Undercover Tales

by Blayne Cooper

  The Poppenhouses’ features were so similar they could have been brother and sister except for one thing. His bronze skin was several shades lighter than his wife’s and hinted at a partial European heritage and the likely source of their rather unusual last name.

  “The man at the other agency was right, Kale,” Mrs. Poppenhouse enthused. Her smile was blinding. “Look at her freckles and that tan! She’ll be perfect.”

  “The suit and the glasses are wrong though,” he commented sourly, appraising me as though I was available for purchase. Which, in a way, I guess I was. “And the hair could be a little trendier.”

  Lokelani nodded and waved a large hand in the air in front of her. “All easily corrected.”

  I frowned. What did my freckles have to do with anything? Unconsciously, my hand went to my head. And sure as shit nobody was going to touch my hair. I cleared my throat softly and tried to move things along. “I spoke with Mr. Wilkens on the phone on Monday. He indicated that you might be in need of my services?” This is where I usually stop talking and let the client pick up the ball and run. But instead of pouring out their guts, Mr. and Mrs. Poppenhouse suddenly clammed up, looking very uncomfortable.

  My curiosity was piqued. I could smell a good case like a dog could smell a juicy bone. I actually started to salivate and I subtly swallowed before gentling my voice. “I can’t help you unless I know what you need. I can, however, assure you that I’m good at what I do and I’m very discreet. I can probably help if you’ll give me the chance.”

  I wasn’t kidding. Even though I’m not as busy as the detectives in the big agencies, I was slowly, very slowly, building a solid reputation as a quality private investigator. Most of my cases nowadays are referrals from previous clients or from other detectives who are either too busy to take on a certain case or unsuited for something the job would require.

  What I said must have made Mr. Poppenhouse feel better, because he licked his thick lips, his deep voice filling the room as he said, “We are a very traditional family, Ms. Blaisdell.”

  I inclined my head as I listened.

  “Our daughter Keilana is a student at Madonna Del Mar College in Santa Medina. And she ... she is ...” he hesitated and his wife quickly moved to fill the void.

  “She is not traditional.” Mrs. Poppenhouse sighed. “In fact, she’s rather spirited.” Then she stopped as though that explained everything. I grunted encouragingly, but found it a little hard to begrudge a college kid for wanting to kick up her heels a little.

  “Keilana’s had a rather difficult life in some respects,” Mrs. Poppenhouse continued reluctantly. “She’s always lived in a world of privilege, reveled in it, really. But that hasn’t kept her from facing her share of discrimination. Hawaii can be a very enlightened environment.” Her heavy brows furrowed. “But I’m afraid that even paradise isn’t immune to racial prejudice. It hasn’t been easy being our daughter.” There was real worry in her voice and it caused my stomach to lurch. Being a parent must be hell sometimes.

  “So you think she’s in trouble?” I wondered aloud.

  “We think so,” Mr. Poppenhouse said firmly, his gaze sharpening as his eyes locked on mine. “She’s not the same girl that left Oahu three years ago. Her grades have dropped. She never calls home. And she broke her engagement to one of Hawaii’s most eligible bachelors last Christmas.” His expression darkened. “That was stupid, not to mention bad for business. His family owns half the pineapple farms on Lanai.”

  Without my permission, my eyebrows lifted. His daughter had broken her engagement and his biggest concern is business? Not nice. Not nice at all.

  Mrs. Poppenhouse’s lips edged downward. “Keilana uses every bit of her substantial cash allowance, but doesn’t seem to have anything to show for it. To make matters more frustrating, she won’t use the credit cards we’ve given her so we have no record of what she buys. She never travels anymore and she didn’t even come home this summer. She said she wanted to stay here and work instead.”

  “Could she be pregnant?” I had no doubt that Keilana was every bit the mountain of a woman her mother was. But let’s be honest, college is nothing if not full of willing explorers.

  Mr. Poppenhouse’s eyes flashed dangerously and I dropped that line of questioning like a hot rock. I wanted to live.

