Booker Brothers Detective Agency Box Set

by Maisie Dean

  “Kacey, this fraud, it’s huge!” Harrison whisper-shouted. He was slowing his regular strides to stay by my side which made him do a strange sort of two-step dance as we walked across Vivian’s pathway to the sidewalk. “The more people who are in on it, the easier it will be for us to get one of them to turn on the rest,” Harrison said. “All we need is one, and it’ll crumble into our laps.”

  The streetlights had come on. They illuminated the parked cars along the street and the excitement gleaming in Harrison’s eyes.

  “You think they’ll do that?” I asked.

  “Of course. They always do,” he said. “That’s what happens when you get a bunch of idiots coming up with an idiotic plan. They’ll be hung up by their own greed. That’ll teach them a lesson.”

  Harrison was being a bit harsh. These “idiots” were actual people, after all. Whatever their motivation, there must have been some part of them that thought they were doing the right thing. Even if it was only the right thing for them. My own feelings must have played out across my face, but Harrison didn’t seem to notice in the dim light. He was too engrossed in mentally reaching the finish line of our case.

  We reached the spot where Owen’s little car was parked. The tinted windows seemed to absorb the light, making them look like solar panels. I always found it strange when I looked into tinted glass. I couldn’t help but wonder who might be looking back at me. In this case, it was just Lucky.

  “What do you want to bet he’s napping?” Harrison said, nudging my arm.

  “Hmm...too easy. Lucky’s anything but predictable,” I said.

  “For a milkshake at Doyle’s?” Harrison asked. I took his extended hand and shook it. Harrison reached for the handle and swung the driver’s side door open.

  I was right. Lucky was not napping. He sat in the driver’s seat, clasping his hands around a wad of napkins at his neck. They were stained a bright, sticky red.

  “I’ve been...I’ve been shot!” Lucky gasped. “Help, Kacey...they got me... They got me!” He writhed around in his seat, crinkling more than one fast-food bag at his ankles. He made his eyes roll back in his head, and added some theatrical coughs and sputters. About five used ketchup packages sat in the cup holder between the seats. The small car exuded a sweet and salty smell that started making me hungry, despite the scene unfolding before me. Getting hungry was a strange reaction to one of my bosses claiming to be shot, but there’s something about ketchup…

  Harrison closed the car door without a word and continued walking along the sidewalk back to his jeep. I gave the tinted window a smile and pat, then jogged down the sidewalk to keep up with Harrison.

  “I’ll take chocolate,” I told him.

  “What?” Harrison asked.

  “My winning milkshake,” I said. “I choose chocolate.”

  Harrison unlocked the car and we climbed in. “Can it be from Doyle’s so that we get a discount?” he asked.

  “Cheeky!” I said.

  “Two straws?” he said. He only met my gaze briefly as he started the engine and checked his mirrors. He had a funny smile playing at the edge of his lips. It was contagious.

  I wasn’t sure where this strange version of Harrison had come from, or how long he’d stick around, but I liked it. “I’ll think about it,” I said, matching his smirk.

  CHAPTER 18

  All three of the Booker brothers were at the office when I arrived the next morning.

  Harrison sat at his desk going through a stack of case files. New ones, judging by the light green color of the folders.

  Owen was immersed in something on his laptop. He was wearing headphones which he did when he wanted to tune out the rest of the office and the world.

  Lucky didn’t appear to be taking the hint, though. He was leaning on his younger brother’s desk, shooting him with a pile of rubber bands.

  “Morning!” I called, as I came through the door. It was strange to have a full house in the office on a Friday morning, especially during an active case. “What’s everyone doing here? Who’s at Annie’s?” I asked. Someone had been stationed on her street around the clock over the last week, but, unless Tippy had rejoined the force, the whole team was present and accounted for in the office.

  Lucky shot a small rubber band toward me and missed. “No one,” he said. He aimed again, and I dodged the little red blur as it whizzed by.

