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

by Stephanie Bond

  In Richard’s office, she located a phone list for club members and looked up the number for Patsy Greenwald’s husband Neil. He answered, but not only did he not know where his wife was, he didn’t care. And from the sound of the female laughter in the background, it appeared he’d already moved on.

  She ended the call wondering if anything in the world was real or true anymore. Everybody—she and Richard included—seemed to be living disposable lives that could be cast off whenever a person decided to move on, and it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process.

  Of all those men from the club who’d hit on her, she’d never once been tempted to cheat on Richard. She knew she could be difficult to live with, but she had been faithful.

  Her eyes filled with fresh tears. She’d married Richard for a lot of reasons, but she’d picked him over someone like Dunk Duncan because he’d sworn to her he would always be there for her...that he would never leave her.

  Like her mother had.

  Fooled again.

  The house was just as she’d left it. If Richard had been there, she couldn’t tell. She went around the house, putting mementos and photo albums in a box, struck by how many of those cherished items were from her childhood and college years and how few were from her marriage.

  When she left the house, she drove by Richard’s law office, but there was no activity that she could see—and the window was still boarded up from the day she’d thrown a brick through it.

  As she steered onto the interstate to head back to Lexington, the adrenaline began to ebb and tears threatened as the reality of her situation began to sink in. Two weeks after Richard had disappeared, her pale pink funeral manicure was at the end of its lifespan and she was no closer to finding him, or discovering why he’d left in the first place. The simplest answer was that he and Patsy had run off together, but that didn’t explain the thug who was looking for him.

  He must be deeply in debt...maybe to a loan shark? Was he hiding out because his life was in danger?

  She spotted a bent business card in the console and chewed her lip. She never thought she’d call the man, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  Octavia used one hand to punch in the number on her phone and listened to it ring two, three times. She was considering hanging up when his voice came on the line.

  “Detective Oakley Hall.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  LINDA BLINKED awake slowly, enjoying the soothing suburban sounds of trees swaying, birds chirping, and...

  Her eyes flew wide.

  Whinnying?

  She rolled out of bed and lifted the slat of a mini-blind to look out onto the front yard. Her jaw dropped.

  Tied to the trunk of the Bradford pear tree in her yard was a tall, sleek brown horse, happily munching on the clover in her overgrown yard. “What the—?”

  Her bedroom door burst open. Jarrod and Maggie were jumping up and down.

  “Mommy! Mommy!”

  “There’s a horse in our yard!”

  “So I see.”

  “How did it get there?” Jarrod asked.

  “I have no idea,” she murmured. But why did she have the feeling that it had something to do with Octavia coming in last night after they’d all gone to bed?

  “Can we go out and pet it?”

  “Yeah, can we?”

  “No, you may not. You may get dressed and go out on the stoop and wait for me. And don’t let Max outside.”

  They fled.

  She pulled on jeans and a top as quickly as she could, then made a beeline for the den. Octavia was sprawled on her back, snoring, wearing a blue satin sleep mask, black camisole and tap pants. All around her were stuffed animals that Maggie was fond of putting in her bed.

  Linda leaned over and shook her awake. “Octavia...Octavia, wake up.”

  She snorted awake and sat up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Linda lifted the sleep mask. “There’s an animal tied to the tree in my front yard.”

  Octavia grimaced against the light. “That’s a thoroughbred...I thought I taught you something about horses.”

  Linda tucked her tongue into her cheek. “How did it get there?”

  “I brought it home with me last night.”

  “From where?”

  Octavia sighed, already tired of questions. “From Louisville, where I’ve had it stabled.”

  “Why did you bring it here?”

  “He was about to be repossessed.”

  Linda squinted. “Horses can be repossessed?”

  “I guess so. There was a notice in my mailbox.”

  Linda was still trying to sort through it all. “You brought it here so the bank can’t find it to repossess it?”

  “Him. And yes.”

  “You kidnapped a horse?”

  “It’s my horse!”

  “How on earth did you transport it?”

  “Your van did a great job of pulling my horse trailer.”

  Linda pursed her mouth. “O...kay.”

  “Mom!” Jarrod yelled from the front door. “Are you coming out?”

  “Be right there.” She gave Octavia a pointed look. “Coming?”

  “If I have to.”

  “You do.”

  Octavia groaned, but followed her outside where a nice little crowd of neighbors had gathered to gawk at the splendid animal grazing in their yard. Just as Octavia had said, the minivan sat in the driveway with a horse trailer hitched to it. The horse seemed oblivious to its audience as it picked clean every clump of clover within reach of its long graceful neck.

  “Is it yours, Aunt Tavey?” Jarrod asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I pet her?”

  “Me, too!” Maggie said.

  “It’s a boy horse. See the—”

  Linda stopped her with her arm. “Let’s save the anatomy lesson for another time.”