  “Alcohol or drugs?” I inquired carefully, crossing my fingers that Lokelani wouldn’t decide to crush me like a bug for suggesting the mere possibility. No parent liked to think about it, but I’ve seen enough families destroyed by drugs to know it was never something I could ignore. Surprisingly, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Poppenhouse’s expression changed with my question.

  “We’ve had a spot ready for her at Betty Ford for the past year,” Mr. Poppenhouse said. He steepled his thick fingers. “Should she need it, of course.”

  I could hear the impatience in his voice that he was trying so hard to hide. He and his wife almost looked as though they hoped that narcotics or booze was Keilana’s problem. I supposed that such a revelation might not rock their world the way something else could. Keilana wouldn’t be the first poor little rich girl whose experimentation had gotten her into more trouble than she could handle.

  “Her behavior toward us has gone from respectful to indifferent in the course of a year. Her actions, what little I know of them, seem erratic. But technically we don’t know that she’s abusing drugs or alcohol,” Mrs. Poppenhouse added, her gaze sliding sideways to her husband.

  “Of course,” I said soothingly. Yeah, right.

  She wrung her hands. “There’s more.” She glanced down. “She might be ... well ...”

  I leaned forward even further in my chair and felt my pulse jump. We were about to get to something juicy. God, I love my job.

  “She might be involved in some sort of criminal activity. Gambling maybe. Or selling drugs if not using them,” Mr. Poppenhouse ground out, finishing his wife’s sentence with ease. Then he sneered. “Or worse, she might be involved with some mainlander scum who’s after her money.” He slammed his fist down on my desk and I did my best not to wet myself in surprise. When would I learn not to drink a 44 -ounce Diet Mountain Dew minutes before a client meeting? “Why else would she go to the places she goes?”

  The way he said “mainlander” made me bristle. I was one, after all, and I was really beginning to think that Daddy was an asshole. But he was a rich asshole and I didn’t want to screw up this job. The recession has been hell on the private investigation industry. Still, I needed to know as many of the facts as I could before I would agree to take the case. Picking my own jobs was one of the biggest perks of being self-employed. I was never one for schlepping to some stuffy office where they had a dress code, performance evaluations, and fancy water coolers. Okay, I admit it. A water cooler would be totally cool. But that fact aside, my little business suits me just fine. It allows me to head to the beach when the surfing is primo and really enjoy life.

  “What makes you think that she’s involved with anything more sinister than outgrowing her parents?” I asked, forcing my mind back to business.

  He shifted in his chair, his face a mixture of unease and embarrassment. “We hired an investigator to follow Keilana early this summer when she refused to come home on her school break. He told us that she was spending a lot of time with some unsavory types in and around some of San Diego’s worst neighborhoods. Once she even went to a strip—” he glanced sideways and seemed to stumble over his words before he hit upon—“gentlemen’s club.” His wife patted his beefy arm and he placed his hand on hers. “But Keilana somehow found out that he was following her and he wasn’t able to provide us with any other information after that. She hasn’t spoken to us since.”

  My brow creased as the wheels in my head spun. They must have guessed what I was thinking.

  Mr. Poppenhouse said, “The investigator we hired was Russ Wilkens.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed noncommittally and tried not to show my surprise. Somehow I had trouble
believing that some kid had spotted Russ spying on her. He was good at what he did and I couldn’t help but ask, “And after that you still took his recommendation to come and speak with me?”

  “It’s not his fault,” Mrs. Poppenhouse assured me. “Keilana is very, very smart. And she’s not going to be easy to fool after our earlier mishap. That’s why we waited several months before contacting you. We want to escalate things and you’ll blend in with her surroundings in a way that Mr. Wilkens never could.”

  Ah ... They wanted me to tail Keilana. No problem. I had practically turned being a Peeping Tom into a new art form.

  Mrs. Poppenhouse smiled a little. “We need a woman for the job.”

  They had really thought this through. And I couldn’t help but think they were right. Even in this day and age, and despite the occasional Sue Grafton novel or Charlie’s Angels flick, there aren’t very many female private investigators. The kid would probably expect a private detective to wear cheap suits and smoke cigars. Come to think of it, that did describe Russ when he wasn’t wearing a short wetsuit. What the hell was I thinking when I’d slept with him?

