Aunt Babby smiled her seductive smile, looking a little like Marilyn Monroe with coppery hair. “That’s what goes on during business hours, boo boo. But one step at a time. Tell me about this case.”
“I get to keep it?”
“If it’s just a cheating husband, probably. Anything more involved and you’ll need help.”
Cass nudged me. “It’s a good deal, Max. Take it while it’s hot.”
THE GRUDGE
BABBY LEFT FOR THE office, Cass left for her session with the psychopathic physical therapist, and I was left blissfully alone, basking in the afterglow of success. It’s not as good as the afterglow from sex, mind you, but it runs a close second. I considered going back to bed but decided a responsible PI would make notes on what had happened the evening before, while it was still fresh in her mind. I settled at my desk, coffee by my side, and started typing. I had no clue what a detective’s file notes should look like, so I rambled. After a quick edit, I thought I had a good start. Then I remembered the photos from my bustier and the big camera. I connected the buttonhole camera to the computer, and let the equipment do its work while I headed for the shower.
Dressed for work, I made a new coffee and sat back to watch.
The film from the button camera was downright entertaining. I’d turned it on when we went into The Golden O and promptly forgotten about it. I caught some great shots of Babby’s burlesque act. She was steamy, and the men were seriously into her striptease, evidenced by the currency waving in the air. I wondered if it might be worth going undercover in a strip joint for the tips.
Despite the wealth of footage, I caught no sight of Bret Ivey, so I turned to my big camera. The images I shot in The Bicycle Club’s parking lot were grainy but discernible. The first few shots were of the Corvette idling near the road, followed by a smear of neon lights. I must’ve taken a photo as I swung the camera back to the club’s entrance.
The two cowboys were clearly visible as they stopped outside the club’s open door. Their cowboy hats threw shadows over their faces, but their clothes were in full view. In the following photos, I’d caught a jawline or a hint of a tattoo creeping from one man’s collar, but never enough for an identification. I remembered one man had walked funny and I backed the photos up and viewed them again. Although they weren’t a steady flow, one of the cowboys walked with a definite roll to his gait.
My finger went to the delete button, but I stopped myself. They weren’t much to go on, but in the end, these photos might be all we had. I saved them to a memory stick and put it and my notes in my lucky purse and headed for the door.
__________
I WAS ON MY way to the office when my client called.
“What happened last night?” Blue’s voice was curious, nothing more.
“Good morning. What do you mean?”
“The Corvette is back, but Bret’s nowhere around. I figured you’d found him last night and put the fear of God in him.”
“Not exactly. I’d love to update you, though. Are you available?” I asked. “I can come to the winery if it’s convenient.”
“Fridays are a nightmare. Hang on.” I heard a keyboard clicking. “Come for dinner. It’s flat iron steak night and we've got a great jazz band on. Bring friends, I want to know what they think. You and I can sneak away for a few minutes for that update.”
And again, she was gone.
I dialed Cass. Her phone went to voice mail. “Call me. We're going to the winery tonight. See if Kado’s available and I'll try to rustle up a date.”
I settled back into the Lexus and wondered who to call. Here’s the problem: I’d been something of a wild child in high school, sharing the free love thing all over the county. What can I say? I had abandonment issues. I took love anywhere I could find it. But East Texas is a small community. Most of the men I’d bedded back then were either married or newly divorced. And really, I wasn’t interested in a replay. I wanted someone new.
This is the challenge with returning to your small home town: it’s all a replay, like it or not. Everybody knows everybody else, and memories are long. This is why I live full-time in Fort Worth and only keep an apartment in Arcadia. When it gets a bit too much out here, I can head for blissful anonymity.
I scrolled through the list of available and eligible men in my mind’s database. The hottie host from the winery was worth consideration, but I had a hunch he’d be working tonight and a stronger hunch it would be bad to get involved with a client’s employee.
