Sleuthing for the Weekend

by Jennifer L. Hart

  I put up a hand to stay my twitching eye and continued to read. "'It's because of treasure,' Michael O'Flannigan, age sixty, said in an early morning press conference. 'The O'Flannigan treasure, that's all Lois wanted. She became obsessed with finding it.'"

  I read it over twice, mind whirling.

  "What do you think it is?" Nona bustled around the kitchen collecting butter, knives, mugs, spoons, coffee, and cream. "Precious stones? Jewelry? Gold coins?"

  "A pain in my rump is what it is," I groused and tore into a scone. Even baked goods couldn't lift my spirits. "It doesn't say if Michael O'Flannigan was arrested."

  "The police questioned him, but so far nothing." Nona settled herself across from me and filled her own mug to the brim. "So, do you want to team up?"

  I stared at her blankly. "Team up?"

  "To hunt for the treasure." Her face was lit like a child set loose in a toy store with a fistful of cash. "What with my network of connections and your detective skills, I bet we could find it first."

  "Nona," I said slowly. "This guy just said someone killed his wife because of the treasure, and you want to go hunting for it?"

  "It'll be a hoot." Nona rose, excitement sparking in her eyes. "I bet Mac would be a great help, what with all her fancy computing skills."

  I opened my mouth, unsure what to say, when Agnes entered through the still opened door. "Mackenzie, good. About the treasure."

  The two of them set in again, squealing like schoolgirls. Agnes was so caught up in treasure-hunting mania that she didn't even notice I was eating carbs.

  She turned to me suddenly. "We can all work together, the whole building. Get that boyfriend of yours to help too. And maybe Brett."

  "Brett?" My mother detested Mac's father. "You want to work with Brett?"

  She shrugged. "I don't want to, but he's a good private investigator."

  The words she left unspoken were written on her face. A better one than you.

  I searched for an excuse. "Brett's from a wealthy family. He doesn't need to go treasure hunting."

  Agnes scowled. "What's wrong with you? This is the sort of thing I'd expect you to be excited about."

  "There's no proof there even is a treasure," I said stubbornly. "This guy probably made the whole thing up as a cover story after he killed his wife!"

  Except that he'd told me the story before Lois had died. Which smacked of premeditation. Had the senior O'Flannigan set me on his brother's trail to help solidify the cockamamie story about lost treasure? The thought gave me an uneasy pang. "I need to call Hunter. Thanks for breakfast, Nona."

  Nona hopped up, moved to a cabinet, and handed me a gallon of white vinegar and the largest box of baking soda I'd ever seen. "Ask Hunter for any secret cop clues."

  "Will do." I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

  In a lower voice, I heard her confide to Agnes in a tone of authority, "The police always have secret clues they don't release to the media to help catch the bad guys."

  After setting the laundry up to wash, I returned to my apartment. My phone was still plugged into its charger on my bedside table. I snagged it and then headed onto the back patio to let Snickers outside. The rain had let up, but the ground was saturated from the heavy rain. If the sun actually stopped flirting with the clouds, maybe I could hang the laundry out to dry. Shoot, no clothespins. I went back inside and grabbed a towel so I didn't end up with muddy puggle prints all over my bedroom floor.

  I'd just finished drying her last foot when the sliding-glass door to the adjacent apartment slid open and Hunter stepped out onto his own patio. Snickers yipped a greeting and bounded for him, undoing all the work I'd just done.

  "Hey," I said as he lifted the wriggling canine up and made his way to me. "I was just going to call you."

  He made a grunting sound but held on to the dog so I could wipe her down a second time.

  "Long night?"

  He nodded and then carried Snickers into my room for me.

  I followed, trying to ignore my gnawing unease. Hunter wasn't a chatterbox at the best of times. Being with him was different than being with any other man I'd ever known. He radiated a quiet intensity that was more real to me than all the inane chitchat. Considering how much I liked talking, that's saying something. But his stoic silence allowed me to read his mood. "On a scale of one to ten, exactly how angry are you?"

  He set the dog down then turned to face me. "I'm not angry. I'm worried."

