by Mary Keeley
Frankly, My Detective Frankly, My Detective
Mary L. Keeley
Copyright © 2017 Mary L. Keeley. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.awordwithyoupress.com
Keeley, Mary L. Frankly, My Detective
ISBN-13: Frankly, My Detective is published by:
A Word With You Press
310 East A Street, Suite B, Moscow, Idaho 83843
For information, please direct emails to: [email protected] or visit our website, www.awordwithyoupress.com.
Cover design by Teri Rider, [email protected] Interior design by Aren Ock, [email protected]
DEDICATION
With thanks and admiration all the sassy, smart, strong, often mysterious women in those great old black and white movies thankfully still shown on TV.
Perhaps Richard Widmark described you all best when he said to Marilyn Monroe in
CHAPTER ONE
Life seems entirely different when you find yourself dangling from your seat belt because your car is upside down.
She peered out at the topsy-turvy world and sighed.
“Well, here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” she muttered.
Fumbling, she managed to push the release button. The seat belt snapped, bounced off the steering wheel and whacked her hard on the chin.
“Ouch, damn it! Injury to insult or whatever!”
She pushed hard on the door handle and, just as she was squeezing out of the door, the airbag deployed with a harsh whoosh, smack and pushed her roughly out onto the glass spattered asphalt.
“Ummph! Ow!” she grunted as she was propelled onto her hands and knees, the glass pebbles digging into her flesh and her new jeans.
“Oh, great. Now you come popping out, you great lame marshmallow!” She tried to stand but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. There were sirens, loud and close. Next minute strong hands were on her arms and legs dissuading her from trying to stand. Someone was asking her if she was okay.
“Well, not really. You see, I usually drive with the wheels on the ground.” She herself was on the ground and it was hard and hot. The sun was in her eyes so she couldn’t see who belonged to the voice over her head.
“Do you hurt anywhere?” the voice asked. She put up her hand in a feeble attempt to block the blinding late afternoon sun reflecting mirror-like off the water in Mission Bay.
“Nah, she usually administers the hurting.” Now there was a voice she knew.
The paramedic leaned over her and two faces came into view. One was very cute indeed, dark hair, blue eyes, and nice teeth. The other face belonged to the voice she knew.
“Hey, Clifford, how’s the cop business?”
“It’d be better if you stayed the hell out of it.” Detective Clifford Dawson was squatting next to her, his large freckly hands dangling over the tops of his knees. The sun glinted off his bald pate making the last vestiges of red hair turn copper. He frowned down at her; he hated to be called Clifford, and she knew it.
“Jeez, Clifford, put a hat on, will ya? Your ugly head is blinding me!”
“Hey, do you mind? Trying to make assessment here.” The very appealing paramedic was all business.
“I’m fine.” She tried to get up, but strong hands pushed her easily back down on the ground. Her first instinct was to reach up and smooth her dark wavy hair, pushing it into submission. She’d used the good product this morning before she left home, but as her hairdresser reminded her, the hair always wins. Giving up on that, she tried to pull her hiked-up T shirt down over her waistband, making an attempt at modesty.
“You’re not fine, until I tell you so. Now let me do my job, both of you.” “She’s all yours, and good luck.” Dawson stood up and backed off.
All questions asked and answered, she was strapped onto a gurney and bumped and bounced into the back of the waiting ambulance.
“Hey, I am seriously fine, I tell you. I don’t need to go to any hospital. Just let me call and get a tow truck for my car and Uber for me and I’ll be on my way, really. Clifford! Do something, damn it! Be useful for once!”
Dawson finished the conversation he was having with a highway patrolman and walked over to the ambulance. “Got what you need?” he asked the weary paramedic.
“Yeah, if she’ll cooperate and give me her name. I take it you two know each other?” He waved his pen back and forth between the two of them, then held it poised over his clipboard.
“Why, Darlin’, why won’t you cooperate and tell him your name?” Dawson said, smirking.
“I told him to get it off my driver’s license, but he doesn’t want to wait for the fire guys to pry my bag out of my car. And he insists I give him my FULL name.”