  “The insurance case is over,” Harrison said. “I reported our findings about Neil and Vivian to the insurance company, but they didn’t want to pursue the fraud angle. They said something about not having the time or the resources of the FBI or some crap. Evidently, four days of surveillance satisfied them.” Harrison raised his hands as if saying “what can we do?”

  My shoulders slumped. All of that for them to just file away our hard work on some dusty shelf? “Did they tell you what they’re going to do?” I asked.

  “It sounds like they’re going to settle with the claimant.”

  “With Annie,” I said. “The case doesn’t seem closed, though, does it? What about Vivian’s relationship to Neil? She lied about that jacket which means there must be something more to it, right? Has anyone even seen or talked to Annie yet?” I dropped my purse down on my desk and walked over to stand in front of Harrison with my hands on my hips.

  Harrison shrugged. “We did what we were meant to do. Sometimes cases simply end,” he said.

  “You mean unsolved?” I asked.

  “Settled,” Harrison said. “Now, I have some new cases I’m considering. Can you begin sorting through them to see what documents are missing from their files?” Harrison pointed at my desk where I hadn’t noticed there was already a low stack of green folders on top of my keyboard.

  I sat down and got to work. Lucky had returned to his own desk and at least appeared to be working. I was glad I didn’t have to combat any more rubber-band warfare. I felt irritable and unsatisfied, and likely one more of those elastics in my direction would have made me snap. Pardon the pun. I had this feeling like I’d set out to run a marathon. I may have been one of the slower runners, but I knew I’d make it to the finish line eventually. But someone had cut some corners and made it to the finish line early. They’d broken through that ribbon and left it waving in the wind. Instead of waiting for the rest of the runners to make it through, they had dismantled the “Case Solved!” banner overhead and the cheering crowds had dispersed back to their normal lives. I hadn’t done any literal running but my muscles felt tight and tired as I made my way through the documents for the rest of the day.

  ***

  Finally, when the sun dropped low and started to turn rosy in the sky, Harrison stood up.“That should do it,” he said.

  Harrison and I were the ones left in the office by then. Lucky had gone out for a lunch meeting and hadn’t returned, and Owen had gone home early in order to not miss an important package being delivered.

  “Are the others coming back for dinner?” I asked.

  Harrison brought his palm to his forehead. “Sorry, Kacey. I forgot to mention that we have a family-related function this evening. We’ll have to postpone Friday night dinner at Doyle’s tonight.”

  “Okay, no problem,” I said. Truth be told, all I felt like doing was heading home and hanging out with Rosie. In fact, I had been trying to come up with a believable excuse to bail on our weekly dinner for the last half hour of the work day. “Don’t forget, you still owe me that milkshake,” I told him.

  Harrison lifted both hands in front of him. “I know, I know. I haven’t forgotten. I’m quite aware of how seriously you take your milkshakes. I heard a rumor that Doyle’s been breeding rats in the back, though. It’s probably best to steer clear for while. Just until he’s moved on to a more sanitary hobby, like knitting or collage.”

  “Sounds good,” I said without looking at Harrison. I shut my computer off and started packing up my purse. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harrison scribbling something on a Post-it. A few moments later he stop
ped at my desk on his way out.

  “I’m sorry about how everything went with the insurance case. I thought there’d be more to it too,” Harrison said. He handed me a yellow Post-it note. I took it from him and the sticky part stuck to my fingers. “See you on Monday,” he said. I watched him walk toward the door and then down the stairs.

  The Post-it had a sketch of a tall glass and a straw. Scrawled beneath, it said, One milkshake from H to K. I stuck it on the edge of my computer monitor. I picked up my bag and headed for the door. I set the handle to lock and closed it firmly behind me. I was determined to leave Annie’s case, and the bad taste it left in my mouth, behind me. After all, it was nothing that some affordable wine, and sweet and salty food couldn’t cure.

  CHAPTER 19

  The sun cast a pink and honey-tinged glow as it neared the distant horizon. Instead of meeting Rosie on our couch at home, I’d received a text from her suggesting that we should meet at the park for Cinema Under the Stars to shake things up.

