleep-heavy gaze and wanted to kiss her—another part of him wanted to stay. He knew he couldn’t. “It’s the thought that counts.” He stood.
“Why won’t you stay?”
“It’s better this way. It doesn’t blur the lines.”
“Between an affair and a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve never just slept beside a woman before?”
“No.”
He handed her the box of condoms. “For next time.” He put on his jacket. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come back here.”
“I’m glad you did.” She noticed his frown. “Why don’t you like me saying that?”
He opened the door. “No reason. Look, I have to go.”
He kissed her briefly. She watched him walk down the hall. “You mean, you have to run,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
The first thing Clay saw when he entered the office was Brent hovering over a newspaper, holding a large magnifying glass against his eye.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Brent glanced up briefly. “Looking for clues.” He frowned at the magnifying glass. “But I think this thing is broken. It makes things look smaller. I thought it was supposed to make things look bigger.”
Clay took the magnifying glass and placed it on the page.
Brent looked down and smiled. “Oh, yeah. That’s better.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Clues. You know, to that Amanda girl’s disappearance.”
“And you think they’re in the paper?”
“Yeah.” He tapped the paper. “See, this is a photo taken of Amanda’s mother. She’s sitting in Amanda’s bedroom. I’m looking to see what kind of girl she was—is.”
“You didn’t believe the detailed profile given on the news?”
“Nah. That’s just common stuff. The basics. You know, a good student, quiet, soft-spoken. You can really tell a lot about a person from their bedroom.”
“And what have you found?”
He looked at Clay, amazed. “You’re really interested? Do you think I’m on to something?”
No. “You might be.”
Thrilled by the prospect, Brent sat straighter. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick out at various angles. “I think I already have a theory. But let me tell you how I came to my conclusion first.”
“All right.”
He pulled out a pad. “I created a list of all the things I saw in her room and what they could mean. Like, I wrote down mugs. She had a lot of them. Which means she’s a caffeine addict. She has to have coffee to survive, which is normal for a college student, right?”
“Or it could mean she just liked to collect mugs from different states, which could mean she likes to travel or likes to collect.”
“Oh, yeah. That, too. I also wrote down psych books. She had a lot of self-help books and ones about depression. So she must have been depressed.”
“Or a psychology major.”
“Right, that, too. But this is what led me to my theory. The posters. Band posters. I wrote down the names of all the groups. She also had rave fliers. So though she was shy, she liked to party. I figure she’s a true music devotee from the amount of CDs she had—has. Here, have a look.” Clay swiftly surveyed the photo of Mrs. Heldon sitting forlorn in her daughter’s room. “You agree?”
“Hmm”
“So are you ready for my theory?”
Clay nodded.
“I think she fell in love with one of these rock stars and ran off to meet him.”
“Interesting. Why do you think that?”
“Her love of musicians. Usually only teenagers have a poster worship like this, right?”
“Not necessarily, but let’s not debate that. No, I wonder why you think she ran off when all the evidence points to a possible abduction? It looks as though she left in a hurry.”
“I don’t know. I was just trying to go with my own thinking. Not what the media says.” He folded his arms. “So umm what do you think?”
I think you’re strange, but have potential. “Tomorrow we’re going out.”
His face lit up. “On a case?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
Clay walked into his office. Mack came up behind him and shut the. door. “Tell me I’m losing my mind. Tell me you didn’t say you were going to take bubblehead boy on a case.”
“I’m just taking him out of the office. He has a curious mind.”
“You found it?”
“He may surprise us.”
Mack sat down. “It’s all an act, you know.”
“What?”
“That cynical PI you try to pull off. You’re a closet optimist.”
“No need to be insulting.”
He shook his head. “You’ll need all the patience in the world to survive Brent.”
“I’m not worried.”
Mack shook his head again. “I read over-your interview notes with Melanie.”
Clay tensed. “And?”
He handed him a file. “And after some searching, I think you’ve uncovered Jackie’s invisible man.”
Clay took the file and set it on his desk.
“Are you going to tell Jackie?”
He turned to his computer. “No.”
Mack shrugged, though he wondered why.
***
Clay considered himself a patient man. He almost lost that patience when he saw Brent the next day. Brent was dressed in black trousers, a gray shirt, and black jacket, and resembled an extra on a bloody gangster film.
Clay rubbed his nose, then sighed. “What are you wearing?”
Brent glanced down. “Um, slacks from—”
“No, I mean I can smell you and I’m not supposed to.”
Brent looked at him, confused. “What?”
“You’re wearing cologne.”
He smiled. “Oh, that. It’s Desire. You like it?”
“No”
His face fell. “Oh. I could wear something else next time.”
“Follow me. ” Clay walked into his office. “Sit down.”
He hesitated. “We’re not going out?”
Clay lowered his gaze and his voice. “Sit down.”
He did.
“When you leave this office, you represent a business.”
“Right. Hodder Investigations. So are we going out or not?”
Clay picked up a pen and twirled it.
Brent held up his hand. “No more questions. Right. I got it.”
“What is our job?”
“To investigate.”
He nodded. “Yes, and that requires what?”
“That we be investigators.”
“And that means?”
