Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I. (P.I. Tracy Hayes 1)

by Susanna Shore

  “Sergeant Colm Hayes. He worked at the 66th. He’s retired now.”

  He frowned, as if the name rang a bell. “I see.” But he didn’t elaborate. He leaned back in his chair, linked his hands behind his head, and proceeded to give me the third degree.

  He wasn’t impressed with my answers. I was too young, for one—which felt both good and insulting for someone who was twenty-seven already—and too poorly educated.

  “You’re saying you don’t have any formal education, Miss Hayes?”

  “I have a year in college.” If I sounded defensive it’s because I was. My three older siblings were over-achievers, and never forgot to remind me what I could have been if I’d stayed in college.

  “Then what happened?”

  It wasn’t a story I shared easily, but since I didn’t want him to think I was too stupid for college, I told him: “I thought it would be more important to follow the man of my dreams as he toured the country with his band than to get a degree.”

  “And was it?”

  “Up until I caught him doing a groupie in the backroom of a concert venue.” My stomach still roiled every time I remembered the scene, even though it was six years ago already. “Then it was a fast divorce and back to my parents.”

  “But not back to college?”

  “I needed to clear my head first. And then I needed to save money for it.” Neither of which had gone very well, but I wouldn’t tell him that.

  “And now it’s just you and your faithful dog?”

  I glanced at the dog, who had recovered enough to squirm on my lap, so I took a tighter hold of him. “He’s not mine.” The baffled look on his face was so comical I had to laugh. “I think he’s run away.”

  He cocked a dark brow, prompting me to go on.

  “He somehow got into the kitchen of the café I worked in.” I considered. “Okay, maybe I should’ve kept a better eye on wandering strays when I took the donut delivery, but we were busy scrubbing the place because the health inspector was about to make a visit.”

  I’d also been busy ogling at the donut delivery guy. There were so few things that brought joy to a waitress’s life and he was one of them. Donuts were the other, so he was pretty much the best thing in the world as far as that café was concerned. I could hardly be blamed for indulging.

  But I wasn’t going to tell Jackson that.

  “I placed the box down for two minutes, and when I came back the dog had gone through it all.”

  The man looked impressed. “Not bad for a tiny dog.”

  “I know. If only he could’ve kept it in. But he threw everything up. At the feet of the health inspector.”

  Jackson threw his head back and barked a laugh. “Then what happened?”

  “I was fired on the spot.”

  “That was a bit rash of your boss.”

  “She has a temper.” Also I was late coming to work for the third time this month, but I thought it best not to share that piece of information either.

  “What did you think to do with the dog?”

  “Someone must miss him, so I figured I’ll put up posters around the café and see if he’s claimed.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you start with that and we’ll see from there.”

  I straightened in the chair, excited. “I got the job?”

  “I may regret this, but yes. For now.” He smiled. “Welcome to Jackson Dean Investigations.”

  Chapter Three

  My delight made the dog perk up. He jumped down before I could prevent him and proceeded to sniff around the office, his tail wagging in excitement. I took that as a sign that he had recovered, and since Jackson didn’t seem to mind, I let him be.

  “So what does the job entail?”

  “Now you ask?” Corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

  I shrugged. “It has to be better than waitressing.”

  “It depends on the assignment. But at least the days are usually shorter and hours are more flexible.”

  I liked the job already. Six years of ten hour days, seven days a week, had utterly worn me out.

  “I take it there’s enough work to take an apprentice?”

  “Apprentice, huh?” Jackson teased me. “Yes, there is. Apart from my own clients, I do investigative work for the DA’s office and the Brooklyn Defender Service.”

  The latter caught my interest, because Travis worked as a defense attorney there. “Sounds intriguing.”

  He shrugged. “It’s basic work: interviewing the witnesses, trying to come up with new evidence, going through people’s trash.” He added the last bit with a challenging smile, but I wouldn’t be intimidated. It couldn’t be worse than mopping dog vomit. Or human vomit for that matter; I’d done that too during my years as a waitress.

  “Requires manpower and doesn’t pay too well.”

  “And how much are you paying me?”

  “I can’t pay you more than 10.50 per hour, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s better than the 7.65 plus tips I earned as a waitress,” I said, impressed. Especially since the tips at the café hadn’t been all that great. “What else do I need to know?”

  “There’s a lot of driving required. Do you have a car?”

  “No.”

  “Do you at least have a driver’s license?”

  “I do. I just can’t afford a car.” I hadn’t really needed one in my line of work.

  “How do you get around?”

  “I have a MetroCard.”

  He grinned. “That’ll have to do.”

  I smiled too. “As long as the clients live within the reach of public transportation, I’m good.”

  “Clients might, but I’m not so sure about the bad guys,” he said. “But you can always borrow my car if it comes to that.” That sounded nice.

  “Or I can borrow my dad’s car.”

  “Even better.” Then he clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s see if Cheryl’s come back from the courthouse already.”

