Cozy Mystery Bundle #1 (South Lane Detective Agency)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Wait,” Zane said, standing up, “you think he's a robot?”

  “No, you peanut,” she said and then shook her head. “Sometimes you baffle me.”

  “So what are you getting at here, young lady?” JB asked.

  “Think about it, gentlemen,” she said, amazed at their lack of deduction skills. “Who is Pemrose?””

  They all pointed at Pemrose, except for Pemrose, who was pointing at himself.

  “No, you dolts! I mean what company does he run?”

  “He's the owner of Incredible Audio Performance Dynamics Unlimited,” Lafferty said.

  “I'm not good with naming things,” admitted Pemrose.

  “Better known as The Audio Tycoon!” she blurted.

  “Holy crap, that's right.” Zane was all smiles. “How'd you know that?”

  She pointed. “It's inscribed on his golf bag.”

  “Damn,” said Pemrose as he brought his hands to his head.

  “Are you saying that his swing wasn't real?” JB asked, still looking unsure.

  “More than that, JB,” Casey explained, “I'm saying that his wood isn't even real.”

  “Now, that's not fair.” Pemrose had crossed his legs and was quickly turning red. “I mean, sure, I need to take the blue pill from time to time, but...”

  “No, sir...” Casey said, waving her hands at him. “And ew...” She tried to shake that visual from her mind. “I'm talking about the golf club.”

  JB launched from the bench and snagged the driver from Pemrose’s bag. Pemrose followed after him, but JB kept shielding the club from Pemrose’s grasp.

  “You see here...” Pemrose began.

  “Quiet, Pemrose,” JB said, “or I'll call the manager out here.”

  Pemrose looked like a man who was defeated. He slowly sat back down and stared at his feet.

  “Now this is a very light driver indeed,” JB said as he swung the club. “Hardly weighs anything at all.” He then glanced at the handle. “What's the button for?”

  He pressed it.

  Thwipp...Twing!

  “I'll be damned,” JB said, letting his jaw fall open. “That’s exactly the sound it makes when you tee off.”

  “Because he doesn’t really tee off, JB,” noted Casey.

  “I can see that now… or hear it anyway.”

  Witt leaned forward and looked over at Pemrose. “So you’ve been cheating this entire time?”

  “Unscrupulous,” Lafferty said, crossing his arms and looking away from Pemrose.

  “So let me get this straight,” Zane said. “You have everyone look away, then you step up and press the button to make it sound like you teed off, then you just get to a spot on the course, make sure nobody is watching, and then you drop your ball in a decent location?”

  Pemrose nodded morosely.

  “Actually,” Zane said, “that’s pretty smart.”

  “Just not smart enough,” Casey said, feeling pride at having solved yet another case. “Varying the sounds would have made it much more difficult to catch.”

  “Exactly right, and well done, Ms. Lane,” JB said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, there's only one question I have for you, Pemrose,” JB added seriously.

  Pemrose gave an audible gulp. “Yes?”

  “How much for a club like this?” JB asked, looking over the club. “With the alternating sounds that Ms. Lane suggested, of course.”

  “Oh, uh…” Pemrose said, blinking.

  “I want one, too,” Lafferty stated.

  “Yeah,” Witt concurred, “I'll take one.”

  “Definitely need one of those in my bag, Pemrose,” Zane said in agreement.

  “Seriously?” Casey said, feeling the wind drop from her sails.

  “Well, let’s see,” Pemrose said, looking pleased with himself. “I could do it for, say, two thousand each?”

  “Plus a percentage of all sales,” JB demanded, “split between each of us.”

  “Including me?” Zane asked.

  “No,” JB replied.

  “Right.”

  “You're all unbelievable,” Casey said as she took off JB’s jacket and handed it back to him. Unfortunately, her shirt hadn’t fully dried off yet, so the men fell back into their staring stupor.

  “Idiots.”

  CASE CLOSED

  They’d finally returned to the office and Casey had changed out of her damp clothes. She always kept a change of clothes in her desk drawer because that’s the kind of person she was.

  “Another case closed,” Zane said from his side of the office.

  “And yet nobody was taken to task for it,” she said in a huff. “Actually, all it really did was expose a way for the cheater to make money on a new invention that he used for cheating!”

  “Gotta love democracy.”

  Casey harrumphed.

  “JB paid you, right?” Zane said.

  “Ten thousand,” Casey said, holding up a check.

  “Not bad.”

  She then held up a handful of twenties. “Plus a hundred-dollar tip for the lake scene.”

  “Hmmmm,” Zane said with a cough.

  “I still can't believe you set me up like that, Zane.”

  “Well, you do kind of treat me like crap most of the time.”

  “Only because you're dumb,” she pointed out.

  “See?”

  “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” she said. “But you have to admit that you do annoy me a lot.”

  “And you me.”

  “Excuse me,” Amber said in her I’m-so-pretty voice, “but I'm going to head home for the day. I left both of your messages in your in-boxes at the front.”

  “Messages?” Casey said. She wasn’t used to getting messages, after all.

