The man wore a three-piece suit in gray plaid, with the vest buttoned up to the knot of his tie, then as I looked down, the last button, was… ooh la la, unbuttoned, and had a very nice… uh, pair of flat front slacks in the same gray plaid. His tie was a darker shade of gray with white polka dots that nicely balanced his starched white shirt. But who cared about the suit? It was those squinting eyes that did the trick. Nicely tanned skin wrinkled around deep brown eyes. His perfectly manicured brows told me he either sold a lot of cars, or was smart enough to look like he did. Either way, I liked him immediately, right up to his nearly unruly mop of brown hair that was crisply trimmed around his neck and ears, and kept in check with a perfect cut and just the right amount of hair product. Oh, yes, this man had a barber I wanted to meet.
I was a little put off by the driving gloves, but he removed them, explaining, “I was on my way out. I’m Max Daniels. How can I help you?”
Introductions all around, and I could tell even Nick was impressed.
“Nice Boxster.”
“Thanks, it’s an oldie, but a goodie.” Nick was being modest and it was unbecoming.
Time for me to get this show on the road.
“I’m looking to replace my car that was wrecked a few weeks ago.” Somehow my Charles charm had left my body.
“Totaled?” Max asked.
Then it hit me, and I said, “Did you know James Dean had a dog named Max?”
Max looked at me like I was nuts. “Okay.”
Oh boy, I needed to get back in the car and go home. Maybe I should go hang out with Mimi at Bucky’s place.
Nick saved me. “Sorry, we were discussing James Dean on the way over here. Charles just put his 1955 Porsche Spyder to rest a few weeks ago.”
Max’s eyes went wide. “Big Sur? That was your car?”
“Sadly, yes.” Snap. I had the sympathy card.
“How on earth did you survive that crash? I saw photos of the car. It’s toast.” He crossed himself like a Catholic.
“Actually, it’s a box of metal now.” I put on my best mourning face, but not too good because I still wanted to look my handsomest. “I wasn’t driving, it was stolen.”
“Even worse,” he commiserated. “You obviously have excellent taste in cars, so you’re in the right place.”
I nodded.
“Let’s see what we might have for you.”
We headed toward the the showroom, Max walking in front of us.
“Did you look at our website before coming over?” He looked back to see that we were following him into the showroom. “We have a lovely Porsche 911 E, circa 1971.”
Nick looked at me. It was kismet. This had been the car we’d both decided we wanted to test drive. There were two of them, but the 1971 was the real deal.
Once inside, Max made a beeline for the 911 E. It was silver and pristine, and I’m pretty sure it had“Charles” written all over it. I would have asked Nick, but he didn’t seem like the type who would see these things.
“Let me go get the keys.” He turned back, a huge salesman grin on his face. “Got a driver’s license? I just need a copy of it, so you can go for a joy ride.”
I pulled out my money clip and fished the license from the middle. When I handed it to him, I waited for him to look at it for authenticity, and to appreciate the better than average photo, but he just politely accepted it and walked away.
“Joy ride, my ass. This baby is going to be mine. I’m going to drive it like I’d drive the Spyder if it was still alive.”
I may as well have been talking to myself because Nick had wandered off to look at other cars.
I stepped quietly up behind him as he ogled a Bentley. I wasn’t sure what year it was, because the Bentley really wasn’t my sort of car, but it was nice enough. “Buying Mimi a new car?”
Nick flinched. “Right. Like she’d drive this old thing. This is a car for an old man. She’d want a Range Rover, and that’s not happening any time soon.” He nodded toward the empty hallway. “What’s going on?”
“He’s getting the keys. We are about to go for a ride.” I was giddy with delight.
Nick shook his head. “Take Max with you. I’m going to stay here and look around.”
I wanted to be disappointed. I liked Nick’s company. Besides, in my mourning state, we hadn’t gossiped about Mimi nearly enough lately. But then again, I would be cruising down the road with the most handsome man I’d seen in quite some time. It had been years since I’d bothered to really look, but this guy was a looker and worth the drought.
