“Matt, you be careful out there. Call me if you need assistance,” my dad urged. Matt was investigating a drug cartel, thought to be shipping cocaine in on a sail boat. That was one of his cases anyway. He never worked just one.
Chapter 2
I sat in my chair while my dad dismissed his comrades, waiting with my face resting on my fists, annoyed. It took at least five minutes for him to shut up and let everyone leave. Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands, leaned back, and crossed my arms, ready to take on the sermon.
“Cass, what the hell? You’re making me look bad. You can’t be zoning out in the middle of a briefing.”
Hmmm, opportunity knocked loudly for the hundredth time. Should I use the opportunity to tell him that I no longer want to be a private investigator? That working for him was the last thing on earth I wanted to do? Or that I never, ever wanted to be an investigator?
“Sorry,” I cowered.
“Do you need help? I can let you shadow one of the guys for a few days if you want.”
“No. I’m fine. I’ve shadowed you my whole life,” I reminded him of the fact. I could always remember coming in this office. His office was a part of my life. Once my mother was gone, I practically lived there. Summers were the worst.
“Stay focused. Go find this guy and report back to me this afternoon.”
“I thought you said Wednesday.”
“That didn’t mean you. You have to stop back in this afternoon.”
“Dad, I’m not fighting this traffic to come back here. It would take me an hour each way from this guy’s house. You’re an investigator. Did you not see his address? He’s clear across town.”
“You don’t have to go anywhere today, Cass. Just find the guy. You can do that here in your cubical, for the most part anyway.”
I looked at him confused. “I have an address.”
“No, you don’t. That was the last known address. The guy likes to move around a lot. I doubt if he’s there.”
Great, just what I wanted to do, hang out in that dingy dungeon of a cubical all day on an ancient desktop that should have been buried years ago. Had I known my day was destined in the office, I would have brought my own laptop. Smiling with a hidden sigh, I moved past my father.
Walking to my designated corner, the one nobody wanted, I groaned. Stopping at Marti’s desk—which was nicer than mine—I noticed the open file. I didn’t see the picture of Becker Cole, but the three girls were gorgeous, all very young with long, pretty hair. Looking over my shoulder, I made sure Marti wasn’t in sight before flipping the page.
Becker Cole was from Utah. Why the hell would he come to Warwick? Wait a minute. He didn’t live in Warwick. He lived about seventy miles north of Warwick in the country. Now I really wanted this case.
“What are you doing, Small Fry? Get out of there!” Marti barked, spilling coffee over the brim of her cup. She didn’t bother cleaning up the spill. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, the whole office was a stained-up mess. It always looked like that, ever since my mother stopped coming to de-contaminate it every week and yell at everyone to clean up after themselves.
“Why do you think this guy came here all the way from Utah?” I asked.
“He’s a pervert trying not to be noticed,” Marti faulted, forming her own opinion while moving me out of her way with her shoulder.
“But, why would he talk on the morning show if he didn’t want to be noticed?” I asked, not understanding.
Marti plopped in her chair and closed her file. “Look, I get you’re the boss’s kid and all, but I really think you should stick to the fraud cases. I assure you, this isn’t a case. It will be on your father’s desk, closed, come Wednesday morning. This guy is nothing more than a young playboy, partying it up with some young meat. If these girls were kidnapped, it’d be all over the news. I don’t think they are there against their will.”
“Who said they were?”
Looking up to me with an annoyed glare, Marti reluctantly answered my question. “One of the girls’ sisters hired us. Can you move along now?” she asked, sweeping her hand for me to leave her alone.
“Yeah, okay. See ya around,” I obliged, making my way to my dark corner with no window.
I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t care about the Zimmer case. I was too intrigued by the guy with the three wives who lived in the country. Why would he come to Rhode Island? It just didn’t make sense to me. That was the first day I ever got excited about following in my father’s footsteps and becoming a private investigator. I wanted to know who Becker Cole was.
