by Maisie Dean
“Oh, really? Is it one of Leo’s jilted lovers?” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels. There was a glint in his eye suggesting he was hungry for more information.
I didn’t want to reveal anything else so I stayed quiet. August pressed on.
“If it were, just between the two of us, he probably deserved to have that painting stolen. The man’s left a lot of broken hearts in his wake, and I bet I don’t even know the half of it.”August laughed aloud but it sounded slightly hesitant or forced.
“We have gained some knowledge about the women in his life, but Mr. Ripley, I really can’t—”
“—The only woman he’s ever been faithful to is Fiona, the—”
“Dog, I remember,” I said, finishing his sentence for him. I wasn’t going to mistake Fiona for a woman again, like I did in the meeting.
“Yes, that dog,” he said, and again he let out a strained laugh as he shook his head slowly from side to side. “If that lead you’ve already got going comes up dry, you might want to look into Cynthia Rothchild, she’s another ex. Someone mentioned to me that they saw her having a drunken argument with Leo at the party.”
“I don’t recall Leo mentioning that during the meeting,” I said, and picked up a pen and stack of Post-it notes from Owen’s desk. August peered over me and repeated the name, making sure I spelled it correctly.
“He’d had more than a few that night, I doubt he remembers half of his interactions,” August said, and smirked. At such close proximity I could smell a minty sweetness on his breath. It was familiar, but it took a few moments for me to place it. It was the same smell as the red and white mints from Doyle’s. Had August eaten dinner down there? Wouldn’t he then have seen Harrison leave the office at six?
I took a step back and began guiding August back toward the front of the office.
“Thank you, Mr. Ripley. This has been...helpful,” I said. “I know the Booker Brothers are working hard on the case and we should have some answers for Mr. Fitz soon.”
August nodded. He had smile on his face as he glanced around the room, taking in the stacked boxes and cabinets. Some of them were on the edge of teetering and others appeared to simply defy physics by having yet to collapse. A few stacks in the corners had become dust shelves, likely not touched in years.
August dragged his feet as I led him to the door. He laid his eyes on everything in the room, taking it all in, down to the last bent paperclip. I guess I wasn’t the only one with a fondness for the crime-solving business.
“Thank you for the, uh, tip. And for your concern for Mr. Fitz,” I said, shaking his hand.
“It’s no trouble at all. I’d do anything for Leo, we’ve been friends for such a long time,” he said wistfully. There was still a twinkle in his eye as he turned and headed down the stairs with a spring in his step.
“Thank you for you time, Cassey! I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” August called back over his shoulder.
“It’s Kacey,” I corrected, too quietly for August to hear.
“I don’t think he heard you,” Owen said, suddenly right beside me. I was so shocked I must’ve jumped a solid foot in the air. The movement caused me to awkwardly bump into the wall beside the door.
“Owen, Jesus!” I said. It took me a minute, hand over my chest, to steady myself. Owen’s eyes widened in response, as if I’d startled him just as much with my outburst.
“Where’d you go, anyway?” I asked, my heart was still pounding. “Why would you leave me alone with the creepy guy?” August hadn’t really been that creepy, but I was annoyed that Owen had thrown me into the deep end like that.
Owen’s shoulders sagged and his head hung down so that the tip of his nose was pointed at the ground.
“I was testing the recording equipment,” Owen said, softly. “I had to make some tweaks to prevent audio feedback, but it’s working now.”
He didn’t address my question. He just walked back to his desk and started shutting down the computer and stashing the big tub back into its slot on the shelf. I stared after him; my heart had not yet settled back into its regular pattern.
“Ouch,” he said, and hopped onto one foot for a moment. Evidently he’d stubbed his toe on the stun-gun I’d pushed under the desk. Owen turned to me with the gun now in his hand, and raised an eyebrow.
“You really shouldn’t leave these things lying around,” he said with a grin.
