D.B. Hayes, Detective

by Darlene Scalera; Dani Sinclair

“You don’t come waltzing into my office throwing your weight around. I’m not afraid of you,” I lied. “You want to have sex with a married woman, you take the consequences, buster.”

  “Sex? You think we were…” He swore.

  “Right back at you.”

  I was quaking inside, but I’d die before admitting it. Though I’m licensed to carry a gun, I never do. Guns scare me—but not nearly as much as he did.

  He looked down at my hand, and I realized my finger was still pressed against his crisp white linen shirt. Aware of the scratches, I dropped my hand and fought an urge to take a quick step back. Instead I opened my mouth and more words came tumbling out.

  “Why would I think the two of you were getting it on?” I asked to cover the flush I could feel stealing up my neck. “Oh, wait. Could it be because you drove the very married Elaine Russo across the state line to some sleazy motel? So sorry. I’m sure it was for an innocent, if illegal, poker game.”

  His eyes went flat. There was something very scary about the banked anger I read in his expression. I found myself taking that step back after all until my posterior came up against the edge of the desk.

  In an instant all that scary anger disappeared. He regarded me with something that looked suspiciously like grudging respect mingled with humor.

  “My cousin will not be happy to hear you think his motel is sleazy.”

  My knees felt disturbingly wobbly.

  “Your cousin?”

  “Vinnie and his wife just sank their life’s savings into building that ‘sleazy’ motel.”

  Oh, boy.

  “You’re not the least bit afraid of me, are you?”

  If he only knew. I swallowed, grateful for the acting classes I’d taken in high school, and tried for a sneer.

  “I didn’t know fear was a requirement.”

  More of his tension eased. He tipped his head to regard me. It was all I could do to keep my hand from straying to my hair in a vain attempt to control the loose curls. If only I’d gotten up when the alarm clock went off so I could have worn it up, like I usually do when I’m working. It makes me look older.

  He definitely seemed amused now, and I didn’t like that reaction any better than his anger. Having a gorgeous man regard me with humor is not my idea of a compliment.

  “We’ve strayed from the point,” I told him in annoyance. “I’d like you to leave.”

  “Yeah. I got that. Did you talk to Elaine and convince her to leave or did Russo send someone after her?”

  “I’m a private investigator, pal. People pay me for information.”

  He reached in his hip pocket and produced a leather wallet. Taking some bills from inside, he laid them on the desk and stared at me with a questioning lift of his brows.

  That fanned the flames of more anger. “You arrogant—”

  “Not enough?” He started to take out another twenty.

  I was so furious, I was starting to shake.

  “You don’t have enough money. Get out of here. I’ll see you in divorce court. I’ll be the one pointing a finger at you and telling the judge you’re the man who was having the affair with Elaine Russo.”

  “Then you’ll be lying,” he said calmly. “Elaine isn’t my lover, she’s my client.”

  That pricked my anger and filled me with confusion.

  “Client?”

  He reached into his wallet once more. This time he handed me a small white business card. Not the type I pull off my printer—this one was embossed in bold script. Heat, then cold, swept me as I stared at the name on the card.

  “You’re Brandon Kirkpatrick?”

  “You aren’t what I expected either,” he admitted. “I assumed D.B. Hayes was a man.”

  We stared at each other.

  “What’s the D.B. stand for anyhow?”

  “Dangerous when Bothered.” I was still angry despite the hollow feeling in my belly.

  He grinned. The man was gorgeous even when he was angry, but when he smiled, he was downright lethal.

  “Beats Dumb Blonde,” he said.

  My teeth came together with a snap. “I’m not a blonde. I have brown hair.”

  He stared at my hair. “Looks more like burnished teak to me.”

  My tummy quivered. The desire to melt was incredibly strong. Sternly I took control. This man had taken my client’s wife to a motel room only the night before.

  “I’ll bet you get far with that puppy-dog look, don’t you, Mr. Kirkpatrick?”

  His smile invited me to share the humor.

