by R Weir
Twice as Fatal
A Jarvis Mann
Detective Novel
By
R Weir
Copyright © R Weir 2015
The right of R Weir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Publisher. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published, without the prior written consent of the Publisher. No responsibility for loss occasioned to any person or corporate body acting or refraining to act as a result of reading material in this book can be accepted by the Publisher, by the Author, or by the employer(s) of the Author. Certain images copyright.
R Weir. Twice as Fatal.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyediting by Gabriella West at EditforIndies.com
Cover Design by:
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To Kim and Dakota
Third times a charm
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 1
Contemplating the hole in my bank account created by new brakes and tires for my Mustang, I drove to my home office where I saw her at the top of the stairs. Kate, the owner of the beauty salon that occupied the upper space of the building, was my landlord. She stood with her arms crossed soaking in the Saturday afternoon sun, which remained unseasonably warm for this time of year. She might have been there for some pass-the-time chit-chat, though our relationship hadn’t been overly social over the years. A serious expression meant she was all business.
“Hi, Kate,” I said with a smile. “Are you hanging out enjoying the nice weather and working on your tan?”
She smiled back weakly.
“Not today,” she replied. “I came to talk to you. I need your professional help with something.”
I walked around to the passenger side and grabbed the groceries I’d picked up at the store. I headed down the steps, opened the front door and allowed her to walk in first. Placing the reusable bags on the kitchen counter, I organized the food into the refrigerator. I motioned for her to take a seat at my small two-seater kitchen table.
“Would you like a beer?” I asked.
Beer was the one item always on hand and cold.
“Sure,” she answered, looking the place over. “I don’t think I’ve been down here since you rented it. Going on what, six years now? You keep it attractive and clean for a bachelor.”
“Thanks. I do what I can.”
She smiled lightly and sat down, taking a long drink from the bottle. She was a pretty woman, probably in her middle-to-late forties, nice figure in her five-foot-seven frame. Her deep black hair was long and braided into a single ponytail, draped over her right shoulder. Today she wore a shirt with sleeves and crossed her faded jean-covered legs while sitting, the black-heeled boots nearly reaching her knee caps. I’d seen her in tank tops and shorts many times over the years, and she featured numerous tattoos on various parts of her body, many custom designed. On some women the skin paintings didn’t look good, but for her it was just right and added a little zing to her appearance. She had several piercings along each ear lobe filled with shiny gold, silver and diamond rings, and a small diamond stud in her nose sparkled in the light. I knew in the summer months she rode a Harley Davidson, the full-throated, piston-thumping roar announcing arrivals and departures. Today I saw her Toyota RAV parked outside, the motorcycle shut down for the inevitable winter on the horizon.
“So what can I help you with?” I asked while parking it in the other kitchen chair after a long pull on my own beer.
“I need you to check into something personal,” she said. “I want assurances you will keep this in confidence. I don’t want any of the ladies at work knowing about this until I’m ready to tell them.”
She was aware I often talked and flirted with some of her employees when the mood struck me. I’d even dated a couple of them, though they had long since moved on.
“My lips are sealed. In this business, confidentiality is vital. I wouldn’t have clients long if I blabbed. I’m assuming you are in need of my detective services?”
She stopped and drank another third of the bottle. “Yes. I need to learn what my husband is up to. He is either cheating on me, drinking heavily or gambling. I’m not sure which, but he was raiding my business account for money and I need to know the reasons for his behavior.”
“How have you drawn this conclusion?”
“Because of past problems in all those areas. His current behavior is a dead-giveaway they are back.”
“So you want to hire me?”
“Yes. You are the only detective I know and I figure I can trust you, since I’m your landlord.”
“Even if you weren’t, you could.”
I got the hard part out of the way by stating my rates to her, which she found agreeable. It wouldn’t take more than a day or two to find out what he was up to. Anyone with either of those problems isn’t difficult to track down and retrieve evidence against. Those addictions were hard to conceal.
“I’ll need as much information as possible on him, and anything else you believe will help me gather what is necessary. Is it OK if I take notes?”
She nodded so I snagged my little notebook and pen. Her beer was finished and I offered her another, but she declined. I polished off mine, grabbed both bottles and placed them in my recycling container after rinsing them out. I am the environmentally friendly detective. A new tagline for my business card. On recycled card stock, of course.
“So what behavior are you seeing?” I asked.
