by Sharon Pape
Going through mug shots, she’d also been able to identify the man who’d interrupted her first date with Vince, and he had quickly spilled the names of the other dealers Vince had supplied, among them one Matthew Andrews, aka Andy.
Rory would have to testify at Conti’s trial with regard to the charge of attempted murder. Anything she could do to put Conti away in prison for the rest of his life or to have him dispatched to a more permanent hell was just fine with her. It was the least she could do for Mac.
When the two women reached Rory’s car, they put the boxes in the trunk and hugged one another. There was no need for words. The hug said it all.
Back home, Rory stowed the boxes in the study to go through at another time. Then she went down to the kitchen. The light on the message machine was blinking. Probably her mother or her aunt calling again to offer solace and financial help until she found another job. Rory appreciated their support, but she wasn’t as upset about it as they seemed to think she should be. Thanks to Mac and her own cautious spending, she had enough in the bank to meet her needs for a while. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but she was toying with the idea of starting her own PI firm. Mac had done it and so could she. In fact, she had the added advantage of being a sketch artist. It had helped her solve this case and she had no doubt that it would help her clear future cases as well. The prospect of being her own boss and taking on only the cases she wanted to pursue appealed to her.
The lights flickered. “Did you hear your messages yet?” Zeke’s disembodied voice inquired while he was still in the process of materializing.
Rory was taken aback and a little annoyed that he hadn’t first asked how things had gone at headquarters today. He’d been a remarkably good sounding board when she was weighing the pros and cons of her options. Based on that, she expected him to be more interested in how she was doing then in whatever messages were waiting on the machine.
“What’s the big hurry? I’m not punching a time clock anymore,” she said to remind him. The last thing she needed was a ghost with short-term memory loss.
He ignored the hint. “That phone’s been ringin’ all day. You need to listen to the messages.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling a bit resentful, as if a best friend had forgotten her birthday. When she looked at the recorder, she was surprised to see that seven messages were waiting for her. The first was from a man she didn’t know. He’d read the article in Newsday about how she’d found the killer behind two deaths that had not even been deemed suspicious. When he’d heard on the news that she’d resigned from the police force, he wanted to hire her. The other six messages were all variations on the same theme.
“You’re famous,” Zeke said, beaming with the pride of a mentor whose protégé has found success.
Rory was relieved that he hadn’t started a downward spiral into dementia. He’d just been impatient to share the good news.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, trying to absorb everything. In a single day she’d lost her job and hit the ground running with a slew of potential clients for a new firm she had yet to establish. As it all sank in, dozen of thoughts were clamoring for her attention at the same time. She’d have to rent an office, buy another computer, a fax machine and a copier. Have a phone line brought in. Find out about liability and malpractice insurance, and the pros and cons of setting up a corporation. She’d call Mac’s attorney Lou Friedlander in the morning, once her thoughts weren’t quite so scattered.
“You okay, darlin’?” Zeke laughed, enjoying her wide-eyed incredulity.
“I’m better than okay, just a little shell-shocked. I hardly know what to do first.”
“You should probably call back the folks who left those messages.”
“Yes, I know. But what will I tell them? There’s so much to do.”
“Those that can’t give us a week or so will have to find themselves another investigator. As I see it, we can’t handle seven new cases at the same time anyway.”
“We?” Rory repeated.
“We’re partners, ain’t we?” he asked, looking like a kid who’s just been told that he can’t keep the puppy that followed him home. It was an expression that seemed out of place on his rugged features.
Partners? Rory hadn’t really thought about it. She’d assumed that Zeke would be there to continue offering advice and providing another perspective. Even if she hadn’t needed his help to arrest Conti, she wasn’t fool enough to believe that she would have solved the case so easily without him. So what was she worried about? They were already partners in fact, if not in name.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course we’re partners.” It seemed like the right moment for a handshake, but since that wasn’t an option, she just nodded firmly.
Zeke smiled and inclined his head in a little bow of thanks. “Now we just need to talk about how I’m goin’ to be compensated.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Rory said. “What in this world could possibly be of any use to you?”
“You can take over my case.” His words were immediate and to the point, as if he’d had them in mind for a while, perhaps ever since he first met her.
“But you told me that Mac never made any progress with it. Why do you think I can turn up anything useful if he couldn’t?”
“I ain’t askin’ you for a guarantee of success,” he said evenly. “I’m just askin’ you to make the effort.”
“Okay,” she conceded, unable to come up with any other reason to deny his request. “As long as you understand how difficult, no, make that impossible, it’s going to be.”
“Yup, I got that,” he said, satisfied with her terms. “So what are we goin’ call this new outfit of ours?”
“I don’t know. We should probably keep it simple,—something like ‘McCain Investigations.’ ”
Zeke was frowning and rubbing his chin. “Don’t I get a mention?”
“It’s going to be a little awkward if someone asks to meet you,” she pointed out.
“You’ll tell them I’m a silent partner.”
Rory suppressed a groan. If only that were true. They’d been partners for all of two minutes and they were already arguing. Given their relationship up to this point, why was she surprised?
“Fine.” She sighed. If this arrangement had any chance of working, she was going to have to pick her battles, and adding his name to the title wasn’t a fight worth having.
“McCain and Drummond it is.” She tried to sound happier about it than she felt.
“Well now,” he said, “seein’ as how I’m the one with seniority and experience, I was thinkin’ more along the lines of ‘Drummond and McCain.’ Sounds stronger that way anyhow.”
Rory took a deep breath and counted to ten. She should have known that if she gave him an inch, he’d take a yard and consider it his due.
“Haven’t you ever heard of compromise?” she demanded, fairly certain that if the monks of Tibet had been haunted by Zeke, not even they could have remained calm and serene.
Zeke’s voice rose in counterpoint to hers. “What’s the use in compromisin’ when I know I’m right?”
“That is exactly the problem. You’re always sure you’re right, even when you’re not!”
“No siree. There’ve been times I’ve been wrong and I damn well knew it.”
“Really!?” Rory said, digging her heels in for a fight. “It must have been a couple of centuries ago, because it hasn’t happened since I’ve known you.”
Zeke wagged his head in exasperation. “You surely are one cantankerous female.”
“Well, that’s just fine,” she shot back at him, “because you’re the most frustrating, obstinate man I’ve ever met.”
As they stood there glaring at each other, Rory was already second-guessing the wisdom of this enterprise. Time alone would be the final arbiter, but she was fairly sure that no stranger partnership had ever existed. For as long as it lasted, it was going to be one hell of a ride.
Sharon Pape, Sketch Me If You Can