Zelda slathered a biscuit in butter. "Worst case scenario? The new owner would wouldn’t fire us. We're good waitresses."
I sat down and picked up my spoon. "What if this buyer doesn't want a diner? They might want to make it an art gallery or a salon. Or tear it down to the ground and turn it into an urban garden for the homeless?"
Zelda's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. "I never thought of that." She tapped her spoon against the bowl as she thought. "We need a partner. Somebody with investigative experience."
"Ted seems to have a superpower or two."
Zelda lifted a suspicious eyebrow. "Your new boyfriend, Ted? The one whose calls you're already avoiding because you're afraid you'll tell him what we're doing? Because he won't approve? That Ted? Mr. Straight Arrow?" Zelda chuckled. "So you're okay with spilling all of it because you think asking him for help will bring him on board with this?"
I twisted my lips and frowned. "He was in some special unit in the army." I whispered. "I bet he could get people to tell him things."
Zelda snorted. "I don't think water boarding is the skill we're looking for."
I shoved her playfully. "Smart-ass."
"Airhead." Zelda sighed. "Even if you had the balls to tell him, which you don't, how’s he's going to react?" She shook her head. “He'll either think you're nuts and split or try to talk you out of it. Then what?"
I frowned at her. "I'm going to have to tell him eventually."
She shook her head. "You don't even know yet if this is going work between you two. You really want to take that chance?"
I pouted. "No."
Zelda blew on her soup. "Good answer."
I held out my arms. "Fine. No Ted. Then who?"
Zelda tapped her spoon against the countertop. "A real professional."
Chapter Twenty-Six
We were shocked to learn that there were three private detectives within spitting distance of us. However, the one in Tujunga didn't answer his phone, and the one in La Crescenta thought we were punking him. The third one, Joe Enders, answered his phone personally and invited us to his office to discuss our situation. He was friendly but professional and his southern accent made him seem familiar.
Joe's office was on Commerce, just a few blocks from us. And the address took us to a three-plex apartment house, not an office building. The faded blue structure had two units on the bottom, front and back with the third unit straddling the lower units like a wedding cake tier. A four-slot parking pad served as the front yard and a long drive on the right led to a two-vehicle carport in the back. Under the carport was a beat-up Winnebago RV and a metallic jade Lincoln town car. To the left of the building was a narrow walkway that led to the unit entrances. Boxwood framed the property for privacy and were kept tall and clipped to perfection.
Zelda pulled into the lot and parked. We got out of the car and hesitated. "We could just turn around and go home."
Zelda sighed. "And then what? We still need help. Might as well see what he has to say."
I shrugged. "We're here. What do we have to lose?"
We took the walkway to the first unit where a sign mounted next to the door read: Enders Investigations. The front door was ajar which was odd considering the weather but I guessed Joe Enders liked fresh air. I sucked in a breath and knocked on the screen door. "Hello?"
"Come on in," a southern drawl answered from inside.
We stepped into a simple but smartly done office space. The combination living/dining room held a large desk, filing cabinets, built-in shelves, a couple of visitor chairs with a small sofa and coffee table placed near the front window. Cabinets and half the counter in the kitchen were replaced with a built-in banquette and served as a break room.
A man in his early sixties walked up the hall from the back. Short and stout, with a head of thick silver hair, Joe Enders looked more like a sweet old grandfather than a detective. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a loosened blue tie at his neck, and grey trousers that clashed with his sneakers. Joe grinned. "Scotti and Zelda?" He offered his chubby hand, "Joe Enders." We shook hands, then Joe motioned us to the visitor chairs in front of the desk. "Take a load off."
We sat in the visitor chairs and waited for Joe to waddle around his desk and plunk down into his seat.
"You gals thirsty? I got some sweet tea in the fridge."
"No, thanks," I said.
Joe smiled and tapped the desktop. "Well okay then, let's get down to business." His bright blue eyes were attentive and didn't miss a trick. "What can I do for you?"
We shrugged at each other, neither of us knowing where to start. Joe prompted us with shaggy eyebrows. I sighed. "It's a little hard to explain and kind of a long story..."
Joe leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his big belly. "I got all day."
I did my best to explain the situation with George — the investment, the death, and the diner. I presented the facts as we knew them in a logical manner but it sounded pathetic even to me. Joe listened patiently, made a couple of notes on a legal pad and ruminated for a few minutes. "And you want to hire me to do what, exactly?"
"Not exactly," Zelda said.
Joe frowned and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Not exactly, what?"
Zelda leaned her elbows on his desk. "Here's the thing — there's a reward — if we get the evidence that leads to the arrest of a suspect." Joe nodded but said nothing. "We thought, we were hoping, that if we found evidence and got the reward then we could share it. With you. Like a partnership? So not exactly hiring you is what I meant."
