A Case of Sour Grapes

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Cass heaved a sigh. “Where’s your camera?”

  I pointed to the special button on my bustier.

  She laughed. “Not that one. Your big one. Make sure it’s set for night shooting and the flash is off.”

  The girl was good, keeping me occupied doing something practical. I was starting to realize I had a lot to learn about this private detective stuff.

  I was adjusting the flash settings when Cass straightened. “We’re on.”

  A chill streaked through my veins. A yellow Corvette eased from beside the building and paused at the highway. I started snapping. The WINE-O on its license plate was just visible in the glow of neon lights. I looked at Cass. She was peering through the windshield, gaze roving the parking lot.

  “Aren’t we going to follow?” I asked.

  “We’ll give him some room.”

  A wedge of golden light appeared in The Bicycle Club’s entrance and two men in cowboy hats stepped into the night. They wobbled, one pointed at the Corvette, and they wove into the parking lot, one hustling like a peg legged pirate. A beep sounded and lights flashed. They climbed into a pickup and an engine roared. I looked back at the road in time to see the Corvette’s tires bite gravel and throw it back at the truck.

  “Okay,” Cass said. “Now we go.”

  THE CHASE

  EAST TEXAS ISN’T AS flat as you might think. Parts of it, in fact, are rather hilly with sharply curving roads. After it peeled out of The Bicycle Club’s parking lot, Bret Ivey’s Corvette literally headed for the hills, the pickup in hot pursuit. Cass lagged a little behind but was soon up to the same speed. The bright yellow car fairly glowed in the moonlight and she had no problem keeping both vehicles in sight. They wove an easy pattern through the backroads, gradually heading deeper into the Piney Forest. We watched as the Corvette fishtailed around a turn, the pickup gaining as the Corvette lost speed, and Cass dug her cell phone from her back pocket.

  I reached for the dashboard as she took the curve without slowing. “Who are you calling?” I asked.

  “I want to know who’s driving that truck.”

  She spoke to someone who responded with a name and address. The truck’s tail lights disappeared over the hill ahead of us, and Cass floored the engine as she snapped the phone shut. “It’s registered to a Jimmy Graves. Reported stolen this afternoon.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Either someone’s out for a joyride and decided to chase a Corvette, or whoever’s chasing Bret Ivey didn’t want to use his own car.”

  We crested the hill and Cass slowed to a stop. A ribbon of dark tarmac stretched away from us, changing to the bony white of concrete as the road became a bridge over the Sabine River, then resuming its silky form about three-quarters of a mile away and climbing into the night sky. The space was empty. In the few seconds the vehicles had been out of our sight, they had disappeared. Cass drove slowly, her eyes on the road, and lowered our windows.

  We heard the hissing as our eyes found the skid marks.

  Cass stopped near the bridge where parallel ruts slashed the sun-scorched vegetation in the verge. We jumped from the car and worked our way down the incline to the truck, now ticking quietly beside the nearly dry river. It was slow going in my heels, but I was glad I’d forgone the Jimmy Choos that work wonders on my calves and chosen standard pumps for tonight. They’d be destroyed by the rock-hard earth, but it was all in a good cause, like proving my worth. We were about halfway down the hill when the truck’s doors popped open. The interior light snapped on and two bodies tumbled from the cab’s interior.

  “You guys all right?” I called.

  They turned to look at us and then stumbled for the trees lining the river. Something shiny arced through the air and I heard a soft splash.

  “Hey, wait,” I shouted, running as best I could in my tight leather skirt. “Stop. Police. Stop right there.”

  They easily outpaced me and melted into the trees.

  Cass pulled up short beside me. “Good try, Maxine.”

  We walked back to the truck and she checked its interior before opening her phone, asking for a tow truck and the forensics guy, then squatted to examine the blown rear tire.

  I looked us over. “Any chance we could drive back to town and change?”

  “I can do better than that,” Cass said. “Come on.”

