CASE CLOSED
Zane was seated in Casey’s guest chair with his feet up on her desk, chewing on the end of a pencil.
“Not sure how we didn't see that one all along,” he said.
“How could we have?” Casey asked, not sure how they could have known the dog had anything to do with the disappearance of Mrs. Thurston’s priceless heirloom.
“Mr. Thurston told us that she was getting forgetful,” Zane reminded her.
Casey shook her head. “Wouldn't call this forgetful. More like unfortunate.”
“I guess. Still, they say everyone blames the dog. This time it was the dog.”
“Right.”
“So what do you do with people like Mrs. Cahill and the Hubonots? Do you call them up and apologize or do you just let it go?”
“I typically call them and let them know what happened.”
“Wouldn't want to be in your shoes for that.”
Casey narrowed her eyes at him. “Actually, you wanted to be an investigator, so maybe you should be the one to call them.”
“No, no. You're the P.I., remember? I'm just a multi-millionaire down-and-out author.”
“You're impossible.”
“You know,” Zane said, abruptly changing the subject, “we should fix up this place a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's just so dumpy and dismal in here. It needs some color, some splash.”
“No,” Casey said without pause.
“I can't have the P.I. in my books working from a dump like this.”
“It's not a dump... Wait—I'm your main P.I.?”
Zane lifted a brow at her. “No, I am.”
“Right.”
“I’m being straight up here,” he continued, sitting forward and putting his hands on his desk, “some marble and a bit of color would do this place...”
“No,” Casey repeated matter-of-factly.
“I'll pay for it.” There was a note of hopefulness in his voice.
“The answer is no. My office stays as it is.”
“Who's being impossible now?”
“I still can't believe you made me dig through the dog—”
The phone rang just then, cutting her off. She leaned over and grabbed the receiver while she picked up her pen and dragged over a pad of paper.
“Thank you for calling the South Lane Detective Agency, this is Casey Lane…No, it's not the Zane Wolfe... Never mind. Can I help you?”
A hearty laugh fell from her lips at what the caller had said.
“I'm sorry, did you just say your name is Miles Mecredi?”
Zane hissed in her direction to get her attention.
“Put it on speaker!” He motioned emphatically with his hand.
“...and I've been wrongfully accused,” Mr. Mecredi said through the speakerphone.
Casey glanced at Zane while she spoke to the caller.
“So you want to hire us to clear your name?” she said.
“Technically, I want to hire Zane Wolfe, but you know, they only give you one call, so you'll have to do. Unless you know him?”
“Unbelievable,” Casey said, her shoulders slumping as she let out a long sigh.
FRAMED & FORTUNE
PROLOGUE
One masked thief held the door open while the other thief made his way inside the jewelry store. The lock had been easy to pick, the alarm system easily outwitted.
Both of them entered the back hallway and then set down everything except the glass-cutting tool, which they carried with them to the front.
“Be as quiet as you can,” the taller one whispered.
“What did you think I was gonna do? Start doing cartwheels?”
“Just…shut up,” came the reply.
“You shut up.”
They went over to the in-wall display and began cutting their way into the case. Even in the dim lighting, the jewel glimmered and sparkled, almost putting both of them in a daze.
“Pay attention!”
“You pay attention!”
The moment the large emerald ring was released from its glass enclosure, the two thieves took a moment to gaze at it in wonder. The 10-carat rock felt heavy in their hands, and they marveled at it for a moment.
They exchanged a look and then the second thief placed the ring inside a large silk pouch and secured it inside his black jacket. He patted it to indicate it was secure. Satisfied, the first thief reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small card.
Where the ring had once rested now sat a glossy white business card that read: “MILES MERCREDI” with smaller print reading “Professional Thief” directly underneath.
The two thieves nodded at each other and then headed back to the hallway, and out the way they had entered.
“I’m hungry.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
NEW DIGS
Casey’s blue eyes were wide with an equal mixture of shock and confusion in her expression. She was still holding on to the door handle with one hand, her coffee in the other, and she looked outside just to make sure she was in the right place. The sign still said SOUTH LANE DETECTIVE AGENCY. She looked back into the office and took in the rich mahogany secretary’s desk, the rich tapestry on the wall, and the expensive-looking bookshelves, coffee table, and lamps. What had happened to her office?
“What the hell is going on?” Casey demanded, finding her voice.
Zane came out from behind the desk and gave her a huge grin. “Oh, hey. Sleep well?”
“Zane?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I had a little work done to the place, is all.”
“I just told you last night that I didn't want you to change my office.”
“I didn't.”
“And secondly... Wait, what do you mean you didn't?” She looked around again, taking in more of the changes. “There's marble flooring, tinted windows, beautiful blinds...”
“They're automatic.”
“A secretary desk?”
“Not professional to answer my own calls,” Zane said matter-of-factly.
“It's massive. I can't even see over it.”
“I don't like looking at the help. You know that.”
“And your own glass-enclosed office that has the nameplate ‘Zane Wolfe, Owner’.”
