by Maisie Dean
“There’s a full pot,” Tippy said to me, nodding her head back in the direction of the break-room. Her hands were full with the two mugs. I smiled and nodded my thanks. I had already had one large coffee on Doyle’s insistence earlier that morning and that was more than enough coffee for me. It had been hours, but I was still jittery.
Tippy set the navy mug with the office logo in front of Harrison and took a careful sip from her own.
“Thank you,” Harrison said. His tone was short, and I could see him eyeing his grandmother warily. If Fitzy had something to do with the crime, then Tippy would surely know about it, wouldn’t she? Harrison eyed his grandmother cautiously as if he was thinking the same thing.
“Tippy, are you playing games with us?” Harrison said frostily.
“Games? What do you mean by that, Harrison, I’m here for coffee, just like I said—”
“—We know, or we think we know, that Fitzy has something to do with this.” I saw Harrison pull out the business card we had taken from Edgar that morning and slide it over to her. Harrison briefly filled her in on what we had learned at the catering company.
“Harrison, I don’t know anything about Fitzy being a part of all of this. You’ll have to take my word on that,” Tippy said to him sternly. The tone of her voice made me think she was offended Harrison had even considered that she’d be in on something and lying to her grandsons. But her face and shoulders softened a moment later.
“Fitzy may know something I don’t. But I’m on your side, darling,” Tippy said, more gently.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Harrison asked. His shoulders dropped against the back of his chair. “I have to go to our landlord and accuse him of bribing a cater-waiter to lend him his uniform so that he could go steal a piece of his brother’s art collection?” Harrison was on a roll now, and his volume picked up, making it easier to hear the discussion across the room. “No. Whatever’s going on, it’s between the Fitz brothers. I am not going to go ask them both what’s going on and lose a good paying client and get on the bad side of our landlord all in one go.” I saw Harrison run both his hands through his already puffed-up hair. “I’ll have to refund the retainer and walk away. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. You’re always so direct and confrontational, but there are plenty of other ways to get information,” Tippy said. “What would Lucky do?”
Harrison crossed his arms tightly and started tapping his foot below his desk. I didn’t feel like I had to know Harrison any better to deduce that considering his brother’s unorthodox methods was not something that pleased him. I got up and walked over to Harrison’s desk.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear a little of that.” I paused, trying to figure out my next words.
“What is it?” Harrison asked.
Tippy’s eyes just widened, waiting for me to spit it out.
“Yesterday, I was there when Lucky asked Fitzy directly if he stole the painting,” I told them. “So, I guess that is what Lucky would do, or did do. If Fitzy does know anything, he didn’t let on that he did.”
Harrison’s brows shot up and stayed there. His mouth hung open for a moment before he must have remembered how to close it. Tippy just shrugged.
“Lucky has a way of being direct without people feeling that he’s being confrontational, Harrison. If you want my opinion, you should take some notes,” Tippy said. The edge of her mouth curled up, but she tried to hide it from Harrison behind her coffee mug.
“Why are you here, again? Aren’t there three very decent coffee shops on your street?” Harrison asked Tippy coolly.
Tippy didn’t seem to register his tone, or she didn’t care. Her eyes suddenly brightened, and she set her mug down on the desk.
“It’s good that I’m here, Harrison. I’ve had an idea. Tonight, I’ll take Fitzy out on a date and use my feminine wiles to extract the information we need. Just like a James Bond villainess,” she said. She wriggled her shoulders back and forth seductively and winked at me. Personally, I was liking Tippy more and more, but the way Harrison cringed and sunk back into his chair suggested that he would be completely fine if he never had to consider his grandmother’s "feminine wiles" again.
“I don’t know, Tippy, I’ve got a bad feeling about the whole case. I think we should drop it. We’re only two days in, I can still give back the retainer on this one and we can move on to another case. Aggie might have something new,” Harrison said, his expression brightening.
“Buck up, my boy. I’ve had a long two days of retirement, which has been worse than dull. I need something to do, and who better to do it? Let’s give this a try, what have we got to lose?” Tippy asked brightly.
I was pretty sure it was rhetorical, but judging by Harrison’s wide eyes and reddening face, he was about to start listing things off. Tippy’s eyes were alight and she was too distracted by her vision of the plan to notice Harrison leaning on his desk, holding his chin up with his palm and the dread settling back into his eyes.
“I want to wear a wire, just like the old days,” Tippy said, her gaze tilted up at some imaginary scenario playing before her.
“Tippy, is this a good idea? Relationship-wise, I mean? It could cause trouble,” Harrison suggested. Tippy made a tsk-tsk sound.
“Harrison, loosen up a little. Let me add some spice, some thrill,” she said emphatically.
Harrison took a deep breath and reluctantly turned to me.
‘Kacey, will you please check with Owen to see if the equipment still works? We haven’t used it in a very long time,” he said, shooting his grandmother a look that said with good reason.
I glanced over my shoulder at Owen, who was staring studiously at something on his computer screen. He was wearing headphones and had likely missed the whole conversation. I nodded and headed over to Owen to carry out my first task. Harrison may have been disapproving of the budding action, but I was elated. In the works, we had a plan in the spirit of, arguably, the most famous spy there ever was. If Tippy wanted James Bond, we would give her James Bond.