  THE STORY

  BEFORE WE’D LEFT MY apartment complex, Cass had taken a duffel bag from her truck and put it in the Camry’s trunk. Now I watched with interest as she whipped the zipper open and then sagged with relief when she pulled normal clothes from inside.

  I hugged her. “You are a marvel.”

  We checked both directions and helped each other strip out of our clubbing attire and into much more comfortable clothes. My feet sighed with relief when I slipped them into a pair ofsandals. Cass put our leather into the bag and rearranged a few things.

  I peeked over her shoulder. “What else is in there?”

  “Standard stuff. Regular handcuffs, tie-wrap cuffs, shotgun and ammunition, pocket knife, emergency medical kit, gloves, and a basic forensic kit.”

  Spending a night detecting with Cass was an eye opener.

  A county-issue pickup pulled to a stop behind us and Cass’s hunky boyfriend, Tom Kado, hopped out. The man is a serious honey. Dark hair, gray eyes, great build, and an amazing personality to go with it. He’s Forney County’s sole forensics guy, and head-over-heels in lust, and maybe even love, with Cass. She’s on her way to head-over-heels with him, and I’ve warned her: if she doesn’t get there soon, I’ll go into Maxine Man-eater mode and take him for my own.

  He pecked Cass on the cheek and I swear the girl blushed to the roots of her auburn hair. Kado studied her for a moment, then looked at me, then back at her. “What have you been up to?”

  Her air was total innocence. “Girl stuff.”

  He lifted an eyebrow as if debating whether to challenge her, and then followed the double tire gashes with his eyes to the pickup, whose cab still glowed from the interior light. “More ‘girl stuff’?”

  I fumed while Cass gave him the skinny on our evening’s activities. She didn’t lie to protect me. Or her. Every time I tried to interrupt, she’d hold a hand up and carry on. As if I wasn’t there.

  When she finished, Kado said, “Makes sense. You were over in Shreveport having dinner and came home down Whiskey Bend, saw the pickup chase the Corvette and did the responsible thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Followed at a safe distance,” they answered in unison.

  “And then called the accident in,” Kado said. “You didn’t get a plate for the Corvette?”

  “Of course we -” I started to answer.

  Cass talked over me. “It was too far ahead of us. Not sure what year, but it was a light color. Oh, and they tossed something in the river. Probably a gun. See if the guys can fish it out.”

  He nodded and started down the incline.

  “What just happened?” I asked, sneaking a peek at Kado’s broad shoulders and tight backside.

  “He’s protecting us. You, especially. Technically, he should bust you for not having a license.”

  I swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

  “For what? We were out for dinner in Shreveport and came home via Whiskey Bend.”

  A tow truck and patrol car stopped behind Kado’s pickup. Both drivers came to talk to Cass, then joined Kado at the stolen truck.

  The tension in my shoulders eased. “What happens now?”

  “They’ll tow Jimmy Graves’ pickup to Arcadia. Tomorrow, Kado will process it to see if he can figure out who stole it. From there, we try to find a link to Bret Ivey.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Depends on the kind of evidence Kado finds, if any.” She opened the Camry. “Let’s go. I need sleep if I’m going to keep up with Chad the psychopathic physical therapist tomorrow.”

  I got into the car and slipped m
y phone from my pocket and tapped at the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Cass asked.

  “Texting Simon.”

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “A guy from Fort Worth. We’re supposed to have dinner tomorrow, but I’m canceling.”

  “Why?”

  “Finding Bret is more important than a date.”

  Cass looked across the car at me. “That’s a first.”

  “What is?”

  “Maxine Leverman finding anything more important than a date.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t.

  OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

  THE TWO MEN HOVERED inside the tree line, watching. When no one followed, they inched deeper into the woods, stepping carefully to avoid making loud noises.

  They’d crept nearly a quarter mile when the dark-haired man spoke to the blond. “Did you wipe your side of the truck down?”

  The blond man blinked. “Um, kind of.”