  “Any for me?” asked Zane.

  “Mostly for you, sir, yes,” Amber answered. “There were a couple for Ms. Lane, though. Ms. Pickles is ready to be picked up at the groomer, ma’am, and your Honda is due for a tune-up.”

  “Ms. Pickles?” Zane said with a laugh.

  “My cat.”

  “You have a cat?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What kind of messages did I get?”

  “Just a bunch of people looking for a detective,” Amber replied to him. “Again, they’re all up in your in-box.”

  “Nice.”

  “Unbelievable,” Casey said evenly, even though she was happy that Ms. Pickles would be nice and clean.

  Amber said her final goodbyes and left. Zane walked over and snagged a bunch of pink message slips from his in-box, smiling the entire time.

  “Anything interesting?” she asked, though she hadn’t wanted to.

  “A few, actually,” he replied, but singled out one from the bunch. “How do you feel about horse racing?”

  “That it’s just another sport that exploits animals for the benefit of mankind’s greedy drive.”

  “You sure love your animals.”

  “It just sickens me that people will do damn near anything for the holy dollar, regardless of how it impacts others, be they human or not.”

  “Pays fifty thousand,” Zane said, waving the slip in the air.

  “When do we leave?”

  A HORSE TAIL

  PROLOGUE

  A hush fell over the crowd as the horses were put into their starting stalls. The horse sensed the man’s approach behind him and whinnied in apprehension, though the jockey was too focused on waiting for the start to pay it any attention. The man watched as the jockey patted the horse’s side and whispered something against his neck.

  The horse’s tail twitched and swished, as if he knew what the man was about to do and was trying to thwart his efforts. He paid it no attention, patting the horse with one hand while impaling his hindquarters with the needle in the other hand. The horse whinnied once again, clearly agitated, and the jockey tried to soothe him with a “Whoa! Whoa!”

  After giving the horse a final good-luck pat, the man put the empty syringe back in his
pocket and turned away. He smiled to himself, and said, “Happy trails, horsey. Happy trails.”

  DO WE WANT THIS?

  Casey’s and Zane’s raised voices could be heard out on the sidewalk outside of the agency’s downtown office. They’d been debating all morning, which was nothing new, but this time Casey wasn’t suffering from exhaustion.

  “I know it pays fifty thousand, Zane,” she said, raising her eyebrows in an effort to convey her annoyance and disbelief, “but what do we know about horse racing?”

  “What’s to know?” Zane said. “A bunch of little dudes sit on the backs of horses and run in a circle.”

  “I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like training regimens, diet, strategies, procedures once at the track, and working with the jockey—that’s their actual name, by the way, not ‘little dudes.’”

  Zane cocked his head to the side and briefly closed his eyes. “I know that.”

  “My point is that we’re walking into a job we know little about.”

  “Still don’t know why that matters. We’re detectives.”

  “Private investigators,” she corrected.

  “We’re hired to figure out what’s happening when something bad is going on.”

  “True.”

  “You didn’t know anything about golf in our last case,” Zane pointed out, “but that didn’t stop us.”

  “That’s because you knew something about golf.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed with a shrug, “and if it makes you feel any better, I also know something about horse racing.”

  “You do?” she said, unconvinced. “What?”

  “That it’s just a bunch of horses running in a circle with little dudes...er, jockeys on their backs.”

  She sat back and grimaced at him. Over the last couple of weeks they had been on a number of cases that were a bit outside of her comfort level. In a way that was good because prior to Zane Wolfe taking a more active role in the company, things had become rather mundane. Since he’d returned, they’d been somewhat ridiculous at times, but at least she wasn’t bored anymore, and the money had been exceedingly good.

  “I don’t know,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “It’s just that I’d hate to look like a fool, you know?”

  “Well, they’re giving us fifty thousand reasons to look like fools,” he noted as he leaned back and slapped his feet on his desk.

  It had become harder and harder for her to turn away from the jobs that Zane had attracted. The money was just too good. Plus, though she loathed to admit it, she was getting used to him being around. That thought made her want to gag.

  “Okay, fine,” she said as if trying to convince herself, “but I’m not a fan of this.”

  The sounds of hammers and sliding ladders momentarily overwhelmed their discussion, and Casey gestured with her thumb to the ruckus.

  “I thought you said they’d be done fast?”

  The redesign was taking entirely too long, Casey felt, and the disruption to the office was beginning to get on her nerves. Plus, there was dust and debris everywhere, making everything a mess. She was starting to wish she had never agreed to this remodel.

  Zane shrugged. “Gotta pay more for expedited services.”

  “Yours took one night!”

  “That’s because I paid more.”

  “They’re saying mine will take over a week.”

  “That’s because I paid less.”

  Casey shook her head. “Right.”

  “Go ahead and call this guy,” Zane said while pointing at the phone. “It’s time to get the case started.”

  Casey looked at the hastily written note with the man’s details and dialed the number, putting it on speaker.

  A slightly high-pitched voice answered after only half a ring.

  “Riggs Button here.”

