by Kristi Rose
Currently, AJ was the backup quarterback for the Portland Pioneers NFL team. “If he gets traded to a team in Florida, those teammates will have no use for you,” I said.
“What if I want to expand?”
Precious takes over the world, one unorganized and mentally frazzled person at a time. I could see it happening.
“What you want me to do is to be a double agent. You want me to be AJ’s personal assistant, but also find out if he’s considering jumping ship for this other company. What’s their name?”
“Sky’s The Limit.” She blew out a snort. “Dumb name, right?”
“Visualize the results you want,” I said. “Then make a plan on how to get there.” She’d said this to me a thousand times.
“Oh, shut up. I’ve spent so much time with AJ, but this company could easily pick up his trigger point and promise him the moon.”
“Trigger point? What would that be?”
A long pause. “I can’t tell you that. Client confidentiality.”
“Let me get this straight. I’m to do this guy’s laundry, grocery shopping, and walk his dog. I’m also supposed to snoop around to find out if Sky’s The Limit is trying to get him to reach for the stars?”
“Yes, sounds perfect.”
“For you, it does. How would I know if they’re trying to poach him? You want me to eavesdrop? Are you that kind of company?”
Precious grunted her frustration as she processed my question.
I continued, “Do you really want him to stay if he wants to go?”
She snapped back a reply, “If AJ wants to go because he’s not getting what he needs from me, then that’s fine. I’ve achieved my goal. But if AJ left because someone else has sold him a line of BS using prosperity-thinking techniques, then I’m not okay with that.”
Prosperity thinking was Precious’s soapbox. Just because a person imagined wealth and success didn’t mean it would happen. Her rant went on about adding the hard work and common sense component to it. She’d based her company on the premise. How to map out the steps needed for success. And reminding her she used to be all-in on prosperity thinking would be pointless.
“So, AJ wants to be rich and famous,” I said. He was, after all, in the NFL. He probably had certain expectations.
“No, AJ wants to see his dreams come true, and he’s getting impatient waiting for that to happen,” she huffed.
Fair enough.
I promised Precious I’d do what I could.
AJ’s house was in a gated community that overlooked the Columbia River. He didn’t appear to be hurting for money. I used the access code Precious gave me and arrived at his door with one minute to spare.
AJ Gunn was of mixed raced and hotter than a romance novel cover model. He was beautiful. So pretty, looking away was hard. He wore his dark hair shaved so close to his head; it looked like his head had a five o’clock shadow. Lashes unfairly bestowed on a dude framed his green eyes. His physique was that of a Greek god’s and with the trend of talented able-to-scramble-and-make-big-plays quarterbacks, AJ was old school and liked the comfort of the pocket. When forced out of the pocket, AJ spent too long looking for an open receiver. And boom. Sacked like a bag of potatoes. My dad said he’d never pick him for his fantasy league should he get more field time. But these were things I wouldn’t tell AJ.
“I’m Samantha True.” I stuck out my hand and pretended his green eyes weren’t making me want to giggle like a teenage girl meeting her celebrity crush.
“AJ Gunn. Erika speaks highly of you.” He stepped back and gestured for me to enter.
“She kinda has to. We’ve been friends forever.”
The smile on his face wavered.
I rushed on, “Oh, that doesn’t mean I’m going to share your secrets and sell scraps of your hair or anything. I’m trustworthy.” I grimaced. “Of course, telling you that probably makes me appear even more sketchy. Let’s start over. Why don’t you introduce me to your dog?”
His smile broadened. “Good idea. Follow me. He’s outside enjoying the sun. He loves it there.”
He led me through a one-story house with lots of glass on the backside and wood on the front. From my guess, the bedrooms were to the left, the kitchen and garage to the right, and the central space was the living and dining. The house wasn’t insanely large but spacious. The minimalistic style decor done in shades of white, black, and gray made it appear larger. Playing on the enormous flat-screen TV mounted over an equally large fireplace was last week’s Pioneer game. AJ had come in at the last quarter because Keith McVay, MVP quarterback of the year every year, had taken a hard sack, landing on his head.
AJ pointed through the window where an Airedale lay stretched out in the sun. “That’s Simon.”
“He’s gorgeous,” I said. “How old is he?”
“Three. Lots of energy. The neighborhood has a dog park, and if you could get him down there when you come, that would be great.”
I was scheduled to help AJ twice a week.
“I’d love to.” This gig Precious hired me for was the bomb.
AJ opened a glass sider and whistled. Simon leapt to his feet and dashed for AJ. When he bounded through the door, he passed by AJ and lunged for me, tail wagging fiercely.
“Hey,” I said, bending down. “Hey, Simon.” No hold-out-your-hand for this guy. He was one of those dogs that never knew a stranger. “Fierce guard dog you got here.”
“Yeah, he’s worthless. He’d sell me in a second for a dog treat,” AJ chuckled.
Simon’s feet were up on my thighs as I gave him a good rub to the sides. “We’re going to be the best of friends,” I said. “You know why? Because I can tell you’re a good listener.” When I scratched his ears, his tongue lolled out of his mouth.
