Chloe Babineaux Private Investigator

by Lisa Clancey

Chloe Babineaux:

  Private Investigator

  A Chloe Babineaux Mystery

  By Lisa Clancey

  Copyright © 2017. Lisa Clancey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce any or all of the contents of this book, in any manner. The author exclusively retains all rights to reproduce, transmit, upload, download, compile, decompile, reverse-engineer, hold in any retrieval system format, scan, photograph, photocopy or fax, distribute via the internet or in any other manner the contents of this book. Without exception, written permission of the author is required for any action relating to the content of this book.

  Chapter One

  ”Ahh!” My truck was spinning uncontrollably but eventually came to a stop. Deep breath. Breathe, breathe. Okay, I was breathing. I looked over at my cousin and best friend. Actually, I had to look up. My truck had come to a stop in a shallow ditch. She was also breathing. Always a good thing.

  I’m Chloe Babineaux, a private investigator because I haven’t decided what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was thirty-two, and my parents had given up asking me how long this stalking thing was going to last. My sometime partner and double first cousin was Cheri Babineaux; our mothers were sisters and fathers were brothers. No. Not a Southern thing. Just an ‘ooh does your boyfriend have a brother’ thing. We share an office, mostly because it makes it look like I knew what I was doing if I had an office, but really it was because Cheri needed one and likes the company. She was a CPA and was very good at it. She had clients galore.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked her, afraid to move.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. You scared the piss out of me but other than that I’m fine.” Cheri sounded pissed, so I guess I didn’t scare all the piss out of her.

  “I did not do that on purpose. If you noticed, we’re in the middle of a storm. We hydroplaned. Did you notice we’re on the opposite side of the road and facing the wrong direction?” I could act pissed as well. I was quite good at it.

  Cheri turned her head toward me and because of the tilt of the truck if she would have puckered we could have kissed. I loved my cousin, but she didn’t brush her teeth after eating Mexican for dinner. At that point, someone pounded on my side window.

  We flinched and yelled, “Ahh!” I got the benefit of her burrito anyway. We looked out the driver’s side window and standing in the pouring rain was a man pointing at the door handle. The headlights from his truck illuminated him and made him look like something from a horror movie. The expression on his face didn’t help the effect. He was crinkling his face and narrowing his eyes trying to see through the waterfall flowing from his cowboy hat.

  “Oh hell, now we have to get out and talk to people. You think he’s a serial killer?” I asked.

  “That’s my Chloe, always looking on the bright side,” Cheri said a bit too dryly.

  I took my seatbelt off and unlocked the door. Cheri had taken off her seatbelt and with her back to the door used her legs to help push the door open. Another truck arrived and parked behind our would-be serial killer. Our WBSK took my hand and helped me out of the truck and then Cheri.

  Alexandria was slap dab in the middle of Louisiana, sort of, three and a half hours north of New Orleans and two hours south of Shreveport. Not a lot to do in Alexandria, but getting wet and freezing my butt off in January was not at the top of my to-do list. We weren’t actually in Alexandria. We were in a small town called Deville, thirty minutes northeast of Alexandria. Deville has one traffic light. A real happening town. I was pretty sure it was on a map. Maybe. I didn’t know, never looked it up.

  The other guy was walking toward us. There were only two houses on this road, and the guy walking toward us was the one I was supposed to be stalking. I was hired to find out if he was having an affair with my client’s wife. Great. Now what? I guess I could just ask him if he was sleeping with whatshername. I was so cold I couldn’t think of her name. Although, if he was sleeping with her then he would know her name and he could fill in the blank. On the other hand, that was why I was getting paid the big bucks so I could take photos for proof, so I had to come up with an excuse.

  “Are you ladies alright?” our WBSK asked. “Is anybody hurt?” He had so many creases in his face I couldn’t see his eyes through the torrential rain. On a night like this, it was creepy not seeing a person’s eyes.

  We didn’t get a chance to answer before the other man, Rick, yeah that was his name, asked, “Is anybody hurt?” Rick Thompson was a cop in Pineville, a city between Alexandria and Deville. Why did I remember his name when I couldn’t remember my client’s wife’s name?

  “I don’t know, I just got here,” said our WBSK. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a serial killer. Not in front of Rick anyway.

