Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1)

by Stephanie Bond

  A security officer arrived on the scene first, then a police car. The alarm continued to wail. The police talked to a bystander who waved in the direction the teenagers had gone. Notes were taken. Much head-scratching ensued. More gawkers arrived.

  But no Richard.

  At length, the alarm stopped. A repairman showed up with a toolbox and a piece of plywood to cover the broken window. Within forty-five minutes, everyone was gone.

  Linda could tell that Octavia was bitterly disappointed.

  “We can wait a few more minutes,” she offered, although they’d be cutting it close to get home before the kids.

  “No.” Octavia sat back in the seat. “Let’s go.”

  Linda started the van and pulled out. “Would any of his friends know where he is, or maybe his secretary?”

  “I called them and no. His secretary said he told her he had a family emergency, and needed to close the office for a couple of weeks. His friends haven’t heard from him.”

  “Have you contacted his family?”

  “There’s only his brother in Denver, and they’re not close. I called him and he hasn’t talked to Richard since the holidays.”

  She decided this wasn’t the best time to point out that the two of them usually only spoke during the holidays. “Are you going to report him missing? I can ask Detective Hall to make some inquiries.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  From the utter despair in her voice, Linda knew Octavia was referring to more than Richard. She glanced at her glamorous sister, who was accustomed to valet parking and personal shoppers, now reduced to wearing discount clothes and sharing her seat in a minivan with a dog, and her heart contracted.

  “I have a confession to make,” Linda said.

  Octavia looked suspicious. “What?”

  “This morning, when you said you’d done everything wrong...”

  “You have to remind me?”

  “No. I didn’t say anything because...that’s how I feel, too.” Linda wet her lips. “I chose a family over a career, and I put all my energy into Sullivan and what he wanted out of life. And now...look at me.” She blinked back tears. “I don’t know what I’m going to do either.”

  Octavia gave a little laugh. “We’re a fine pair. I wish I could help you financially, Linda, but I can’t.”

  “And I wish—” Linda stopped. “Wait...maybe I can help you.”

  “You’re giving me a place to stay.”

  “No, I mean I have Sullivan’s agency.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, I’ll have to shut it down, of course. But I know the agency has access to information that’s not available to the average citizen. Maybe we can use those resources to find Richard.”

  Octavia sat up. “Really?”

  Linda shrugged. “We can try. I have to go by the agency tomorrow to talk to the office manager about closing out the books and ending the lease.”

  “Okay...it’s a start.”

  Linda’s phone rang, and it was just out of reach. Her heart jumped to her throat—had one of the kids changed their mind about school and wanted to come home? “Can you see who’s calling?”

  Octavia picked it up and glanced at the screen. “Oakley Hall.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “Let it roll over to voice mail.”

  Octavia arched a brow. “He seems very...attentive.”

  Linda shifted in her seat. “He’s Sullivan’s best friend. He’s just concerned.”

  “Oakley Hall...why is he familiar to me?”

  “I, uh...might’ve dated him once.”

  “Only once?”

  “Maybe twice.”

  “Do tell,” Octavia said, leaning close. Even Max perked an ear.

  “Nothing to tell,” Linda said breezily. “I met Oakley first, but as it turned out, Sullivan and I were more suited.”

  “Hm.”

  “How long have you lived in your house?” Linda asked to change the subject.

  As expected, Octavia’s face lit up as she gushed about her home, and described each room in excruciating detail since Linda hadn’t seen the inside. She pretended to be interested as they retraced their route back to Lexington, but her mind jumped ahead to the end of her little adventure that had allowed her to keep everything at bay for a few hours.

  Her heart grew heavier and heavier as they neared her house. By the time they pulled into the garage, she was fighting tears again. She didn’t want to be there without Sullivan. And the piles of dusty building materials were an acute reminder of just how many things were left undone.

  She didn’t want to go inside to the mess, to the stack of thank you notes she had to write and the messages of sympathy in the mailbox and on the phone.