  We returned to the reception area sans the dog. He had jumped on the couch and was busy making a nest for himself on it, twirling around as if leveling hay or grass. Cheryl—who I assumed was the secretary—hadn’t returned, so Jackson seated me at her desk and moved the mouse to make the computer screen wake up. A mugshot of a very ugly man, or possibly a warthog—the face was so scarred it was difficult to tell—came into view, and we both pulled back.

  “Shouldn’t be too difficult to find that one,” Jackson muttered to himself as he opened an empty Word document for me. I could’ve done it myself, but he probably didn’t want me messing around on his secretary’s computer.

  “Do you do skip tracing too?”

  “Only when I’m bored. Keeps things interesting. Especially if I step on the toes of the big bounty hunters. That guy’s free game though. Bonded by a small agency that doesn’t have their own bounty hunters. They send cases my way occasionally.”

  I shuddered, thinking I’d have to chase after him, but didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t make much of a P.I. if I was frightened by the people I’d encounter.

  And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t come across all sorts as a waitress.

  “Do you know how to compose a missing dog poster?”

  “Yes. I’m great at posters. I used to handle the advertising for my ex’s band.”

  They hadn’t exactly been in the Madison Square Garden league, more in the local saloon slash bar slash community center league. We did everything ourselves, including advertising. And since people usually found to the band’s gigs, I was pretty sure my advertisements had worked.

  Then again, they hadn’t exactly flocked in to them.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Shouldn’t I take a photo of the dog for the poster?”

  “Better leave that out. Put ‘released against accurate description’ on it.”

  I looked at him baffled. “Why would anyone try to claim a dog that isn’t theirs?”

  “Peopl
e are weird,” he said with emphasis. “And for further measure, the owner should pay a good finder’s fee, which should keep the wannabes out. Say two hundred?” My face lit up at the notion and he grinned. “I’ll take my cut off it, of course.”

  I didn’t care. It was infinitely better than what was in my pockets at the moment.

  Cheryl hadn’t returned by the time I’d composed and printed the posters, so—with a guilty look towards the closed door of Jackson’s office—I made another ad, for a room to let. It was time I stopped moping over Jessica and her half of the rent and did something about it.

  I’d just finished the ad—and deleted the incriminating document—when a short and round woman in her early fifties waltzed in. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me behind the desk, pulled up straighter, and puffed her cheeks. I recognized the fighting stance for what it was and immediately scooted back in the chair to make a fast escape. I was fairly sure I’d lose to her.

  She had stuffed her voluptuous figure into a pink two-piece skirt suit and a black top with a plunging neckline that showed an impressive cleavage. Her face was heavily made up, and her blond hair was so recently done in a bouffant style I’d say her trip to the courthouse had probably included a visit to a hairdresser too.

  “Who are you and what are you doing there?” she demanded to know.

  I got hastily up as she marched towards me, the heels of her pink shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. She would deal with trespassers to her dominion with ruthlessness.

  “I’m Tracy Hayes, the new apprentice.”

  She stopped in front of me, gave me a thorough once-over and sneered. “You’re wearing a waitress’s uniform.”

  I brushed my hand self-consciously down the side of my outfit. “I’ve made a recent career change.”

  “Very recent.” She sat behind her desk and checked the computer. “Have you touched anything?”

  “Only the Word document. I needed to make some posters for a dog I found.”

  “Starting your career with a bang, I see.”

  “At least it’s a career.”

  Scratching on the other side of Jackson’s door indicated that the dog was over his nap and wanted to know what was happening on this side of the door, so I let him out. He jumped enthusiastically around me, as if we were old friends, before heading to Cheryl to make her acquaintance. She crouched down to scratch his ears and a moment later they were best friends too.

  “I’m Cheryl Walker,” she said, appeased. “I look after this agency and that silly bastard over there.” She nodded towards Jackson’s office. I wouldn’t have characterized him as silly—and I wouldn’t dare to make assumptions on his parentage—but I nodded.

  “He seems nice.”

  “Oh, he’s the best.”

  I found her opinion of my new boss reassuring—not that I’d had reservations. I’d liked Jackson from the start.

  “I need to go spread these posters. Would it be okay to leave the dog here until then?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll be fine here, won’t we?” she cooed at the dog sitting on her lap. He licked her lips in answer. I shuddered and decided not to tell her that the dog had very recently vomited. Instead, I asked if she had a staple gun I could borrow. Armed with it, I headed out and to my first assignment as an apprentice P.I.

  My step was positively buoyant when I returned an hour later. I’d spread the posters in the residential area nearby, and into all the cafés, restaurants, and shops in a two block radius, including the Atlantic Terminal Mall—but not Café Marina; I wasn’t suicidal. I might not be a P.I. yet, or even much of an apprentice, but Tracy Hayes, apprentice P.I., sounded hell of a lot better than Tracy Hayes, unemployed waitress, or Tracy Hayes, college dropout. So I wasn’t a defense lawyer like Travis, or an ER doctor like Tessa, or even a homicide detective like Trevor. But I was something.

  While I’d been gone, Cheryl had popped out and bought a collar and a leash for the dog. Both were pink, because according to her, “He was secure enough to handle it.”

  He didn’t seem to mind.

