The Book of Extraordinary Amateur Sleuth and Private Eye Stories

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Jimmy Lee laughed. “Maybe it’s time for some queen size pantythingers, you think? Don’t fret, we like our gals big in Texas. Why’n’t you come on down for a little visit, sugar?”

  “If I do, you’ll be sorry. And just so you know, I’m not wearing panties.” Let him think about that for a while. You can’t slam down a cell phone, but I got in the last word. He deserved it.

  That little chat took place back in September, when Jimmy Lee talked me into doing “a little job” for him. Come Christmas, I still didn’t have my money. The snow in the Midwest was heavier than ever, due to that global warming. Everybody talks about it, but nobody does much to fix it. The first day the roads were clear, I hopped into the Mustang, yep, still had it, and headed for Texas, home of Jimmy Lee, one of the biggest scoundrels God ever created. I’m Sharon Leigh, Jimmy’s ex-wife. How I ever got talked into marrying that man, I’ll never know. Liquor might have been involved. Sharon Leigh Lee. Must have been liquor and lots of it.

  I’ve been here a couple of weeks now, got part of my money, a taste for tequila and tamales, and no reason to head north. I can do PI work most anywhere. Thing is, I have to work a number of hours with a local investigator to get my own license down here. That’s a drawback and a half since Jimmy Lee is not only my ex, now he’s my boss. Well, whoopee and sing hallelujah.

  Tuesday, the office was boring as all-get-out. I was desperate enough to call time and temperature just to hear another voice when the phone rang. For a second, I wondered if time and temperature had called me.

  “Lee and Leigh Private Investigative Services, what problem can we solve for you?” Stupid-ass slogan, but Jimmy Lee insists. I didn’t point out that Private Investigative Services was often shortened to PIS.

  An almost silent voice whispered, “I need to see you.”

  I whispered back, “Okay, why’s that?”

  “Go to the dumpster, throw out the trash.”

  “How will I know you? Should we have a secret signal?” Okay, I was just messing with her, but gawd, really? Cloak-and-dagger in this dinky town?

  “How many people do you think will be out there?” Her voice got a little loud.

  “Sorry, I’ll be right…” She’d hung up, so I guess that plan worked for her.

  I took the sports section from Jimmy Lee’s desk and wadded each page up in a big ball to stuff in the trash bag. Truthfully, it was the most fun I’d had all day. I locked the front door and headed out back.

  As I tossed newsprint tumbleweeds into the trash one by one, the whispering started from behind the dumpster. “Somebody’s been in my house. My car. Reading my mail.”

  “You want me to find out if it’s really happening?”

  “No! I want you to make him quit!” Her voice headed for a scream, but skidded to a stop and reversed into a whisper. “My things have been moved, but nothing’s missing. I sent my cat, Jorge, to stay with my sister. I was afraid whoever’s doing this might hurt him.”

  “Alright, calm down. I’ll come to your house, check for bugs, set little traps, and like that. We’ll figure this out.”

  “If he’s watching the house, he’ll know. He might escalate.”

  “You’ve been watching CSI, haven’t you?”

  She paused. “Criminal Minds.”

  “Okay, what would you be comfortable with?”

  “Go to the diner. In an hour. Act like we haven’t seen each other since college. We’ll build up to you coming by my place. The University of Missouri, they call it Mizzou. That’s where I went. I had to come home after two years to take care of my momma.”

  “How will you recognize me?”

  “You’ll be the only one I don’t know.”

  ***

  I got a peek as she stepped from behind the dumpster and melted into the shadows. Well, I looked up Mizzou, mascot a tiger named Truman, colors black and gold, about halfway between Kansas City and St. Louis according to Google Maps. Veterinary teaching hospital. Good rep. Go Tigers!

  An hour later, I strolled into the diner and grabbed a table for two. Although it looked like I studied the menu, I really scanned the crowd. It was two o’clock, so the late lunchers were in a hurry to get back before their pay got docked.

  A few minutes later, a thirtyish woman came in. Everybody said howdy-hi as she made her way between tables. She told an older woman a book she’d requested was in and on hold, come by any time. A librarian then.