  Just as the panic started to overwhelm her, the kids arrived home from school. She passed out hugs and kisses and asked them about the party and the basketball game. They were talkative and seemed happy to see “Aunt Tavey.” When she looked at them smiling, she could almost pretend nothing was wrong.

  “Are you moving in, Aunt Tavey?” Maggie asked.

  “No. I’m just staying for a few days.”

  “Good. Can I have marshmallows for lunch again tomorrow?”

  “And Oreos?” Jarrod added.

  Linda gave Octavia a questioning look, but her sister shook her head as if she had no idea what they were talking about.

  “How about pizza for dinner?” Octavia asked.

  The kids cheered, but Linda’s mind raced to the money they shouldn’t be spending.

  “It’s on me,” Octavia offered.

  A nice gesture, but she knew her sister’s funds were dwindling, too. “Jarrod, show Aunt Tavey where we keep the pizza coupons.”

  While the three of them headed toward the kitchen, Linda thumbed through the mail and sighed at the number of sympathy cards—all well intended, but draining. A little envelope symbol on the phone indicated there were messages waiting. She dialed into voice mail and listened with a closed throat to three messages of condolences, two bill collectors, and the last one from an unknown number.

  “This message is for Linda Guy Smith. This is Mellon Vending. We have immediate openings for stockers in the Lexington area. The hours are flexible, but you will need to provide your own vehicle. If you’re interested, please arrive at our warehouse at 555 Industrial Way no later than nine a.m. Monday morning, prepared to start. Bring a picture I.D.”

  When the end tone sounded, Linda gave a little laugh. It wasn’t the high-powered career she’d hoped for in college, but maybe it would keep the wolf from their door. And right now it was a tiny light of hope to get her through the weekend.

  She would take that.

  Chapter Eleven

  OCTAVIA STARED UP at the small generic sign that read “Private Investigator” hung over a nondescript door to a lackluster storefront in an uninspiring strip mall on Todds Road that featured a dry cleaner, a pawn shop, a gym, and a Waffle House. “This is it?”

  “This is it,” Linda said cheerfully.

  The kids bailed out of the van and ran inside.

  Octavia sagged as all the optimism she’d felt that the agency might be able to find Richard drained away. “I’m guessing Sullivan didn’t have a marketing manager.”

  “I think his philosophy was that people prefer discretion.”

  She climbed out, her back aching from the cursed futon. At least she was wearing her own clothes and shoes, although she was seriously overdressed for this part of town. “But how did people even find this place?”

  “He got referrals...sometimes. The business was still growing.”

  Because Linda’s voice cracked Octavia kept her mouth shut as they walked inside. But it was clear from looking at the dark little hole in the wall that Sullivan Smith had not been running a thriving business. She recalled her conversation with Dunk Duncan, about how he handled only high-end cases. Sullivan was obviously at the other end of that spectrum.

 
The reception area was small, with dated, dismal wallpaper and an old metal desk with a matchbook under one of the legs. A row of file cabinets lined one wall; random empty drawers stood open. A rickety table held a stack of files. A shredder sat in the floor with strips of mangled paper littering the bad carpet. Packing boxes were stacked nearby.

  A woman hugged the children and tweaked their cheeks. Linda introduced her as Klo Calvert, Sullivan’s secretary and office manager. Octavia remembered her from the funeral home—her red hair dye was at least three shades too dark and she’d been wearing a skirt much too short for a woman her age. The top she wore today was obviously the rest of that lurid outfit.

  “Nice to meet you,” Klo said coolly.

  “Likewise,” Octavia said, trying not to stare at the woman’s cleavage. Good God, you could lose a sandwich in there.

  While Linda and Klo talked and the kids entertained themselves with a Hacky Sack, Octavia glanced around. Behind the reception area was a small bathroom. To the left was a closed door, which she surmised was Sullivan’s office, where he’d collapsed. Linda wouldn’t even look in its direction.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Linda said to Klo. “A background check on an individual—can you do that?”

