Oakley Hall sat on the other side of her, leaning in.
She refolded the picture and put it back in the frame, then added it to the box.
A half-empty cup of coffee sat on the window ledge, and the sight of it was heartbreaking—another interrupted routine task. Next to the window, a ficus tree was drooping. She poured the stale coffee into the root ball. No use for anything else to die around here.
At last, she turned to Sullivan’s desk and began to empty it. It was a big, clubby model without a lot of usable drawer space. The contents were mostly toiletries he kept on hand, a few magazines, and a couple of books. The first book brought new tears to her eyes: How to Tie Knots. The frayed length of white rope inside the book was proof of why he hadn’t yet taught Jarrod how to tie knots for Scouts—he was still practicing himself.
The second book caused an uptick in her pulse: The Life of a Thoroughbred Jockey. Part how-to, part memoir, the book contained biographies and interviews with some of the industry’s most celebrated jockeys. She put the book on the desk and let it fall open naturally...and it opened to the page on Rocky Huff.
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
A knock at the door sounded. She looked up to see Octavia. “Trouble.” She opened the door wider to reveal Jarrod standing in the reception area, his head hanging. Oakley stood behind him.
She came out of the office and noticed Jarrod’s shirt was torn and stained with—blood? “What on earth?”
When Jarrod looked up, he was sporting a shiner. She gasped and sank to the floor in front of him. “What happened?”
“I got in a fight at school,” he mumbled.
She frowned and lifted his jaw so she could get a better look at his eye. “You know better than that. What happened?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know...Evan Padgett said something and I just got mad and I punched him in the nose.” He pointed to his shirt. “That’s his blood.”
“I thought you and Evan were friends.”
“We are,” he said miserably.
“What did he say to make you mad?”
“I don’t even remember.” He started to cry, but she shushed him with a hug.
“Why don’t Klo and I take you to Waffle House and get you a T-shirt?” Octavia asked.
He looked at Linda and she nodded. Then she gave the women a grateful look.
When they left, she looked at Oakley. She hadn’t gotten over their last conversation. “How did you get involved?”
“Jarrod called me. I went to pick him up from school.”
“The school released him to you?”
“Only because I’m a police officer and his godfather.”
“Did they say anything about what happened?”
He handed her a piece of paper. It was from the school counselor. She suggested that Jarrod had rage issues connected to the loss of his father, and she recommended grief counseling.
Linda refolded the letter, feeling like a total failure. “I’m falling down on my job, it seems. I need to be paying more attention to my children.”
“No one thinks you’re falling down on your job. This hasn’t been easy for anyone, but for you, most of all. It’s going to take time.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I’m here for you...and for the kids.”
“I appreciate that, Oakley, I really do. But we’ll be just fine.”
He shifted foot to foot. “I got a phone call from A.D.A. Beverly Houston.”
A flush began to work its way up her neck. “Oh.”
He gave a little laugh. “She said you came to see her, that you’d taken over Sullivan’s cases?”
Her chin went up. “That’s right. Octavia and I took on the open cases...and we closed them.” She faltered. “Well...except for Foxtrot...which by the way, you lied to me about. You said Sullivan wasn’t working on it and A.D.A. Houston said she gave him the job on your referral.”
“I said I couldn’t say if he was working on it.”
“That’s not fair.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Why are we even talking about this? You were way out of line to go see the A.D.A. about a confidential case that you’re not a part of.”
“I just happened to be in the building and stopped by to ask a couple of questions about a file that we can’t seem to find.”
“Just happened to be in the building?” Then realization dawned. “You just happened to be in the building stocking potato chips and thought you’d drop in to chat with the A.D.A.?”
“You act like investigative work is some kind of closed club.”
His eyes bulged. “It is! It’s for law enforcement professionals. You’re a stay-at-home mom!”
She stopped. He was right...so why did it feel like such a putdown?
“Duly noted,” she said quietly.
“Linda—”
She saw the trio returning with Jarrod sporting a brand new Waffle House T-shirt. “Thank you very much for coming to Jarrod’s assistance today...and mine. Goodbye, Oakley.”
“Are you leaving, Uncle Oakley?” Jarrod asked.
“Yeah. See you soon, champ. No fighting, okay?”
“Okay.”
Linda hugged Jarrod to her and over his head, watched Oakley stride to his unmarked sedan and climb inside.
She could hear his car door slam from there.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“WELCOME TO Waffle House,” Brittany said. “Coffee, half and half, right?”
Octavia looked up. “Yes.” Under the bill cap, the girl actually had really nice bone structure.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“No, and that’s the problem. You know, if you wore just a little mascara, your eyes would really pop.”
The girl frowned. “I don’t have the time to fool with all that crap.”
Octavia read between the lines. I can’t afford makeup and wouldn’t know what to buy if I did.
“Do you want to order something to eat?”