When Max returned, he had the keys dangling from his index finger.He handed me my driver’s license, and pushed a button on the wall. The side door on the showroom wall slowly rolled up, opening the room to the salty air, and refreshing breeze outside.
“Readyto go for the ride of your life?” Max’s demeanor had loosened up a bit.
Oh, was I? “You coming?”
His brows raised. “Let’s go.”
We both got in the 911 E and I maneuvered it out of the showroom and into the fresh new day. I felt a shift in the atmosphere, as I shifted gears and took that baby for a spin.
* * *
Of course, nothing was like my Spyder, but the 911E was pretty damn close. I didn’t want Max to think I was easy, so when we pulled back onto the car lot, I tried not to act like I was interested. But it was one sweet ride.
“I felt like there was a bit of a miss. Not really a miss, but it felt like it. Did you feel that?” There wasn’t shit; it purred like a kitten, but I wanted to see what he said.
“I didn’t feel a thing. Our mechanic is a genius with Porsche engines, and he’s been over this one like it was his own personal vehicle. I promise this car is a machine.” He put his hand on the stick shift.
Mm, mm, wrong stick shift. Oh, goodness, I was sounding like the male version of Mimi. I shook my head.
“Is everything okay?” Max asked.
I put on my best grin. “Perfect. I’m just a bit of a mess. It’s been a rough few weeks.” I pulled out my money clip again and handed Max my business card. “I’m interested, but I’m not buying today. If I miss out because someone buys it before me, then c’est la vie, but I must take care of a few other things before I commit.”
I put the car in park and turned off the engine. I knew I could maneuver the Porsche into the showroom deftly, but I’d leave it to the experts. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I opened the door to get out, and Max touched my arm. Great, the hard sell.
“Look, we don’t hard sell here. I have your card, here’s mine. I don’t usually do this, but here’s my cell phone number.” He pulled out a Monte Blanc pen and wrote his number on the back. “We could enter the info in each other’s phones, but let’s not.” He handed me the card. “Even if you decided not to buy the car, call me. I’ve always wanted to know more about the private dick business.”
During the drive I happened to mention what I did for a living, and how I’d moved from Monterey to Salinas to be closer to work. I didn’t want him to think I lived in Salinas because I was too poor to live on the coast.
I sighed. I was relieved I wasn’t going to have to be a jerk to Max, because I hate the hard sell, but pretty jazzed that I’d be seeing him again. “Cool. I’d be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know about the private dick business.” Or anything else you’d like to know about.
Max came around to the driver’s side and started the car as I walked over to Nick, who leaned against his own Porsche. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
Nick put his phone in his pocket. “Okay.”
We got in the car, and as we drove toward Highway 1, I asked him, “Did you know that James Dean was bisexual?”
Nick let out a jolly roar. “No, I did not. Wow, you really did have a thing for him.”
“That car was as close as I’d ever be to James Dean, and now it’s gone,” I said, yet again. My heart ached a little. Okay, a lot.
“Sorry, dude.”
>
I looked out the passenger window. “Did you also know that he’d been molested by his Methodist pastor when he was in high school?”
Chapter 3
MIMI
Cortnie was full of surprises. Who the hell knew she’d run a barrel, much less thrown a rope? To me, she was a surveillance genius, but turned out she’s more like Charles everyday. She does a bit of everything, and has secrets in her past that may never be revealed, but may be leaked out at a time when I least expect it.
I’d worked with her directly on a couple of different cases since she’d come to the agency, and even though she’s a tiny package, she’s gigantic in brilliance. I love knowing my employees are so well-rounded.
We weren't two miles from the office when I got a call on my cell phone from Skinner. He’d called Pam to see if she was home, and said it’d be best if we went by her place first, before talking to Cox. That way we’d have the full story about what Bucky had done to her, too. He wanted us to know just how bad Bucky was.