Joe cocked his head and puckered his lips. I rushed to fill in the silence. "We know it's a long shot. But we have some evidence, well maybe it's not evidence exactly but it's information. That's our advantage. And we would do all the running around and grunt work type stuff. Really it's your expertise, your guidance that we need." I smiled. "You'd be more like a supervisor or consultant. You see what I mean? Make sense?"
Joe sucked in his lips and shook his head. "No, ma'am that don't make no sense at all. I'm a P.I. not a guidance counselor. If we work together then we work together." His chair groaned when he leaned forward. "But what I'm hearing aside from that other nonsense is that you want to make a contingency agreement. You get the reward, then I get a cut. You don't get a reward, then we're all up the river with nothing but experience to pay our way." He squinted at us. "That pretty much cover it?"
I slumped in my chair. "Pretty much."
Joe's eyes caught a sparkle. "And since I seen the newscast, along with the rest of Los Angeles...I could go after the reward on my own."
I slumped further down in my chair. He was right and if he could do it, so could others. There could be plenty of competition. "We didn't think about that."
Joe nodded. "I expect you didn't."
Zelda looked hurt. "Every man for himself, then, huh?"
"A man's gotta look out for his own."
I raised a finger. "But we have information you don't have. Without us, you'd have to start from scratch."
Joe smiled slowly. "Information is nothing if you don't know what to do with it. And y'all have come here for those skills."
Zelda clapped me on the back like I was a prize bull and smiled. "If you work with us, Scotti will make you pies for the rest of your life. And confidentially, this girl makes the best pies you ever tasted."
Joe squinted at me. "Is she serious?"
I nodded. "I'm afraid so."
Joe busted out laughing. He laughed with his whole body — trembling from head to foot.
Zelda looked at me. "Why is he laughing? Is that funny?"
I smacked her on the back of the head. "Yeah it's funny. I couldn't make a $100,000 worth of pies in my lifetime, knucklehead."
Joe laughed harder still. He pounded the desk and tears rolled down his rosy cheeks.
I stood. "This was a stupid idea. Sorry we bothered you, Joe." I tugged on Zelda’s arm but she wouldn't budge. "Come on, Zee."
Joe got a hold of himself. "No, don't go. I ain't laughing at y'all." He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes.
I turned to him. "Look, I get it. Why split a reward when you can probably figure it out and collect the whole thing for yourself? We're out of our league." I yanked on Zelda's arm again but she hung onto the chair like it was her lifeline. "Zee, come on."
Joe pulled a hankie from his pocket and wiped his face. He pointed to the chair. "Sit down, missy."
"Why?"
He pointed again. I sighed and sat down. "What do you got?" he asked. I looked at Zelda, then back to him. Joe leaned forward as much as his belly would allow. "You say you got evidence, and I'm asking what is it? What's the evidence?"
I stared at him and I saw he wasn't kidding. "Personal files, phone numbers, a password protected phone, pictures..."
"And keys," Zelda added.
"And a flash-drive that's also password protected."
Joe nodded approvingly. "A boatload of possibilities, eh? What kind of split?"
"I'm thinking 80-20?" Zelda said.
"Bless your heart, Zelda. I'm thinking you got a little thievery in your soul. I'm thinking 50-50 is a whole lot better."
I cringed. "How about 60-40?" I asked.
He tilted his head. "Is that what you need? Sixty grand for your diner?" I nodded. He slapped the desktop and whistled. "Sold to the little lady with the golden curls." He opened a drawer and pulled out a form. "You bring this evidence with you?"
I jumped out of my chair. "No, but I can go get it." I didn't want to give him time to change his mind. "Right now, if you want."
"Let's get the paperwork out of the way first." Joe drew up a contingency agreement that took a while because he preferred the hunt and peck style of typing. He also hadn't mastered the art of printing documents. But eventually, we had signed copies and sealed the partnership. Before we left, Joe insisted we meet his computer expert, Eric. According to Joe, we'd be needing Eric's expertise — and I took that to mean that the guy was more a hacker than an IT man.
Eric shuffled out front from the back office and murmured a hello. His dark hair and pale skin gave him a gothy look and his slight build made him seem younger than he was — which I guessed to be late twenties.
"Ladies, meet Eric Fulton — the finest computer whiz in Southern California. Eric this here is Scotti Fitzgerald and Zelda Carter."
I raised my eyebrows. "Do we need a hacker?"
Eric's grin transformed his face from forgettable to boyishly cute. "We won't be busting into the Pentagon's database — more like breaking password codes. Kid stuff." His dark eyes zeroed in on Zelda. "Breaking the codes on that flash-drive and phone will be a piece of cake."
