Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1)

by E. C. Bell

  “No, that was never part of the deal!” he yelled, pounding his fist on the desk top. “It was one percent plus expenses when we found your money for you. That was the deal. No. NO! You can’t do that! But—but . . .” He sat straighter in the chair, and his eyes blazed lightning bolts.

  “Fine. Fine. Yes, I’ll have the expense claim ready with your information. Yes. I understand completely.”

  He slammed the phone down without saying good bye. Telephone manners out the window, but I wasn’t about to say anything. Not when he was as angry as he was. Not when I could smell disaster in the air.

  “What happened?”

  “She says she’s not going to pay us until she has the money in her hands. Just our expenses for the seven hours we were on the job.”

  “She can’t do that!” I yelled, feeling as shocked and angry as James looked. “We did what we said we were going to do. You shook on it and everything. I saw you.”

  “She says that’s not what she meant. She says she meant she’d pay us when she receives the money.”

  James pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. “That could be years. She has to go through the courts to get her cash, and her ex-husband is in jail. He has other court cases to worry about before this one. And she said if we push it, or hold back the information we have for her, she’ll take us to court. Son of a bitch!”

  “Well, she can’t expect us to give her the original bank statements,” I said. “After all, those blew up in the—”

  “No, they didn’t,” James replied. “I recovered them, just before the explosion.”

  “You did? When—how— “I stared, then glared. “You broke into my office?”

  “Technically, it was Latterson’s office,” he replied, and wouldn’t look at me. “This has to do with my dirty little secret. I don’t think you’re going to like it, much.”

  My mouth dried. “What?” I whispered.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, distractedly. “Later, all right? Mrs. Latterson is sending someone over to pick up the envelope. We better get the expense claim ready, or we won’t get that money either.”

  “Well, you had pizza,” Farley said, obviously trying to be helpful. “And the tip. And . . .”

  I stared at James for a moment, then decided to let his confession go. After all, we had a deal, and I wasn’t going to push him. I couldn’t really, could I? Not with all the secrets I had.

  “How much did your uncle charge? Do you know?”

  “No.” He looked absolutely miserable. I had the feeling I looked about the same. “He handled all the paperwork.”

  “Check his files,” I suggested. “See what he charged for a day.”

  James opened the cabinet and pulled out a file at random.

  “This is from 1976,” he said. “He charged $50.00 per day for his time.” He glanced up, caught my ferocious frown, and rammed the file back in the cabinet. “Let me find something else.”

  James had to go to the bottom file, at the very back, to find the cases his uncle had worked on recently. The last one had been filed one week before he left for his holiday. One month before his death.

  “Just tell me how much he was charging so I can write this up.” I had found the expense form on the computer, and had it sitting on the screen waiting for input.

  “$200 a day. That’s what this invoice says, anyhow.”

  “Good enough.” I hammered away at the keys, typing in $230.00. “She can pay for the pizza on top of that.”

  “Two hundred dollars isn’t too bad,” James mumbled, still poring over the old case file.

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “Compared to $75,000.00, it is.”

  “I know.” James put the file back. “But it will have to do, until we figure out another way to get what’s owed us.”

  I printed off the invoice and rammed it into an envelope, then glanced over at James, who had pulled another file and was reading intently. “What’s that?” I asked.

  He jumped as though I’d used a cattle prod on his delicate parts, and nearly dropped the file. “Just seeing what Uncle Jimmy was up to.”

  He spoke apologetically, as though I’d caught him at something he shouldn’t have been doing. I felt bad. He could read whatever he wanted. This was, after all, his place. I tried to make my voice sound softer. It wasn’t his fault Helen Latterson had done what she’d done.

  “Sorry, James. What did you find?”

  “Looks like he was investigating whether a woman was cheating on her husband.”

  “Oh. Was she?” I lost interest, and went back to the computer, trying to figure out where to file the teeny tiny invoice we’d made.

  “Yeah. Yeah, she was. Wanna know who he was tailing?”

  “Will I care?”

  “Maybe. It was Sergeant Worth.”

  “What?” Oh, James had my attention with that one. Even Farley perked up a bit.

  “Yeah. Uncle was following her for a couple of weeks. She was fooling around with another cop.”

  “Rory,” Farley breathed. I glanced over at him, then back to James.

  “Who was it?”

  “Callahan, Rory Callahan. Uncle took pictures and—whoops!” He closed the file abruptly, his face flushed deep red. “He has pictures.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t want to see the photos, though Farley scurried over to check them out, old goat. James rammed the file back into the cabinet and slammed it shut.

  “Do you think she knew about your uncle investigating her?” I asked.

  “She couldn’t have.” James closed the file with a metallic thud. “If she had, she would’ve given us a much harder time. On general principle.”

  He stared at the closed cabinet as though he was still seeing the pictures. “Maybe her husband never used the information. Maybe she didn’t know he’d suspected anything. Maybe they’re still together.”