“I’ll have that chicken salad thing again.”
“Good choice. Coming right up.”
Octavia massaged her temples to ward off the building explosion in her head, then decided a cigarette would calm her nerves more. She and Klo had been working for the better part of three days to piece together Richard’s activities for the past few months to try to predict where he might be hiding out.
So far, nothing had panned out. Klo had good connections with the Lexington Police Division because, no big surprise, she used to be a stripper. And she must’ve been a good one, because every time she called with a question, it got answered.
She pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a two-dollar lighter.
If Richard were indeed hiding out. Lately she’d started to worry he might be dead. What if that thug had found him?
She drew on the cigarette, then exhaled.
She certainly hoped not...because she wanted first crack at him.
The only thing she hadn’t shared with Klo or the police was the evidence envelope she had. She didn’t know what move to make, and the stress was killing her. If she turned it in, it might mean worse things for Richard, and as furious with him as she was, she wasn’t ready to send him up the river yet...not while her boat was still attached to his.
She took another drag, then exhaled.
The worst thing was knowing this could go on and on—they didn’t even know if Richard was still in the area. He could be any-fucking-where.
A man’s cough sounded, then Grim swung into the booth opposite her. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t smoke in here.”
She frowned. “Why the hell not?”
“Because those things will kill you.”
“Really?” She thumped the menu. “And sausage gravy and biscuits, with an order of smothered hash browns won’t?”
“You’ve got a point. But death by biscuit generally takes longer. And there’s no such thing as second-hand cholesterol.” He reached over and rem
oved the cigarette from her fingers and snubbed it out on a saucer. “What’s got your La Perlas in a twist?”
“How do you know what brand of underwear I have on?”
“Lucky guess for a lady who refuses to buy jewelry in a pawn shop.”
“Well, if you must know,” she said, counting on her fingers, “in the last three weeks, my husband left me stranded, then I found out we’re broke, then I found out he’s having an affair, then I found out he’s a fugitive for conspiracy to commit murder.”
He pursed his mouth. “That actually explains a lot. But any man who would have an affair on you needs to be locked up anyway.”
“Don’t try to cheer me up.”
He held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.” Then he leaned in. “So...that thing I’m keeping for you...does it have anything to do with...anything?”
“I don’t know what’s inside. It’s an evidence envelope, so if I break the seal, then whatever’s in it will be compromised.”
“So would it help if you could tell what’s inside?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”
“If whatever is inside is solid. I have at least a couple of handheld x-ray devices in the shop. Depends on how good the resolution is, but we should be able to get some idea.”
She was already on her feet and heading toward the door.
Grim lifted his hands. “Can I have lunch?”
“Afterward.”
“Me and my big mouth.”
Inside the pawn shop, Grim led her to a room in the rear where he produced the envelope and a handheld x-ray machine. But it took them a while to figure out exactly how to use it.
“This isn’t working,” she said.
“Patience,” he chided, and hit the reset button again to allow the machine to reboot.
She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh.
“By the way, Ms. Would Never Buy Anything From a Pawnshop. Guess what came in earlier this week?”
“I’m not guessing.”
“A Picasso.”
She laughed. “Right.”
“I’m not kidding. This couple had a Picasso drawing and a, a—” He snapped his fingers. “The art glass guy, what’s his name?”
She sat forward. “Chihuly?”
“Yeah, a Chihuly bowl. Should’ve known you’d know the name.”
Her heart galloped in her chest. “Did you buy them?”
“No way—I don’t keep that kind of cash lying around. I told them they’d have to find a gallery or a museum.”
“Do you think they did?”
“Maybe, but they made me nervous...I kind of got the feeling the items were stolen.”
“They were—from my house.”
His eyes widened. “No kidding?”
“Dark-haired slender man? And did the woman look like me?”
“That’s the guy...and the woman had dark hair, but she looked nothing like you.”
Okay, that scored him a few points. “You’re going to have to talk to the police. But you can’t mention this envelope.”
He looked wary. “Okay.” Then he held up the x-ray. “Let’s try this again.” This time he was able to get a passable image of the contents of the envelope on the machine screen.
But to Octavia it looked like a flat textured blob.
“What is it?”
He turned the image right, then left. “It’s a bullet.”
“It doesn’t look like a bullet.”
“It a bullet that’s already been shot.” He looked at her, his expression grave. “And if it’s evidence, then that probably means it killed someone.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“...SO IF ANYTHING becomes available, please keep me in mind,” Linda said. “Thank you, Samantha.”
She ended the call, crossed off Samantha’s name, then went to the next person on the list she’d made of friends, neighbors, and mere acquaintances who might be able to recommend her for a job that would dovetail into a career. Maybe something clerical or administrative. Preferably something with benefits.
She dialed the next number and forced cheer into her voice. “Hi, Jill, this is Linda Guy Smith.”