CHAPTER 14
I bounced over to Owen’s desk, nearly floating with excitement over the old-school spy plan Tippy had insisted on. I didn’t even know people still did things like that. People who weren’t the FBI or CIA, that is.
“Hi, Owen,” I said.
Owen glanced up. He was wearing his headphones and saw me, but quickly returned his gaze to his keyboard and kept typing.
“Owen?” I asked, waving my hand, and trying to get his attention, even though I suspected I already had it. Just because he couldn’t hear me didn’t mean he couldn’t see me, but I think he may have been confused about that. He let a drawn-out moment hang between us before he snapped his attention over to me. It was a bizarre way of playing it cool but to each their own.
“Yep. Uh, yes. What can I do for you?” Owen asked. Some of his brown hair was curling down over the top of his forehead in an adorable way, nearly reaching the tortoiseshell edge of his glasses.
“We have a mission,” I said with enthusiasm. It must have been contagious because he cracked a smile in spite of his cool-guy act.
“I am in need of a wire,” I told him. Owen leaned back in his chair and tilted his head on an angle.
“What type of wire?” he asked. He pulled open a drawer in his desk where there were a number of different wires in various types of metal.
“Not just any wire. You know, like an old-school spy wire?” I mimed the way I imagined they snaked beneath your shirt or jacket out of sight. Owen gave me a nod and turned around to the shelf behind his desk. From one of the shelves, he extracted an old rubber tub and set it on his lap. The duct tape across the top had "Odds and Ends" written in thick sharpie and I was eager to see what was inside. The first thing that caught my eye when Owen lifted the lid was a gigantic, rubber-looking gun. It startled me, and I took a big step back. This provoked a noise from Owen that I took as a chuckle. It was much larger than
a normal handgun, or at least it was larger than I imagined a handgun to be. I’d never actually seen one in real life. It sat heavy in the tub. It was mostly black, with fluorescent yellow accents along the barrel and down the handle. The longer I stared at it, the more it started looking more like a pricing gun in a shop rather than a weapon.
“It’s a stun gun,” Owen said. “Don’t worry, the safety is on.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I assured him, taking my own turn trying to play the cool guy or gal. He rummaged around in the bin, dropping the stun gun onto the floor with a thud. I tried not to jump out of the vicinity.
“Technically, we’re not supposed to have that, so…” Owen put his finger to his lips.
“Got it.” I eyed the weapon warily. Owen pulled something black and mechanical out of the box, along with a long wire in a translucent sheath, and started fastening one to the other. I watched in silence for a few moments.
The wall beside Owen’s desk was one I hadn’t spent very much time looking at, but now I took in a medium-sized painting, with a thick wooden frame. It was a portrait of a man. It almost could have been a photograph except there were subtle hints of brush stroke here and there. The face was composed of familiar features; thick golden-brown hair that was graying at the sides, the straight nose, and clear hazel eyes. The man in the painting was clean shaven, with a serious expression. But there was an element of mischief in his eyes. It was this quality that alerted me to the Booker resemblance before any other.
“Is that your father?” I asked Owen.
Owen didn’t raise his eyes from the wires. There was only one framed image on the wall, and I got the sense that Owen didn’t look at things twice if it wasn’t necessary.
“Yes, that’s him, Ernie Booker. It’s an accurate likeness, but he has more gray than brown now,” Owen replied.
“You all look a lot like him,” I observed.
“Strong genes,” Owen said, shrugging. He cast me a small smile.
There was silence for another few moments as he fastened a small black box with a little sticker on it to the wire.
“You could still win, you know,” Owen said, seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes remained on his project.
“Win what?” I asked. Owen suddenly leaned back further into his chair, giving me the illusion he had shrunk slightly, and a light flush crept across his cheeks.
“I looked you up on an acting database, and your nemesis Katy Chase too. You have a very similar number of credits in small, I mean, smaller projects. You could still win if you want to,” he said again softly so that Harrison and Tippy wouldn’t overhear. “I could help you with your demo reel if you wanted to update it.”
I was so surprised Owen had decided to find my professional page, I didn’t know what to say. I felt a rush of gratitude and appreciation for him. It was such a sweet thing to offer a virtual stranger. The bashful look he cast down at the wires in his hands and back up to me, made me picture him as a White Knight kind of guy. The sweet, eager look on his face suggested he couldn’t resist a girl in need. But was I in need? I reminded myself once again that acting was behind me, but I didn’t have the heart to shut him down completely. He was smiling at me as though he really believed my acting career was worth something.
“Thanks, Owen, that’s incredibly kind of you, but you wouldn’t be looking at me that way if you knew the truth about me. There are definitely other people more deserving of your help,” I told him.
“What truth?” he asked.
“Growing up I was always the first one to lead the other kids into trouble. I was the first one to dive off a cliff or jump off a barn. I’m always leaping without looking,” I said.
Owen did a double take and squinted his right eye at me as if trying to see me in a whole new way. His faint smile suggested he may have not believed me, but he didn’t argue. He went to back to checking the wires.