And then I realized I could kill two birds with one stone: find a date and get even with Cindy. I decided to stop and see Arty, the lawyer she’s chasing. My cousin has an eye for the attractive and well-funded male, even if she can’t keep a man. Why am I holding a grudge? She stole Harry Peterson from me back in second grade.
Yes, these things linger.
THE FACE OFF
A RUSTLING SOUNDED FROM behind the Japanese screen, and Cindy emerged wearing a sarong over her yoga outfit. Bright red toenails peeked from the tips of her bejeweled sandals. She dug in a workout bag and strapped on a sports watch. “I can’t take the air of expectation permeating this place,” she said. She held up her wrist. “Did anybody charge the batteries? I plan to take a lot of photos today.”
“You wore it last, sweetie,” Babby said.
“Get better shots this time, punkin,” Kay instructed. “All you got last time was his bottom up in the air during Downward Facing Dog.”
“It’s a nice bottom.”
“Be that as it may, butt shots don’t prove anything. It’s his face we need, preferably while he’s seriously contorted.”
“Yoga is therapeutic.”
“Not some of those harder poses for a man whose back is supposed to be in perpetual spasm. Try to catch him doing the Camel, or maybe the Wheel. Scoot, darling, or you’ll miss your class.”
Cindy fluffed her hair and sashayed out the door.
“Thank God,” Kay said. “I thought she was going to hyperventilate, all that huffing and puffing. It’s killing me, too. What’s going on?”
Babby checked her lipstick in a small mirror. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Cut the crap, Babs. You walked in late - totally unlike you - wearing the Cheshire Cat’s grin. Whose donut did you steal?”
“It's better than donuts. Maxine took a case yesterday, and she’s doing a pretty good job of working it.”
Kay slapped the desk. “I knew that phone rang while I was in the powder room. She lied to me.”
“Can you blame her? Nobody takes her seriously.”
“That’s her own fault, Babby. It’s stunts like this that always got Maxine in trouble.” She breathed a sigh. “I wanted to believe in her, but she’s still the same little girl that caused so much trouble. She’s impulsive. Can’t think through consequences or won’t take the time to think things through.” Kay shook her head. “We both know what she’s like. That’s the end of her little venture here.”
“I know what Maxine used to be like.” Babby said. She tapped a fingernail against her coffee cup. “Something has changed. I can’t say she’s more grounded, but she has a harder edge now.”
“Divorce’ll do that.”
“It will, and that might be it. But she’s hiding something. So is Cass.”
Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think what’s-his-name hurt her?”
“Neil,” Babby said, waving the comment away. “Of course he hurt her, but she’s getting some sort of revenge. I don’t think that’s what she’s hiding, though.”
“Did she tell you how she can afford that apartment and still keep her place in Fort Worth?”
“Nope, but it’ll come out.” She sipped. “About this case…”
“I hope you debriefed her, because she’s done here.”
“Slow down, Kay. Hear me out.”
“It won’t work, Barbara. Maxine will never be one to follow the rules. She thinks she knows it all. That’ll get her and maybe the agency in tro
uble. It might get her hurt.”
Babby’s mouth set in a thin line. “Kay Wooten. I own half of this agency and you will hear me out. Then, if there’s an employment decision to make, we’ll make it together. Just as our agreement states.”
Kay drew a deep breath and stood, straightened her brilliant blue skirt, and stepped to the water cooler. She took her time filling a cup, and then turned to Babby, face composed. “What’s the case?”
“A cheating husband.”
“Whose?”
“Blue Ivey out at the winery. Do you know her?”
Kay peeled the wrapper from an Atomic Fireball and slipped the candy between her lips. She sucked for a moment. “Only by reputation. I’ve been to the winery but haven’t met her, although I might’ve met the cheating spouse.”
“What's he like?”
“If he’s who I think he is, a man’s man with the men and a flirt with the skirts. But that’s what you’d expect from a guy with the balls to open a restaurant in Forney County that doesn’t serve chicken fried steak. And it’s pricey. If you want clients, you’ve got to engage with them, create a personality they remember.”