  Octavia frowned. “Yes, you can pet him if you’re very careful. Otherwise, he’ll trample you.”

  Linda’s head came around, but Octavia arched an eyebrow. “Kidding, sis. Mercury is as gentle as a lamb.”

  The kids edged up to him, Maggie, as usual, the braver one who reached out first to touch the horse’s neck, her pink mouth open in awe.

  “What do you propose we do now?” Linda asked.

  Octavia yawned, then gave a little wave. “He’ll be fine munching on grass for a couple of days. But at some point I’ll have to buy some oats.

  Linda stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

  “What?”

  “Octavia, it can’t stay here.”

  “He. And why not? Look what an amazing job he’s doing on the grass.”

  The horse lifted its tail and deposited a huge pile of crap on the lawn.

  Linda looked at Octavia. “You are so cleaning that up.” Then she spotted Nan Boyd marching their way. “Oh, here we go.”

  “Linda, what is going on here?”

  “Just a temporary visitor, Nan. Nothing to worry about.”

  “This is breaking all kinds of ordinances. Look at the flies. Not to mention the safety risk. What if it gets loose and goes on a stampede through the neighborhood? You have kids, you should understand.”

  “We’ll handle it, Nan. Thanks.”

  “See that you do.”

  Nan turned and Octavia made a lunge for her, but Linda stopped her. “She’s right. You’re going to have to find somewhere else to keep him.”

  A worried look pinched her brow. “I don’t have the money right now to pay for boarding him.”

  Linda pressed her lips together. “I might have a solution.”

  “What?”

  “The guy who owns the pawn shop down from the agency, Grim Hollister?”

  Octavia frowned. “What about him?”

  “He has a farm and I seem to recall that he has horses. Maybe he’ll stable your horse temporarily.”

  “No way,” Octavia said, shaking her head. “I will not be beholden to that base man.”

>   *****

  Grim Hollister grinned. “What’s his name?”

  Octavia ground her jaw. “Mercury.”

  He walked all around the horse, patting him down with long, tapered hands. She noticed with a start that he was wearing the snakeskin boots—but, presumably to cover the ketchup stain, had dyed them bright pink.

  And didn’t seem to mind one bit.

  “What a beauty.” Then he looked back at her and winked. “And you have a good-looking horse, too.”

  “You’re hysterical. May I see your stables, please?”

  “Sure, right this way.” He led Mercury down a path and she followed, taking the opportunity to look around.

  The man had a prime piece of land located close to Keeneland race track and Blue Grass Airport...but he’d set on it a hick cabin that looked like it had been made from red Lincoln Logs—ugh. Too rustic for her tastes.

  But she supposed it suited him.

  He walked ahead of her, lean and long-limbed, dressed in dark jeans and his ever-present black T-shirt. She guessed some women would find him and his body artwork attractive. His ponytail extended past the nape of his neck about three inches. He looked like he worked out, but he probably got those arms from doing something greasy like retooling car engines or buffing out his crotch-rocket motorcycle.

  When the horse barn came into view, though, she pursed her mouth.

  Not bad.

  It was a classic style that resembled a church from the profile, minus the steeple. A center aisle design, she could tell from here, with stalls on both sides and a loft with glass windows along the length of the inset. Painted white, with a red roof. And nicer than the home she’d grown up in.

  “Does it pass muster?” Grim asked.

  “I’ll reserve judgment until I see the inside.”

  His laugh was low and throaty. “Okay.” He tied Mercury off to a white hitching post in front, and opened the double doors.

  Inside, the ceilings were high and the lighting, excellent. Ceiling fans moved slowly overhead. Everything was clean and shiny. The floor was concrete and studded with drains. There were five stalls on either side of the center aisle, three of them occupied with horses that apparently were accustomed to Grim, as they hung out their heads and stretched their necks toward him.

  “Yours?” she asked, reaching out a hand to scratch the head of a white mare.

  “The mare and the big quarter horse are mine. The gelding is a rescue animal.”

  “So Mercury would be your only boarder?”

  “Yep.”

  “And do you have a helper?”

  “Nope.”

  “Will you have time to care for him properly?”

  “Probably. But you’re welcome to come out any time to ride.” He grinned. “Him, of course.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And how much will you charge me for temporary boarding?”

  “Linda said you were a little strapped for cash at the moment.”

  God, she hated being poor! “That’s right. So what kind of deal can you cut me?” She angled her head. “And don’t even think about some kind of lewd barter.”

  “No?” He looked disappointed, then nodded to her finger. “I figure that emerald ring will take care of it.”

  She gasped. “This is my engagement ring! And it’s worth a lot more than a few months of horse boarding.”

  “Really? And how much is it worth not to call your bank and tell them where to find the horse?”

  Linda had revealed way too much to this goon. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Afraid I would. Horse stealing is a crime, you know. A hundred years ago, you would’ve been hanged.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my horse....he’s just not paid for yet.”