  “So, no?”

  “Yes, no.”

  “And the gun? You tossed it because?”

  The blond shrugged. “I didn’t want them to find us with it.”

  “You didn’t think they might not catch us?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Or because the river is so low they might find it?”

  “No.”

  The dark-haired man sighed and stopped to look around. “You’d better call him.”

  “Oh, man.” It was almost a groan.

  “You lost control of the truck.”

  “I know.”

  “And you lost BB.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “That makes you responsible. You have to call him.”

  The blond man pulled at his nose. “What do I tell him?”

  “What you did, and to come get us.”

  “Where are we?”

  The dark-haired man looked at the river and debated. “Tell him to meet us on the north side of the bridge on Farm-to-Market 699.”

  “The one we just came from?”

  “That one. We’ll cross the river and double back. Tell him to give it a couple of hours. They’ll take the truck and be gone by then. We’ll wait in the woods. If anybody’s around, tell him to come back in an hour.”

  The blond man hesitated. “Maybe we could walk back to the house.”

  “Maybe not. Dial.”

  FRIDAY

  COMING CLEAN

  I WOKE TO THE sound of a small explosion and creative cursing, and added my own disgruntled voicing to the mix as I stumbled to the kitchen. Cass was in one of my bathrobes and Babby was in full office attire, not a hair out of place. Both were glaring at my beautiful espresso machine. Except for the narrow slashes where their bodies shielded the blast path, everything in my kitchen was decorated with a dark mist of wet espresso.

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

  Cass stalked past me, swiping grinds from her face. “I’m buying you a Mr. Coffee and some Folgers, first thing.”

  “She was checking to see if she’d done it right when the thing blew, poor girl.” Babby took a sponge from the sink and handed me a damp rag. With a nod at the offending machine, she said, “I’m trainable, sweet pea. After we clean this mess up, you can give me lessons and tell me what you and Cass were doing at The Golden O.”

  The previous evening came back in a blur, and I scrubbed harder.

  “Maxine? You’ll have to come clean eventually, no pun intended.”

  “After coffee, Babby. I can’t think without coffee.”

  “Fair enough. But this isn’t going away.” She finished with a countertop. “Now, tell me about this apartment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you pay for this place and your apartment in Fort Worth? I know your trust fund is healthy, but the distributions aren’t this generous, are they?”

  This was dangerous territory. My father died when I was twelve, but as the practical half of my parent’s marriage, he’d made sure my brother and I had a decent financial chance of getting started in the world. The monthly stipend helped, but it wasn’t my main source of funds. That came from informal payments my ex-husband Neil made to ensure I kept certain photographs from hitting the internet, and why I’d purchased the button-hole camera and a few other clever gadgets. Since he’s a hedge fund manager, the payments are commensurate with his income. Blackmail, some would call it, but I prefer to think of it as a good bargain. I get to live in the style to which he’d made me accustomed, and Neil gets to wear all the frilly knickers he wants.

  I couldn’t tell Babby any of this, of course, so I lied a little. “Neil helps me with my portfolio.”

  “I didn’t realize the divorce was amicable.”

  I refused to make eye contact, focusing instead on the coffee grinds stuck in the grout on the floor. “There are some things we agree on.”

  This seemed to mollify her. It took us the better part of ten minutes to wipe down the kitchen. Babby extracted a compact from her purse and dabbed at her face while I provided instructions on how to successfully produce a delicious cup of coffee. She created three cappuccinos, which was pretty impressive for a first timer. We were sipping and congratulating ourselves when Cass walked into the kitchen toweling her hair dry.

  “Hey Babs. Is that rose tattoo on your butt real? And where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  Babby blinked. “The tattoo is temporary. But I know a good tattoo artist if you want a real one.”

  “You’re in great shape for your age.”

  “Careful, sweetie.”

  “Oh. Right,” Cass said. “What I meant to say was that you’re in fabulous shape. No cellulite at all. How do you manage that?”