“I don’t understand why Jackie didn’t want to come with us,” Cortnie said.
“She isn’t a big animal lover. I mean she loves Lola, and could probably handle a dog, but she’s pretty much terrified of horses.” I remembered a case we had on a pony farm, and that was bad enough. A full size horse would send her running for a bottle of Xanax.
“I hear that all the time. I guess it’s not for everyone. Tell the truth, people scare me more than horses. At least if horses hurt you, it’s to protect themselves. They aren’t born mean. They don’t terrorize people for entertainment.” She fiddled with the strap on her black patent leather pump. “Though they probably should, as payback.”
“Are you going to wear those to Pam’s place?” We were headed to a horse farm for goodness sakes. Even I was wearing ballet flats.
If Charles wasn’t going to Anthony’s funeral, we weren’t going. I didn’t know his family at all, and there had been bad blood when Anthony cheated on Charles, so it felt weird to be going at all. We’d all been dressed, ready to support Charles, and he didn’t even bother to tell us he wasn’t going. We’d have been sitting in the funeral home, waiting, looking around as the service progressed, and Charles would have been out with Nick. Good thing they stopped by Gotcha or Nick would’ve been in hot water, and Charles would’ve been blistered because his water would have been boiling. The pity party was over. I’m sure Nick had been on his way into the office to tell me he wasn’t going to the funeral, and we’d walked out in time for him not to have to come in. I wondered if Charles would have given me the same courtesy. He’d been such a douche bag since he and Anthony split up, and the accident that totaled his Spyder.
I wished I’d had time to go home and change clothes before going out to Bucky’s place. I probably did, but then I’d have to wait while Cortnie when home to change, and by then, the day would be half over, and we’d have nothing done.
“It’s not like I’m going to ride. We’re going to talk to her.” She pressed the button on her phone, checking for something. “Full disclosure?”
“Oh, great, now what?” Between her and Skinner, the surprises just kept coming.
“I know Pam from when I was riding. It’s a small world, you know?” She looked at me sideways.
“Is there going to be a conflict of interest in this case? Do I need you to back out?” I asked.
“No, I really don’t think so, and the moment I’ll be more of a liability than an asset, I’ll let you know. You know I’d never jeopardize a case. I have no personal stake in this; I just know some of the players.”
“That may even help.” This disclosure was a good thing.
“Wait until you see the place. It’s a nice ranch.” Cortnie stared out the window. “Sometimes I wish I’d stuck with riding, but it was a lifestyle I couldn’t afford at the time. Heck, I can’t afford it now. And if I can’t afford to play to win, I’m not going to play.”
I’m pretty sure she was Charles’ long lost sister, separated before they knew about each other. I liked the way she thought. I only wanted winning attitudes on my team. I didn’t always have that attitude, but being around it sure did put me back straight. Charles usually straightened me out in a hurry, but lately he couldn’t depend much on me, and I couldn’t depend on him. Thank goodness Nick and I were in a good place. I didn’t need him for strength, because I’d found a way from the inside, but it was nice to know he had my back. I smiled at the thought. I couldn’t wait for the day to be over, so we could climb in bed and cuddle.
Back to the matter at hand. I navigated the winding roads of Hecker Pass and eventually came to the driveway of the ranch we were looking for. Pamela Brown’s Magnolia Ranch.
Holy green acres, I could consider moving to the country for half a second if I could afford this place. I’d say, other than the brown grass due to our wonderful drought, this looked more like Kentucky than California. The four-rail fence ran parallel to the highway, with a black iron gate at the driveway. We stopped at the gate and pushed a button that allowed us access without having to alert anyone we’d arrived. I assumed the gate was mostly to keep the horses in, not people out.
The brown fence ran along both sides of a gravel drive. The ground must have had some sort of oil sprayed on it because no dust kicked up behind us as I drove at a snail’s pace toward the main house.
I could see a car near the house, but no one in sight. I steered toward the barn and parked in the area marked with parking space lines. The entire front entry to the barn was brick inlay, and I could hear horses, but I didn’t see any.