  It was our ritual to not check what film would be playing, but as we picked our way across the grass, weaving between blankets and chairs, I’d seen a few posters that suggested it would be some kind of detective mystery.

  Great, just what I needed to wind down—more detective work.

  At least I was with my best friend, plus cheese puffs, and a six-pack of light beer.

  The plastic seats of our beat-up lawn chairs were frayed around the edges. They’d seen many a movie night, concert, and beachside hangout. We set them up in an area of the park that, from experience, we had deemed to be the more laid-back section. Some of the regulars could be real sticklers about any chatting or commentary.

  Rosie and I leaned back in our chairs. A couple of bath towels she had brought along were also laid out in front of us, ready and waiting for the portion of the night where we liked to stretch out and try not to fall asleep.

  Rosie had her blonde hair up in a ponytail, and she was back to wearing her normal athletic clothing. Her cropped leggings were black and the tightly fitting workout tank was turquoise.

  “Did you decide to let go of the intense new Rosie we created?” I asked.

  Rosie cracked the seal of a beer and handed it to me before opening another. “Yeah, this is more practical and it felt more like me,” she said. “Although,” Rosie continued, leaning in closer and speaking at a lowered volume, “I’ve been keeping up with the technique on the down-low with some pretty extreme underwear.” Rosie slanted her eyes toward me and gave her eyebrows a waggle.

  “Really? I’m intrigued,” I said. “I happen to have a pretty good grasp on the contents of your underwear drawer. I’ve never seen anything very risqué…”

  “I went shopping the other day when you stayed late at work,” she said. “It’s a whole new world in that drawer. It’s seriously been giving me a confidence boost and I love that no one else, besides you now, knows why.” Rosie grinned. She looked giddy, and I loved seeing my roommate that way. Too often she would get stuck in a bout of anxiety that would sometimes take weeks for her to climb out of.

  Rosie described some of the lingerie she’d bought in detail as the movie started. Only one older lady, a few places to our right, shushed us. A few minutes into the movie, a young couple crossed in front of us to find a place to sit with a couple take-out bags. It was burgers and fries, by the smell of it. They politely excused themselves, but when I looked up acknowledge them with a nod and a smile, a familiar tilted guitar caught my eye. The logo was printed very large on either side of the two bags. The food was from Rockburger. Rosie and I turned our attention, or at least I thought I did, back to the opening of the movie on the big blow-up screen about a hundred yards away.

  A while later Rosie leaned toward me to ask a question. Her semi-whispering breath smelled like light beer and cheese puffs.

  “Is that really what it’s like at a detective’s office?” Rosie asked.

  I refocused my eyes, which must have been glazed over for some time. “Hmm, what did you say?” I asked

  Rosie gestured to the screen. “Do the detectives really fly off the handle like that when something doesn’t go right?” Rosie asked again.

  I opened my mouth to answer the question, but I quickly realized I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t even think I would be able to point out the protagonist. Rosie often asked me questions mid-movie, or mid-episode. I’d spent so much time trying to fine-tune my old craft of acting that I had a pretty good grip on plot structure and character motivation in just about any story. But I couldn’t tell Rosie a thing about the movie. I’d been lost in thought for at least twenty minutes.

  I watched the irate man on screen storm around the office in his tailored suit. Why were detectives in movies so often men? Women were just as able to be the hero, and villain for that matter. Quite often when they were, the story was much more dynamic and layered. I crossed my arms. Rosie was still leaning toward me waiting for her answer.

  I had to come up with something. “Do detectives get all heated and dramatic like that? It depends on whether Harrison remembers to eat lunch or not. And, also, how difficult Lucky is being on the particular day,” I replied.

  Rosie giggled knowingly, but then stopped when she saw I hadn’t joined in. “You okay?” she asked

  I nodded quickly and wiggled around to get more comfortable in my seat. “Yeah, sorry. I’m a little distracted. This recent case is still rolling around in my head,” I told her.

