He and his dad had never revealed Yuri’s name, had only referred to him as a loan shark, but obviously he had underestimated his grandmother’s ability to sleuth things out. Danica Patrick, meet Sherlock Holmes.
The gig was up.
“Yes,” he answered. “How did you know?”
She pawed in a pink saddlebag draped over a chair arm and extracted a tissue. “The night Benny called the taxi—to deliver the money to the loan shark—I heard him say he was going to Tverskaya Russian restaurant. Didn’t think of it much since then…but when Yuri called the other day, he had a Russian accent, and only an idiot wouldn’t have connected those dots.” She blew her nose.
With a craggy meow, Maxine jumped off her lap and bustled toward the kitchen, her claws scrabbling when she hit the linoleum.
“Is this true?” his mother asked, turning to Drake. “Was Yuri the loan shark?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flared. “Why am I the last to know?”
“Hey,” he said, wagging a finger at the women, “the two of you have fibbed for years, not telling me you used the ring to pay the debt.”
“You and Benny fibbed, too,” the elderly woman retorted, stuffing the tissue into the bag. “Your mother and I had a right to know Yuri’s name.”
The three of them were quiet for a moment, their gazes darting from one to the other.
The silence was finally broken with an indignant huff from his mother. “Everybody keeping secrets! Hard to believe we’re a family!”
“No, dear,” his grandmother said gently, “it’s not about keeping secrets…it’s about wanting to protect the ones we love.”
“From the truth?” Dorothy snapped.
Glenda tilted her head and looked at her daughter as though she were still a petulant child. “No, dear,” she finally said, “from being hurt.”
From the kitchen came another demanding, scratchy meow.
“Now there’s a family member who never keeps a secret,” Grams said. “If she feels it, thinks it or wants it, it’s shared with the world.” She touched the joystick and the electric wheelchair beeped to life. “Drake, sweetheart, one more question. Did Yuri burn your place because you asked for the ring back?”
“No.”
“Didn’t make sense to me, either.” She drove toward the kitchen, then stopped, pressed a button and the chair pivoted. “He views you as a threat, though.”
He debated answering, but decided if he was in this deep, it would be harder to dig his way out than come clean. “Yes.”
“Because…?” She stared at him intently, her eyes shading a darker green.
“I’ve been surveilling him.”
“Good Lord,” his mother murmured.
“Does this have to do with the ring?” Grams asked.
“Partially.” He could tell by the look on his grandmother’s face that she wasn’t going to accept that as an answer. “I want dirt on him, the kind that will put him behind bars.”
After a beat, the elderly woman raised her fists and gave them a shake. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”
His mother snorted in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging him.”
“Your son, my grandson,” Grams said, “has a background in military intelligence, hotel security and private investigations. He knows what he’s doing.”
She blew him a kiss, then pressed a button. The chair pivoted toward the kitchen. “Don’t forget the app, sweetheart.”
“Will do.”
She disappeared into the other room. “And by the way,” she called out, “it maxes out at seventeen miles an hour.”
“She’s incorrigible,” Drake murmured.
“Probably maxes out at twenty,” his mother muttered.
“I can hear you!” Grams called out.
Drake and his mother shared a smile. It was better like this, the three of them grumping and teasing each other, rather than earlier when the women had sat so quietly, their faces etched with apprehension as he answered their questions about the fire.
“I’m hurt, you know,” his mother said. “I like to be the tower of strength, the one in the know.”
“And you are, Ma. Problem is, in this family, everybody’s a tower.”
Barely suppressing a smile, she held out her hand. “Let your mother walk you to the door, the way we did when you were little.”
That’s how she’d sent him and Braxton off to school every morning when they were kids. She’d stand in the center of the living room, holding both hands out to her sides. Brax would take one, Drake the other, and the three of them would walk to the door.
As he took her hand, he could feel the missing person. From the shadow that flitted across his mother’s face, he knew she felt it, too.