  “Nope, they’re divorced,” Farley piped up. “She talked to him this morning. Something about who gets the kids this weekend.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it was terrifically amicable.”

  I turned to James. “I think he probably did use the information,” I said, before I really thought.

  “Why?” James glanced at me suspiciously. It didn’t take much for him to look at me that way. “What do you know?”

  “It’s a feeling I had. She acted like someone who was divorced. Sad. She has that sad thing going on.” I backpedaled as hard as I could, and James almost seemed satisfied with the answer. Almost. “So, I don’t know for sure that she’s not still with her husband, it’s just a feeling I have. Don’t be so touchy!”

  “All right.” He frowned. “There’s a lot you don’t tell me, though. It puts me on edge.”

  “He’s got you there.” Farley leaned against the wall, obviously enjoying my discomfort. I hate getting caught like that.

  “I thought we had a deal about the secrets,” I said, stiffly. Why couldn’t he just leave this all alone? After all, he had secrets. Why couldn’t I?

  “It’s just, you have a lot of them. Your mother. And the dead guy. Farley. Right?” I could see Farley jump a bit, hearing his name coming out of James’ mouth. It made me feel a bit better. Nasty I know, but it did.

  “Please don’t push, James.” I wanted him to leave it all alone. I wanted him to just be the nice James who only wanted to date me—not the other James who wanted to know all about me.

  “Are you ever going to tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. And that was the absolute truth.

  “Oh.”

  I could tell that wasn’t what James had wanted to hear. He wanted a full confession, and a real date, and to live happily ever after or something, but I couldn’t give him any of that. I glanced over at Farley. Not with him hanging around. Not with any of them.

  “I’m trying to be honest, James. You want me to be honest, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  I had the feeling he would have taken a lie. He
wanted me to say something that could give him some kind of hope that he was being invited into my life.

  I couldn’t do that. No matter how much it hurt him.

  “So, that’s what I’m being. Honest. Can you accept that?”

  “I’ll try.” He didn’t act like he was trying very hard. His jaw had set, and he turned back to the file cabinet without another word. He opened the lowest drawer and began to read through another of his uncle’s old cases.

  I turned back to the computer, and opened another document. The least I could do was help James figure out his dead uncle’s online filing system, but all I got was another one of his stupid Solitaire games. The old man had them stuffed everywhere. It looked like he’d saved every game he’d lost, like he was going to go back and redo them, when he had the time. I sighed, and closed it. He’d run out of time for that, too.

  “So, what’re you going to do now?” Farley asked. He’d snuck up behind me, and I tried not to jump. “He isn’t going to wait forever for you to decide you trust him, you know. The way you’re going, he’d probably be happy if you disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  I pressed a button, and a blank screen popped into view.

  “I don’t need your help.” I typed quickly, then glanced at him to make sure he read it, before pushing another button, deleting the page. He frowned as he read the words.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. Watch me disappear, just like that page. Watch me.”

  I half expected him to vanish in a puff of smoke or something, even though he couldn’t do that. All he does is ooze through doors and walls and things, and it looked like he was trudging toward the door to do just that when James set down the file he’d been examining.

  “Marie?”

  “Hmm?” I didn’t look up from the screen. If he wanted to interrogate me some more, he could go ahead. I wasn’t playing.

  “The police called, while you were—indisposed. Just before Mrs. Latterson.”

  That caught my attention. “What did they want?”

  “They wanted to let you know that Arnie Stillwell has been arrested.”

  I blinked, and felt my throat tighten. All right, so I already knew about Arnie—but somehow, hearing it from someone living seemed to make it all real.

  “Wanna get some breakfast, to celebrate?”

  From the set of his jaw before he’d turned back to the files, I would’ve thought food would be the last thing on his mind. I grabbed a tissue and touched it to my eyes, then tried to smile.

  “That would be fantastic,” I said. “If you want to.”

  “I do,” he said.

  “Are we okay?” I whispered.

  James stared at me for what felt like forever, then nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

  I could have danced for joy, but I didn’t. “Then yes. I’d like some breakfast to celebrate.”

  “There’s a place downstairs, maybe we can try it out after Helen picks up the invoice.”

  “Can we give her a hard time?” I asked hopefully. “After all, she is treating us horribly.”

  James shrugged. “Let’s leave that until we get all our money,” he said. “It’d be terrible if she didn’t even pay us for this.”

  He had a point.

  “Fine,” I said. “But after she pays us out—”

  “We verbally destroy her,” he said.

  I smiled. I liked that idea. A lot.

  As we waited for Mrs. Latterson, James went back to his book, and I continued cleaning out all the garbage files on his dead uncle’s computer. I dearly wanted to open the files I’d stolen from Ian Carruthers’ computer, the ones James had loaded while I was in the hospital, but I did not want him to catch me deleting all references to Farley and moving on and all that stuff. The instant I was alone, I was doing it, but right at that moment, I didn’t go near it.

  I thought I had lots of time. I really did.