  “Fair enough. That’s exactly why I’m content with being a delivery driver. I leave my work at work. Boxes, parcels, envelopes, they go where they need to go, and I never even have to know what’s in them,” Rosie said with a shrug.

  “That’s just it, though. For better or worse, I’m supposed to find out what’s in all of the boxes, and I think when it comes to this insurance case there must still be a couple that are all packaged up tight,” I said.

  The lady who’d shushed us earlier loudly cleared her throat to get our attention and threw us an admonishing look. Rosie and I slid down in our chairs to be more inconspicuous, but we kept on whispering to each other. The shushing lady must not have known she was sitting in the wrong section.

  “You’ll solve it, Kacey, don’t worry. You always do,” Rosie said.

  “I won’t. Not this time. The case is closed,” I said. I pulled one of the towels onto my lap as a blanket and hugged it around my knees.

  “It was closed? Without being solved? Did Lucky have a date or something?”

  I rolled my eyes for her to see in the dim light. “No, it got wrapped up by the company who hired us but...I think there’s more to it.”

  My eyes skimmed over the distant screen. The male detective, I still had no idea what his name was, was at the point in the story where everything seemed bleak and backwards. His confidence was waning and his mystery seemed unsolvable as ever. But I knew that in another ten minutes he’d get past the red-herring and sail toward the denouement where everything would work out. He’d get the glamorous red-head that kept appearing in green satin dresses, too. I’d put money on it. But my worries existed in the real world, not Hollywood, despite our geographic location. There was no blockbuster guarantee that I’d solve my mystery.

  I gently poked Rosie with my elbow and held my beer can out toward the screen. “That’s me,” I told her. “The detective being driven mad by his own case.”

  Rosie shook her head and laughed, drawing out another long shhh from the lady nearby. “Are you busy tomorrow?” she whispered. “In my personal opinion, you are in dire need of some underwear shopping!”

  CHAPTER 20

  By late afternoon the following day, I found myself working alone at the office. Technically, the Booker brothers were also working, they were just out meeting clients or in the field.

  I knew Harrison was working, at least. He never stopped.

  Owen was always hyper-efficient with his work responsibilities, which often left him with lots of free t
ime for his projects and hobbies. Most recently he’d been trying to come up with an algorithm of sorts that aligned with the way a Sugar Ant colony strategically constructed their home underground. He’d tried explaining some of the finer details to us at the office one morning, but tragedy had struck and the ant enclosure broke open.

  Harrison, with a tight jaw, had requested that Owen keep his projects at home from then on. The consequence of that was that I hadn’t seen Owen very much in recent weeks. I was actually beginning to miss him. Although, I was still encountering ants on my desk, in my pencil case, and worst of all, in my snack drawer.

  I was diligently transferring old hard copy files into digital ones using the scanner behind my desk when the phone rang. It wasn’t long before closing time for the office, and it was unusual for us to receive calls at that point in the work day. I fumbled for the green “pause” button on the office printer and leaned back over to my desk to pick up the receiver.

  “Booker Brother’s Detective Agency, Kacey sp—” I began, but the caller interrupted my greeting.

  “Hello? Hello, can you help me?” asked a small voice. It sounded like a woman, and there was something familiar about her quivering tone.

  “I’m not sure, what kind of help do you need?” I asked.

  “I think I need to hire an investigator, I’m in trouble…” the woman said. Her speech was rushed and shaky. Suddenly, the low volume of the woman’s speech clicked with a memory in my brain. It was Annie! I had only heard her voice that first day from the other room when I had met Busty, but now that I’d put it together I was sure it was her.

  “What kind of trouble? Is there a particular reason you called us?” I asked. Had she been told about the case? The surveillance? Perhaps it was just a strange coincidence she’d call our office.

  “I looked up private investigators. Your office is the closest one to me on the map so I thought I’d start there,” Annie said. “Please, can you help?”