Zelda was just as focused on Eric as he was on her. "Sounds great."
He gave Zelda one last grin with an ample helping of dimples, then shuffled back to his office. "See you later."
Joe pushed back his chair and grinned. "All righty ladies, let's make hay while the sun's a-shining."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joe went through everything we brought him and made a task list. The list broke down into three categories: interviews, documents and computer tasks. Zelda and I would handle most of the interviews; Eric would see to the computer files, searches and all things digital; and Joe would track down the documentation, like the death certificate, the will, and background checks. He would also use his considerable connections to loosen lips if possible, analyze evidence and information and run point on the investigation. Zelda and I could’ve protested but considering he was a homicide detective in his native state of Mississippi for twenty-five years and we were waitresses, it seemed pointless.
The one interview Joe didn't think we could pull off was with James Cavender, the private detective whose name and number we found in George's calendar. Since Cavender was a peer, Joe knew the right approach to take — detective to detective. He would do the talking and we'd listen and learn. "Folks don't like you to ask things direct. You gotta use a little finesse and make sure that no matter what you ask, the person don't lose face."
Cavender's agency was in a one-story office on Walnut Street in Pasadena. The brown bungalow could've been mistaken for a single dwelling home if not for the modest sign above the door. Joe eased the Lincoln into a parking spot in front of the building and switched off the engine. "You understand we ain't gonna get him to tell us much?"
Zelda leaned over from the backseat. "Then why are we here?"
"Because he might slip up and tell us more than he means to." Joe winked. "Whatever he tells us will be more than we know now. You'll see that private detecting is mostly about chasing down details and then connecting the dots."
I appreciated Joe’s candor but connecting dots to solve a murder sounded tedious and impossible. Still, he was the professional so I accepted that he knew what he was doing.
We got out of the car and followed Joe into Cavender's office. The space was somber and done in shades of brown. Simple furniture with no extras — not even a potted plant. A reception desk near the door was unmanned and a coffee machine gurgled as it brewed a pot. A voice called out from an inner office, "I'll be right with you." I heard the muffled sounds of a one-sided conversation and assumed that Cavender was finishing a phone call. The conversation stopped and soft footsteps moved toward us. A short, wiry man with thinning hair and clear brown eyes stepped into the reception area and smiled. Unlike the grizzled and alcoholic private detectives of fiction, he looked fit and cheerful. He held out his hand to Joe. "Mr. Enders? Jim Cavender."
Joe exchanged a firm handshake with Cavender, then introduced us as his associates.
Cavender offered a brief nod and smile, then gestured toward the back office. "Come on back."
We followed him down a short hallway, past a washroom on the right and entered a small office to the left. Cavender's office had the same design and somber color scheme as the front office and I assumed it was intentional. Low-key, subtle, and neutral — all characteristics a private detective needed for success.
Cavender invited us to sit in the visitor chairs as he took a seat behind his desk. "Can I get anybody coffee or water?"
"No thanks," Joe said.
Cavender cleared his throat and consulted a legal pad on his desk. "What can I do for you Mr. Enders?"
"I was hoping you'd talk to us about George Manston."
Cavender rose in his seat as though unexpectedly goosed. "George Manston? I'm not sure I understand. I thought this was about a case."
Joe angled sideways in his chair and put on his homey, I'm-a-good-old-county-boy smile. "I expect you heard about George passing a few days ago?"
Cavender nodded. "I was sorry to hear the news."
"As were most — from all accounts George was a good man."
Cavender nodded. "Yes, he was."
Joe mirrored Cavender’s body language and nodded. "And did you also hear that the widow believes foul play was involved?"
Cavender creased a brow and pursed his lips. "And the police?"
Joe rested an elbow on Cavender's desk. "Case is closed far as they're concerned."
Cavender raised his eyebrows.
"But we're looking into things for the widow."
Cavender frowned. "Maggie Manston hired you?"
Joe pulled George's calendar out of his pocket, slid it across the desk to Cavender and pointed to an entry. "During our investigation, your name came up." He held Cavender's gaze. "Mr. Manston had an appointment with you a few days before he died."
Cavender's eyes flitted to the calendar, then back to Joe. "Matter of fact, your name appears in this here calendar an awful lot. Which leads me to believe that old George had you looking into something of a sensitive nature for him.” He grinned at Cavender. "Unless you were hunting buddies?"
Cavender's chair squeaked as he fidgeted. "Definitely not hunting buddies. However..."
"Being a former homicide detective for the great state
of Mississippi and currently being a private detective, I understand there's client confidentiality issues. So rather than asking you outright what you was doing for George, maybe I could give you a narrative?"
A small smiled teased the corners of Cavender’s mouth. "Narrative?"
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