  “We’re not hurt, but my truck is. Damn. L.P.S.’s hurt bad,” I answered turning toward my truck. Cheri shook her head sadly and looked at my truck.

  We were both shivering so we huddled up next to each other. I should have remembered my umbrella. But at that point, we couldn’t get any wetter. Or colder. Never say never. My goose bumps had goose bumps.

  “That’s not an L.P.S., that’s a Ford,” said the first man looking at us like we were stupid females.

  “She’s a 1992 Ford Ranger. I love this truck; I got her when I was in college. L.P.S. is my nickname for her. It stands for ‘little piece of shit.’ She’s not much, but she was mine. Now it looks like she’s gone,” I shook my head. “Damn.”

  “I’m sorry about your truck,” Rick said. He had a cap on, but it wasn’t keeping his head dry. “But what were you doing on this road?”

  Cheri looked at me like, ‘So, answer the man.’

  So I did. “We were looking for a friend’s house; I guess we took the wrong road.” I was trying to look innocent and sincere. Easy to do when you’re shivering so hard your voice was shaking.

  “Who’s your friend? I can take you there,” Rick said. Was he testing us? Probably. He was a cop even if he did have a sincere look on his face.

  “Uh…she’s uh…” Cheri stammered.

  “Look, she’s so cold she can’t even think straight,” I cut in. “You aren’t taking us anywhere. We’ll walk to that convenience store on 28.” I walked over to my truck door, pulled it open and cringed while listening to the screech of the metal, reached in and grabbed our purses. I shoved Cheri’s purse to her, and we started down the road.

  “Wait. You can’t walk to the store on the highway. It’s too far away.” Rick reached out to me, and I jerked my arm away.

  I stuck my hand in my purse and pulled out my slick little .22. Not a powerful gun but good for short distances but he was only an arm’s reach away. “I said we’ll walk. Stay away from us. Continue on your way,” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Whoa. I’m not gonna do anything. I was just gonna suggest that I give you a ride home. If you let me, I’ll show you my shield. I’m Rick Thompson; I’m a detective…”

  “Look, I don’t care if you are a cop. We’re not jumping in a truck with you.” I dropped my arm down to my side. I wasn’t going to shoot him; I just wanted him to go away after all the WBSK was still standing there. They could be partners as far I knew.

  “Do you mind putting your weapon away?” Rick asked.

  “Yes. I do mind,” I said looking him squarely in the eyes.

  “He’s right, Chloe. It is too far away. Call Cody and see if he’ll pick us up. We can wait in your truck.” Cheri looked like she was about to become hypothermic, and I could barely hear her. “I can’t call Brent; he’s out of town this weekend. And don’t ask me to call my parents or sisters. Mama would get all panicky, and my sisters would make sure Mama knew.” She shoo
k her head staring at the ground, slowly looked up and asked, “What about your parents?”

  “Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen. The same thing would happen with my mother. After all, they are sisters. Neither one of them can let the other out do her in dramatics.” I stared at my truck for about thirty minutes, or it could have been thirty seconds trying to come up with a reasonable solution. As cold and wet as I was, even a few seconds was too long.

  I was jerked from my self-deliberating when Rick said, “You could let me take you home, and if it makes you feel any safer you can keep your .22 on your lap. With the safety on.” He smiled, shook his head and added, “Just make sure you point it toward the floor and not at me.” He had a really nice smile. No wonder whatshername was having an affair with him.

  Cheri looked at me and nodded several times. I looked back at Rick, nodded and said, “Fine. Cheri has absolutely no body fat, and she’s freezing to death. She gets hypothermic in the summer in an air conditioned room.”

  He gave me another sexy grin and said,”Yeah. Let’s do this for Cheri.”

  We walked to his truck. In the dark, it looked dark blue but could have been black. No, it was dark blue, I remembered that’s what my client said Rick drove, a dark blue crew cab Ford F150. He opened the back door for Cheri, and she just about flew onto the seat. She could barely move a minute ago. I guess the warm air hit her and lifted her inside. I moved more slowly and sat in the passenger seat; I was trying to look like I didn’t care if he gave us a ride home. Right. I was shaking so hard and was so cold I could barely move my legs. I had no idea how Cheri moved so fast. He walked around the front of the truck, and I heard the WBSK tell him to drive carefully and not to hit any pot holes unless he wanted to lose his manhood. Rick said something back, and they both laughed.