It occurred to me that maybe leaping without looking, without considering the consequences, was what I was doing all over again with this new job. Maybe I didn’t know how to do anything else. But this would be the right thing to leap into, I silently told myself. Owen was quiet for a moment as he kept working.
“What town did you grow up in?” Owen asked.
“A small town outside of Kansas City. You wouldn’t know it,” I said. The practiced answer fell easily from my lips, but I felt the tightness close in on my throat like a vise. I’d always guessed it was my body’s technique to prevent me from saying any more. I kept my eyes on the tangle of wires Owen was winding together.
“Really? It’s just, you don’t have an accent,” he said quizzically.
“My parents weren’t from there originally. They didn’t have accents, so I guess I just didn’t pick it up at a young enough age,” I said. I picked some lint off my pants and swiveled in the spare desk chair next to Owen’s.
“Did you always want to work here?” I asked him, changing the subject.
Owen shrugged.
“It wasn’t my first choice,” he said. As if he’d been surprised by his own words, Owen quickly snapped his head in Harrison’s direction. Harrison was focused intently on the pages in front of him. Owen’s posture softened back into his chair, but he spoke a little softer.
“I mean, it’s good. I’m happy. It was just more out of necessity back then,” he said.
He didn’t offer any more on the subject and I decided to repay the favor and not press him on a subject he didn’t feel like talking about.
About a half an hour later, after I assisted Owen by holding bits and pieces of the device he was reassembling, Harrison walked by Owen’s desk and rapped on it twice with his knuckle.
“Close up when you’re done. I’m heading home to take a proper shower,” Harrison said. He gave me a knowing smile, waved a goodbye to Owen, and headed back downstairs to the diner. Tippy had already left to go get ready for her date, leaving Owen and myself to put the finishing touches on her most important accessory for the evening.
“Okay, want to give it a try?” Owen asked.
“Yes,” I said quickly.
Maybe a little too quickly. But it was hard to suppress my excitement. Even one of my childhood idols, Harriet the Spy, would be envious of me in that moment. Owen pulled out a roll of special tape and moved toward me. He hesitated as he tried to figure out how to help me secure the wire beneath the edge of my shirt but dropped the whole thing onto the floor when there was a sudden knock on the glass door of the office. The two of us whipped our heads around to see who was here now that the office was closed. It took a brief second for me to place the older man, I’d seen quite a few times in the last two days in person and on security tapes. It was Leo’s friend, August Ripley, who stood at the door.
CHAPTER 15
August let himself through the unlocked door of the office, allowing a waft of something sweet and doughy, like cinnamon buns or waffles, to enter with him from the diner below. Now that Owen and I were no longer alone in the office, I instinctively kicked the big stun gun beneath Owen’s desk.
“Good evening,” August called out. He smiled at us from across the room, peering through his thick-framed glasses. His hair was evenly combed, and the brown dye nearly matched the color of his suit. It was expertly fitted to his shoulders but hung a little loose around his torso as he moved forwards into the office.
“I’m going to—to go make some coffee,” Owen mumbled at a volume only I could hear. He stood up from his desk, still holding the little mess of wires, and walked briskly toward the break room. The back of his green shirt had a picture of three Helium squares from the periodic table in a row to read as "He He He" with the words "Laughing Gas" written beneath. Owen nodded quickly at August as they crossed paths, and then he bee-lined for the hallway.
Owen! Was I supposed to handle this all on my own? I didn’t even have the office phone number memorized, let alone the ins and outs of client procedure. And August wasn’t even the client. That would make things
even more complicated.
August’s gaze briefly followed Owen’s retreating back down the hall before he turned his attention to me, the only remaining staff member in the room. He sauntered over toward me, and as I stood up, I pushed Owen’s chair, which held the tub of gadgets, under the desk and out of sight.
“Kristy, was it?” August offered his hand and I stood up to take it.
“Kacey,” I replied, doing my best to keep my tone warm. “Harrison and Lucky have left for the day, but is there something I can do for you, Mr. Ripley?”
August raised his eyebrows.
“For me? Nothing for me. I just came to see how the case was progressing, on Leo’s behalf,” he said. “Fiona is still quite sick, and he didn’t want to leave her at home.” August nodded slightly while he spoke as if he was agreeing with himself.
Where was Owen? Should I go drag him back out? He still had half a cup of coffee on his desk, and it was gently steaming. I scanned my brain for an answer I could give to August that Harrison wouldn’t find fault in, but I came up with nothing.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to say anything about the progress of the case,” I replied, channeling my best CSI investigator. There, I couldn’t get in any trouble with that, could I?
August’s shoulders drooped, and his gaze dropped to the floor.
“It’s just that I told Leo I’d come back with a bit of information for him, to let him know you’re getting closer,” August said. “He’s still very distraught.”
I could feel a prickle of sweat under my arms and at the back of my neck. I spoke slowly so as not to let anything too sensitive slip out accidentally.
“We are following a strong lead,” I said. It was an ambiguous enough thing to say, and it was free of any details, but I’d still somehow managed to raise August’s spirits.