  “Po-tat-o, po-tot-to.” He held out his hand.

  She screwed up her mouth, then pulled off her emerald ring and dropped it into his palm. “I hate you.”

  “Things change,” he said with a cocky smile, then pocketed the ring.

  Ooh! Octavia threw imaginary daggers into his back as he went outside to fetch Mercury.

  Of one thing she was certain—she would never not hate this man.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE FEMALE receptionist at the Lexington Division of Police offered Linda a smile through an opening in a thick glass wall. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Linda Smith...the wife of the l-late Sullivan Smith, who used to be on the force.”

  The woman’s smile turned to an expression of sadness. “Yes, I knew your husband, Mrs. Smith. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  She inclined her head, then held up a card. “The precinct sent flowers to the service. I was hoping you could post this thank-you note in a public place, maybe in a break room?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “Thank you. Also, is Detective Hall available?”

  “I’ll check.” She picked up a phone and punched in a number, then spoke into the receiver before setting it down. “Detective Hall will be right out.”

  Linda stepped back to wait, nodding at uniformed officers as they passed by. She recalled Jarrod’s sentiments that he wished his dad had remained a cop. She understood what her son had meant—being a police officer was a noble calling. Seeing Sullivan in his uniform had never failed to stir her.

  Oakley appeared through an open door, his expression tentative. “Hi, there. Is everything okay at home?”

  “Yes,” she assured him. “Is this a bad time to talk?”

  “Never for you. Come on back.”

  She followed him through a security door and into the buzz of a busy office with an open desk configuration. Phones rang and voices vied to be heard. An announcement was being made over the PA system that no one seemed to be paying attention to.

  He led her to a cluttered desk against a wall. “Sorry I can’t offer something with more privacy.”

  “This is fine.” His work area was devoid of personal items—no photographs or mementos...that was Oakley. She took the seat he cleared off for her. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  He lowered himself into his chair. “About Octavia’s situation? She called me last night. I think I’m close to having some information for her.”

  Linda frowned. “Octavia called you?”

  He frowned. “That’s not why you’re here?”

  “No. But what’s going on?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure I should—”

  “Oakley, she’s living in my house. Whatever’s going on might affect my kids.”

  “Right. Well, your sister was at a cocktail party last night and got the impression that her husband might be afraid for his life.”

  Linda raised an eyebrow. “You mean from Octavia?”

  He smiled. “No. From the man who came to your house. I’m still trying to find a plate match to the partial Octavia got. But it got me thinking that if Habersham was afraid of something—maybe a client or someone else connected to a case—he might’ve requested protective custody.”

  Linda brightened. “You think that’s where he’s been?”

  “I’m waiting for a call back from the Jefferson County D.A.’s office to see if they have any information they can give me.”

  She felt a surge of affection for him. “Thank you, Oakley.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He lifted his hands. “So, if you didn’t come to talk about Octavia, what did you want to talk about?”

  “I wondered if you knew anything about a big case Sullivan was working on, something maybe for the D.A.’s office here in Fayette County?”

  He looked confused. “Why do you want to know?”

  “The D.A. asked Klo for a case file that she can’t find...something about Foxtrot?”

  “It makes sense that Sully would be working on something for the D.A.’s office at any given time. Most investigators do.”

  “So you don’t know anything about Foxtrot?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say that I do.
”

  She nodded, feeling foolish, not even sure what she’d hoped to gain from talking to Oakley. “Okay...thanks.” She pushed to her feet. “I’d better be going.”

  “So soon?”

  She pointed to her lanyard. “Those chips won’t stock themselves.”

  “I’ll walk out with you.” He led her back through the labyrinth of desks to the door that spilled into the lobby. As they were going out, another man was coming in. He looked vaguely familiar to Linda and when he caught her eye, he did a double-take.

  “You’re Mrs. Smith, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Milton Jacobson. I attended your husband’s service.”

  “That was very kind of you.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Sullivan—unlike a lot of guys around here, I never had a problem with him when he was on the force.”

  Linda blinked.

  “Jacobson, Mrs. Smith is running late,” Oakley said.

  “Right. Good to see you, ma’am.”

  She made some appropriate remark. When he was gone, she looked at Oakley. “What was he talking about?”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him.” But she could tell the man’s comment had bothered him, too.

  She touched his arm. “Oakley, what aren’t you telling me?”

  He wavered.

  “Oakley...please.”

  He looked aggrieved. “Sully didn’t want you to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That he left the department on bad terms.”

  She drew back. “I thought he left because he wanted to strike out on his own.”

  “I’m sure that was part of it...but he also had some enemies in the department.”

  She was stunned. “Why would Sullivan have enemies?”

  “Oh, you know Sully—he had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It made for some bruised egos and bad feelings. It just got to be too tense around here.”

  “He was asked to leave?”