“Want to come over tomorrow night to set up the cameras?” she asked.
“Sounds good.”
“Six o’clock. I’m making meat loaf for dinner.” She gave him a sideways look. “Is there really an app for your grandmother’s smartphone?”
“Several, actually, that will let her view the feeds.” He gave his head a shake. “She’s like a teenager with her whiz-bang gadgets.”
“It’s brought the world to her. Books, movies, friends. Doesn’t make her feel stuck in a chair. Did you know she has almost seven hundred followers on Twipper?”
“Twitter.”
“Ha!” They reached the door and stopped. “Guess you can tell I’m not an adventurer in the electronic frontier.” She gazed into her son’s face. “Nice of that woman to offer her office. Do you have it to yourself?”
“There’s…an intern.”
“Must be tough with the owner getting ill. Is the intern managing the business by himself?”
He was a she, but Drake decided to skip that part. “For the most part.”
“Bring him, too.”
He’d caused Val to lose her sandwich earlier, and she’d passed on his invitation to lunch. And after being a heroine and finding Yuri’s cigarette, at the very least he owed her a nice meal.
But bringing her to dinner at his mother’s house? That could be a recipe for disaster.
After his engagement to Liz ended, his mother and Grams took it hard. Not because they’d liked her. His mother thought Liz was shallow, and his grandmother didn’t give a reason, just said she preferred spending time with Maxine. What upset them was that Liz had walked out on him when he was at the lowest point in his life.
He had brought home one woman since then. An event planner, Laura, whom he’d met while working a case. His mother and Grams went all mama bear and grilled the poor girl as if it was a witness interview, not a family dinner. Soon after, Laura gave him the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech, which was okay because he was ready to give it, too, so their parting had been a relief for both of them.
He just wasn’t up for another mama bear encounter. Although there was also the remote chance they might like Val, he wasn’t up for that, either. The women in his family were strong-willed and determined—the last thing he needed was that kind of rabid energy channeled into matchmaking.
Which meant either way he couldn’t win.
“He, uh, probably has plans.”
“Oh. Married?”
“No.”
“From around here?”
“New Orleans.”
“Now you must bring him! You know how your grandmother loves to talk about that trip she took to the French Quarter. It would make her night. Plus he would probably appreciate a home-cooked meal.”
“He likes to cook, so that’s not an issue.”
“Just like…
He caught a glint of hurt in her eyes. He hadn’t wanted to bring up Brax, even accidentally. Although his mom refused to talk about her other son, her ache was never far from the surface. Grams didn’t like acting as though Braxton didn’t exist, talked about him freely when she and Drake were alone, but also understood her daughter’s tough-love decision. As she told Drake, “She loves her son, but can’t condone
the criminal.”
“Bring that intern anyway,” his mom continued. “Everybody loves a night off from cooking.” She smiled. “Plus he’s never tasted Dorothy Morgan’s world-famous meat loaf.”
“I…think he’s a vegetarian.” He was running out of excuses.
“No problem! I’ll make a big salad, and we have fixings for cheese enchiladas.” She clapped her hands. “I have an idea. Since he enjoys cooking so much, maybe he’d like to help me in the kitchen!” When Drake didn’t respond, she waved off the idea. “Silly idea. Forget it.”
He didn’t like taking the light out of someone’s face. Made him feel like a jerk. She wasn’t asking for much. Never did, actually. Since Grams only ventured into the kitchen to feed Maxine or make a martini, his mom cooked alone most of the time. Was it really such a big deal to bring Val?
He could deal with it. But he’d keep the element of her being a woman until they arrived. Less time for the two of them to work up any interview questions.
“He’d probably like helping you,” Drake said, wondering if Val even knew how to cook. Well, learning new skills on the fly was an attribute for a private investigator.
His mom turned serious. “Have him drive.”
Another reason to bring Val. He liked the idea of his pickup not being seen here for a while.