  “Sure. I handled most of the background checks. The fee to the databases we use is paid through the end of the year. I just need a full name and social security number.”

  When Linda glanced at Octavia, a warm flush climbed her neck. She recited Richard’s full name and his social security number.

  One of Klo’s too-thin eyebrows raised. “Habersham? Are you related to this person?”

  “Only by marriage.”

  “I see.”

  Octavia hated the knowing look the woman gave her.

  “And how deep should I go—credit report? Phone records? Arrest and conviction records?”

  She swallowed hard. “The works.”

  “Are you and he on the same cell phone usage plan?”

  “No. His cell phone is through his law firm. But we have a land line at home he sometimes uses.”

  “Okay, I’ll need that number, as well as your social and address.” She handed over a pad of paper and a pen. Then she dismissed her by turning back to Linda.

  Tingling with embarrassment, Octavia wrote down the information. Damn Richard for putting her in such a demeaning position.

  “These are the bills,” Klo said in an apologetic voice to Linda, handing over an accordion folder. “I talked to the landlord and unfortunately, if we end the lease early, we’ll forfeit a one thousand dollar deposit.”

  Linda looked stricken, but nodded. “What about receivables?”

  Klo shook her head. “None. In fact, we’re on the hook to refund some of the retainers clients put down.”

  “Does the agency have the money?”

  “No,” the woman said quietly. “But the good news is you’ll be able to take a personal tax deduction on the loss the business shows.”

  Octavia rolled her eyes. As if Linda was going to make enough money stocking vending machines—gawd—to pay taxes in the first place. “How many open cases are there?”

  Both of the women turned to look at her.

  “How many open cases?” she repeated.

  “A few,” Klo said in a clipped voice.

  “Don’t you think Linda should see those files?”

  Klo bristled. “I was planning to call the clients and let them know we can’t complete work on their case.”

  “Maybe if Linda calls on behalf of her deceased husband, the clients will be less inclined to ask for their retainer back. Ditto with the landlord.”

  “I don’t think—” Linda began.

  “No, she’s right,” Klo said, although she looked as if she didn’t appreciate being upstaged. “It could save the business a lot of money, maybe enough to cover the bills.”

  “Including payroll?” Linda asked.

  Klo nodded.

  “Then yes,” Linda relented with a sigh. “Please make a copy of the open case files. I’ll call the clients next week.”

  “There’s one case Sullivan was working on for the D.A’s office. I already received a phone call asking me to mail the file and his notes to them.”

  “Of course, send it. I’ll come by for the other files before we leave—I need to drop off some thank you notes to the neighboring businesses.”

  Klo nodded and reached out to clasp Linda’s hand. “I can’t tell you how sorry—” She broke off and her eyes filled.

  “And I’m sorry about your job,” Linda said, her eyes welling, too. “What will you do?”

  “I usually land on my feet.”

  Octavia would’ve guessed the woman usually landed on her back. Irritated at Klo for getting her sister worked up again, she asked, “When will that background check be ready?”

  Klo turned flashing eyes in her direction, obviously perturbed at the intrusion by someone she considered an outsider. “Is Monday soon enough?”

  “No. But it is what it is.” She exchanged a challenging look with the older woman. “Bye now.”

  When they walked out, Octavia headed toward the van.

  “Come with us,” Linda said, gesturing to the sidewalk that fronted the motley arrangement of businesses. “After we drop off the thank you cards, we’re going to have lunch at the Waffle House.”

  Octavia made a face. “That’s not remotely tempting.”

  “Waffle House is wonderful,” Maggie said with awe in her voice.

  Octavia glanced at the little girl’s chubby tummy that peeked out under her too-short T-shirt. “Beauty queens shouldn’t make a habit of eating waffles.”

  “Says the woman who packed her a marshmallow lunch,” Linda said dryly. Then she gestured with her hand. “Come with us. We could all use a little diversion.”

  Octavia sighed—how could she argue with that?