  “Generally speaking, yes. Doesn’t seem to be working on you though.”

  If he only knew.

  “Everything all right, Dee?” my aunt asked.

  I’d forgotten all about Aunt Lacy and Trudy. Apparently they’d decided I could handle the man and were just checking to be sure their assumption had been correct.

  “Fine, Aunt Lacy. Mr. Kirkpatrick was just leaving.”

  “Dee and I are just getting to know each other,” he said at the same time.

  “We are not,” I said sharply. “I have no desire to get to know you.”

  “Why not? I’m a nice person and we have a lot in common.”

  “We have nothing in common.”

  “We’re both in the same profession, and this is a small community, after all.”

  “That’s right, so stay on your side of the river and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Can’t do that. It appears we’re on opposite sides of more than the river at the moment.”

  “There are no sides. I was hired to do a job and—”

  “So was I,” he interjected quickly. His features grew serious. “Elaine hired me to protect her from her husband. She has reason to believe he plans to kill her.”

  The matter-of-fact way he said that sent an icy chill straight up my spine.

  “Look, Dee, you seem like a nice kid. I doubt you want something like that on your conscience.”

  Kid? He thought I was a kid?

  “Did you talk to her after I left or did Russo send someone after her?”

  I pictured Hogan Delvecchi and tried not to shudder. Was it possible? Had I been used to set the woman up to be killed?

  “She wasn’t at the motel when I went to pick her up this morning,” Brandon continued. “No one saw her leave and she isn’t answering her cell phone. What happened?”

  “Look, Mr. Kirkpatrick—”

  “Brandon.”

  “Mr. Kirkpatrick,” I said firmly, “I don’t know what sort of ethics you have, but my job demands client confidentiality.”

  His expression hardened once more.

  “I hope your ethics give you comfort when they find her body.”

  “You aren’t laying that at my door. I’m not the one she hired for protection, pal. You’re the one who left her alone in the middle of nowhere without a car.”

  He turned without a word and strode through the door.

  “I will tell you this much,” I called after his back, “I never spoke with Elaine Russo.”

  He didn’t break stride or say a word, but I gave him points for inclining his head to acknowledge Aunt Lacy and Trudy as he passed. Trudy gaped, standing there holding a tulip in one veined hand. Neither of them spoke as he strode out of the shop.

  “Well,” Trudy said after a minute, sticking the flower into the arrangement in front of her. “Who’s the stud?”

  I leaned back against the door frame. My knees threatened to buckle at any moment.

  “Brandon Kirkpatrick.”

  “Oh, my,” Aunt Lacy murmured.

  Trudy grinned. “Cool. I didn’t realize he was such a looker. That one is definitely a keeper. Much better than your usual sort.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I demanded. “I don’t even like him.”

  She raised a single eyebrow. “Honey, all those sparks flying around in that itty-bitty office practically blinded me.”

  “What you saw was sheer rage on his part,” I
told her.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, and certainly not on your part,” she said provocatively.

  “Trudy,” my aunt chastised.

  Trudy looked unrepentant. “Lacy, even you have to admit that man could inspire sparks in a female corpse.”

  “If he wasn’t such a jerk,” I inserted. “Emphasis on the jerk, Trudy. He has an ego the size of Colorado. Besides, pretty boys aren’t my type.”

  “Honey, that was no boy, and I’d say he’s every breathing heterosexual woman’s type.”

  “Trudy!” Aunt Lacy protested. “Leave the girl alone. We need to get this arrangement finished. Dee, we have five orders that have to go out this afternoon—are you free to make deliveries?”

  “Sure,” I said absently, still fretting over my conversation with Brandon. “I’m not in the mood to hunt cats again in this heat.”

  “Now, dear, you mustn’t give up. You’ll find him,” she replied. “I have faith. And I wouldn’t worry about what that Mr. Kirkpatrick told you. I’m sure Mr. Russo isn’t going to kill his wife.”

  No, he’d probably have Delvecchi take care of that detail for him, I thought sourly.