“Hi, Linda. I didn’t know ‘Guy’ was your middle name.”
“It’s my maiden name.”
“Oh. How are you?”
She was finding it hard to strike a balance between sounding well enough to be a competent employee, but pitiful enough for people to want to help her. “Fine...you know—most days.”
“Depression, huh?”
“Well—”
“Of course you’re depressed. Who wouldn’t be, losing your husband like that, and you still a young, vibrant woman?”
She took the opening. “I’m glad you think so, Jill. Actually, I called because I’m putting out feelers to get back on a career track.”
“Oh? What did you do before you were a stay-at-home mom?”
“I was a young mother, so I didn’t get a chance to work outside the home much.”
“I was a young mother, too, but I also had a career.” Her voice vibrated with censure.
“I really admire that, Jill. You’re way ahead of me. I guess I’m a late-bloomer.”
“Well...what is your degree in?”
“Actually, I didn’t get a chance to finish my college degree. But I studied political science at UK for two years.”
“Oh. Well, Linda, in this day and age, I’m sure you realize that getting a job without a college education and no work experience is going to be very difficult.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m reaching out to friends like you who might be able to recommend me because of my character...and my circumstances.”
She’d gotten to the point where she actually counted the length of the awkward pauses to see who could hold out the longest. One Mississippi....two Mississippi...three Mississippi—
“Absolutely, I will keep you in mind the next time I hear of an opening you’d be qualified for.”
Milly Washburn still held the record at seven Mississippi’s.
“Thank you very much,” Linda said. “Meanwhile, can I email you a resume and a cover letter?”
“Sure. You take care, Linda.”
The line went dead before Linda could ask for her email address.
“Perfect,” she murmured.
All morning she’d spoken to people who felt sorry for her, but didn’t hold out much hope of her finding a job considering the education and career decisions she’d made.
Meaning, she’d done everything wrong.
She looked at the last remaining name on the list and sighed. Oakley.
She inhaled and swallowed her pride in one gulp, then dialed his number.
He answered on the second ring. “Hi, there. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Well, the other day you said you were there for me.”
“Of course I am.”
She gave a little laugh. “I’m calling in a chit.”
“Whatever you need, I’m your man.”
She bit down on her tongue. That was the last thing she needed to hear. “You know the vending machine job isn’t exactly a career builder, so I was wondering if you know of anyone who has a job opening I might be qualified for.”
“Actually, I might. But it’s a nine-to-five job, and would be a conflict with the kids’ schedules, especially in the summer.”
“We’ll make it work,” she said, sounding more sure than she felt.
“Let me make a phone call, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay...thank you.”
“Sure thing.”
She ended the call, feeling a tad better. Even if the job didn’t materialize, at least it had broken the ice between them. Oakley had always been one person she couldn’t stand knowing things weren’t good between them.
A whirring noise in the front yard caught her attention. She hoped it wasn’t another surprise guest from Octavia, but she doubted it since her
sister had been spending the days at the agency with Klo trying to figure out where Richard might be. They were an unlikely pair, but apparently had reached some kind of alliance to use the final week of the agency’s resources to try to find a fugitive.
She stepped to the window and looked outside to see Stone Calvert pushing a lawn mower across her neglected yard. She smiled in surprise. Klo must’ve sent him over, bless them both.
She went to the fridge and poured two glasses of lemonade, ready to take a break herself. On the way to the front door, she stopped at the mirror to survey her appearance. Good...but not great. She finger-combed her hair and gave her cheeks a pinch, then was irritated with herself. What did it matter? Stone had seen her a hundred times.
Although she wouldn’t mind dispelling the picture of her having a meltdown in the parking lot of the funeral home.
She opened the door and walked outside, lifting the glasses to get his attention. He looked up and waved, then turned off the lawnmower. “I didn’t know if you were home.” He pulled on the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head, then used it to wipe the sweat from his neck.
Her tongue tripped at the sight of his naked, muscular torso. “Y-yes...job-hunting on the phone.”
“Ah. If we had an opening at the gym, it would be yours.”
She laughed. “I’m not exactly a walking billboard for a gym.”
He skimmed her figure. “I disagree.”
Her mouthful of lemonade when down the wrong way. She coughed violently.
“You okay there?” He patted her on the back.
“Yoo-hoo, Lin-da!”
She looked up to see Nan Boyd and the mob of neighborhood walking women on the sidewalk, arms pumping in tandem as they covered the ground like a herd of colorful locusts. Necks stretched and mouths gawked at Stone, and Linda cringed inwardly, knowing how it must look. The rumor mill would be busy tonight. And if the women in the group she’d talked to this morning about a job had felt sorry for her, she was sure that was pretty much out the window.
“You should join us sometime!” Nan shouted.
“I will,” she promised weakly.
When they were gone, Stone laughed. “I take it those are the community busybodies?”
Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 18