“Well, taking money from my business account is the biggest one,” she stated bluntly. “Several thousand dollars over the last few weeks. Also, he is rarely ever home these days, staying out until all hours.”
“Have you confronted him about this?”
“Yes, and all he does is brush me off and walk away. I grabbed him the other day and said to either ’fess up or
I was leaving him. He called me a ‘bitch’ and left. I’ve hardly seen him since. When he comes home late at night, he sleeps in the guest bedroom in the basement.”
“He has access to your business finances?”
“He did, but he doesn’t anymore. He was a secondary on the account and I had him removed. His bank card was also cancelled. He is cut off. There are limits to my financial fortune.”
“What about personal finances, credit cards and such?”
“He still has those, some of which are in his name only. I’m trying to get untangled from him, but this takes time and money.”
“Have you enlisted a lawyer?”
“Yes. He is doing what he can, but I can’t pay too much, so he is probably not the best I could get.”
“Will you be able to afford me? I hate to ask, but I’ve experienced issues with getting paid by some clients in the past. I trust you, but one can’t pay what one doesn’t have, no matter how honest they are.”
“If I can’t, we can work out the difference in your rent. I don’t foresee this being a problem now that his access to my business account is terminated.”
“No hope for reconciliation?” I asked. “You mentioned you went through this before and were able to reconcile. Is this the last straw?”
She stopped and thought for a couple of seconds. “No. I’m finished with him. I stayed with him the last time because he said he’d change, and for the kids. They are grown up now, one in college the other a senior in high school. They understand clearer what he is like; no more of that idealized bullshit younger kids can have about their parents. They know he is a dick and they want me to be happy. I make a good living with my salon, but he will ruin me financially if I don’t get him out of my home and hair. Time to start my life over. A new beginning to challenge myself with.”
I’d dealt with this type of client regularly. Cheating or addicted spouses ruining the other’s life, along with their children’s, and running around foolishly. Cases like this one were challenging, though, with many pitfalls. I knew Kate well enough to be happy to help her and trusted her enough to think I wouldn’t be in the same mess as I was in my last domestic case. Her starting over was easier said than done.
“I’ll take the case and gather evidence you can use against him. It may require me to dig into your life and background, if necessary. Generally, it’s pretty clear-cut but I want to make you aware of the possibility, depending on what facts I find. Are you OK with this?”
“I have nothing to hide. I smoked pot occasionally when I was in high school and college, and enjoyed an active sex life before meeting Jack. Nothing too shocking for a teenager and young adult, especially by today’s standards. Married and family life have been pretty boring other than my jerk of a husband.”
“Fair enough,” I answered. “Tell me all you can about Jack. His comings and goings, places he frequents, what he drives and anything else to help me. I’m working a minor case for someone else in my spare time, but I can work this in and start on Monday. Tomorrow I’m entertaining a friend.”
She happily gave me all the details, which I stored to memory and to paper. It was often therapeutic for clients to bare their souls when starting a case, a relief to unburden themselves. Another new tagline: “The Psychologist Detective. Unburden Yourself and Case Solved for One Low Fee!” I’d get facts from some clients that would make a lesser detective blush. Kate’s were pretty straightforward and generic, yet detailed enough to get started. I was happy to help her out and even happier to be staying busy with a paying client. Once she’d finished, she wrote me a check as a retainer and walked back upstairs to the salon. It wasn’t enough to replenish what I’d spent on my new brakes and tires, but it was a start.
Chapter 2
After numerous conversations, a couple deliveries of flowers, and various apologies for believing the lies spewed by a woman on my last case with an ax to grind, Melissa had agreed to start seeing me again. We kept our dates together simple. No hot, passionate nights: only the two of us going to dinner and a movie; a day of shopping; and some quality time spent together. Afterwards, a simple kiss and hug goodbye, agreeing to take the relationship slow. Today she was coming over to relax, converse about whatever we cared to talk about, and savor some beer and pizza for lunch. A quiet and uncomplicated day together.
Having slept well the night before, I was freshly showered, shaved and anxious for a relaxing Sunday. I had on broken-in jeans, a long-sleeved beige sweater and white Avia running shoes, in which I was pacing the floor. She was set to arrive at any time and I had to admit, I was still nervous at the thought of seeing her. Screwing up big-time with her previously meant no more major mistakes. I wanted to make it work.