“So do it.” There was that smirk again. “Or should I supply it for him?” She pinched her lips together in a tight line. Guess this is what I get for always calling him Clifford, she thought. She watched him raise his eyebrows, turn to the paramedic and speak, emphasizing each word.
“The lady’s full name is Scarlett O’Hara Butler Jane Eyre Salerno. She’s a private dick.”
Clearly confused, the paramedic looked back and forth between Dawson and the slightly disheveled dark-haired woman.
“Yeah, yeah. My mom is a book nut and she named me after her favorite literary characters, okay? Now you can laugh. And as for dicks….” The paramedic snorted and coughed, trying to cover his laugh. Seeing the color rising on Dawson’s face, he quickly put his head down, writing furiously on the clipboard.
“Her mama may be a book nut, but she’s got nothing on her daughter. Talk with her a while and you’ll find out; book nut or movie nut, still nuts. Now, Ms. Scarlett, wanna tell me what the hell you were doing chasing down my suspect?”
“Gosh, Clifford, wish I could, but you see, all of a sudden my little head hurts and I probably should go with luscious here and get checked out.” She flashed a megawatt smile at the paramedic and gave him a completely un-shy wink.
“Yes, detective, if there’s nothing else, we should get going,” the paramedic said as he climbed into the rear of the ambulance.
Dawson began to protest, but the driver was already closing the doors.
As they closed, he heard Scarlett say as she wiggled her fingers at him, in her perfect Blanche DuBois, “Bye now. You know, I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.”
“Why doesn’t the Fire Department believe in shock absorbers for ambulances?” Scarlett asked the paramedic as they bounced and bumped off the shoulder and onto the road, the gurney’s wheels protesting against the floor locks.
“Budget cuts.”
“Very funny, doll face.”
“Name’s Trent,” he said, pointing to his name badge.
“Short for Trenton? Were you born in New Jersey or was mom trying for something Hollywood-worthy?”
“Just Trent.” He adjusted the bothersome neck brace he’d put on her earlier.
“Okay, just Trent, how soon can I get out of this joint?”
“Ms. Salerno, we’re not even at the hospital yet! Why don’t you try to relax and let me do my job?”
Scarlett saw the “all-business, I’m getting irritated” look on his face and sighed. She put her head back down on the paper-covered pillow and stared at the shiny metal ceiling. Are those blood spatters up there? She thought of asking,
but Trent was busy talking with the hospital in some sort of medical-ese. She closed her eyes and tried to piece together just what had gone wrong with her latest investigation. How had she ended up with her sweet little sporty coupe upside down, her new jeans now grimy and not so fashionably ripped at the knees and her hands gravel-pocked, scratched and bloody?
It all started several months ago with a simple job. A hot-shit local businessman wanted her to spy on his boyfriend. But the client didn’t want his trophy wife to know he had said boyfriend, who he was sure was cheating on him. What he didn’t know was the trophy wife had ALSO hired Scarlett to spy on her husband so she could prove he’d broken their pre-nup. Scarlett was good at her job AND being careful, so she successfully kept each party in the dark about her working for both of them. The complication started when the businessman showed up dead---really dead. We’re talking Rasputin dead. Poor bastard had been poisoned, shot, stabbed and finally drowned in his own marble Jacuzzi. Somebody wanted this guy seriously gone.
And now both the boyfriend and the trophy wife were AWOL. The car Scarlett had been chasing was the wife’s, but the wife wasn’t the driver. Scarlett didn’t know who it was, but suspected the silver BMW had been stolen by the boyfriend. Clifford the cop had been tracking down the wife, who had very inconveniently disappeared. Of course, Clifford didn’t like Scarlett interfering, so she didn’t tell him she was on the case. Her secret source in the department kept her aware of Clifford’s investigation, enabling her to dodge him and the rest of the San Diego PD. The blond, wavy-haired boyfriend was set up in a nice little condo in the Mission Hills area. It wasn’t hard to stake out this guy or even follow him. Scarlett thought he might be clueless, or perhaps he just wanted to appear that way. She had suspected he was the killer at first, but that didn’t make sense. The guy wouldn’t off his meal ticket and neither would the wife.