“I thought Skinner said he called, and that she was waiting for us?” I said.
“Maybe she’s on the other side of the property. It goes up and over the hill, about two hundred acres, I think.” Cortnie got out of my car and shut the door.
I got out, too, and looked around the immaculate farm. “How does a person keep a place like this so clean?”
“Lots of stable hands. But I don’t think Pam has that much help. At least, not anymore.” Cortnie started toward the barn when we heard tires on the gravel behind us.
The pickup coming up behind us didn’t travel quite as slowly as I did. It came flying up on us, as though the driver was trying to catch us in the act of something.
The driver jumped out of the pickup, nearly before she had the vehicle in park and the engine turned off.
“Can I help you with something?” she snapped, not at all welcoming.
She was a tiny thing, maybe five two and not an ounce over a hundred pounds, if that, with long blonde hair that had been restrained in a braid that hung over her shoulder. From the looks of it, she did her own barn chores, because she wore faded and stained jeans, with scuffed leather boots and a threadbare white tee. She looked harried and sweaty, like she’d been interrupted while performing some sort of labor intensive chore.
We both looked at her, but said nothing.
"Can I help you ladies?" she repeated, a bit more abrasively this time. She looked at us more closely. "Cortnie? Little Cortnie Criss?" She came forward and hugged Cortnie like they were long lost friends.
Cortnie hugged her back. “Pammy.”
“Little girl, you have gone and got all growed up.” She held Cortnie at arm’s length.
I felt like the odd man out. “Hi, I’m Mimi Capurro.”
Her voice chilled a bit, but wasn’t cold. “I know that now. Skinner called.” She looked at Cortnie. “Look, I don’t want no trouble. Bucky has already made my life hell. I ain’t even going to rodeos no more, least for a bit. So, I guess I know what I can help you with.”
She looked at her watch, then at the house.
“Are we catching you at a bad time?” Cortnie asked, not seeming too concerned, but putting on a good show.
“I was just in town, I needed to get some groceries. But, I have time. Like I said, Skinner called, said something about some trouble with Bucky.” She pushed up her sleeves, looked at her watch aga
in, then back to her pickup.
“That’s what we came to talk about,” Cortnie said. “We need to know a bit about what he’s like, what he did to you, and if he could really do what Skinner’s accusing him of.”
“I’m not sure what Skinner’s got up his sleeve, but I’ll tell you the truth from my end. It came out in court, so it’s all on public documents.” She waved a hand. “Let’s go in the office.”
We walked into the horse barn that was open and airy, the walls lined in a lacquered knotty pine, with charcoal gray bars lining the tops of the stalls. I didn’t see any horses in the stalls, but I could hear the rustling of straw down the aisle. Pam slid open the first stall door and revealed a fully furnished office.
“Please sit down,” she said, as she went around the desk and sat in her chair, putting her dirty work boots on the desk and leaning back. “So, you already know who I am, and I know a bit about you, but what you want to know is what I was doing in business with Bucky Cox.”
Cortnie sat in a plush club chair upholstered in brown fabric with gray horseshoes, and I sat in a matching chair next to her. The office screamed country and western, and had a saddle rack in the corner, which held the type of saddle Skinner had described earlier as a trophy saddle, only this one was for NBHA barrel racer. I think the year read 2011, but I couldn’t see for sure because it was partially obscured by a Navajo blanket. The smell of horse sweat mingled with hay, manure, and something I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t unpleasant, but I didn’t want the smell transferring onto me.
I decided to take over this questioning. “Skinner says Bucky is a shady character, and he doesn’t do anything that doesn’t benefit him over the person he’s doing business with.”
Pam’s chuckle held a bit of mirth. “I wish I’d know that before I sold him my horse. Or rather, I thought I’d sold the horse to his wife, but in the long run, we became business partners.”
Electile Dysfunction (Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Book 6) Page 3