“I need to get out there,” Babby said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good glass of wine.”
“Last weekend, dear.”
“I did say ‘good’. That was some swill from across the county line.”
Kay sucked her Fireball. “You really think Maxine is serious?”
“I didn’t until I saw her out at The Golden O last night.”
“Did she make you?”
“Yes, and bolted. Thankfully she didn’t give me away.”
“How did your gig go?”
“Perfect. The bartender’s running hookers from the place. After the show, he asked if I wanted to join his stable.”
“Did you get it on film?”
Babby nodded.
“Where’d you put the camera?”
“The wig.”
“The big blonde one?”
Babby nodded again.
“I love that thing.” Kay sipped her water. “I can’t believe Maxine was working a case, without a license, without backup.”
“Cass was with her.”
Kay slapped a hand over her eyes. “This just gets better.”
“They did a good job,” Babby said. “Maxine doesn’t know how a case like this should be worked, but her approach wasn’t bad.” She eyed Kay. “They found him.”
“They did?”
“They saw his car and followed the truck that was following it until the truck went off the road.”
Kay held up a hand. “Start at the beginning. Better yet, let’s split an omelet at The Golden Gate. I’m getting weak from all this excitement.” She grabbed her handbag. “Don’t think that because I’ve got low blood sugar this is over, Babby. This job, this agency, is the wrong fit for Maxine.”
“Let me tell the story, Kay, and then we’ll decide.” She took her wallet from her purse and locked the door behind them. “I wonder if Stan would protest if I brought a cinnamon swirl into The Gate?”
A SPECIAL KIND OF REVENGE
THE HIKE UP TO the second floor wasn’t as hard today. Maybe because my heels were only three inches high, or maybe because I was so excited to be working my first real case I was practically floating. I turned away from Lost and Found’s offices and headed for the small law firm down the hall. I hoisted my Louis Vuitton bag onto my shoulder and fluffed my hair before turning the knob. The door eased open on oiled hinges. A man was sitting on the corner of a desk that must belong to the receptionist, swinging one leg, head thrown back in a laugh. They started when I cleared my throat. The receptionist’s surprised eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen, and a gorgeous hank of blond hair fell across his forehead. The other man turned, a rush of blood coloring those beautiful high cheekbones.
“I should’ve knocked,” I said.
He stood and smoothed his trousers. “You’re Maxine, right? Cindy’s cousin? I’m Arty Henderson. Come in.”
Yeowza. Based on looks alone, Cindy had picked a winner. Dark hair, a male model’s well-defined face, an athlete’s lean body - think young Gregory Peck. She was also right about his finances. His hand-tailored suit and shirt, the tastefully decorated office, and the attractive receptionist all indicated he was a honey with money. But she was dead wrong about his sexual preferences. Some things are transparent to the initiated, and thanks to my ex-husband, I’d had more than my share of initiation.
I held out my hand. “She’s told me a lot about you. All quite flattering.”
He smiled, revealing gorgeous dimples. “And she’s told me a lot about you. None of it true, apparently.”
“That’s Cindy for you. We’ve always had something of a rivalry when it comes to handsome men.” I couldn’t let on that I knew he was gay. Lost and Found did a lot of legwork for Arty’s firm, and I’d hate to jeopardize that source of income. I smiled at the other man, who was now standing. “Hi.”
“I’m Steve, Arthur’s receptionist, paralegal, and general gofer.”
Arthur and Steve. They made a nice couple.
“I wanted to introduce myself since we’ll be sharing the floor,” I said.
“You’re full time now?” Arty asked.
“Pending my passing the right exams and getting a concealed carry license, yes.”
“Congrats. Having another armed woman in the building is a comforting thought. Nobody wants to cross the women from Lost and Found.”
I laughed. “Thanks for letting me pop in like this. I hope we’ll get to work together soon.”