“He’s crap for giving his opinion, though,” AJ said. “In case you need feedback.”
I shrugged. “That’s what Precious is for. Perks of being the BFF to a life coach.”
“Precious?” A smile teased at his lips. “Are Erika and Precious the same person?”
I glanced at his face and grimaced. “Um… you can’t tell her you know.”
He broke out into a full smile. “Oh, I’m gonna tell her. Sorry. I now see her in a completely different way.”
I groaned.
A door slammed near the kitchen, and a tall teen came into the room. He was clearly a relative as the resemblance was remarkable.
The teen said, “Hey bro, whose POS is that in the driveway?” He wore his jeans low on his waist and a long Tupac T-shirt. Earbuds dangled from his ears.
I raised my hand, ready to claim the so-called piece of shit. “That’s my POS, and I’ll thank you to keep your voice down. If LC, the POS in question, hears, he become temperamental.”
“LC?” AJ asked.
“Lewis and Clark. That POS and I have been on many adventures.”
The teen shuffled. “It’s a cool ride,” he mumbled. “Old school. Sorry for calling it junk.”
“Apology accepted.” I wasn’t going to split hairs that he called LC more than junk. While some people defended their dogs or children, I defended my ride.
“Samantha, this is my kid brother, Troy. Tee-Roy, this is Samantha. She works for Erika. She’ll be here twice a week, but she’s not your errand girl.”
“She’s your errand girl,” Troy snickered.
“Yeah, when you finish high school, go to college, graduate, and get a job, you can hire someone to do the things you dislike doing, too.” AJ planted his hands on his hips.
This sounded like a common refrain.
“Jeez, this again? Are you ever going to get off my back?” Troy rolled his eyes and skirted around the large kitchen island away from AJ. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He did a fast shuffle toward the other side of the house. But not fast enough, apparently, because AJ did a quick juking sidestep and came up beside him. AJ inhaled loudly.
“Aw, man. Stop sniffing me. I’m not stoned. I wish I was, tho
ugh, and who cares if I was? It’s legal.” Troy batted his brother away.
“It’s legal for people over twenty-one. That’s not you. You want to live here? You live by my rules,” AJ said.
Troy’s upper lip curled. “You sound like Mom.”
“She had a point,” AJ said.
Troy pushed his brother away and bolted for what I assumed was his room.
AJ turned to me and shrugged. “Kids.”
“I hear ya. I got a six-year-old niece accused of sexually harassing a kid in her class.” I made light of it, but it wasn’t a joke. Because I’d followed that thread of a story, it led me to Principal Josh’s office and his death.
“What?” AJ said. “That’s not a thing.”
“One would think it’s not a thing,” I said. “One would be wrong.”
AJ shook his head in disbelief. “Count your blessings. As they get bigger, the problems get harder. My mom’s sick and in Arizona undergoing treatment. I’ve been picking up the slack. Every week it’s something new with him. He was arrested a month ago and was given one chance.” AJ held up one finger. “One chance to get his act together, or else he goes to juvie. You think that would motivate him.”
I didn’t have any advice. “Some people like to learn things the hard way.”
AJ glanced over his shoulder toward the bedrooms. “Something squirrelly is going on. I’ve got charges on my credit card that don’t make sense, and Troy is locked down tight. I’d be more successful getting info from an opposing team’s play caller than my brother. I tell you this because when the team is on the road, you’ll be here alone with him. I know it’s not part of what Erika asked you to do, but if you could keep an eye on things… Maybe even solve the mystery of my brother.” He laughed as if he were joking. “I could use a miracle. I got enough of my own issues.” He glanced at the TV where the game was playing.
I cleared my throat. “I can help you with the first one. My other job is a PI. I can look into some things for you.” One day I wanted not to feel like an imposter when I told people I was PI.
His brows shot up. “Seriously?”
“No joke.” No need to point out that if I were a sought-after PI, I wouldn’t be working for Precious.
“You’re on,” he said in awe. “You’re a Jill of all trades.”
I laughed at his positive spin. “Sure. That sounds good. Once I have everything here squared away, I’ll help you with your other problem, too.” I pointed to the TV.
AJ tossed back his head and laugh.
“Okay,” I said and clapped my hands together to bring us back to the job at hand. “How about you show me what’s what, and let’s get started.”
AJ’s grin was wide, his green eyes twinkling. “Best thing I ever did was hire Erika Shurmann.”
9
Wednesday
Working for AJ would be a snap. Finding out what his brother was up to was going to be harder. AJ gave me the rundown of the situation. Troy had been arrested for shoplifting. Twice. The second time, the judge wasn’t as forgiving just because Troy was the kid brother of an NFL second-string quarterback. He gave Troy one last chance. He mandated Troy do both community service time and a teen-scared-straight program at the Vancouver Community Center. Mess up again and Troy went straight to juvie, didn’t pass go, and didn’t collect two hundred dollars.
AJ said a court order restricted Troy to the house unless he was out doing one of two tasks, cleaning up the side of the road per his community service or attending the program. The program confused A.J. Frequent charges on his credit card from the program were popping up, but there was nothing to show for it. And Troy had no answers. Or did but wasn’t sharing them.