Not about to do it on the computer at work, I jotted down a few notes on my fat, fraud man case file, wanting to remember later. I had to do that sometimes to keep from spacing out and forgetting what I was doing. I had a tendency to do that from time to time.
“Hot damn,” I boasted after calling the cell phone number I found on Facebook. Who said I sucked at this investigating stuff?
“Hello, is this Brian?” I asked.
“Hell no, it ain’t Brian. It’s Wayne Zimmer. You got the wrong number.”
“Oh, this isn’t the Brian Zimmer that lives over on Harvard Way?”
“No. I already told you. This is Wayne and I live on Piedmont. Go bug someone else.”
Boasting from my investigating abilities, I backed my old desk chair up. It didn’t go so well. The wheel was broken and tilted back. I thought I was going to fall, and screamed from the sudden fear of landing on the floor. Of course, everyone came running. Okay, maybe I did suck at this, and the crimson covering my cheeks was a dead giveaway.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Matt asked. I knew he was joking by the tone and smirk, but it still pissed me off. He thought his shit didn’t stink and everyone with a puss wanted him. I didn’t want him. I hated guys that thought girls would die for them.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Matt?” I countered. That was it. That was the only thing I could think of. The rest of the clan went on about their day, including my father who shot me a dirty look over the rim of his glasses. I didn’t mean to scream, geesh. Update your nineteen seventies chairs.
“I would love to be in your brain, just for an hour,” Matt teased. “I bet I’d be lying on the floor in stitches.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pouted, cocking my hip.
“Nothing, Cassie. Just that you make me laugh—a lot.”
“Stop calling me Cassie. I’m not twelve anymore.”
“No, but you shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? I have just as much right to be here as you. You think just because you have a dick between your legs you’re better than me?” I argued, trying to be tough. I said dick; that was funny to me. I had to tighten my lips to keep up my bad ass attitude.
Matt was a different breed. I met him when he came to work for my dad when I was twelve. I thought he was cute back then—time changed that. He wasn’t the TV detective that thought the boss’s kid was cool and they hung out. He hated that I was there. He was always rude to me, well, most of the time. Once in a while he had a heart.
“No, I think you are very flighty and you belong in the front of a kindergarten class, not here,” Matt accused, pointing at me with a manila folder and spinning on his heels.
I couldn’t disagree with that. I didn’t want to be there anymore than he wanted me there. I never had that choice. Luke McClelland was going to make sure his only child would take over the firm. I wasn’t one of those kids that got to daydream about what they were going to be when they grew up, changing it from a ballerina to a teacher. I always knew what I was going to be from the age of six. Six and three-quarters. That’s the age I remembered it from because that’s the age time stood still for me. That’s how old I was. I had just said it moments before it happened.
Gathering my things, I tapped on the glass door with my knuckles. My father looked up from his phone conversation and waved. Seeing me with my things, he shooed me away. Walking down the sidewalk
to my car, I bumped shoulders with several people rushing to be somewhere. Everyone was always rushing to be somewhere. Life wasn’t lived, it was labored. People worked so hard at life. I didn’t get it. Why couldn’t we all just be happy, forget about the rat race and just live?
“Oh, excuse me,” I said, turning and bumping into a baby stroller when I realized I absentmindedly passed my car. Damn. Right in the shins. Baby buggies hurt.
Sitting in traffic, I googled the name Becker Cole. I learned that Becker Cole, the high school boy, had become a millionaire before accepting his diploma. The scrawny looking boy designed an app for homework help that went viral in a matter of days. Wow. The guy was smart, wealthy, and nerdy looking, but loaded.
“Whoa,” I said audibly, looking up when the guy behind me blew his horn. Inching forward, I gave him a dirty look through my mirror. It wasn’t like the guy was going very far. I may have moved three feet. I continued to read, edging my way through downtown.