  “Are you kidding?” Trudy exclaimed. “I keep telling you that man has mob ties. If he wants her dead, she’s dead.”

  “No one’s going to die,” I said with more force than I felt.

  “Of course not,” my aunt agreed. “And anyhow, it wouldn’t be your fault. Like you told Mr. Kirkpatrick, if anyone screwed up, it was him. He’s the one she hired for protection.”

  That did not make me feel any better.

  I knew when I’d decided to use the flower shop as my base that privacy was something I’d have little of, but while my aunt and Trudy loved to gossip, we had an agreement that my cases were to stay private. I sincerely hoped they’d honor that promise.

  I stewed over the scene with the sexy Brandon Kirkpatrick all afternoon as I delivered flowers to business offices and happy homemakers. Normally I enjoy seeing a person’s reaction to receiving flowers, but today was hardly normal.

  Once I finished my deliveries, I drove up and down the side streets near Mickey’s looking for cats. They, however, weren’t stupid enough to be wandering around in this heat. I didn’t blame them, but I was starting to worry about Mr. Sam. Mickey had said the cat was old. It was really, really hot outside and we hadn’t had rain in weeks. Would the poor little thing be able to find water? Would he be able to find food? I know hunting is supposed to be a natural instinct, but if the poor old feline was used to humans providing everything in a dish, how would he manage? Do cats get Alzheimer’s? While I was heartily sick of looking for the little beast, I’d feel awful if something bad happened before I found him.

  Reluctantly I stopped at the park and got out for a quick look around. The only animals in sight was the flock of geese that had taken over the ball field. As they were bigger than most cats, I figured wandering in that direction was a waste of time and a pair of good shoes. Other than some small children playing on the playground under the weary eyes of their mothers, the rest of Lakewood was crammed into the sun-baked pool, noisily trying to cool off.

  By the time I got back to the shop, my blouse clung like an unpleasant additional layer of skin and my forehead was dripping sweat. For some stupid reason I couldn’t stop thinking about a pair of flashing blue eyes and the gorgeous face that went with them. Why couldn’t Brandon Kirkpatrick have been some seedy middle-aged man with a receding hairline and love handles?

  Trudy was waiting on a customer. Aunt Lacy was in the office, on the telephone, with the shop ledger spread in front of her. I scooped up my portable computer and wiggled my fingers to let her know I was leaving when my cell phone rang. Setting the computer on the workstation, I answered the summons, half hoping it wouldn’t be another job. I was tired. But at the same time, for the sake of my bank account, I half hoped it would be a new client. Even an old one.

  “D.B. Hayes.”

  “Ms. Hayes, this is Albert Russo. I wanted to thank you personally for a job well done.”

  “Uh—”

  “You may be called on to testify on my behalf in the divorce settlement. If that happens, suitable recompense will, of course, be given. I was foolish not to insist on a prenuptial agreement. I’m afraid it’s going to be an ugly divorce. My wife appeared in my office this afternoon and created a most embarrassing scene in front of my staff over those photographs you took.”

  “She did?”

  Elaine Russo wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even hurt. And instead of sounding angry, her husband sounded genuinely embarrassed. My relief was amazing.

  “She claims she’s been trying to break off her relationship with Mr. Kirkpatrick for weeks now,” he went on.

  Shocked, I stared at an African violet sitting out on the counter in the back room for some reason. Russo knew who Brandon was. And Elaine Russo had admitted to having an affair with him. I pushed aside a pang of regret. The pretty boy had lied to me.

  “Elaine claims Kirkpatrick threatened her,” Russo continued. “I don’t believe that, of course, but it makes no difference. The point is, thanks to you, I have sufficient physical proof to meet with my lawyer this evening. I want you to know I appreciate your diligence. I will be happy to pass your name along to my colleagues, should they ever require the services of an investigator.”

  “Thank—”

  “And, of course, there will be an additional bonus for you once the divorce goes through. Again thank you.”

  “Oh, it was my…pleasure,” I added to the dead line.

