Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set

by Jamie Lee Scott

Charles washed out his cup and placed it in the sink. “It’s not a case, but it’ll be fun. I’ve never had the opportunity to delve into the world of drugs and dealers. I could learn something.”

  Nick put his hand up. “I’m not hearing this. I want nothing to do with it. I’m out.”

  Charles said, “What are you? ‘I’m out.’ You think we’re on Shark Tank?”

  Nick looked puzzled.

  I said, “It’s a TV show, never mind him.”

  Charles walked out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder he said, “This is going to be a hoot.”

  It was my turn to look puzzled. “A hoot?”

  Then I heard him yell, “Cortnie, get in here. I need your help.”

  Nick kissed me on the lips this time. “I really don’t want to you get caught up in this. Drugs, and the people involved, can be very dangerous. Promise me?”

  I shook my head. “No promises on that. I want to know why Alyssa hired me to watch that house blow up. I do promise I’ll be careful.”

  Nick’s face turned to stone, and he left without saying another word.

  I stood in the kitchen, looking at the back door, wondering if I’d just messed up the best thing in my life at the moment. Surely Nick wouldn’t dump me over this. My heart flipped in my chest. Right?

  I barely had a chance to ponder the question when my cell phone rang. It was Charles.

  I answered. “What?”

  “I need you in my office.”

  “So why didn’t you just yell?”

  “I didn’t want to do that with Cortnie in the room. It would be rude.”

  “Whatever.” I walked to his office.

  Charles swung around in his chair when I walked in. “This Jeff guy is a doozy.”

  As much as I wanted to resist, I couldn’t. Charles turned back to his computer and clicked a few keys. I peered over his shoulder, and Cortnie sat on the edge of his desk.

  What a sheet! His long list of offenses filled the state criminal court records page. Charles had to scroll down the page to show it all.

  He pointed to the screen. “Speeding, seat belt, small claims from a former landlord…”

  I looked at the amount. The landlord was suing for six thousand dollars.

  “Another small claims, make that several more…dentists, electric company, another landlord, another dentist…ha, and even his lawyer.”

  Cortnie picked at her fingernails and said, “What a deadbeat.”

  Charles scrolled down a bit more. “Here’s the good stuff.”

  I looked closer. “What a loser.”

  “I count at least three charges for theft or larceny.” Charles fired up the other computer on his desk. “Hold on, let me check something else.”

  I read down the list of criminal charges as Charles typed away on the other computer.

  “Look at this.” He pointed to Jeff’s employment record.

  Cortnie asked, “What kind of loser can’t keep a job longer than a year? I mean he’s got to be at least thirty, right? Talk about white trash.”

  Charles had his left finger pointing at one screen, and his right on the other. “The dumbass was stealing from his employers. Look at this.”

  I looked, and shook my head. “What an idiot.”

  Charles laughed and said, “What a meth.”

  We all giggled.

  “What about the drug charges?” Cortnie stopped with her nails, now that it was more interesting.

  Charles scrolled and clicked, then said, “Nothing. It’s not here. The dipshit ratted someone out to get his charges dropped. Nick was right.”

  “How do we find out who he was snitching on?” My first thought was to have a chat with Jeff’s mom, but I didn’t know if she’d even talk to us.

  Charles jumped up from his chair. “Let’s go talk to Mrs. King.”

  Great minds…

  71

  Cortnie had a knack for reading our minds. She reached inside her silk blouse and pulled a piece of folded binder paper from her bra.

  “We have binder paper in this office?” Charles looked stunned.

  “Jeff’s mom’s address.” She handed the paper to me. “You’re welcome.” And she walked out of the office.

  Charles and I looked at each other, and nearly mowed each other down as we raced out of the office.

  We hopped in Charles’s Porsche Spyder and headed to see Jeff’s mom.

  “I don’t believe that you are interested in this because of the drug aspect of it all.” I yelled over the MP3 of Mumford and Sons that Charles was blasting.