  I twisted to look at Cheri and said, “Great. This is all we need. Now if he should spot me stalking him and whatshername he’s sure to recognize me. We couldn’t lie about a name because everyone around here is probably related so he’d know we were lying.”

  “I’m too cold to think straight. What made you pull your gun on him? He’s a cop. You know he’s gonna ask if you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon.” She shook her head and said hard, “That was really stupid.”

  “I know, but he scared me when he grabbed my arm. Thoughts of serial killers were going through my head at the time.”

  I looked at the door when he climbed in and started the truck and switched the heater on full blast. He looked at me, grinned and said, “Now, before you tell me where you live, I have to know. Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”

  “Told you,” came the comment from the back seat.

  I took a deep breath let it out slowly and let the warm air from the vents loosen my joints as I tried to come up with an excuse but came up with nothing. So I turned, looked into those beautiful hazel eyes, that nose that was a bit too long and a face that was angular and a prominent chin. His hair was dark, a touch too long so that it hung over his ears. I bet it would curl around his ears and neck when it was dry. The photo I had seen of him didn’t show that. His hair was shorter then. Technically, I don’t think he was supposed to be good looking. But damn he was hot.

  “Yes. I do have a permit to carry a concealed weapon,” I said, not offering to show it to him. The permit would prove I was a private investigator. No, P.I.’s don’t necessarily need to carry a concealed weapon, but since my brother, Cody was a detective in the Rapides Parish Sheriff’s Department, he helped me get one.

  We stared at each other for few minutes, me enjoying the view, him waiting for me to show him my permit.

  “Well? You gonna show me?”

  “What? The permit?”

  “Why? Is there something else you’d rather show me?” He smirked.

  “I think I would rather show you those than the permit.” I smiled, and he laughed.

  “Oh, God,” Cheri groaned.

  “What if I just tell you the reason I carry a gun? I’m a gems salesman. I carry expensive gems, so I carry a gun to protect myself.”

  “In a truck like that?” He pointed to my truck with his head.

  “Hey. Who would believe I had anything of value in a truck like that? And don’t be dissin’ my truck. Don’t be judgin’ me.” Good, Chloe let him know he can’t intimidate you.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. I still need to see that permit,” he said dryly. I guess he was starting to get impatient.

  I rolled my eyes, reached inside my purse, took out my P.I. wallet and showed him my permit. He took it, read it and looked back at me hard like he was studying my face.

  “Your name is Chloe Babineaux? You mentioned Cody. Is he related to you?” he asked with a crooked smile.

  “Yes, he’s my brother. Do you know him?” Perfect. Just perfect.

  He grinned too broadly and said, “Yeah, I might know him.”

  Cheri kicked my seat, and I shook my head. What was I going to do? Ask him not to tell Cody about this? Hey, that might work.

  “If you know Cody, would you mind not telling him about this? You know, about picking us up and about the gun thing. I mean, I’m gonna tell him about my truck. I have to since he’ll notice I’m not driving it and everything. Cops seem to notice those things.”

  “I won’t tell him about the gun thing. The safety is on, right?”

  I told him, “Yeah,” as I slipped it back inside my purse. If he knows Cody, then he knows he’s a cop. There was a good chance he wasn’t going to kill us or assault us.

  “You need to report this to your insurance and get a tow truck,” he said gesturing with his head toward my truck.”

  I shook my head, closed my eyes and thought about my insurance premium. “No, tow truck I’ll get Cody to help me with it, and I’m reporting it to you.”

  Rick cocked his head so he could see through his rearview mirror and said, “You need it official.”

  I turned around to look out the back window and saw a police car arriving. “When did you call this in? I didn’t see you use your phone?”

  “Wally called it in,” he said opening his side door to talk to the patrol officer with the lovely red and blue lights flashing.

  Cheri leaned forward and said dryly, “Well, now we know the serial killer’s name.

  I ignored the comment. It didn’t deserve my wry sense of humor. I also couldn’t think of one.

  We told the officer what happened and then left my poor pitiful truck alone on the side of the dark, lonely road to fend for itself.

  Rick put the truck into gear and asked, “Where are we going?”

  I told him our address because Cheri and I live in the same apartment complex. Her apartment was newer, bigger and all around nicer than mine but it was the same complex.