Five years later, Becker Cole did it again—only this time, he wasn’t a nerdy high school boy, too tall and dangly for his body. He’d filled out quite nicely. His hair was longer with a fresh style. The braces no longer covered his white teeth, and the nerdy clothes were replaced with a white shirt, unbuttoned three buttons down. “Whoa,” I said again, letting my eyes wander down his muscular chest, stopping on what I was sure was a bulge. Yep, unquestionably a bulge.
Becker Cole was hot, tall, with a sharp, straight jawline and a distinguished look that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Like he was wiser than his young age or something. Studying the photo, I got lost in his Smurf blue eyes. There was something very scheming about him. I could read it all over his face. The way his narrowed eyes looked at me almost made me feel like I couldn’t look away. I did of course, right after Dickwad laid on his horn behind me again.
Hitting track seven, I sang aloud with The Beetles, thinking about Becker Cole and the online game. The online game made me think about the video game I used to play at Smokey’s Barbeque with my mom and dad. It was old, way out of date, but for whatever reason, my mother loved trying to keep that ball from slipping between those paddles. That’s when my dad used to laugh. I smiled, quietly singing to “Lucy in the Sky” remembering the sound of my mother’s laugh mixed with my dad’s like it was music. It was music. The two of them together, laughing, my mom always being silly, and my dad hanging onto every word that came from her mouth was a song in and of itself. Beautiful melodies.
My dad did buy me a Nintendo and then a Play Station when I got older. His gifts were always so impersonal. I know now the video game was a babysitter, a way to keep me close, but out of his way. Had there been a tournament, I’m sure I could have won the Sonic the Hedgehog title, and then the Crash Bandicoot. I was a pro. Nobody could beat me, not that anyone would ever play with me, but still.
Matt hated it, and he wasn’t even around when I was younger. He would have laid an egg if he had seen the way I used to run around with my toys strung about the office, screaming, writing on the walls, climbing on the desk, or whatever else I could find to get into. Matt would have probably beaten my ass.
My dad didn’t. He didn’t really do anything. He just let me run wild. To a point that is. I couldn’t get out of his sight, but I pretty much did what I wanted in the close proximity of him. I would have much rather him take me to Smokey’s Barbeque and let me play the stupid ball game.
I was never really allowed to do those things. My father needed me to stay close. He couldn’t handle the fact that he wasn’t there for my mother. He was afraid of the same thing happening to me. I’d say he did more harm than good, but convincing him of that was nearly impossible.
I did go to the zoo and the mall and things like that a few times with my Grandma Belle. Justine used to go with us, but that wasn’t always pleasant, either. Grandma Belle and my dad hated each other. She threatened to take him to court for her rights to see me after my mom passed. They ended up not going because my dad finally agreed.
We ran right into her, putting groceries in the trunk one day. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year because of the constant shield my father kept over me. I darted clear across the parking lot, Dad screaming my name behind me. I missed her back then as much as I do now. Grandma Belle was a lot like my mother, happy and always laughing. She saved me in a sense. It took her getting sick to do so, but nonetheless, she did.
My evening consisted of how it always did. Snowball met me at the door, so I fed him, popped some frozen chicken patty’s and tater-tots in the oven, and grabbed a shower. At least I had the game to use up some of my time. I was actually a little excited about it, or maybe I was just intrigued with learning more about Becker Cole.
Wrapping my wet body in a towel, I answered the only person who ever called my phone.
“Hey, let me dry off and get dressed. I’ll call you in a few.”
“Just get online. Let’s go to the club,” Justine coaxed.
“You know I should clean this house and I was going to cook.”
“You were going to do no such thing. You don’t even have anything to cook unless it’s frozen. Hurry up. Let’s go meet some guys.”
“It’s a game, Justine. You do remember that, right? We’re not really going to a club.”
“Wear something sexy.” Click. Justine was gone.
Rolling my eyes, I searched a laundry basket full of unfolded clean clothes for panties. Okay, the game had to wait. Not one pair. Throwing on a pair of shorts and a cami, I gathered a pile of clothes and headed to the washer. It had to be done. A lot needed to be done. The whole house was in shambles, but it’d have to wait until later. I wanted to get into this game, well pretend anyway. I planned on doing more research on the creator of Picked. I’d just pretend to pay attention to keep Justine off my back.