  People invited her to have a seat, but she waved her book and kept walking. A casual scan for a table turned into, “Oh my gosh, Sharon Leigh, is that you? It’s me, Allie? From Mizzou?”

  I followed her lead, jumped up, and yelled, “Allie! You look just the same as the last time I saw you!” That was the truth. I’d had that glimpse an hour ago, and yep, she looked just the same as then.

  We did the obligatory hug and squee, dancing from one foot to the other as if we couldn’t get over the coincidence of meeting again. She turned to face the other diners and announced, “Hey, y’all, this here’s my friend, Sharon Leigh, from up in Missouri. Y’all be nice to her, hear?” A few hollered back, “Hey, Sharon Leigh.”

  “Why don’t you skip your book and sit with me?” I lowered my voice. “Good enough?”

  “Sure, I’ve got an hour for lunch today.”

  After our chef salads arrived (dressing on the side, ranch for me, honey mustard for her), she mumbled around mixed greens and hard-boiled eggs to tell me she thought someone was following her, had been for weeks. She’d never spotted anyone, couldn’t prove somebody’d been in the house, but she knew, just knew, they had.

  Conversation got derailed a few times as people passed on the way to the restrooms or when Velma, the server, dropped by with refills of sweet tea or extra napkins and more crackers. I’m partial to club crackers, but the cellophane evidence of just how many I ate vanished as the silent busboy whisked the wrappers away. Allie and I did forty-five minute’s worth of the Q&A dance before she had to leave.

  She laid cash on the table. I stayed to finish my tea. And maybe a side order of bacon for dessert. The smell of it put me in dire need of a fried fix. About halfway down the aisle, she turned and said, “Hey, Sharon Leigh, where are my manners? Why don’t you come by my place later? I’ll get out my yearbook and we can make fun of the hairdos we had for picture day, remember?” I nodded, she said the address and left. No one followed her.

  ***

  Seven o’clock found me in front of a small house, not the tiny kind, but not family-sized either. I was surprised Texas houses didn’t have basements. Where do people hide when tornados hit? After the deadbolt clicked and the chain guard rattled, Allie peeked out. “Cute place you’ve got here,” I said. She held a note where I could see it. “Bugs, cameras?” I nodded.

  “Come on in. It was my momma’s. Remember? I had to leave school to take care of her? Well, she passed about a year later.”

  “You must have loved her a lot.” I strolled around the room, checking books on the shelves and knickknacks on end tables. No cameras that I could see.

  “She was a difficult woman. Being sick made it worse,” she said. “I don’t miss her much. Mostly, I relish the quiet. Hey, you want some coffee or a Coke?”

  I said sure to a Coke, but didn’t know what to say when she asked what kind. Texans, a strange bunch compared to Midwesterners. I guess they think the same of us, what with one level of our houses being underground and us having six different names for a soft drink. I snooped while she got glasses and ice and floated endless chatter my way from the kitchen. I uh-huhhed and no-wayed in appropriate places. After a bit of searching, I got out the gizmo that detects eavesdropping equipment and wandered through the living room and into the eat-in kitchen.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom?” At her nod, I went through the other rooms and checked them to
o.

  “I didn’t see any cameras or bugs, used this thing to be sure.” I waved the gizmo in her direction. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Three weeks at least.” Allie twisted a napkin into confetti. “I started lining things up in drawers and putting a thread next to them. If it was moved, I knew he’d been here.”

  “Could it be the cat?” I snatched another cookie, chocolate chunk, from the plate she’d brought to the table with the uhh, Cokes. I’m the victim of a pushy sweet tooth.

  “Jorge’s fifteen. He used to jump.” Allie smiled at the memory. “One day, he missed the windowsill. Now he meows to be picked up for the bed or couch. He never got the hang of opening drawers.”

  I made a note, Jorge innocent. “Husbands or boyfriends?”

  “My boyfriend and I broke up when I went to Mizzou. Long-distance didn’t work. He’s married with three kids now, preacher over to the Presbyterian church.” She drank the last of her Coke. “I’ve dated some, but it’s slim pickings in my age group. Momma took up so much time, dates fizzled out, and haven’t livened up since. I’ve got work and Jorge. Single’s not a bad thing.”