  “So you’d like me to follow her?” I crossed my arms over my chest, already counting my easy money. The first thing I was going to buy was a water cooler. Then a new wetsuit. Then a bigger bed. Then ... “I can do that.”

  “We don’t want you to merely follow her.” Mr. Poppenhouse tugged a fat checkbook from his inside suit coat pocket. “We want you to move in with our daughter, find out what’s going on with her and why, then report back to us.”

  My eyebrows crawled up my forehead, getting higher and higher as he spoke.

  “If she’s seeing someone,” he growled, “break them up. I want her to graduate and I want to bring her back into the fold still speaking to me. I have no more patience for this nonsense.”

  “What?” I sputtered, truly insulted. Yeah, I could use the work. But what the Poppenhouses wanted was bullshit. I didn’t do things like that. My hands balled into fists and I forced myself to lay them calmly on my desk. I knew, however, that I couldn’t get the spark from my eyes. “I don’t move in with the people I’m spying on. And I don’t break people’s relationships. I watch and take notes. I take pictures and do a damn nice report of what I find out. I ask questions and I dig and I ask more questions. But that’s all I do.” There. Crystal clear.

  Spying was one thing, but tricking some girl and then breaking her heart was just disgusting. “California is full of unemployed actors, Mr. and Mrs. Poppenhouse. Maybe one of them will be able to help you.” I was steaming and I wanted to kick Russ in the balls. I’d been so excited about what he said was a “big” job and then the client had to go and make things complicated. Dammit. There went my water cooler.

  Mrs. Poppenhouse cocked her head to the side. “What we’re asking isn’t illegal, is it?”

  I let out a long breath. “No, I guess it isn’t.” Illegal, no. Immoral, oh yeah. Okay, I could be a grown up. I could let them down gently. I’d get my satisfaction from cracking one of Russ’s nuts instead. “I’m sorry to say that I don’t do the type of work you require.” I did my best to smile politely. “Anyway, I’d never pass for some college kid.” Uh-oh. I knew that was a lie before I’d even finished saying it. And, apparently, so did the Poppenhouses. They didn’t even dignify my statement with a reply.

  Why were they still in my office? They looked so unmoved by what I’d just said, that I tried again. “Won’t Keilana be suspicious if I just show up and move in with her? You said she was smart.” That’s it. Sucking up never hurts. They might have something decent for me to do in the future.

  Mr. Poppenhouse snorted. “I’m paying you to make sure that she won’t. Besides, I’ve never done business directly with a woman. She knows I don’t believe in it and that should keep her from suspecting you.”

  My gaze sharpened and he held up a forestalling hand.

  “I told you, Ms. Blaisdell, our family is very traditional. We do business in the traditional way and I’m not ashamed that I believe that men and women have very distinct roles. In this one instance, however, I’ve allowed Russ Wilkens and my wife to convince me that extraordinary measures are required. I’m not above admitting that women do have their uses.”

  My nostrils flared. There went Russ’s other nut.

  Either unaware or unconcerned that he’d been so insulting, Mr. Poppenhouse said, “Luckily, Keilana’s roommate Pamela was awarded an unexpected scholarship to a college all the way on the east coast. She won’t be coming back to campus housing next week and Keilana will need a new roommate.”

  The way he said that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I got the distinct impression that the timing of Pamela’s out-of-state scholarship wasn’t just good luck. This was a powerful, no, make that ruthless, man.

  “We offered to set her up in an apartment, but she wanted to be like the other students,” Mrs. Poppenhouse said, clearly embarrassed. “There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose, and we’ve made sure to make her dorm room as comfortable as possible.”

  I didn’t like the way she was so quick to explain away her daughter’s pedestrian living accommodations. Some people can’t afford college at all, much less the dorms or a fancy private school. Snobs.