  “Trade secret.” She pushed a mug across the table. “What were you doing at The Golden O last night?”

  Cass sipped. “You first.”

  “I was working a case. Now, what were you doing there?”

  “What kind of case?” Cass asked.

  “Your turn.” She stared at Cass for a moment, then fixed me with a piercing gaze that held an unnatural power to draw the truth from me. I was struggling to keep my mouth shut and toying with the desire to lie. Instead, I looked to Cass, who shrugged.

  “She’ll find out sooner or later. Might as well spill.”

  I chewed my lip and then blurted, “I took a case yesterday. A cheating husband. We were looking for him.”

  Babby relaxed. “Thank God. I thought you’d found out about my case while you’ve been filing all the paperwork and wanted to check out an undercover operation.” Her expression turned grim again. “You two could’ve seriously blown my cover.”

  “How?”

  “All that leather and face paint? You stood out like warts on a beautiful bosom.”

  Cass shot me a glance. “I thought we looked pretty good.”

  “You did, but nobody dresses like that around here. And did you really think any disguise could hide you? You still favor your left arm. And that red hair.” Babby reached out and tucked a strand behind Cass’s ear. “You’re doomed if you ever go undercover. The bartender asked if I’d noticed that ‘the hot cop from the papers’ had come in, and did I know she was a lesbian.” Babby knocked the espresso grounds out of the filter with more force than was needed. “Maxine Wright Leverman, do you have any idea how much trouble you could be in? You were operating as a PI without a license.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but she talked over me.

  “And you, Cass. I would’ve thought you’d have more sense than to let her get into something like this, much less to go with her.”

  Cass waited until the machine finished steaming and then put on her detective face. “You’re right,” she said, which stopped Babby cold. “I tried to talk her out of last night, but not very hard. You know Maxine as well as I do. Once she gets an idea in her head, you can’t stop her.” She looked pointedly at my aunt, whose expression was thoughtful. “Maxine wants to be an inv
estigator with Lost and Found, but she knows nobody believes she’s got any staying power. Am I right?”

  “You are.”

  “Then she did what any determined woman would do: she took matters into her own hands.” Cass was in full professional cop mode now, talking with authority to a woman who’d once powdered her bottom. “She told me she’d chanced on an opportunity while she was at the agency yesterday, and decided to show y’all what she was capable of. I believe in Maxine, and I believe in her dream. It’s important to me that she become a PI, and I’m willing to help her prove she’s capable of becoming a fabulous investigator. You’re right, technically, that she was working without a license. But nothing came of it. So if push comes to shove, I’ll back Maxine and confirm we were two girls out for a night on the town.”

  I was near tears.

  “It’s a compelling argument, but she put herself and the firm in jeopardy.” Babby took a carton of yogurt from the fridge and put bowls and spoons on the table.

  “If you hadn’t been dancing at The Golden O, you wouldn’t have known what Max was up to until she decided to tell you.”

  Babby considered this. “Good point, although Maxine can’t keep a secret.” She studied Cass over the rim of her coffee mug. “You said it’s important to you that Maxine gets her license. Why?”

  “Personal reasons that I’m not ready to discuss.”

  Babby pursed her lips. “There’s something you want or need to investigate that has to stay off the county’s books, or that you don’t want Hoffner to know about.” She was sharp, I’ll give her that. “Fine. What would make you ready to discuss?”

  Cass stole a glance at me. “We might need your help.”

  “I never could walk away from a mystery.” Babby nodded. “Well then, between us, I think Maxine has the potential to make a fine investigator.” My eyes lit up. “But,” she added, “you absolutely must get licensed and follow the law. Lost and Found can’t afford to be associated with any devious behavior. Maxine can work under my supervision until she passes her exam. Frankly, we need all the help we can get right now. We’re swamped.”

  I frowned. “Things seem slow to me. It’s all background checks, insurance scams, and misbehaving spouses.”