  “No affairs with married or otherwise taken men?” Could be a jealous woman.

  “Most of them, I wouldn’t take if they were served up on a platter. A Texas woman doesn’t like another gal rustling her man, even if she’s not all that fond of him herself. It’s not proper. Plus, they all have guns.” She reached for another cookie, but the plate was empty. “How about I fire up the grill and make us some burgers? You want jalapenos on yours?”

  After we ate, I told her to get her clothes ready for the next day. I set a few traps but didn’t tell her what kind, just to test her theory—and her sanity.

  Around nine, I headed to the motel. It didn’t offer much in the way of amenities or have a homey feel. It was just…dreary. I’d have to fit house-hunting into my schedule, along with laundry and compiling my list of 101 ways to make tacos.

  The next morning Jimmy Lee came in as I scanned the paper to find an apartment. There wasn’t anything in print. Huh, maybe Craigslist or LinkedIn. He looked at my notes.

  “Stay with me.” He grinned and that damn dimple carved a spot into his left cheek. That might have been one of the things that got me to marry him. “Two bedrooms. No hanky, no panky, unless you want.” Damn, both dimples were teasing me. “I got a hot tub. No need for a swimsuit.”

  Time to change the subject, before I got hot. “I found us a case. Librarian’s being stalked, or at least thinks so. Seems odd in a town this size, she can’t be sure.”

  “Remember that arson job? Firefighter had a crush on you and left presents on your car. When you saw him, though, he acted so proper, we didn’t have a clue until you caught him in the act.”

  “Yeah, kinda sweet, but creepy. He met a paramedic at a crime scene, a quadruple homicide. They make a nice couple.” I tossed the newspaper aside. “After work, I’ll stop by Allie’s. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  The day dragged on slower than a thirsty man crawling through the desert, just like yesterday and the day before. I got a lot of crossword puzzles done and hardly had to cheat at all. Going by Allie’s house didn’t work out like I’d planned. I texted her as I walked to the car and hopped in, sat a lot lower than usual, a surprise to my backside. I thought I had a flat tire. I was wrong, of course.

  All four tires were flat.

  I guess Allie was right. He did escalate.

  I called Stan the Garage Man to replace my slashed tires. Jimmy Lee drove me the few blocks to Allie’s. She was in tears when we got there, holding a college yearbook, or what was left of it. Scrawled in red was a note that said, “There is no Sharon Leigh,” which I guess summed it up. My job just got harder. He knew who and what I was. Damn.

  Jimmy Lee stayed with Allie while I went to the motel for my stuff. I’d sleep over, just in case. It didn’t hurt that the towels would be fluffy, something motel towels had never experienced.

  If Allie was like me that night, she jumped at every sound. I double-checked for cameras and listening devices, relocked windows and doors, and dozed. The next morning, I escorted her to work, met her for lunch, and drove her home. Bouncing between Netflix movies, we went over where she’d been and who she’d seen. Nothing.

  “Maybe I ought to take that transfer.” Allie looked depressed.

  “Transfer? What transfer?”

  “A month ago, I got a letter about a promotion at another branch. I’d have to move, wouldn’t know anybody. It’s a lot of trouble for a little more money.” Allie looked around the living room. “This place wouldn’t be big enough for a family, so I couldn’t count on a quick sale. At least it’s paid for. The position’s still open. If we don’t figure this out, I could still go.”

  “What about an alarm for the house? You okay with that?” I reached for more popcorn.

  “Lordy, I forgot! I have an alarm. Why didn’t I think of it? There’s been no reason to set it since before momma went. The few times I did, she forgot, so I just quit.” Allie looked near tears. “How stupid is that, to just forget?”

  “You’ve had a lot going on, don’t worry about it. Show me where it is and we’ll go from there.”

  We put out the story that I didn’t know how long I’d be around, so I’d stay with Allie. We varied lunch spots, which wasn’t easy, considering the size of the town. Sometimes her friends joined us. We covered Whataburger, three Tex-Mex joints, the bowling alley (she’d been on a league), and two nicer restaurants, the kind with cloth napkins.