  Their first stop was a dry cleaner’s whose generic sign was as unimaginative as Sullivan’s. A chime sounded when they walked in, and they were immediately assailed by heat and the scent of fabric softener. Dust motes floated in the air and the hum of dryers sounded from behind the garment conveyer that was packed with plastic-covered clothes. A slender dark-haired woman emerged from the back and smiled when she recognized Linda. She walked up to the waist high counter, her face pink with perspiration.

  “Hello, Mrs. Smith.” She was pretty and modestly dressed, and looked to be in her mid-twenties. She spoke with a faint Hispanic accent.

  “Hello, Maria.” She introduced the woman to Octavia as Maria Munoza.

  Octavia didn’t extend her hand, but when Maria did, she had no choice except to take it.

  “You’re Mrs. Smith’s sister,” Maria said, holding her hand longer than necessary.

  “That’s right.” Octavia squirmed under the woman’s coal black eye contact.

  The pressure on her fingers increased. “The two of you are very different.”

  Octavia gave a little laugh. “Right again.” And obvious to anyone with vision. She extricated her hand, then took a step back from the disturbing woman.

  Linda handed Maria the thank you card. “We just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate you coming to the service and sending flowers.”

  “You’re very welcome. Sullivan was a good man.”

  A warning bell went off in Octavia’s head. How odd that the young woman would call Linda “Mrs. Smith,” but call her husband by his given name.

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” Linda murmured.

  Maria gave the children each a piece of hard candy, then they were on their way. Octavia felt heat on her back as they were leaving, and when she looked back, the woman was staring at her. She shuddered involuntarily and caught up to Linda and the kids.

  The next storefront was empty—not a good indication of the area’s prosperity. The next place was called the Slim Gym, a surprisingly spacious facility that seemed to cater to muscle heads, from the sight of the spandex-clad
, belt-wearing behemoths doing biceps curls in front of a mirrored wall. Linda warned the children to stay away from the equipment and smiled at the bulky man behind the counter who lit up like neon when he caught sight of her.

  Hm.

  “Octavia, meet Stone Calvert. He’s Klo’s nephew and he runs this place. Stone, this is my sister, Octavia Habersham.”

  The big man with the shaved head had a quiet voice, but a dangerous edge to him. And from the looks of the crude knuckle tattoos, he’d either served in the military, or the penal system—or both. She watched him interact with her sister when Linda handed him the thank you note and caught the whiff of interest on his part. Guys like him and that detective went all Knight in Shining Armor over a widow with kids.

  Octavia glanced around. Her personal trainer Javier wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. She worked out with him twice a week at a club facility that had a sushi bar.

  A few sweaty guys went out of their way to walk by her as they picked up a towel or refilled their water bottles from a fountain. One of them flexed his man boob her way.

  Ugh—honestly?

  As they were leaving, Stone said, “I’m so sorry, Linda. I only wish I could’ve done more.”

  “You did plenty,” she assured him, “and I’m grateful.”

  When they left, Octavia quizzed her about the conversation.

  Linda made sure the kids were out of earshot, then said, “Stone was the person who found Sullivan and called 9-1-1.”

  “What was he doing in Sullivan’s office?”

  “Sully hired Stone sometimes to work cases with him.”

  Octavia pursed her mouth. She could see how the bald man could be intimidating. So Sullivan took on some dangerous cases, did he? Her estimation of him rose a smidgen.

  “When are we getting waffles?” Maggie whined.

  “We have one more stop to make first,” Linda promised.

  Grim’s Pawn appeared to be the “anchor” of the sorry little strip mall—at least according to the signage, which was impressive, and the foot traffic, which was steady.

  And seedy.

  She wrinkled her nose when they stepped inside. Fluorescent lights illuminated every corner. And every square foot of wall space was occupied with junk, as far as she could see. Guitars galore, stereo equipment, televisions, and laptop computers ad nauseum. Glass display cabinets formed a U around the edge of the shop, full of jewelry, coins, and silver pieces. The discards of other people’s lives. The place gave her the absolute creeps. She hung back by the door, impatient to leave.