  Marie:

  Following the Money

  Helen hadn’t come to pick up the invoice herself, so I couldn’t have harassed her even if I’d wanted to. She’d sent some big—and I’m talking really big—guy rammed into an expensive looking suit to get it for her. He tried the door handle, rattling it a couple of times so hard he set the glass ringing, then gave it a turn, and it popped open. He looked surprised that it had opened. Looked even more surprised to see me at the coffee station, getting the millionth cup of the day.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “Are you Marie Jenner?” the big guy asked. To be honest, he was bigger than big. He was like a mountain dressed in a really expensive looking suit and Italian leather shoes. He made me nervous.

  So nervous I said, “Yes,” instead of telling him to go to hell.

  “You got something for me?” he asked. His voice sounded like it was coming from the centre of the earth or something. He held out a hand that was as big as a foot, and waggled sausage fingers at me.

  I handed him the envelope, and he rammed it into his inside breast pocket. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Soon.”

  James sauntered into the reception area, his nose still in the book he’d been reading.

  “Look who Helen sent,” I said.

  James looked up, and shrugged. “Make sure your contract’s iron clad,” he said to the big guy. “She’ll rip you off, just like she did us.”

  The big guy’s forehead creased as he frowned. “Who are you talkin’ about?” he asked.

  “Helen Latterson,” James said. “Don’t let her rip you off.”

  He looked at me, smiling at his joke, then back at the big guy, who was staring at him, frowning hugely. Man, everything this guy did was huge.

  When the big guy said, “Mrs. Latterson. Right,” sounding like he’d never heard her name before in his life, I knew we had a problem.

  James turned to me as the big guy left, slamming the door shut so hard I was certain the glass was going to shatter.

  “I have a question,” James asked.

  “What?” I said, reaching for my sweater.

  “Do you think that guy really works for Mrs. Latterson?”

  I stopped, and turned to him. “No,” I said. “I really don’t.”

  “Neither do I,” James said.

  “That’s why I’ve decided to follow him,” I said.

  James chuckled. “You?”

  “Don’t you think I can follow somebody?” I asked. “I can do it.” I pulled on my sweater. “Watch me.”

  “Good grief,” James said, taking me by the arm. “Nobody can take a joke today.”

  “Maybe because you’re not funny,” I said.

  “Yes, I am,” James said. “I’m hilarious.”

  “How about if I follow him,” Farley said. “While you play the sexual tension game with Jimmy boy.”

  I wished for just a second that I could touch Farley, because I would have slapped him for the sexual tension comment, but then I realized that Farley had actually come up with a good idea. He’d have much better luck following the big guy than I would. I nodded, and Farley dove through the door.

  “Fine,” I said, to James. “You’re hilarious. Now, what are we going to do about the mystery man?”

  “I say we call Sergeant Worth and let her know,” James said, pulling out his cell phone and pressing a button. He had Worth’s number on speed dial. “And then we go for breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” I’d forgotten the celebration breakfast.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

  “I’m starving,” I replied. That was the honest truth.

  James’ smile faded as he obviously got the sergeant’s voicemail. He left a brief message telling her to call him back, then grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door.

  “Let’s see what he’s driving,” he said. “My guess, a Lincoln Navigator.”

  I shrugged. I had no idea what one of those looked like.

  We opened the door, and the hallway was empty. We ran down the three flight
s of stairs and out into the street. The big guy was gone. So was Farley.

  “Son of a gun,” James said. “He was fast.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Worth will figure out who he is. Let’s go get breakfast.”

  “Okay,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he was all that hungry anymore.

  I wished I could tell him that I had a tail on the big guy, but I couldn’t.

  More secrets.

  As I followed James into the restaurant, I wished for the briefest of moments that I had no more secrets. None at all.

  Farley:

  Following the Mountain . . .

  I’d never had the chance to ride in a Lincoln Navigator before. Nice ride, and the bruiser behind the wheel handled the car like a real pro. As he drove, he pulled out the envelope Marie had given him. Looked at the name scrawled across the front, snorted, and pulled his cell phone free.

  “Yeah, hi,” he said after a long wait. “Is he in? I got an issue here.” Then he sat, a massive stone statue with a cell phone glued to its head, while he waited to be connected to whoever had sent him over.

  So, Marie was right. This guy had not been sent by Helen Latterson. Who was the “he” this bruiser was waiting to talk to?

  “Yeah, hi.” The mountain finally moved, shifting the cell phone and sitting straighter as he spoke. “I went to talk to Jenner like you told me to—but she handed me an envelope.” He glanced down at the envelope. “It’s addressed to Helen Latterson. Yeah. Latterson. L-A-T—yeah, yeah, that’s right. When I saw the name, I thought you’d want to see it. So, I booked.”

  He tore open the envelope, obviously at the command of whoever was his boss. He stared at the papers for a long moment, then shifted the cell back up to his ear.

  “Looks like a bill. $230.00. For services rendered. Plus photocopies of some bank statements.”