  Mr. Poppenhouse pulled out a pen and began scribbling on a check. “Keilana will graduate at the end of fall semester and I’m afraid that what little influence we still have over her will disappear then. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand a week plus expenses, including your tuition and room and board, etc., etc.”

  My mouth dropped open and stayed that way so long my tongue began to feel dry. If there had been a breeze in the room, my own jaw would have swung up and given me a black eye.

  His intense stare went even more serious. “And I’ll do it for how ever long it takes. But I expect results,” he warned.

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t want this job. I didn’t want to screw with some enormous kid’s life. But ten-fucking-thousand a week was huge!

  “Ms. Blaisdell, do we have a deal?” Tantalizingly, he held out the check and I detected the faint scent of wet ink.

  I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. And I sure as hell couldn’t see. I was blinded by the dancing dollar signs flashing behind my eyes. I was only vaguely aware of the Poppenhouses gazing at each other with something that approached concern.

  “Ms. Blaisdell?”

  Mrs. Poppenhouse was talking now and I sucked in a deep breath of air as I struggled to compose myself. Either the dollar signs were starting to get all sparkly or I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen. “Yes?” I managed to say.

  She smiled. “You’ll have no trouble passing for a student. Several of Keilana’s friends had that dazed look you’re wearing all through high school.”

  “I umm ...” I finally shook myself out of my stupor and nibbled on my lower lip. Could my dignity really be rented out for ten large a week? What if Keilana really was in the clutches of some mainlander scum who only wanted her for her money? Getting her to dump him would really be helping her, right? I visibly cringed at the mental gymnastics I was forcing myself through to justify this job.

  “Let’s take her car shopping too, Lokelani,” Mr. Poppenhouse said. “She needs to look like her family can afford Madonna Del Mar College.” He seemed to realize what he said and was quick to add, “No offense. I’m sure your car is very nice.”

  I held in a whimper. I drove an old Mustang convertible. And not a cool one either. A rusty, junky one. This was just too much. Weakly, I made one last bid for my self-respect. “I’m sorry, but I’ll never get accepted into your daughter’s college.” There. I said it. I hadn’t even made it through a year of junior college myself before my sucky grades and lack of money forced me to drop out and go to work full time.

  “That’s not a problem.” Mrs. Poppenhouse pulled a piece of paper from her purse.

  I took the paper and read it with stunned eyes. It
was my college acceptance. The admissions office even admitted me under a quasi-alias, which just so happened to be my middle name. It seemed that the Poppenhouses had, indeed, thought of everything.

  The Poppenhouses exchanged smug smiles. I was hooked and they knew it. “Now,” Mrs. Poppenhouse said. “About your clothes and those glasses...”

  yx

  “Maybe they’ll add amber streaks to your hair. That would bring out the honey-colored undertones in your eyes.”

  I stopped walking and stared at Russ. “ What?”

  He sniffed and gave me a superior look. “I saw that on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.”

  “Queer what for the what? Christ, Russ, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s a show where gay guys makeover a straight guy.”

  I sighed and started walking again. I was an avid late night television watcher, but I tried to restrict my viewing to shows that weren’t utter crap. That left out nearly everything Russ watched. “Your wife has turned you gay.”

  “She has not!” he spluttered, his face turning a splotchy red.

  Russ was the straightest man on the planet, but I still liked teasing him. “Uh-huh.”

  Russ and I are friends now, but once upon a time, we were lovers. I guess you could say we share a tempestuous history. Our affair was short and hot and we parted as friends when it became clear that neither of us had made a true love connection. At least that’s what we told our mutual friends. And that’s mostly true. But the other part of the truth is that Russ cheated on me with a waitress from the Clam Shack. During one of our dates.

  Oddly enough, though, that wasn’t the part about the date that freaked me out. What really got my head spinning was the realization that I lusted after our waitress every bit as much as Russ did. Maybe more. That night opened my eyes to a whole new world. But I felt as though Russ had kicked me in the teeth. For now, it’s enough to know that when it comes to Russ and me, all’s well that ends well. We worked things out later. I honestly think he looks more rugged with that chipped front tooth.