I let out a long breath and uncrossed my arms. Owen stood there in his t-shirt and rounded glasses holding the oversized weapon. It was such a ridiculous sight, I suddenly felt as thought I’d walked in on a role-playing round of Dungeons and Dragons. I found it difficult to keep a straight face, and impossible to stay frustrated with him.
From what I gathered from the Booker Brothers office so far, Owen wasn’t the guy to meet with clients on his own either. I remembered what Lucky had told me about the three of them. Harrison was the brains, Lucky was the people person, and Owen was the guy who took care of the stun gun and gadgets, and Lord only knows what else, so that everyone would have what they needed to investigate.
“We have to lock up now. My grandma sent me a text saying I need to drive over there now if I’m going to deliver this before she leaves for her date.” Owen slipped the translucent wire attached to the tiny black box into a small gray case filled with foam.
“Tippy texts?” I asked a little loudly while I gathered up my things from the front desk. Although, truth be told, I wasn’t surprised. The lady was probably more up to date on any given trend than I was.
“She does, tweets too. I’m not joking,” Owen said, matter of factly. He had slung his olive messenger bag over his shoulder and walked over to meet me at the door. Tippy’s tweets, those were something I would have to see.
“Why do you call her Grandma?” I asked Owen. “I’ve only heard Harrison and Lucky call her Tippy.”
Owen smirked.
“She only lets me call her that. According to her, I’m the ‘cutest’ grandson and she likes me the best,” he said.
I laughed and Owen’s face lit up even brighter. He held up his index finger on one hand and used the other to open the door for me.
“But don’t tell Harrison I told you that.”
CHAPTER 16
The next morning Doyle caught me on the way up the stairs with another large mug of steaming coffee. Unlike the day before, I felt like I could really use it. Rosie and I had stayed up late watching the entirety of the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice miniseries. In my opinion it was a crime to run it non-stop like that; that was one thing you couldn’t be expected to turn off at a reasonable hour. I thanked an unusually sleepy-looking Doyle, and immediately took a large sip that burned my tongue. I winced.
“You sure you don’t need this yourself?” I asked him.
Doyle and I had matching little puffy semi-circles below our eyes, but I hoped that my efforts with the concealer had at least partially obscured mine.
“I’m currently brewing a pot for myself,” Doyle replied. His dark mustache hid the top of his mouth when he spoke, which had a funny effect. I was reminded how much he resembled a cartoon character. “Did the BBC get you too?” he asked, which caught me entirely off guard.
“Yes!” I laughed, nearly sloshing coffee out of the mug. Doyle gave me a knowing smile and retreated back behind the counter, but not before he mimed removing a top hat and giving me a little bow. The image of Doyle at home on his couch with tea and cookies watching Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle slowly find their way to understanding each other, kept me smiling all the way up the stairs.
My smile dissipated as I swung open the door and saw the Booker brothers with taut faces. No one raised their heads or even appeared to hear the bell ring as I pushed into the office.
Frederick Fitz, or Fitzy, whom I’d met the other day, stood in the middle of the room yelling at no particular Booker brother, but all of them at once.
“This really is it, boys, I haven’t wanted to bring o
ut the E-word, but if there was ever a time to get evicted, this would be it!” Fitzy shouted. I had to refrain from covering my ears. His face had become almost swollen in his anger. He was red in the face and his trembling hands were balled into white fists.
I gingerly set down my coffee mug on my desk and dropped my bag down. I wanted to make as few movements as possible to not draw attention to myself. I wasn’t sure what was going on, and it did not feel like the time to ask. Owen had his feet tucked up on a box next to his chair and his shoulders hunched, as if he was trying to fold into himself. His bright red shirt made him look like some kind of target. Harrison’s head was in his hands, his hair shooting out at odd angles in some places and flat in others. Lucky sat back in his chair. His body was the picture of ease, but the little dent between his brows and his tight lips betrayed the facade. At least to me.