“You know, this question thing would be a lot easier if it were multiple choice.”
“Consider it an essay question and answer it. What does being an investigator mean?”
He looked at Clay with a blank expression.
“It means we must be invisible. You don’t take your dress code off a TV screen or have your scent enter the room before you. You want to blend in unless you’re acting in character.”
He nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, I know about that. I had a girlfriend who took Method acting once.”
“Hmm. I’m going to give you a mystery and let you figure it out.”
His face lit up. “Really? What?”
“Why do you want to be an investigator?”
“It seems like a cool job. Speaking of cool, I like that twirling stuff you do with your pen. Could you show me how to do it?”
“Try and concentrate.”
Brent put two fingers on either side of his head. “Right.”
“Why else?”
“You get to meet different types of people.”
“You basically get three varieties: jerks, sad sacks, and liars. Why else?”
“’Cause I want to be like you and Mack. You guys are so cool. You know everything and nothing gets to you.”
“Not---”
“No disrespect, but let me finish.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think I was meant for much. My parents wanted me to go into the family hardware business. But I want more. I want to help people, not tell them the best wrench to use. That’s why I took criminal studies. I see the people you help and you can’t tell me that doesn’t feel good. I appreciate this chance to prove myself.” He tugged on his jacket lapels. “One day I’ll be Brent Holliday, investigator.”
Clay sighed. “No cape required.”
“What?”
He stood. “Never mind. Let’s roll.”
Brent proved to be a good listener once he settled down. His retention skills, however, proved to be a problem. After a few hours Clay needed a break and headed for a restaurant. He saw a familiar face in the waiting area—a tall, dark-skinned girl with big earrings. Clay remembered when she used to work at the Blue Mango with her boyfriend, Cedric.
She recognized him and smiled. “Hi, Mr. Jarrett.”
“Hi, Pamela. What are you doing here?”
“Spring break.”
“Lucky girl.”
He felt Brent shifting back and forth like an eager puppy waiting for attention. “This is Brent.”
She smiled at him. “Hi.”
He only grinned.
“So what are you two doing here?” she asked, to break the silence.
Brent smoothed his hair back and puffed out his chest.
“Taking a break from a case. Clay and I are working on important business.”
Clay shoved his hands in his pockets.
“What?” she asked, intrigued.
“It’s confidential, but it involves a missing person.”
“Oh. Sounds exciting.” Her tone was polite interest but not amazement.
Brent didn’t notice. He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s part of the job. So what do you do?”
“I’m still in school. I got my associate’s degree in culinary arts and restaurant management. I recently transferred to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh to complete my bachelor’s.”
“You’re really going places. While you’re in town I could show you around.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, you do, huh? What is he majoring in?”
“He’s a waiter at a top restaurant. The Blue Mango.”
“He’s a part-time student?”
She hesitated. “No, he’s not in school.”
“Why not? Can’t he afford it?”
Her smile became less polite and more forced. “No, he just likes his job.”
“I see.”
Clay tapped him on the shoulder. “We’d better grab a table.”
Brent nodded. “I’ll catch up with you.” He turned back to Pamela. “Must be hard for you.”
She furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
“What do you and your boyfriend talk about?”
“A lot of things.”
“You’ll end up making more money than him. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t have to carry around a man.”
“She doesn’t have to,” a low voice said.
They turned to Cedric. Pamela took his hand and smiled. “This is Brent.”
He held out his hand. “Investigator. Graduated from George Washington.”
Cedric look
ed at his hand in disgust. “Good for you.”
“So you’re a waiter.”
“Yeah.”
“You always planning to do that?”
Cedric took a step closer. “What’s it to you?”
Brent took a step back. “Just trying to have a civil conversation.”
“Fine. Let me say a few words.” He punched him. Brent crashed into the wall, then slid to the ground. “Is that clear enough for you?” He took Pamela’s hand and left.
Clay helped Brent to his feet. “You should have left when I told you to.”
Brent gently probed his jaw. “I didn’t know she was dating a thug.”
“How many times were you shoved in a locker in high school?”
Brent turned, surprised.
“You tried too hard to be smooth, to actually be smooth. In all things, just be yourself.”
***
Pamela looked at Cedric as they strolled down Sixteenth Street. “Are you going to talk or brood all day?”
“That guy was a—”
“Yes, I know what he was. He’s not here right now I am and I’ll be leaving soon.”
Clay stopped walking and pulled her close. It was amazing how fast a week could go. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“Only two more years.”
“Then what?”
“Master’s, maybe, but I’ll stay here.”
He brushed his lips against hers. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Why?”
“You know I would never want to get in your way,” he said, his words coming out awkwardly. “I want you to be whatever you want to be. I just like having you around.”
“I know. It’s been hard.”
He dug into his pocket. “I bought you something to take back with you.”
“What?”
He pulled out a little black box and opened it. It was a ring with a diamond so small she could barely see it. She thought it was beautiful. “Will you marry me?”
She clasped her hands together, knowing the importance of his offer. She lifted moist eyes. “But I don’t want to get married.”
Hurt and disappointment flashed in his eyes. “What?”
“At least, not yet.”
His eyes fell. “Oh.”
“It’s too soon.”