Where to start? That seemed to be the million-dollar question. Where did I start with Troy and my own situation? What I needed was a mentor, one who wasn’t my dad. And the YouTube videos only went so far, and there was no way I was going to ask Leo.
That’s when inspiration struck.
Mrs. Wright! She had an entire closet dedicated to nosing into other people’s business. I’d discovered this when I did a job for her. She’d been in a battle with the lady down the street over a promiscuous cat.
On the drive to Mrs. Wright’s, I called Toby and asked him to do some digging into the charges and the school. And while he was at it, dig more into Josh. A plan was taking shape. At least in my mind.
Mrs. Wright was sporting dyed magenta hair and a Def Leppard shirt with Love Bites in large letters across the top.
“Hun, what brings you here?” she asked in a thick Jersey accent.
Behind her, the TV boomed at a volume that made the windows rattle. I winced. “I need some help. I was wondering if maybe you could give me some guidance.”
She held up her hands and yelled, “I don’t do fake IDs. I can get you connected to a guy on the east coast, but after that I wipe my hands of it. I don’t wanna know anything about your plans to go on the lam.”
I tilted my head in confusion. Maybe with the TV noise, I was getting mixed information? “What are you talking about?”
“That you offed that hunky principal.”
To Mrs. Wright’s credit, she wasn’t fazed after calling me a murderer. And she offered to help me get a fake ID. Good to know.
“Who said I killed him? And would I be standing here if I had?”
“Bail, sweetheart. And you’re gonna beat feet before that buffed-out buffoon of a police chief locks you up and throws away the key. You were all the girls could talk about at the community center’s Bunco game last night.”
“Had I known, I would’ve shown up. Maybe answered some questions.” I was joking, of course. “Any chance Mrs. Rivers goes to Bunco?”
Mrs. Wright aimed her index finger gun at me and pulled the trigger. “Bingo.”
I huffed in frustration. “That lady. Not a lick of sense. I haven’t been arrested, and Josh might be the victim of that vaping lung disease that’s going around.” I pointed both thumbs to my chest. “Guess who’s not the killer. This girl.”
She looked puzzled. “So why you here?”
“About my PI business.”
“Ah,” she said, then held up one finger. She turned and yelled, “Earl, turn down the TV. Samantha is here, and she can’t even hear herself think. Put your hearing aids in, for the love of Mike.”
“Quiet, devil woman,” Earl yelled back, and the volume went up.
She shook her head in annoyance and signaled me to follow her. She led me through the house to the back room. She closed the door, shutting out the sound. I sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the silence.
“Ah,” she said. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”
“I would have cracked by now,” I admitted. “It’s amazing how quiet it get in here.”
“Soundproofed the room. I also have quiet when I go to Mrs. Long’s. I go a lot.” She smiled. “The kittens are getting so big.” She whipped out a phone and showed me pictures.
She caressed the screen once before shoving the phone into her back pocket. “Tell me about the dead principal.”
Retelling the story was getting easier.
“Vaping lung? Hmm. Who’d have thought? I’ve heard lots about the virtues of the educator. No vices, and certainly not vaping.”
“Saw it with my own eyes.” I made like I was crossing my heart.
She nodded in acceptance. “You mentioned guidance? What exactly do you want from me?”
That was Mrs. Wright. Straight talk all the time.
“I need to find out what a teen is up to. If he’s up to something at all. I have his schedule, I’m looking into his online behavior, but other than following him, how do I get into his business?” What worked for tracking Troy might work for getting to know Josh, too, theoretically. Posthumously.
She looked at me like I’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. Which I might have. “You follow him. You track his comings and goings. You see who he hangs out with and go talk to th
em when your guy isn’t around.”
Mrs. Wright wasn’t a cop. Earl had been. He also ran a gun range, hence the hearing issues, and had been a PI at the end of his career. As a cop’s wife, Mrs. Wright had picked up all the tricks of the trade.
I rolled my eyes. “I know that. But I can’t be on him twenty-four seven. I like to sleep.”
Mrs. Wright responded with an eye roll of her own. Hers was far more dramatic. “Such a delicate flower you are. A real snowflake.”
I pointed to her closet that stored gadgets and spy goodness galore. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me there’s not something in there that can help me.”
She pointed her index finger at me and cackled. “Now, that’s a different question and one you didn’t ask.”
Annoyance flashed over me.
She continued. “See what I did there? The first lesson about being a cop or a PI is knowing which questions to ask. You already knew you needed to follow him. You already knew you couldn’t do it twenty-four seven. Your real question should have been what device can I use to help me track his movements.” She slid open the closet door and paused before the shelves, her hand starting at the top then slowly worked down as she scanned the shelves.
“Here.” She took a box from the second to last shelf. “This is a tracker. You can put it on his car, then track each of his stops from your computer. It only stores information for forty-eight hours.”
I took the small box and smiled. “I knew you’d know.”
“When you talk to people he comes in contact with, think about what you want to know before you start the conversation. What’s your end game. And remember, people can tell you what they don’t like more than what they like, and what they did yesterday but not the day before unless something significant happened. You get what I’m saying?”