Despite the discomfort of the gurney. Scarlett smiled. Clifford didn’t know about the boyfriend. Some detective he was. He was chasing the car because he thought the wife was driving. Scarlett knew she wasn’t, for one simple reason: she knew where the wife was.
“I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too,” she murmured. “What was that?” Trent asked.
“Pay no attention, cute Trent. It’s just a habit of mine.”
“To talk in movie quotes? Why?” He frowned down at her, checking her
pulse once again.
“Makes my life easier. Don’t have to be original all the time.” They pulled
up to the Sharp Hospital Emergency Room entrance. As Trent and his
partner pushed the gurney into the ER, Scarlett looked around and sighed,
“What a dump!”
“Bette Davis in Beyond the Forest and how are we today, Ms. Scarlett?” The
tall, white-coated doctor took the chart from the grateful paramedic and
smiled down at her.
Scarlett smiled back. “Ah, Doc, always good to trade quotes with you. I’m
fine, really, just need to blow this joint.”
“Well, m’dear, don’t be so anxious. Gotta check you out. Came back
down here as soon as they radioed ahead it was you. Again!” He shook his
head and clucked his tongue in mock reprimand. He leaned down and looked
at her bloodied knees, palms and elbows.
“My, my my my my. What a mess.” He placed his stethoscope in his ears
but before he could place it on her chest, she grabbed it and spoke into it. “Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive; great performance, got an Oscar, I
believe. Good quote but you can’t beat me at this, Doc. Your joint smells like
alcohol and not the good kind.”
He yanked the stethoscope away from her, frowning.
“Get serious for a second,, will ya??” He turned and barked orders in
medical alphabet soup at a giggling nurse’s assistant, then resumed examining
the impatient Scarlett. “What the hell were you doing this time? Paramedics
radioed you flipped your car.” He shone his penlight in her eyes. Apparently
satisfied with what he saw or didn’t see, he straightened and raised his dark
eyebrows at her, waiting.
Scarlett sighed and leaned back on the pillow, closing her eyes. Her head
was beginning to hurt for real now.
“I was on a job, okay? You know I can’t tell you more than that, Evan.
Is Cat on duty?”
Evan returned the sigh as he checked her pulse once again. “Yep, she’s
on duty in the NICU. I’ll page her right now. Just wanted to make sure you
weren’t terminal or anything. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit.” He reached for
the page-phone by her bed. Scarlett sat up suddenly.
“Oh, let me page her, please, please!” Evan pushed her away with one
hand, holding the phone with the other.
“Not on your life! You’ll use her full name and she’ll be pissed at me for
letting you.” The curtain of the cubicle was pulled back suddenly. “Knock it off, you two. This is a hospital, after all.” The nurse wore blue
scrubs and had a brightly colored NICU identification tag around her neck. “Hey, there’s my wonderful Catherine ….” Before she could finish, the
nurse came inside yanked the curtain closed and growled at her. Her
expression was as serious as Scarlett’s wasn’t, but the family resemblance and
attitude were unmistakable.
“Don’t finish Scar. I’ll level you or inject you with something horrible, I
swear.” Cat’s amber eyes met her sister’s dark green ones and looked
menacingly feral; then her voice softened as she came to her sister’s side.
“Are you okay, or just a major nuisance as usual?”
“Ah, you found out I was here all on your own. The moors and I will
never change. Don’t you, Cathy.” Scarlett smiled wickedly at her sister. “Cut it out, Scar. Don’t quote Heathcliff to me. Answer me like a real
person!” She was clearly irritated.. Scarlett sighed and acquiesced. “Fine, really Cat. Just some scrapes. Car’s a mess, though. Don’t call
Mom; I’ll be out of here as soon as somebody lets me go.” She cast a
withering look at Evan. He made some sort of grumpy noise in his throat. “Yeah, she checks out fine. Just ordered some preliminary labs and we’ll
clean up her boo-boos and she’ll be home for dinner. No need to upset
Rosa.” He made a kissing mouth at his wife, thumbed his nose at Scarlett and
left.