  “Hello, Mr. Button,” Casey said in her professional tone, “this is the South Lane Detective Agency returning your call.”

  “Is this Zane Wolfe?”

  Casey paused. “Um, no, it’s Casey Lane.”

  “Ah, are you his secretary?”

  “No,” she replied tightly, “I’m the owner of the business.”

  “I must have called the wrong place, then,” Riggs said. “Sorry to have wasted...”

  Zane pulled the phone closer to him and leaned down to it. “Mr. Button, this is Zane Wolfe. Ms. Lane and I are partners in the business.”

  “Oh, I see.” There was a slight mumbling on the other side, and then, “I suppose there’s no harm in that. I guess I assumed you were the owner since your picture is on the ad.”

  Casey gave Zane a look, causing him to cringe.

  “Anyway,” Zane continued, “we’re returning your call to see how we can help.”

  “Where to start?”

  “From the beginning,” said Casey.

  “Okay, well, I work for Mr. Berlington, the owner of Berlington Industries.”

  “Hal Berlington?”

  “Yes, you know him?”

  “Friend of my father’s,” Zane said.

  “Yes, well, I’m one of his jockeys.”

  “My father has jockeys?”

  Casey pulled the phone back toward her.

  “And how can we be of assistance, Mr. Button?” she said while looking at Zane as if he were stupid.

  “First off, call me Riggs,” the man responded. “I don’t like the name Button. Makes me sound small.”

  Zane started to speak but Casey threw her coffee stirrer at his head.

  “Sounds good,” she said, giving Zane a warning look. “I’m Casey and you already know of Zane.”

  “Yeah.” Riggs coughed lightly and then it sounded as though he had muffled the phone. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking about the issue over the phone. Would you mind coming down to the stables to discuss this?”

  “Certainly,” Casey answered. “Just give us the address and we’ll be right over.”

  Just then one of the painters approached Zane’s desk, his painter’s cap in his hands.

  “Uh, excuse me, lady?” he said, leaning in and glancing between Casey and Zane.

  “We’re on a call right now,” Casey said, pressing the mute button on the phone, clearly annoyed that she had to state the obvious.

  “And I’m on the job,” the worker replied in his you-ain’t-more-important-than-me-lady tone of voice. “You want this wall blue, right?”

  She ignored his question for the moment and instead turned to Zane.

  “Take Riggs’s address down, please.”

  “What am I, your secretary?” Zane said with a scoff.

  “May as well be.”

  “Ouch.”

  Casey gave Zane a small smile before getting up to go speak with the painter on her side of the office.

  THE STABLES

  Casey watched as Zane wandered along the length of the stables, picking up and examining random things as he went. Yet another reason they had broken up in college, she mused. He never could keep his hands to himself. She noticed that Riggs was watching him as well, and he didn’t look pleased.

  Riggs turned to Casey and offered his hand in greeting, and Casey shook it.

  “Thanks for meeting me here,” Riggs said. “The trainers are all out right now, so we’ll have a little privacy.”

  “Our pleasure,” Casey said. “Now, I must warn you that we don’t know a lot about horse racing.”

  “I told you already, it’s just a bunch of—” Zane began.

  “Actually,” Casey interjected, cutting him off, “I’d like it explained from someone who is in the business. Would you mind, Riggs?”

  “Of course,” Riggs said. “Essentially, it’s just a bunch of horses running in a circle with us little guys on them.”

  Zane crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug. “Told ya.”

  “Huh,” she said with a shake of her head. “Okay, so what is it that we can do
for you?”

  “One of the horses that I ride slouches every few races and I’m not sure what’s going on...” Riggs’s voice trailed off while he watched Zane pick up a riding crop. He pushed Zane’s hand away from it. “Can you not touch that, please?”

  “Sorry,” Zane replied as a little child would. Casey found this fitting.

  “It’s bad luck for someone besides the rider to touch that,” Riggs explained.

  “You’re a little superstitious,” Zane said with a smile.

  Riggs, however, didn’t look pleased.

  “What do you mean by little?”

  “Huh? Oh, no, I was—”

  Casey cut him off once more, trying to keep the conversation on track. It was ever the challenge with Zane around.

  She took out her small notebook and her favorite pen.

  “What exactly constitutes slouching when it comes to horses?” she asked.

  “It means that he takes a race off,” answered Riggs. “He loses.”

  “They do that?” Casey said, lifting her eyebrows.

  “Well, not on purpose, of course,” Riggs replied. “Usually they’re not feeling well or they’ve got a leg cramp that we don’t know about or something like that.”

  “And you want us to try and figure out what it is?” asked Zane.

  “Kind of why I’m hiring you, yes.”

  “Right.”

  “I think what Mr. Wolfe is trying to point out is that, again, we’re not experts in this field, so we’re going to need more information about what precisely we should be looking for.”

  “Fair enough,” Riggs said, rubbing his chin. “The problem is that I don’t know what the problem is! It’s not the typical things, though, I’m sure of that.” He leaned back against the wall. “I’m pretty close with this horse. I’ve been riding him for over a year now. For him to slouch makes no sense.”