  I was conflicted. It wasn’t like I could’ve afforded them, and the dog definitely needed them. But he was slipping out of my care and I felt possessive of him. Our destinies were entwined. We belonged together.

  But he had got me a new job, so I decided to be magnanimous.

  “They look great. Do you think you’d be able to take care of him until the owner is found? I know nothing about dogs.” It was a lie, but better than admitting I didn’t have a penny to feed him.

  “Oh, absolutely. We’ll have such a wonderful time together, won’t we?” The dog looked like he agreed, his tail wagging so fast I feared he would drop off Cheryl’s lap, so I left them to bond and knocked on Jackson’s door.

  Chapter Four

  “First mission accomplished, boss,” I said, taking a seat in front of his desk.

  “In all fairness, it was an easy one.”

  “I don’t know, those staple guns are tricky.” I said it lightly, but I’d had a few annoying moments with it.

  He grinned. “It’s best not to arm you with a real one then.”

  “There are guns involved? Waitressing never involved guns.”

  If it did, there’d be a massacre practically every day when the harried staff dealt with that one customer who changed their mind five times and then complained when they didn’t get what they’d ordered the first time and requested to see the manager.

  “Not for you,” he said sternly.

  “I know how to shoot.” Dad had made all of us learn.

  Then again, I’d never been very good at it. Guns were loud and smelly, and I hadn’t liked shooting all that much. I hadn’t touched any kind of weapon in years, so it was perhaps best I wasn’t armed.

  “I don’t doubt it. I recognized your father’s name, so I checked your background to make sure it was the same man. I used to know your family well.”

  “You did? Were you a friend of Travis’s?”

  My brothers’ friends used to fill the house when I was a kid, but they were eight and four years older than me, so I didn’t pay any attention to them—other than finding them a nuisance. By the time I was old enough to take interest in boys, my brothers had already moved away, emptying the house of their friends too. Jackson was about Travis’s age, and I’d been ten years old when Travis’s friends stopped coming over, so it wasn’t a wonder that I had no recollection of him.

  “Yes. Travis and I went to school together and he always welcomed me to your home. I think I even remember you as a scrawny little girl with pigtails,” he added with a smile. I had been scrawny, but if he remembered the pigtails, I must’ve been really small.

  “And Trevor and I worked briefly in the same precinct when I was a homicide detective.”

  “I knew you’d been a cop,” I said, pleased with myself.

  “How so?”

  I had a notion he didn’t ask just out of curiosity, but to test me. “You’ve cop’s eyes.”

  He looked mildly impressed with the answer. “That’s the kind of attention to detail I’m hoping for from you. That a waitress would be good at reading people—even if you don’t have any obvious qualifications for the job.”

  “If I were, I’d never have married my bastard of an ex.”

  “We learn from our mistakes.”

  We certainly did, which meant a century-long dry spell for me when it came to dating of any kind.

  “There are some formal things you have to learn pretty fast though. Your rights and what you can and can’t do, those sort of things.” He picked a stack of printed papers from his desk and handed them to me. “Read these for a start.”

  “Will there be a test?” I eyed the papers in dismay. Already the title page made my eyes water with its official language.

  “Absolutely.”

  I’d only asked as a joke, but now a lump settled into my guts, like every time a test was mentioned. But I could do this. I’d survived as a
waitress; I could read a few legal papers.

  “You’ll also need an ID. Look here.”

  I did and he took my photo with a huge camera he’d pulled out of nowhere before I could so much as blink. He checked the result from the display and grinned.

  “That’ll do.”

  “Hey!”

  Ignoring my protest, he uploaded the photo to his computer and printed it, while I combed my hair with my fingers, as if it would help at this point.

  “Sign here.”

  Jackson gave me a two-by-three cardboard card with the official information of his firm printed on it. He had already filled it in with my name and other required information, and I signed on the appointed line. He took the card and went to a side desk where he had printers and other machines, took the photo from the photo printer and attached it to the card. Then he laminated the thing before giving me the finished product.

  “There. Now you’re officially in my employment.”

  I stared at the card, delighted. Yes, the picture was horrible, but no more so than on my driver’s license. Wisps of hair were shooting everywhere, and I had a slightly shell-shocked expression in my blue eyes, but you could recognize me from it. More importantly, it meant authority that I’d never had before.

  “I’m a licensed P.I.!”

  “No, you’re an employee of a licensed P.I. There’s a vast difference,” Jackson said sternly, but I didn’t really care.

  “What’s next, boss?” I couldn’t wait to get to show the ID to everyone.

  “Next you’ll fill out all these employment forms.” When I groaned he smiled. “And then we’ll call it a day.”

  It was closing time by the time I’d filled out the forms. Cheryl was already leaving with the dog when I dropped the forms on her desk, and I spent a moment petting him. He really was the cutest little thing.

  “I’ll miss him.” I didn’t care anymore that I’d been fired—because of him. It really had been a blessing in disguise. I had a good feeling about my new job.

  “I’ll bring him back tomorrow,” Cheryl said cheerfully. She was so happy about the dog that I feared the separation would be hard on her when we found the owner.