“God, Scar, why don’t you quit this shitty business and use your degree
to teach or work as a public defender or something. This is the third bad
scrape this year. Don’t you think the odds …?”
“Catherine, the odds have been against me from the beginning. How
many successful female private detectives, are there in the real world anyway?
Why can’t you be proud and supportive of me? Oh, yeah, I know why. ‘Cause
I refuse to be like you and get a girly job.” Scarlett pulled her hand away from
her sister’s and folded her arms across her chest, immediately regretting
diminishing Catherine’s very difficult job. Catherine sighed.
“Scar, you play that ‘I gotta be me’ tune all the time. Nobody buys it
anymore.”
“It worked fine for Sammy Davis, Jr.”
Cat leaned over the bed rail fixed her eyes on her sister’s. “We all— me,
Evan and Mom— just want you to stop taking so many risks. Why can’t you
understand we want you to be safe?” Her voice rose despite the control she
tried to maintain and she self-consciously put her hand over her mouth. Scarlett put both hands on the bed rail and leaned over, speaking to her
/> sister in a hoarse whisper.
“O.K. Cat, I get it, but the problem is you don’t. None of you. This is a
big case, worth a lot, and I’m the only one with a good hold on it. Me. Not
the cops, not any other detective. Me, Cat, and I’m within a gnat’s eyelash of
solving it. When I do, there’s a pile of money in it. Enough to take care of
Mom the way she should be, you know? I can help! I want do that, Cat.” “Scar, we can take care of Mom. But you know that’s not it. You want, I
don’t know, the gory glory of it all. I just don’t get it.”
“You think I don’t know how much you and Evan have in student loans?
Not to mention some of my own debts. Let me solve this big one and we’ll
all be in the black. No more judgments, huh, Sis?”
A nurse came in with a wound kit.
“Call me when you get home, okay? AND my job is anything but ‘girly’!”
Cat said emphatically as she pulled the curtain back.
“Do you know her?” the nurse asked as she opened the wound kit. Scarlett looked up at her with a look of astonishment and spoke loudly,
delighting in how her sister’s shoulders hunched at her words. “Why? Don’t you? She’s the famous Catherine Earnshaw Holly Golightly
Salerno O’Malley. Talk at ya later, Cat!”
Catherine groaned and without turning gave Scarlett the famous onefingered salute.
The firefighters returned Scarlett’s purse to her before she left the hospital
and since Evan was going off duty anyway he drove her to the car rental
office. She patiently put up with the same “get out of this business” lecture
from him, thanked him with a sisterly peck on the cheek. When he drove away, she sighed and gratefully turned the key in the nice little Toyota rental. She wound her way down University Avenue past all the new coffee shops, restaurants and trendy boutiques that were part of the revival of her North Park neighborhood. Soon she was at the front door of the small, pre-war bungalow she owned not far from Morely Field. It was a sweet little stucco number, built along the quiet wide streets just north of Balboa Park. The little homes had been residents of the many military and defense industry families before WWII and had stayed consistently occupied over the years, even when the larger suburbs built east and west of the city developed. The area had become a bit run-down, some streets bearing the look of “progress” over the years, which simply meant lovely old houses were torn down and apartment buildings were crowded in between the bungalows and the Craftsman homes of the last century. Smart investors and people seeking the quaint neighborhoods, larger lots and solid construction of the older homes had moved back into the area in the last few years. University Avenue and El Cajon Boulevard began to spruce up with new businesses taking over the old JC Penney building which now housed Wang’s North Park, an upscale Asian fusion restaurant whose excellent Happy Hour fare had called to out Scarlett many times. Even the old Woolworth and Lerner’s department store buildings had been converted to antique malls boosting their prices by labeling their inventories “vintage.” Scarlett was lucky to have purchased her little home just before the real estate upswing took over North Park and she smiled as she pulled into her long driveway, got out of her car and saw the wide, arched front porch of her white-stucco abode.