  He reached over and lowered the volume. “I’m more interested in why that clapstain got us involved in the first place.”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure you saw her go into the house?”

  I sighed. “Yes, she wasn’t in that house more than a few minutes before it blew. But if it was planned, she could have gone straight through the house and out the back, if there was even a back door to go out.”

  Charles turned the music off. “You think she could have had time to go out a window?”

  “Maybe.” I shook my head. “Why would she leave her kids like that?”

  Charles looked at me wide eyed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  I wasn’t kidding, but I didn’t answer his question.

  “She’s a druggy. She’s more interested in where she’s going to get her next fix than anything that has to do with her kids.”

  I didn’t see it that way. I saw her with the girls, and I thought she looked like she loved them. Admittedly, I can’t begin to know the world of a drug addict, but I do know about addicts in general, and they don’t care about anything more than they care about themselves.

  * * *

  Mrs. King’s house was in an old area of Salinas that we called Boronda. Off of Boronda Road, there were structures that could barely be classified as houses.

  We parked in front of an off-white house that looked no bigger than a garage. The front door had bars where normally a person would have a screen door, and the yard was mostly dirt. The only flowers in the yard were faded plastic pink tulips.

  Charles hesitated. “Maybe we should go back and get your car.”

  “Oh, please, you have insurance.”

  “Insurance has nothing to do with it. I love my car the way it is. I don’t want a new car.” He patted the dashboard lovingly.

  “Maybe we can just stay on the porch. Beg out if she asks us in.”

  “Like she’s going to ask us in. Pfft.” Charles dragged himself from the driver’s seat and set the alarm as soon as I got out and closed the passenger door.

  The cricket chirp of the alarm seemed out of place in the dilapidated neighborhood. I looked around to see if anyone was outside to notice. Not a soul to be seen. It was almost eerie.

  I stepped off to the side as Charles knocked on the iron bars of the door.

  The size of the house couldn’t have been more than seven hundred square feet. I guessed it had maybe one bedroom, but I’d never get to find out, since the woman who answered the door had no intention of unbolting the iron gate.

  The front door opened, and a plump woman of about fifty stood with her hand on the door jam. She had short cropped, dirty gray hair, with wires of white hair mixed in. Her leathery skin looked tired and sallow. I looked away from her face almost immediately, because her creamy white left eye gave me chills.

  “What?” she screeched.

  Charles turned on his thousand watt smile. “Mrs. King?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Great, I thought. She’s a gem.

  “I’m Charles Parks, and I was hired by your daughter-in-law, Alyssa.”

  She softened a little. “What do you want?”

  “Actually, she hired me, Mrs. King,” I said. “I was at your son’s house when it exploded.”

  She made no attempt to open the gate or be friendly. “And?”

  Charles’s charm had no affect on her roach like exterior, but I
’ve got to give him credit for trying. “We just want to talk to you about Jeff’s upcoming court case.”

  She started to close the door. “Jeff ain’t going to no court. He’s dead.”

  I moved in a bit closer to the gate. “Yes, I was there. I know he’s dead, and I wanted to give you my condolences. We just needed to know where to return the five hundred dollars Alyssa gave us, since there is nothing to investigate now that they are gone.”

  Mrs. King brightened. “Five hundred?”

  Charles glowered at me. “We need to know a few things before we can refund the money.”

  “Like what?” She stood full in the door now, and I could see she wore brown polyester pants, the kind with a stretch waistband, and a threadbare pink cotton blouse. It was so thin I could see her fat rolls through the fabric.

  “Can you tell us what had Jeff so scared?”

  There was a look of anticipation on her face. I jumped back when she came at the gate, but all she was doing was unlocking the bolt.

  She opened the gate and stepped onto the porch. Her feet were bare, and I could see the remnants of a long faded pedicure.

  “I guess it won’t do no harm now that he’s dead. It’s crazy, is all.”