  I sat on my bed. "Truthfully, so am I."

  Both eyebrows went up, the Hunter Black equivalent of an exclamation of surprise.

  "Can I get you some coffee or anything?" The shadows around his midnight eyes were dark, the lines tight, as though the hours since I'd last seen him had been particularly brutal.

  He held up a hand, refusing my offer, and brought the conversation back on track. "Why are you worried?"

  "Have you seen the paper this morning?"

  He made a face. "That hasn't helped. It's like a holiday out there."

  "Hunter, it is a holiday out there."

  He shook his head. "At least they don't know where to start."

  Speaking of which, I should probably tell him about Lucy and Ethel. "Mom and Agnes pounced on Mac this morning. They are upstairs right now planning their hunt, not the least bit dissuaded by the murder."

  "I'm surprised you're not helping them." His tone was soft, nonjudgmental.

  Since I'd told him that was why I'd been rifling through the trash, no wonder he thought that. "Honestly, it sounds contrived to me. I looked into it for personal reasons, not because I thought I'd find a trunk full of gold bars. It feels as though Michael O'Flannigan was using me to cover for killing his wife and the treasure is just a smoke screen."

  "You're quick, Red." His tone was admiring.

  "I'm officially off the case."

  One jet eyebrow shot up, as though questioning why, when I'd been pawing through the bar's trash the night before.

  I shrugged. "I don't like being used."

  "The woman I met last fall wouldn't have cared about that." He curled a forefinger beneath my chin until he tilted my face up. "She would have been turning over every rock for the treasure, real or not. What's changed?"

  I'd become accustomed to the intensity of his stare. It's part of what made him an effective cop. A look like that begged a soul to confess its innermost secrets. If anyone could understand how witnessing the horrible things people did to one another changed a person's perspective, it'd be Hunter.

  "Everything. And nothing. I guess there's a difference between knowing people do bad things and experiencing it firsthand. I've learned enough to know that when Len sends me out to get pictures of a wife having an affair, I'll see her walk into a hotel room or some other secluded place with a man who is not her husband. I know the guy collecting disability because he doesn't want to go back to work won't miss whitewater rafting with his brother. And I know that it's more likely Lois was killed out of jealousy or as a punishment than because of some mythical treasure. I guess my eyes are stuck permanently open. No more happy fantasies for me."

  He released my chin, that hand snaking beneath my hair until he could cup my nape. "I'm sorry, Red. I never wanted this for you."

  "You tried to stop me. To talk me out of this job. It's not your fault I'm too stubborn to listen." I leaned into his gentle massage.

  "You're good at your job though. Better than those boneheads who worked the scene. If they'd been doing their jobs, you wouldn't have had the chance to crawl into that dumpster."

  My lips parted. "You really think so?"

  "I wouldn't say it otherwise."

  That was something I never thought I'd hear him admit. When I'd first decided to throw my fedora into the ring and take a crack at being a private investigator, Hunter had been my biggest doubter. The fact that I converted him awed me a little.

  "So, you don't mind that you had to fish me out of a dumpster and threaten to arrest me for interferin
g in a police investigation from time to time?"

  The massage cut off abruptly. "That's not what I said. I still hate that you're doing the job."

  Peeking up at him coyly, I asked. "What would you have me do instead?"

  He leaned down to murmur in my ear, "Keep my bed warm."

  I shivered at the feel of his warm breath on my skin. "If you tried to pay me for that, we'd both end up behind bars."

  I felt his lips curl against my neck, and then his hands snaked around my waist. "I'd make it worth the risk."

  "They say if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life." My thoughts scattered as his hands moved over me, stripping me of unpleasant realities as well as clothing, depositing everything on the floor to be dealt with later.

  He didn't answer, at least not verbally. Hunter was a man of action—he preferred showing to telling.

  And I preferred to let him.