Zane grimaced. “Should say ‘Part Owner’, huh?”
“First off, how the hell did all of this get done in one night?”
“I'm a millionaire, remember?”
“Still ... ONE night!”
“It's so cute how you middle class think.”
“Secondly, I said NO!” She considered stomping her foot for emphasis, but thought better of it.
He gave her a warning look, complete with a wag of his finger. “Hey, I didn't change your office. I changed mine.”
“You don't have an office, Zane,” Casey said with a sigh.
“I own forty-nine percent of this business, Casey. It's in our contract. And before you say anything, I had the contractor carefully measure out the place. Only forty-nine percent of it has been fixed up. Your fifty-one percent was left alone—I swear.”
“But the coffee maker is on your side.” It came out as more of a whine than Casey had intended, so she cleared her throat to cover it up.
Zane stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest.
“First,” he said with a smug grin on his face, “thanks for agreeing that it's my side. Secondly, you're welcome to come over here and get coffee whenever you want. Just wipe your feet first, if you please.”
Casey shook her head. “I am not—”
She paused when she heard the phone ringing, and turned to answer it. To further add to her confusion, the noise stopped after just one ring, and she heard a young woman’s voice floating up from the vicinity of the secretary’s desk.
“Thank you for calling the South Lane Detective Agency, Zane Wolfe's office,” the phantom female voice said. “How may I assist y
ou?”
Casey took a few steps forward and peered over the desk’s tall counter, seeing a young woman who looked as if she were barely out of high school. She had long blond hair and big brown eyes, and big….
Casey turned to Zane and rolled her eyes.
“You already hired someone?”
“Gotta move fast in business, Casey.”
“And ‘Zane Wolfe's office?’ What's that all about?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe, but there is a Charles Chalser on the line. He's Mr. Mecredi's attorney.”
Casey put her coffee cup down. “I'll take that call,” she announced, and then glared at Zane. “We're not done with this.”
“You must be Ms. Lane,” the girl said while popping her gum. “My name is Amber.”
“Not surprising,” Casey muttered.
Zane laughed. “And you say I'm sexist.”
“You are,” she said to him, and then turned back to the girl behind the desk. “Amber, put that call through to me, please.”
“Sorry, ma'am, but you're on a different phone system. The call won't transfer.”
“But they called my number, right?”
“Not exactly,” Zane said as he approached the desk. “Since you gave me grief about the ad I posted, I had a new number drafted up. Also, I had Amber call the police station this morning to update Mr. Mecredi with our new contact information.”
Casey was done playing games. “Listen to me, Zane. You get the numbers working and make it so calls can be transferred to me immediately.”
“So you want in on the new phone system after all, eh?”
“Immediately, Zane.”
“These things take time, Casey.”
Casey put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Not according to you, moneybags.”
This time it was Zane’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Fine,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Amber, go ahead and set her up.”
“What?” Casey said, and then watched as Amber got up and put a phone on Casey's desk.
“You're all set,” Amber said.
“Don't you have to wire it up?” Casey asked.
Zane chuckled. “Love the way non-rich people think. It's wireless, Casey. This isn't the Middle Ages.”
Casey walked to her desk.
“Pass the call to me, Amber,” she instructed.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Put it on speaker,” Zane said.
Casey begrudgingly pushed the speakerphone button as she sat in her chair.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Chalser.”
“Wolfe's not there?” the caller said.
“I own the detective agency, sir. How may I assist you?”
“You took my client's job,” he said simply.
“Yes, sir.”
“So what's the progress?”
Casey looked at Zane and lifted her eyebrows.
“We're just getting started on it this morning, sir.”
“What's the holdup?”
Zane walked over to Casey’s desk and leaned over it with both hands splayed out on its surface.
“No holdup, CC, just still doing research.”
“Oh, good, you are there Zane,” Mr. Chalser said, sounding relieved. “How's your father?”
“Jet-setting in Europe, last I checked. He's got the life.”
“True,” Mr. Chalser said. “Last I checked, though, you had it too. So why are you doing this P.I. stuff?”
Zane relaxed, turning and sitting on Casey’s desk, much to her annoyance.
“I'm not, technically. I'm just a struggling author trying to come up with plot lines so I can make it big in publishing.”
“Just have someone ghost-write it and put your name on it,” Chalser suggested. “It's what all the wealthy do.”
“Interesting idea,” Zane said, turning to Casey with a nod.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Casey said, trying to take back control of the conversation, “but I'm planning to discuss the case with Mr. Mecredi this morning.”
“How?” Mr. Chalser said.
“I'm going to visit him in prison,” Casey answered, a little confused by the question.
“What time?”
“Uh ... ten o’clock.”
“I have a tee-time at ten,” Mr. Chalser mumbled.
Casey shrugged at Zane as if to say, “So?”
“Then I suppose we'll have to do it without you,” she told Chalser. “We're on Mecredi's payroll, sir.”
“All right, fair enough. I'll put a call in and clear the way.”
“Thanks, CC,” Zane said.
“Zane,” Mr. Chalser said, and then hung up.