After they hugged, he walked across the yard, thinking his mom had a look on her face he hadn’t seen in a long time. Happy, yes, but something else. Eager, certainly, to be bustling around her favorite room, the kitchen, with a sous chef again.
He reached the pickup and paused to look at the desert willow.
Suddenly, he realized what that look had been. She had looked hopeful.
CHAPTER NINE
SHORTLY AFTER THREE that afternoon, Val was checking her email when Jasmyn’s parents, Char and Del, strolled into Diamond Investigations. Char wore a denim skirt and sandals; Del had on khaki cutoffs and Birkenstocks. Both wore matching purple T-shirts with the name of their business, the Gumbo Stop, in bright yellow letters.
“Hey, dawlin’,” Char called out. “Where y’at?”
“What it is,” Val answered.
Back home, people often greeted each other with this exchange, but it was more than an idle word swap. The person asking was genuinely inquiring about the other person.
Which aptly summed up Char and Del. They genuinely cared about their family, which was as much about actions as feelings. Char once said that the biggest lesson she learned from Katrina was how survival depended more on connecting, giving and trusting people than having a fistful of money.
“I swear, it’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol outside.” Char sank into one of the guest chairs and daintily touched the back of her hand to her brow. “That or menopause is finally kicking in.”
Val smiled. “You’re only what, thirty-five?”
“Bless your heart for knocking ten years off my age. Did I mention I’m leavin’ you the Alps vacation home in my will?”
“Thought you were leaving me the Rolls-Royce.”
“Make it fifteen years, and I’ll throw that in, too, dawlin’.”
Her second cousin’s dark gold hair looked almost glittery under the overhead lights. She carried extra weight, which she tried to shed every now and then, but the pounds inevitably returned. “I just can’t resist my own cooking,” she’d say, a line her customers at the Gumbo Stop loved.
“Jasmyn’s watchin’ the store while we pick up some supplies,” Char continued. “Diamond Investigations is on the way, so we decided to drop by.” She glanced at her husband, who was peering into the fish tank. “Wha’cha lookin’ at, Delbert?”
“Had one of these as a kid,” he said in his smooth baritone, which always reminded Val of a jazz radio personality. “Had me some angelfish in it, too.”
Pushing fifty, he was as lean as Char was round, and was probably the most honest person Val had ever met. He spoke his mind, good or bad, which sometimes gave Char fits, especially when he riled a customer at their gumbo store. He and his wife had finally reached an agreement—he’d tone it down at work, but elsewhere all bets were off.
“That blue-yellow one sure likes to squirrel away in that baby castle.” He glanced over his shoulder at Val. “Know why they like to hide?”
“So they don’t get stressed.”
“More likely when they’re ready to breed.”
Well, Jayne never said anything about that.
“He around?” Char whispered, looking inquisitively at the closed office door to Val’s right.
“No. His office is down that hallway…” Val gestured over her left shoulder.
Del straightened to his full six foot two. “That boy treatin’ you right?”
“We’re working together fine, Del.”
Char leaned forward, giving Val a conspiratorial look. “Delbert isn’t happy about that boy threatening to file criminal charges. He’d like to have a word with him, and this time he’s promised to not let things get out of hand.”
The last time Del had decided to “have a word” with somebody, it had ended with his fist in the guy’s face. Although the young man had deserved it after the disrespectful things he had said to Jasmyn, Del had also broken two knuckles and spent the evening in the emergency room.
“Really, everything’s fine now.” Lord, was she glad Drake wasn’t here. With everything he was handling, he didn’t need the Val family protection squad coming to her defense.
In New Orleans, Val had had to be the strong one for her and Nanny. If there was a conflict or problem, she’d handled it. Although she appreciated her new family watching her back, ready to charge to her defense, she didn’t want to scare off Drake. He was still her mentor, and then there were those sizzling moments between them that neither handled so well, but which they would only handle worse, if at all, if Cousin Del put the fear of God and Val into Drake.