  * * *

  Sometime later a buzzing sound dragged me back to consciousness. We were both sprawled naked on my sheetless bed. If I'd been on my own, bare and sans covers, I would have been freezing, but Hunter radiated heat like a sun. His arm was thrown over my waist, his face buried in my hair. Probably meant I'd successfully gotten rid of ode de garbage. I smiled and pressed deeper against him, soaking up the luxury. It felt wicked and decadent, being naked with my man in the middle of the day.

  A repeat of the buzzing stole my attention from carnal thoughts. Somebody's cell phone. "Is that you or me?"

  He exhaled and then rolled off the side of the mattress to snag his pants and retrieve his cell. "It's the station texting me. Seems Michael O'Flannigan's lawyered up." His sigh told me more than his words.

  "Let me guess. He hired Len?" Which meant my earlier plan of telling my father and his partner that I was done hunting for mythical treasure would no longer work. Not if Len needed me to investigate. "How is that even possible? Len went out of town."

  "I guess he's back." Hunter's hands slid beneath my hair and pulled me in for a last, lingering kiss. "As much as I'd love nothing more than to stay here with you for the rest of the day, I need some real sleep. And I'm guessing you've got somewhere to be."

  I rubbed my nose against the tip of his. "You guessed right. I'd offer to let you stay, but you'd probably be more comfortable in your own bed." I waved my hand at the bare mattress.

  "Appreciate the offer, Red." Hunter slid into his jeans, collected his socks, boots, and shirt, and then headed for the sliding-glass door.

  "Not that way. The ground is all muddy." I yanked my robe off the corner of the closet door and tied it shut. "Go through the hall."

  "What if your mother's out there?" Hunter asked.

  "I'm pretty sure she knows." She had referred to him as "that boyfriend of yours."

  His brows knitted. "Pretty sure?"

  "My mother and I aren't the best communicators. Mac knows, and it's a good bet that Agnes pumps her for information regularly."

  "What did you tell Mac? About us?" Hunter followed me out into the main living space of the apartment.

  I groaned when I realized my coffee pot was still upstairs on Nona's dining table. "It's not that I told her anything exactly. I don't give her details. But she's smart. She knows I've been making time with you."

  Hunter stared at me a minute. "You haven't told your mother. You haven't told your daughter. Have you told anyone?"

  I didn't like the way he looked at me. "It's not like I'm keeping them in the dark or anything. Mac's going to be with us on Sunday, meeting your family. That's kind of a big step."

  He didn't relent. "What about Mac's father?"

  "Brett knows. I made it clear to him you and I are together." At least I thought I had. He'd backed off of his dogged pursuit of me anyway and, according to Mac, had been seeing someone new.

  Hunter tilted his head to the side. He'd lost the tie that held his long hair back, and it spilled over one broad shoulder. The sight of him all bare-chested with hair unbound like he was posing for the cover of a romance novel made me want to sigh. Until he spoke.

  "For a woman who talks as much as you do, you don't seem to be saying much. You saw your father yesterday."

  I huffed out a breath. "The Captain and I aren't exactly close these days."

  "Mackenzie." That's all he said, only my name.

  Still, my cheeks flushed. "I have nothing to feel guilty about. It's not like we have any sort of formal arrangement that I should go update my Facebook status to getting shagged by Boston's finest."

  His expression didn't flicker.

  "I will take out an announcement in the newspaper. Or tell Nona. She has better circulation anyway. Will that make you happy?"

  He opened his mouth, but someone rang the buzzer. We both turned, and I pulled back the curtain to the bay window overlooking the sidewalk.

  "What's he doing here?" I scowled at Brett's sandy mop of hair.

  "I'll let him in. You should go get dressed."

  "He's seen me in less," I pointed out. "Besides. That would definitely let him know that we're together. Isn't that what you were lobbying for two seconds ago?"

  Hunter stared at me until I threw up my hands and stomped into the bedroom. "To think, if I'd let you slog through the muddy backyard, we would have missed all this fun."

  In our absence, Snickers had made herself comfortable in the middle of the bed. The puggle watched as I pulled on a bra and underwear, shimmied into skin-tight jeans, and pulled on a black V-neck sweater. She growled at me when I sat on the mattress to pull on my socks.