Casey jerked her thumb in the direction of the phone. “Nice guy.”
“I'm surprised you think so,” Zane said. “Not many people think that.”
“I was being sarcastic. What does ‘CC’ stand for, anyway?”
Zane gave her a look. “Charles Chalser,” he said, shaking his head. “And you call yourself a detective.”
MEETING MECREDI
If Casey hadn’t known better, she would have thought they were simply approaching an office park. The Orange County Central Men’s Jail looked like a place where aspiring businessmen went to further their careers, rather than a place for hardened criminals. She supposed both could be found in either place.
The low-lying buildings were aesthetically pleasing from the outside, complete with bright exteriors and lots of windows. Inside, though, you knew you were no longer in a normal place.
“You Zane Wolfe?” Miles Mecredi said from across the table where Casey and Zane were led to. He was a gruff-looking man whom you would expect to fit the prison motif perfectly, but there was an air about him that also rang wealth was in his blood.
“In the flesh,” Zane replied.
Casey grimaced, pushed herself into the mix, and slammed her briefcase on the table.
“And I'm Casey Lane,” she declared.
“So?” said Mecredi.
“So,” Casey said, confused by the man’s reaction, “I'm the real detective here.”
Mecredi gave her a once-over before raising his eyebrow at Zane. “She being for real?”
“Easier just to go with it,” Zane replied, wrinkling up his nose.
“You're an idiot,” Casey said, rolling her eyes.
“Pardon me?” Mecredi said almost sinisterly.
“I was talking to Zane,” Casey stated with a jab of her thumb in Zane’s direction. She wasn’t one to be intimidated by people like Mecredi, especially not when there were a ton of armed officers within arm’s reach. “Anyway, can we get to your case?”
“Yeah, okay,” Mecredi said after a moment. He relaxed back into his chair and steepled his fingers, slowly tapping them against each other in rhythmic fashion. “I'm innocent.”
“Isn't that what everyone says in this place?” Zane said with a laugh.
“Not all of them,” Mecredi answered, “but I guess most do.”
“Why should we believe you?” Casey asked as she placed a pad of paper on the table.
Mecredi shot her a look that implied she was stupid. “Because I've been in here for the last twenty-four hours and I know what the inmates are saying.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Casey took a moment to wonder if all wealthy people were as dumb as Zane. “What I’m asking, Mr. Mecredi, is why we should believe that you're innocent?”
“Oh, right.” He shrugged, and added, “Because I didn't do it.”
“Good enough for me,” Zane said before looking back at Casey. “Now what do we do?”
“Honestly, you’re just…” She trailed off and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Mr. Mecredi, but unlike boy wonder here, I’m going to require proof.”
“Look,” Mecredi said, leaning in, “someone is framing me. I'm being set up.”
“Framing you?”
“Yeah. This isn’t my gig. I don’t do this sort of thing.”
Casey set the pen back down on the pad of paper and leveled her eyes at the felon.
“Your nickname is the Gem Marauder, Mr. Mecredi.”
“Everyone has a nickname,” he replied defensively.
“I don’t,” Zane said with a trace of sadness.
“I’d be happy to give you one,” Casey said with a sneer.
Zane frowned at her. “No, thanks.”
“Point is that it's never been proved that I did anything,” Mecredi stated. “And even if I did do things in the past—which I’m not admitting to—I didn’t do anything recently.”
“Someone thinks differently, Mr. Mecredi,” Casey stated, “or we wouldn’t be here.”
Mecredi sighed and slowly nodded his head. Everyone knew that the man was the greatest jewel thief in the last twenty years. He knew his craft, unlike a lot of the newer thieves on the block. They were of the smash-and-grab mindset. Mecredi was more old school. He plotted, planned, and carefully executed. There was no rush in his work. A slip-up for him would be a rare thing indeed.
“You know what they have as evidence?” the man said.
“Not yet, no,” Casey replied, lifting her pen again.
“Business cards.”
Zane put his elbows on the table. “What?”
“That makes no sense,” said Casey.
“Exactly what I said.” Mecredi was shaking his head now. “There’ve been multiple thefts over the last few weeks, and they're all being pinned on me, and that’s all because of business cards.”
“Yeah, it was on the radio,” said Zane. “Well, not the business cards bit. But they say you stole the Sapphire of Zebuton, the Emerald of Parize, the Alistaire Ruby, and Diamond of Drayson.”
“And of all the ones that are listed,” Mecredi said with dreamy eyes, “I have only interest in one that wasn’t listed on the rap sheet.”
“Which one?” Zane seemed like a kid in a candy store.
“Thurston's Blue Diamond.” Mecredi looked almost reverent. “Exquisite.”
“Ah, yeah,” Zane said, dropping back in his chair, “you're off the hook on that one. We solved that case.”
“Case?”
“Yeah, the Thurstons had contacted me to help solve the case of their missing gem.”
“I didn’t know that it was missing…”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Casey said, “but you said there were business cards?”
Cozy Mystery Bundle #1 (South Lane Detective Agency) Page 4