Stopping, I studied the television briefly. Hmm. A hotdog contraption to turn your hamburger’s into hotdogs. You know, so they would fit in a hotdog bun. I didn’t have any hotdog buns. I turned my attention back to my laundry. I still had that banana slicer that I never opened. I didn’t have any bananas. Maybe I should put buns and bananas on my grocery list, then I could order it. I studied the gadget while it was being demonstrated. They always made things look cooler than it was. Laundry basket in hand, I prevailed and continued with my task. I didn’t need that thing. Did I? It was pretty cool. Turning back one more time, I turned off the television, needing to not see the tempting object I didn’t need.
Thank god my food was done to perfection, except I was out of ranch dressing for my chicken patty. Oh, and I had to use the heels of bread to make a sandwich. I really needed to go to the store. Wondering what I did with my laptop, I carried my plate of food through my tiny two bedroom house. It couldn’t be too far, the place wasn’t that big. I found it after moving more clothes from the bed to the floor. That’s where I ate my supper.
Logging onto Picked, I looked around my apartment in Glitter City. “Wear something sexy, she says,” I said aloud, gaining a purr from Snowball curled at the foot of my bed. I chose from the rack of clothes, spinning in my make believe closet, wondering if everyone had the same clothes. I didn’t have much to choose from. Great, not only did I need to go shopping in real life, Picked was going to make me go shopping, too. I never was a shopper, I hated it. That probably came from being a forced recluse all those years. Thanks, Dad.
Choosing a pair of black leggings with a blue shirt, I headed out, walking down the sidewalk of the full-of-life city. The sidewalk was busy. Like really busy. Like you’d see in New York. There were a lot of players in this game. How would someone meet anyone in this chaotic mess?
“Go to Club Glitter,” Justine typed, finding me in the online game. It was just like any other social media site. You had to accept a friend request before you could actually talk to people, or so I presumed anyway. I wasn’t quite sure what exactly was going on just yet.
Looking at the map, I found my destination. UGH. The mus
ic was playing some sort of Dubstep. I hated Dubstep. And of course, I should have done the shopping trip first. I was so underdressed and dreaded the comments from Justine.
“How am I supposed to find you in here?” I typed back to Justine.
“I’m at the bar, talking to a hot guy from Delaware. OMG, Cass. He’s hot as hell.”
“He’s fake,” I reminded her of the fact.
“He is not. Stop thinking that way or you’re never going to find a guy.”
Of course, Justine was wearing some sort of sexy party dress. I laughed at her cleavage. Justine didn’t have breasts that big. They were a little big, just not that big.
“Really, Cass? You’re wearing that?” Justine judged.
“It’s a game.”
“You’re never going to find anyone like that. I’m ready to give up on you.”
“Yeah, well your guy is looking at someone else, better pay attention to him,” I warned, not wanting to discuss my game attire. Real life was bad enough.
I wasn’t about to get into that with her. I had other things on my agenda. At least her hot guy would distract her so I could do more research on Becker Cole. That’s what I did. I sat beside Justine on a shiny metallic stool, dropped the game window and typed the name Becker Cole.
I lost myself in everything I could find on this guy, which wasn’t much. It was like the guy didn’t exist until he created an app his senior year of high school. And then, nothing until the online dating game Picked. Becker Cole wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, and I pegged Matt to be wrong. He wasn’t partying it up, living the highlife with these girls. It was more than that. I knew it was, but why?
Lost in thought, I moved back to the game. I was right. Justine was nowhere to be found. I wondered where she went, guess I should have read more about the game. Sitting on the stool alone in the club, I looked around, feeling rejected, just like when Justine and I would go out for real. She would leave with some random guy and I would take a cab home, alone. I tried to tell her she was going to end up in an alley on Main Street, buried beneath restaurant scraps, but she never listened.
Picked Page 2