  I smiled my most genuine fake smile, and turned my head to take a breath. Even with the outdoor air, I could smell her rancid coffee and cigarette breath.

  She closed the gate and leaned against it. “This guy he was friends with, Gus somebody, he was busted for possession, and poor Jeff was in the car.”

  Oh. My. God. This woman had no idea. She thought her son was innocent.

  “Really?” Charles cooed.

  “You see, Jeff was trying to help this guy get clean, and then before he knew it, Gus was at a dealer’s house and he dragged Jeff in with him.” She sucked snot down her throat and swallowed. “Jeff got scared and he started the recorder on his cell, so he wouldn’t be mistaked as a buyer. He was just along for the ride.”

  “That’s terrible when a so-called friend does that to a person.” I choked back a chuckle at Charles’s words.

  “I know.” She was appalled. “Jeff felt compelled to turn the tape into the police when they had been pulled over for a crack in their windshield, and the police dog sniffed the car.”

  “So Jeff was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?” I asked.

  She looked me in the eye, and I tried to hold the look. “Yes, exactly.”

  “I see,” Charles smirked.

  “Worst part is the dealer was a friend of Jeff’s from elementary school. Buddy Jax.”

  Looking concerned, Charles said, “Buddy…how do you spell his last name?”

  “I don’t know, it’s Jax, like Jack, you know.” She was flustered. “Jeff was nervous about the court date. He’d never had to go to court in his life, so this was scary for him.” She shook her head. “But now it’s all over. Jeff won’t have to rat out his old friend.”

  We sort of got what we came for, but I wasn’t sure if Charles wanted more.

  “Mrs. King, I’m sorry for your loss. But I was wondering, do you know what will happen to Jeff and Alyssa’s girls? Will they stay with Alyssa’s mom?”

  She laughed, and I could see her fat rolling and shaking under the material of her shirt. “You don’t know nothing, do you?”

  Charles looked at her with his brows raised.

  “Where’s my five bills?” she asked.

  “We’ll have to do the paperwork and get back to you,” I said.

  She turned around and walked back into the house. “I think it’s time you go. My husband will be waking from his nap, and he don’t like visitors.” She shut the door, then cracked it back open. “I’ll take a cashier’s check.”

  Charles and I looked at each other before walking back to the Spyder.

  “That was weird.”

  I nodded.

  “What now?” He asked.

  Before we got in the car, Charles’ phone rang. He answered and said, “Hold on a second.”

  We got in the car and he put the phone on Bluetooth speaker. “Okay, start over.”

  Cortnie’s voice sounded rushed, as if she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  “This is no small time drug dealer your friend Jeff ratted out.”

  I huffed. “He’s not my friend, I never met him.”

  I could hear her fingers hitting the keys on her keyboard. “I’m looking at one serious rap sheet.” She clicked some more. “He’s got a legit job as a cashier at a convenience store, but he only works part time. Common-law wife with two kids. Both kids are under the age of five. The wife doesn’t have a job, and somehow they make a living with his minimum wage, part-time job.”

  Charles interrupted, “It’s called government assistance.”

  Cortnie laughed. “They are certainly getting government assistance. Title Nineteen, food stamps, energy bill assistance, and more, but here’s the rub: they live in a fairly nice neighborhood.”

  Never having been the recipient of government assistance, I wondered what was considered a nice neighborhood, and would the government care what their address was? “Does the government assist with the rent?”

  “I can guarantee you they wouldn’t be subsidizing this house. It’s in the Montecito Estates area, and not on the wrong side of West Alisal.”

  “Maybe the house belongs to a family member, and they’re renting it cheap.” Charles offered.

  “Checked that, too. If they are related to the homeowners, it’s a distant relationship. This guy’s family is from Eureka, California, and it looks like most of his immediate family still lives there.” Cortnie had been a busy girl.

  “Speaking of which, what is this guy’s name?” I asked, not sure why it didn’t occur to me to ask earlier.