  Mr. Russo had said his piece and disconnected. Okay by me. His wife was alive. He was pleased with my work. He’d offered to pass along my name to his wealthy friends. Life was good.

  Something brushed against my leg. Startled, I yelped out loud as I looked down to find the small gray cat rubbing up against me. I was in such a good mood, I even bent down to stroke her furry head. Instantly she began to purr.

  “You have a loud purr for such a little thing, you know that, cat?”

  “Oh, Dee, I’m glad you’re still here,” Aunt Lacy said. “Did you remember to hang the Found signs for Annabelle?”

  I blinked at my aunt in surprise. “You named the cat Annabelle?”

  “Well, we can’t just call her ‘cat.’”

  “Why not?”

  My aunt gave me one of those speaking looks, and I managed a meek shrug.

  “You could keep her,” I suggested.

  “Absolutely not. Clem would not take kindly to a cat. Besides, someone must be missing this sweet little girl, right, Belle?”

  Annabelle immediately left my side to rub against my aunt. Aunt Lacy opened the workstation drawer and pulled out a bag of kitty treats. Annabelle scarfed down the offering as if she was starving.

  “Your young man was in again while you were out.”

  “Brandon came back?”

  Aunt Lacy got a peculiar look on her face.

  “No, dear. I believe his name is Mickey. A very bright, polite young man, but he’s quite discouraged. I do hope you’ll find his cat soon.”

  I did not like the newly speculative look on my aunt’s face. I’d just made a big blunder and I knew it. What on earth had made me think she was talking about Brandon? It was understandable that the stupid man would be on my mind after the way he’d scared me with that drivel about being responsible for the woman’s death but nevertheless…

  “I’m trying to find Mickey’s cat, Aunt Lacy. I just came back from looking at the park some more. You’d think one of these miserable animals would be the right one. I mean, how many gray cats can be running around loose in Lakewood? The place isn’t that big.”

  She handed me the leaflets with Annabelle’s picture. “Here, dear.”

  One does not argue with Aunt Lacy when she gets that expression. I was hot and sweaty all over again by the time I finished hanging the signs around the neighborhood where I’d picked up Annabelle. When I finish
ed, I thought about stopping by my dad’s place and sharing a meal with him, but frankly I was too hot to eat. I decided to go home, pop some microwave popcorn, open a cola and try to figure out how to remove the other two animals from my apartment without getting caught.

  Since I was pretty sure the animal shelter closed by six, that meant they’d have to spend another night in my apartment. The thought was depressing. Maybe that’s why my subconscious decided I should drop by Brandon Kirkpatrick’s office on my way home.

  I found myself crossing the bridge into Rocky River before I could really think things through. Still, why not? Turn-about only seemed fair. If he could burst into my office, I could reciprocate to let him know his client wasn’t dead and I knew him for a fast-talking liar. Besides, I was dying to see his office.

  I hate to admit I’m so mean spirited, but I was glad I made the decision. His office was a small hole-in-the-wall squished between storefronts—much smaller than Aunt Lacy’s flower shop. On the other hand, he didn’t have to share space with anyone, so his name was prominently displayed on the front door.

  No one sat at the scuffed teak desk in what proved be an outer office. A phone, a pad of paper, some pens and an older-model computer were the desk’s only adornment. There were four mismatched chairs scattered around, but no plants, no photographs—nothing to break up the plain, bare, institutional white walls.

  Brandon emerged from the inner office almost immediately and filled the doorway between the two rooms. Seeing him again, my stomach took on a funny fluttery feeling I haven’t had since the first time a boy asked me out.

  “You could use a decorator,” I told him.

  He didn’t smile. “My sister-in-law agrees with you.”

  So much for small talk. “She’s not dead,” I told him without further preamble.

  He leaned back against the door frame and crossed his legs at the ankle. The casual pose should not have troubled me in any way at all.

  “And you know this because…?”

  “Albert Russo phoned to thank me. Your client made a big scene in his office this afternoon. She claims you threatened her when she tried to break off your affair.”