She was debating how to say that without offending them when the phone started jangling.
“I need to get this,” she said, picking up the receiver. “Diamond Investigations.”
“Hello,” said the caller, “this is Suzanne Doyle, manager of the Riviera Casino and Hotel. May I speak to Drake Morgan, please?”
The Riviera was legendary in Las Vegas for its colorful history of mobsters, famous movie stars and the superstars who’d performed there, like Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra.
“He’s not here right now. Would you like me to take a message?”
“I left one with Sally already.”
Sally again. Dang, that girl was a one-woman information distribution center. How come everybody was talking to Sally about Drake? Was there more going on between them than Val was aware of?
She experienced another zap of the green-eyed monster. Which made a lot of non-sense considering minutes ago she was fretting if she and Drake were too opposite to make a relationship work…hadn’t crossed her mind that he might already be in one.
That either said a lot about her sense of can-do, or that she had a problem dealing with reality.
“Sally? She seems to be mighty good friends with Drake.” Is she dating him or what?
“I suppose. Sally and I worked together at the Riviera for years before the company restructure. Anyway, are you a P.I.?”
“Yes.” What did “I suppose” mean?
“Good. And you are…?”
“Val LeRoy. Drake and I work together. Very well, I might add.”
Char’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise.
“Miss LeRoy, I have a special investigative request. Have you ever seen the reality TV show Ghost Adventures?”
“A few times.”
It featured a group of paranormal investigators, called the Ghost Team, who visited places supposedly haunted by ghostly spirits. Using equipment like digital recorders, video cameras and electromagnetic devices, they tried to substantiate the existence of ghosts in each show by taking the ghosts’ photos or recording their spooky wailin
gs.
“Ever see the show where the Ghost Team stayed overnight in our Frank Sinatra suite?”
“No.”
“Their recording instruments picked up the sounds of a cocktail party with Frank Sinatra singing in the background,” she said enthusiastically, “which makes perfect sense, because he and the Rat Pack loved to throw parties in that suite. Because we received a substantial boost in business after that showed aired, we are seriously considering starting weekly ghost tours. Do you know what those are, Miss LeRoy?”
“Yes, there were a lot of ghost tours in New Orleans, where I’m from.”
Char’s eyes glistened with interest. Before Katrina, she had considered starting a ghost tour, which were extremely popular with New Orleans tourists.
“Unfortunately,” Miss Doyle said, turning serious, “one of the Ghost Team members recently confided to a reporter that their ghost-chasing investigations were a scam. That the pictures they took of phantoms had been doctored by superimposing images of ghosts on them. They didn’t mention the Riviera, but obviously, people assume they faked the ghost evidence here, as well. Therefore, we decided to hire a reputable, experienced private investigator to conduct a legitimate investigation in the haunted suite. We plan to use your qualified evidence—pictures and recordings of ghosts—to lay to rest any questions about fakery.”
“Miss Doyle, I must say you’re assuming we could find such evidence. To be fair, neither Mr. Morgan nor Diamond Investigations has ever conducted paranormal investigations.” Although Val thought it was a kick-ass, fun idea, she knew Drake would flat-out refuse.
“Forget the ghosts. Think of it as an everyday surveillance. We’re interested in what you can document with your own equipment. How about I give you the terms of our offer, then you and Mr. Morgan can discuss it?”
No new cases were coming in for either him or Diamond Investigations, so the money would be sweet. And from what Val understood, paranormal investigators were viewed as hobbyists and didn’t need a license. Maybe he’d be okay with Val taking on this task by herself.
“One moment.” She grabbed her notepad and a pen. It was next to impossible to talk, scribble notes and hold the phone receiver in the crook of her neck. Looking at Char, she held a keep-quiet finger to her lips, then pressed the speaker button and set down the receiver. Jayne didn’t like Val doing this, but it was only the three of them in the room, and she trusted her cousins to never repeat anything.
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