“After all I’ve done for you in keeping the rental price low for forty years! You’ve never once had to pay real market rate for this place, and this is what I get in return? I put up with it all, I don’t get involved with the craziness, and I even accept the rent being late which has been happening more and more recently, and for that I get distrust and—and this?” Fitzy said. The sheer volume and the grumbling rage of his voice made my heart pound.
I hadn’t noticed that in his balled-up fist he was waving the little device Owen and I—but mostly Owen—had put together the night before. He must have found the wire on Tippy! I scanned the tense group, but she didn’t appear to be in the office.
“It has the company’s name on it by the way—not very smooth, boys.” Fitzy’s tone was admonishing. But behind the anger I could hear his voice was on the edge of breaking. I could only see his back, which was rigid, and his empty left hand looked as though it might be trembling slightly.
“How dare you go behind my back like this! The three of you have only stayed in my good graces because of my fondness for Tippy, and you go and get her involved,” Fitzy continued, shaking his head wildly. “But this business of suspecting me of stealing my own brother’s painting is an insult. I think now is finally the time for a new tenant!”
The bell rattled behind me, and this time, while Fitzy was taking a pause from the yelling, all four men, as well as myself, heard the door open and turned to see who was there.
CHAPTER 17
Leo stood at the door, red in the face. Standing by his heels was an indignant-looking, black French Bulldog with a white chest. A light pink collar had the name Fiona stitched in purple thread. This was the infamous Fiona. She saw me looking at her and snarled. I had to hop out of the way to avoid the two of them as they barreled into the room to stand next to Fitzy. I placed myself between my own desk and the wall. You could feel the anger radiating off the two men and the dog like heat coming off concrete.
“You good-for-nothing boys! Don’t bother lying, I heard all about it from Portia, your plan to keep on taking my money until you felt like releasing my painting.” Leo paced around the center of the room, looking around in every direction. Fiona started barking wildly, following close at the heels of her devoted owner.
“Where is it? What have you done with it, Lucky,” Leo said. He stooped down to look below Lucky’s desk and then leaned over it to look behind. “Harrison, if you think I’ll ever be taking my business back to this office, you have another think coming!”
“They won’t have a business, or if they do it sure as heck won’t be here,” Fitzy shouted, over the noise of Leo knocking stacks of files and boxes in the wake of his search.
“Was this all some giant setup? A dirty scheme to take my money? Who’d you have in on it? Tippy? Where is she anyway? Tippy!” Leo hollered.
He reached behind a filing cabinet to look for his painting and let the whole thing clatter to the ground when he didn’t find it. Fitzy joined him in the search, scattering paperwork, boxes, and electronics everywhere.
Harrison had stood up at his desk. His face had gone ashen and his mouth was slightly open, as if he was in physical pain. Lucky remained seated through all the cacophony. He swung his feet up to rest on his desk and reclined slightly with his hands folded behind his head. He was no longer trying to keep his true emotions off his face. His eyes glazed over and appeared to flicker in the office light. His jaw was firmly set, pulling his lips outwards in a tight line.
“Look everywhere. Be my guest. It’ll be good to disturb the dust before the cleaners come,” Lucky said dryly. Harrison shot him a cold look and chased after Leo and Fitzy. The incensed men were dangerously close to the printer.
Owen had suddenly vanished. I hadn’t seen where he went in all the chaos. Should I call the police? I’d never witnessed anything like this before. Movement caught my eye behind the office door, and I saw Doyle peering through the glass with wide eyes. He must have heard all the noise from downstairs. I returned his look and shrugged my shoulders. He began to push into the office, but at the same moment Fitzy chucked a tub of paperclips over his shoulder and it broke up against the door. Doyle jumped back, startled. I motioned for him to stay downstairs. There was enough going on in the Booker Brothers' office without adding another man to the mix.
“There’s a storage room down the hall,” Fitzy called to his brother, over Fiona’s shrill barks.
“Look, Mr. Fitz, Leo, there must be some mistake here—” Harrison tried to interject, steadying furniture and objects that now leaned precariously.