We waved our good-byes and I closed the door behind me before leaning against the wall, a huge smile on my face. I briefly debated saving my cousin the pain of learning that the object of her affection was batting for the other side, but knew I’d be wasting my breath. She’d only think I was chasing Arty. Nope, letting Cindy think she was getting one over on me was a special kind of revenge.
One that might make up for the trauma of losing Harry Peterson all those years ago.
But this left me dateless for tonight and with few options. My heart kept urging me towards something I wasn’t sure about: calling Bruce Elliot. Cass has six older brothers. Bruce was the fourth born, eight years older than me and Cass, in his mid-thirties now. A professor at the local college, he’s something of a ladies’ man and rumor has it that he’s bedded all the eligible, and some of the not-so-eligible, women in and around Forney County. We ran into each other at the hospital after Cass was shot and swapped phone numbers and shifts at her bedside until she was ready to go home. There was a frisson between us, but Bruce never made a move. Normally, that isn’t a problem. If I find a man I want, I go after him. Therefore, it was disconcerting that neither of us was willing to make the first move.
Maybe I hesitated because Bruce was Cass’s brother and had witnessed almost all of the worst moments of my life. Maybe because Bruce had always treated me the same way he’d treated Cass, as his little sister. Maybe because when I was a kid, I’d wished I could trade my one horrible brother for any of the Elliot boys.
My finger hovered over his name in my phone’s directory and I decided it was time for that little bit of insecurity to stop.
I tapped a quick text and took three steps towards Lost and Found’s door when his reply came back. He wasn’t available tonight, but would take a rain check. A smile plastered itself across my face before I realized I was still dateless. I went back through my mind’s database of eligible bachelors, finding a psychologist I’d briefly dated who over-analyzed, and a veterinarian who drools too much.
Bottom line: there was no one I wanted to spend my evening with other than Cass and, if he was available, her dishyKado.
But there was a particular itch that needed scratching, and I sent a text to my trainer, Harvey Osmond, no relation to the white-smiled clan from Utah. We’d slipped into a regular schedule involving cardio and strength training, with the occasional
bout between the sheets. Our relationship was purely physical on all fronts, which suited us both. As soon as my text was sent my phone pinged. It was a reply from Harvey with a time later this evening.
Perfect.
THE SOUNDTRACK OF MY YOUTH
WHEN I GOT TO the office, Babby was behind her desk tapping away and didn’t even flash me a glance. Although I couldn’t see Cindy behind her Japanese screen, I could hear whispers and the occasional giggle. Kay was conspicuously absent and I wondered what she was up to.
I turned my computer on and flipped through the morning’s invoices and billing sheets. The ritual of entering data was mindless and soothing, and my thoughts returned to the stolen pickup. I wondered how Kado was doing with the fingerprints.
A final laugh sounded from behind the screen and Cindy emerged, arching her back and stretching a long leg in front of her. “Nice of you to join us, Maxine.”
“Who were you slutting around with on the phone?”
“Gathering information from an important source, dearie.”
“It was Nicky from First National Bank,” Babby said without a break in the tapping. “She uses her phone sex worker voice when she talks to him.”
Cindy shrugged. “Whatever it takes, Aunt Babby. Isn’t that Lost and Found’s motto?”
“Something like that, munchkin. But what a state poor Nicky must be in when you hang up. I’d hate to ask him for a loan right now.” She cocked her head, eyes still focused on the screen. “Or maybe now would be the perfect time. I doubt he’s capable of reading a credit report.”
Cindy turned to me. “Will this be a habit? You wandering in and out whenever you please?”
“I’m not obliged to announce my comings and goings to you. As long as the partners know what I’m doing, that’s enough.”
Cindy straightened. “Doing? You shouldn’t be doing anything but posting invoices. Aunt Babby?” Her voice grew shrill. “Don't tell me she’s working a case. She’s not qualified to do anything but paperwork, and even that’s doubtful.”
A Case of Sour Grapes Page 5