Her car pulled up and I viewed her coming down the stairs. She was beautiful as always, wearing blue jeans, a pink blouse unbuttoned enough to show a hint of cleavage, and black boots, all covered under her warm, lengthy black coat. She wore no makeup from what I could tell, but if she did, it was applied so as not to notice. Her straight brown hair draped over her shoulders, a colorful butterfly barrette on one side. Her bright green eyes full of life and happiness glistened in the sunlight. She walked in gracefully and brushed past me smiling, a six pack of bottled beer in her hand. She placed the carton in the fridge, came up and kissed me softly, our arms wrapping around each other in a simple embrace. Her body was warm to the touch, the hint of perfume lingering in my nose. I smiled back at her, trying not to show nervousness. I was lucky to be given a second chance, which was a rarity in my love life.
She had been to my place a couple of times before and she took a look around. She stopped to stare at the bubble gum card placed in front of the fall mountain leaves photo gracing one of the walls. The souvenir was one of my prized possessions, earned on one of my memorable cases lasting only one afternoon.
“Willie Mays,” she said out loud. “I’ve noticed the picture and card before but never asked what it was for?”
“Payment from a past case,” I answered. “I helped a young man, Dennis Gash, find an Ernie Banks rookie card which was stolen, we discovered, by a friend…” I went on and told her the story.
“Wow, what a special memory. Do you ever see him?”
“I actually watched him play football a couple of times this year at All City Stadium. He is a pretty decent running back, though they lost both games. Probably not pro material, but could compete at a small college and parlay a scholarship.”
Two beers in hand, I joined her in the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, I placed both bottles on coasters on the coffee table. I motioned for her to join me and she sat down, but for now kept some space between us. It was possible she was nervous too.
“How was your week?” I asked.
“No major cases or trips to court this week,” she stated after taking a short sip from her bottle. “Mostly research. What about you?”
“I was hired for a new case. Kate upstairs wants me to gather evidence against her husband. Apparently he is up to something and I need to determine what it is.”
“Domestic cases have to be difficult.”
“Yes, they can be. I’ve had some go sideways on me before, and you feel like a peeping Tom prying into their lives. But those are the cases which put bread on the table.”
“We deal with them all the time at Bristol & Bristol. It’s hard to believe two people once so full of love for each other becoming so bitter. What does Kate think he’s doing?”
“One of several things…” I recited a few basic details Kate had given me.
“A shame it’s come to this. It is difficult to trust a man with a history of promiscuity and other bad habits.”
I ignored the comment, for I’d had a history of my own. Mending one’s ways wasn’t easy.
“So are you getting hungry?” I asked.
“Yes, I am,” she answered.
“Where shall I order from?”
“How about Domino’s?”
“Surp
rising. I would have not guessed.”
“What can I say, I like their pizza. Need to get extra cheese, for they are skimpy on the mozzarella but quick to deliver.”
“Probably from a deep-seated fantasy about the hunky deliveryman delivering more than pizza.”
She smiled. “Possibly, but I’ve found the deliveryman never lives up to the fantasy and often disappoints.”
“Domino’s it is.”
We agreed on ingredients and a side, so I went online and ordered.
“I’m chilly,” Melissa stated.
I got off the sofa. “I’ll turn up the heat and grab a blanket. They are predicting a nippy night with some snow.”
She gave me a disappointing glare.
“You realize I wanted to snuggle with you?” she said flatly. “It’s one of those signals we girls use to let the guy know what we want. Or was this overly coy on my part?”
“I’m being cautious,” I answered while sitting back down. “I’m trying to take it slow per your request.”
“I’d like to think you can put your arm around me without thinking about sex. Or can you?”
Shrugging a “maybe” with my hands, I draped an arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder, a blue blanket covering her lap and mine. Some soft music was playing in the background from a local radio station, filling a silent void in the room. A connection was building between us again. I did my best to temper my urges, which was challenging.
Passing the time, we talked some more about her work and mine before the food arrived. The deliveryman was exactly like Melissa said—not fantasy material, but the pizza was hot which was most important. I paid him and brought the large pizza into the living room with two more beers. I cherished the view of her while I ate two pieces in the time it took her to eat one, her bites smaller and more deliberate, careful not to overeat. She wasn’t a skinny minny and had some meat on her, though firm from a solid exercise routine. Memories of her undressed flooded my mind. Damn, I need to dispel those naked thoughts!