  “You always put lipstick on before we come in to eat. As soon as you order, you blot it off.” I had to laugh at her.

  “Gags me to see lipstick smears on my food,” Allie said. “I bring paper napkins so I don’t mess up cloth ones. Stop laughing!”

  I picked up her napkin. “You don’t scrub lipstick off. You end up with this perfect open mouth imprint.” I turned it to face her. “Sell this to a rubber stamp company for ‘sealed with a kiss.’ Or maybe a porn site would be interested. Why not just go without?”

  “I like to look nice. I don’t know how it started, but it’s a habit now.” She got the giggles then and laughed until the table rocked and iced tea threatened to send a lemony wave over the rim of the glass. Our server arrived, so we tried to behave.

  “You’re weird,” I told her. I looked up at our server. “I’ll have the beef fajita special with a cup of chili.” I was so confused when he asked if I wanted lime wedges that I nodded. What am I supposed to do with limes?

  “I’ll have tortilla soup and the three peppers mini quiche. Bring a chocolate lava cake first, please.” She looked at me. “I love that ooey-gooey inside stuff. They make it with caramel here.”

  Our orders soon arrived, the aroma of roasted chili peppers and dark chocolate tickling my nose before the plates landed on the table. After the server left, I whispered to Allie. “Why are there lime wedges sitting on my chili?”

  She just rolled her eyes and told me to figure it out. Personally, I believe lime wedges should only sit on the rim of a margarita glass.

  As I leaned forward, I bumped my fork, and it landed on the floor with a metallic clatter. In a flash, the busboy was there to replace it. Mom always told me to keep my elbows off the table. You can’t take me anywhere nice.

  I used my new fork to snag a bite of the lava cake before Allie could pull it away and no kidding, it was fabulous. I dropped her back at the library and headed to the office to go over my notes and take a few Tums to put out the chili fire. There had to be a pattern that would point us to the stalker. Cases like this were akin to Where’s Waldo, but with added danger.

  Although we’d locked up and set the alarm, at the house, things were worse. Allie went to her bedroom to change and let out a scream that could be heard from here to Oklahoma. I skidded to a stop in the doorway. E
very pair of panties and every bra she owned were laid out on the bed, slashed and shredded. In the middle of it was a red-splashed white rose. No coppery smell, although it was still wet.

  We called 911, which brought one uniformed officer, a crime scene tech, and a ten-galloned detective whose attitude toward women I failed to appreciate after he called me Missy and patted my shoulder with one meaty hand as he hitched up his pants with the other.

  The tech didn’t find fingerprints, footprints, or strands of hair. Small-town budgets don’t usually run to DNA analysis anyway. The “blood” on the rose turned out to be corn syrup and red #5, according to the sniff and taste test performed by Detective Martin. The rose was cheap silk, no tracing it through a florist.

  The next morning, Jimmy Lee and I arrived at the office at the same time. “Let me run this by you. Allie and I’ve been eating out quite a bit. I noticed something odd, to me at least. I’ve got a suspect.” I didn’t get the feeling he was the one. “But I’m missing something.”

  “I could check him out while you’re with Allie. I’m always wandering around, so I won’t be obvious.”

  I was of two minds on that. Jimmy Lee tends to take over everything he touches. On the other hand, there was only so much I could do by myself. “It’s still my case, right?”

  “You got control issues, sugar. Sure, it can be your case, it wouldn’t do for me to stay with Allie. Besides, you gals getting close to some perv stalker, well, it would be dangerous. You leave that to me, honeybunch.”

  He might as well have patted me on the head. It was on, baby, it was on. I smiled a kill-him-with-kindness smile and said, “The busboy at the Hungry Steer, never says a word, glides past the table with the speed of a vampire and before I register he’s there, plates are cleared, bread basket’s full, fresh napkins appear, and water’s topped off. I swear I’ve seen him before, but where?”

  “That’d be Mikey, I bet. He works part-time at two or three places. Easy for him to eavesdrop on conversations, I’d bet.” Jimmy Lee looked at his watch. “Time for my lunch. I’ll bring you something back.” He was out the door before I could say “Get me the lava cake.” Lime or no lime, chili and fajitas only go so far.