“There’s no mistake! The only mistake was the one I made ever coming to this blasted office in the first place. Bunch of swindlers!” Leo shouted back.
“Please, we can work this out. This has all been blown way out of—” Lucky tried, but Leo cut him off as well.
“I don’t want to hear anything from you. I’m going to see to it you’ll never have a decent client again.” Leo stormed down the hallway and I could hear more items clanging down to the floor off the tall shelves and the sound of something large and porcelain smashing.
A flash of red caught my eye beneath Owen’s desk. It was Owen and his red shirt. He was huddled beneath his desk, knees to chest, trying to escape the mayhem.
CHAPTER 18
We had all done our best to tidy up the state of disarray that Leo and Fitzy had left the office in. The four of us, the boys and I, sat around the conference table where I’d sat on my very first morning. The conference room was the one place that hadn’t been torn apart, and we sat there and sipped from our coffee mugs in silence. Harrison’s tie was askew and Lucky had taken his off completely. Owen hadn’t said a word since the Fitzes had left the office. I was trying to wrap my head around all that had happened in the previous few days, when Harrison broke the silence.
“Kacey,” Harrison said, bringing everyone out of their mental wanderings and back into the room. “I’m so sorry, but we can’t keep you.”
Upon hearing those words, I wasn’t really surprised. Leo had spent the morning yelling about how he was intent on ruining the name of the business, and at one point had mentioned a lawsuit. I had suspected that this was something that the Bookers would not easily be able to fix. But the disappointment settled on me like a wet blanket. All I could do was nod in response and try hard to keep the image of getting dressed in a French maid outfit each morning from taking over my brain.
“Losing Leo meant losing one of our best clients, and goodness knows our reputation can’t handle the calamity with the Fitz brothers. They’re just too well connected.” Harrison let out a long exhale. “I think this is it, it’s time to finally shut down and walk away for good.”
Lucky quietly scoffed, but didn’t come up with a retort. Neither did Owen, who was holding up a Star Wars–themed coffee mug in front of his face that said "May the Coffee Be With You." It wasn’t his best nerdy slogan, but that was fitting given the deflated state all the brothers were in.
“Dad will be disappointed, but he’ll get over it,” Harrison said.
As if on cue, the three boys all turned their attentio
n through the open door toward the portrait that hung on the wall near Owen’s desk.
“The writing’s been on the wall for a long time. And he can’t say we didn’t do what he asked,” Harrison said.
Harrison’s speech had drifted away from being an explanation for me, and into an acknowledgment of the end of the Booker Brothers Detective Agency. The group of us fell into another somber silence. Even Lucky didn’t seem to have anything to say. Then the faint jingle of a bell drew our attention to the front door.
The woman who’d just entered the office wasted no time once she saw the group of us sitting in the meeting room. She marched straight toward us and stood in the doorway. After taking one look at us, she shifted her weight to one leg and put a hand on her hip.
“Who died?” she asked.
The woman was beautiful but there was a fierceness to her features as well. Her hair was a complex variety of dark reds and copper tones that wound into a tight little bundle of a bun right on top of her head. She had smooth, clear skin that made the expertly traced eyeliner stand out over her piercing, luminous blue eyes. But nothing stood out as much as the bright tangerine lipstick, which nearly pulsated with color She was about my height and thin, with curves, and I guessed she must have been around thirty. Give or take a year.
“Hi, Aggie,” Owen said glumly. He spoke over the edge of his coffee cup. Lucky leaned back on his chair so that only the two back legs were touching the ground. He squared his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. Harrison stood up and walked over to stand close to her.
“Kacey, this is Aggie Pierce; Aggie, this is Kacey,” Harrison said.
Aggie rolled her big eyes at Harrison’s half-hearted introduction and extended her hand toward me. Her fingernails were painted in an understated, but very classy, neutral mauve.
“Hi, I’m Aggie, longtime friend of the Bookers and bringer of some of their best cases,” Aggie said.