  “Robert Jackson, according to court documents. But he also goes by Buddy, or Jax. Mostly I see him referred to as Jax.” This time I heard her flipping pages, not clicking on the computer.

  “J A C K S?”

  “No, J A X,” she corrected me.

  “Did you get the court documents?” Charles started his car, wanting to get out of the neighborhood. No matter how interesting Cortnie’s call was, it wasn’t interesting enough for him to risk his precious Spyder.

  “I’ve got the court date, too. Interesting to note, it’s next Tuesday. Also interesting is that Alyssa and Jeff had been meeting with the Victim/Witness advocate for the county, and as of two weeks ago they stopped showing up for their appointments.”

  I didn’t know what their absence from the meetings indicated, but I figure it coincided with the fact that Jeff had decided he wasn’t going to testify. I was playing a hunch, since he and his wife might very well be dead. Then again, maybe someone else decided he wasn’t going to testify.

  “What about any other records for Jeff and Alyssa King?”

  Charles frowned at me. “I was working on that.”

  Cortnie assured him. “It’s all yours. I’ve uploaded the file on Robert Jackson, and you both have it on your computers. Do you want me to email it to you so you can look from your phone?”

  Charles whipped the Spyder in a tight u-turn and said, “We’re on our way back to the office. I’ll look at it there.”

  “One more question,” I said.

  “Shoot.”

  “What are the chances of this guy talking to us? Is he in jail?” Not that I wanted to associate with his kind, but what the heck, we could get to the bottom of this in a hurry if he had loose lips.

  “Not in jail. But he’s working the night shift at the convenience store. You could visit him there.”

  I thought about the repercussions. “No, I’d hate to have him lose his job.”

  “It’s not like he needs the job. He’s obviously making plenty in his other profession, or he has a very generous benefactor.” Cortnie reminded me.

  “Maybe we’ll catch him at home. I could stake out his place.”

  “You could.” Cortnie said. Then she s
aid, “Oh, shit, I gotta go.”

  Charles asked, “What?”

  There was a sharp change in her demeanor.

  Then she whispered, “You may not want to come back quite yet.” And she disconnected.

  72

  Cortnie was holding court with two men and a woman when Charles and I walked in the back door of the office. The three were sitting at the kitchen table, and Cortnie, dressed in a lovely floral sheath, and red ballet flats, stood leaning against the counter, holding a large glass of iced tea.

  The people at the table wore suits, not expensive suits, but not cheap, either. And navy seemed to be the preferred color, though in different shades.

  When Charles and I came through the door, the oldest of the three, a man in his fifties, moved his suit coat to expose his shoulder holster and massive sidearm. When he stood, he also offered his badge.

  Charles reached in front of me and grabbed it. "D.E.A.?"

  Fiftyish guy said, "Special Agent Luke Fisher." He pointed to the woman first, "This is Helen Burrman, and Michael Julien."

  Helen, thirtyish, wore a masculine looking navy suit, and when she stood to shake our hands, I guessed her to be close to six feet tall. She was plain, with mousy brown hair, and a dull smile.

  Michael had the build of a college football player on steroids, and he stood about five-seven. His suit fit a bit on the tight side, as if he was trying to say, "See my muscles?" and his pockmarked skin told of the possibility of actual steroid use. He at least had a genuine beaming smile.

  "What can we do for you?" Charles got right down to business.

  I could tell he wasn't happy to see these people in our building.

  Fisher looked at me. "We're here to talk to Mimi Capurro about her interaction with Alyssa and Jeff King."

  "What do you want to know?"

  Michael took over. "Why were you harassing Alyssa in the week before the explosion?"

  Heads turned as Cortnie, Charles and I exchanged looks. Charles grinned as if to say, "I told you so."

  "I'm sorry, I don't understand." I wasn't about to give them any more information than they specifically requested.

  "What don't you understand? The part about harassing, or the explosion?" Helen turned out to be bad cop.