  "If you bite me, I will lock you in the bathroom until Mac gets home, capiche?"

  Another growl, but she didn't move from her balled-up position.

  One of these days I would show that pain-in-the-ass animal who was in charge around here. Of course, first I'd have to find out who was in charge around here. I really hoped it wasn't me.

  Fully dressed, I returned to the living room in time to catch Brett and Hunter in a staring contest. Hunter was still barefoot, though he had tugged his shirt on. The message was clear—he was comfortable in our home. Brett had removed his coat but was still holding it.

  The two men weren't ever going to be friends. Seeing the two of them side by side illustrated how different they were. Hunter was taller, broader, and tended to brood. Brett was more classically handsome, with blue eyes and golden brown hair. Hunter was solid, dependable, protective, where Brett was a fun-loving risk taker who had pulled some shady stunts. Their differences weren't just skin-deep though. Hunter grew up in total poverty under the constant threat of his drunken father's fists, whereas Brett had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. They couldn't have been any more different if they'd tried.

  Odd that both of them had devoted their lives to upholding law and order. But even in that, the two took a different approach. Hunter didn't approve of Brett's sneaky PI tactics, and Brett's moral compass didn't point exactly due North.

  Add to that the jockeying for favor with me—the jealousy that I'd been sleeping with one and had made a child with the other—and it was a safe bet the two wouldn't be heading out for a pint anytime soon.

  "What's up?" I asked Mac's dad.

  "Was in the area. Just thought I'd stop by and see how Mac's doing." Brett didn't glance away from Hunter.

  I checked the clock. 1:15. "Mac's in economics class right now."

  "Maybe I can hang out until she gets home?" He raised an eyebrow as though daring Hunter to argue.

  I shrugged and reached for my purse. "If you want."

  "Really?" Both men turned to face me.

  "Of course. Hang out. I'm on my way out, anyway, so it'll be a nice surprise for Mac not to come home to an empty apartment."

  "Oh." Brett hid his disappointment well. Hunter didn't bother to hide the satisfied smile.

  "Agnes and Nona are upstairs though, and they wanted to pick your brain about something." The devil in me couldn't resist. "Both of you. Maybe you should head
up there together."

  "Another time." Hunter's dark eyes turned on me, and I saw the spark there. "See you later, Red."

  I barely stifled a shiver at the dark promise in his voice and watched him exit through my front door.

  Brett cleared his throat, and I turned to face him. "So, why are you really here? And don't give me that line about in the neighborhood."

  He smiled a touch ruefully. "I wanted to see if the two of you would come to a gathering at my parents' tomorrow night. It's the Sugar Ball."

  Internal shudder. "Um, let me think…no."

  "Mackenzie—"

  "If you and Mac want to hang with them, that's fine. Hunter and I have plans."

  "You don't have to stay long. You can go out with your boyfriend after." He did a halfway decent job making it look like the suggestion didn't pain him.

  "I could, yes, but the biggest problem is that I don't want to be around your parents."

  I headed for the door, and after a moment, Brett followed.

  "Why do you hate them so much?"

  "Um, I think you're confusing me with your father, who I vividly recall referring to me as 'gold-digging townie trash.'"

  Brett winced.

  "So, you can maybe comprehend why I don't choose to spend my precious little free time in his company." Java help me if the senior Mr. Archer ever found out about my late-night dumpster dive.

  "Okay, so my dad's a bit of a prick. But my mom's a sweetheart, and she adores Mac."

  I studied him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you pushing so hard for this?"

  Brett leaned against the counter. "Because Mac deserves a real family."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "And she has one. Me. Agnes."

  "Come on, Mackenzie. You're one person. On my side Mac's got grandparents, aunts, uncles, dozens of cousins. People with connections who can help her."

  "And again, I don't see why I have to be involved."

  "If I make her choose, she'll always choose you," Brett said quietly. "If you don't come, she'll refuse out of loyalty to you. My cousin Stefan went to school with one of the admissions officers for MIT. Uncle Ernest is an alum. Tell me those aren't solid ins for Mac."