Rock Wolf Investigations: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Right,” Titus murmured. But he filed the information in the back of his mind anyway. “I’m sorry to upset you this morning. It wasn’t my intention. Have a very nice day.”

  And with those final words, Titus Holbrook turned back around and walked back down the sidewalk toward his front door. He was going to need another shower before work. At least that’s what it felt like. Perhaps a few minutes standing in front of the air conditioning vent would change things, but he doubted it.

  “Yeah, Titus Holbrook, you might be good-looking but you are one weird dude.”

  Of course, Titus wasn’t actually meant to hear those words. That was Kylie’s whispered thought as she turned around to walk back into her own home. Titus’s incredibly acute hearing came in handy in his day-to-day work as the owner and operator of a local security firm, but he wasn’t so sure that it was all that great to have in his personal life.

  Chapter Two

  Duke Dunbar sipped coffee at his desk and enjoyed the refrigerated air. It was a typical Ozark morning in early August, which meant it was hot as hell and getting worse as the day wore on. If you couldn’t be down on the lake in a boat either fishing or enjoying a morning on water skis, then staying inside was your best bet.

  “Wolf Rock Security, how may I help you?” Caroline’s perky Monday morning voice grated on Duke’s good mood. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh—huh. Okay. Yeah. I’ll let him know.”

  Caroline put the phone down but didn’t actually write down a message or say anything. Duke was the security agent on duty this morning. She was supposed to be passing messages regarding requests for the company’s services straight to him. But instead of saying anything at all, she had gone back to typing away at her keyboard with her impossibly long, fake fingernails.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes, Duke?”

  “You realize the business is called Rock Wolf Investigations, right?” Duke said the words in a very slow, deliberate fashion. “Not Wolf Rock.”

  “Really?” Caroline did not look up from her computer screen. “That seems so silly. What sense does it make? I always think it sounds better to be Wolf Rock Security. Like Wolf Rock is a place somewhere and Mr. Holbrook owns a plot of land with a weird rock formation on it and that’s where the name comes from.”

  “It’s not,” Duke said flatly. “And honestly, I think after working here for four years, you should probably know that. Don’t you?”

  Duke watched Caroline’s expression. It was always very difficult to tell what Caroline thought about much of anything. She had been in real estate before coming to work at the security office as their all-around office girl, but Caroline had never been a very good real estate agent. Her best asset had been her poker face, and that hadn’t sold a lot of houses.

  The market in and around the Branson area and the surrounding communities on the shores of Tablerock Lake was absolutely cutthroat. The desire to have a lake house could drive people out of their minds. But they all wanted what amounted to a trailer by the sea that cost next to nothing while still managing to have a lake view and the sort of amenities you would expect in a million-dollar mansion. So, now Caroline worked at the security office deliberately forgetting the name of the firm on a regular basis just because she thought that Titus should change it.

  Duke sighed. “So, what was the message?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The message,” Duke reminded her again. “On the phone. You said that you would tell him, but you didn’t write anything down.”

  About that time the front door opened. It was seven thirty on the dot and that meant Duke was not surprised to see Silas Holbrook walking through the front doors of the office. The man was an absolute time management freak. He could micromanage his schedule down to the second if given the opportunity.

  “Morning, Duke.”

  Duke was just about to return the greeting, but Titus made a beeline for Caroline’s desk. The office wasn’t large, just a squat building on the side of Route 76 between the big turn off to the amusement park, Silver Dollar City, and the city of Branson itself. They were technically outside the city limits. There was a gravel parking lot and a big metal machine shed where they kept their equipment. The office had a wall of what was almost entirely windows that offered a view of the rolling hills and a slim finger of Tablerock Lake. The rest of the twenty by twenty room was filled with three desks and the usual mess of office supplies and equipment.

  “Caroline,” Titus began in a brusque voice. “I want you to contact a fence builder. I don’t care who it is. I want someone out to my place today, if possible.”

  “To build a fence?” Caroline looked confused. She did confused very well. It was practically her only real expression. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a perfectly made-up complexion. Caroline always looked professional. She just wasn’t exactly efficient about it. “You want someone to build a fence on your property today?”

  Titus exhaled a sigh. “No. I don’t need a fence built. There is a fence. The gate just doesn’t close or latch anymore. That means any passing dog can come into my yard and pee on my morning paper. This has to stop. Do you hear me? Get on the phone and make it stop.”

  Duke couldn’t help it, he laughed. Titus turned around and shot him a disgruntled look. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that. If you had any idea just how bad it is to have your morning paper peed on, you would not be laughing at me.”

  “I don’t think I was actually aware that they still have a morning paper,” Duke teased his boss. Titus was always so serious. Sometimes it was totally necessary to give him a hard time. “You know, a physical paper that is. Like a paper, paper. The kind of thing you pick up in your hands and read. They actually still have those?”

  “Yes!” Titus growled.

  It was strange. Duke had worked at Rock Wolf Investigations for five years—longer than Caroline and longer than any of Titus’s other employees. And yet Duke still would not have said that he actually knew his boss. Titus was a good guy. Duke knew that. He was a fair employer. He took their jobs seriously and always made sure the clients were happy. But beyond that?

  Titus Holbrook was in this mid to late thirties, give or take five years. The guy’s disheveled brown hair complemented his brown eyes. He was just over six feet with an athletic build, the kind you might attribute to a cougar instead of a lion. Titus wasn’t a huge man. Duke was taller and broader in the shoulders than Titus, yet Duke was pretty sure if the two of them tangled, Titus would come out on top.

  “I’m sorry about your paper,” Duke said on a sigh. “I’m sure it’s a real travesty to have your paper trashed by a pug.”

  Titus growled. “That woman!”

  “Is he dating someone?” Caroline wanted to know. “I didn’t realize that. I have a couple of girlfriends who keep asking me for your number, Mr. Holbrook. Should I tell them that you’re off the market?”

  Titus rolled his eyes. “By all means, tell them I’m off the market but it has nothing to do with my dating anyone.”

  Duke took a breath to speak, but the front door of the little building swung open and in walked a woman about five-foot-eleven inches tall with a slim build and a very no nonsense air about her.

  “Hello, my name is Olivia Houghton.” The woman looked expectantly at all three of them. “I phoned earlier. I’m here to meet with Titus Holbrook.”

  Titus looked blankly at Caroline. Duke only sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Caroline, is that who phoned earlier? Ms. Olivia Houghton? Is that what you were supposed to tell us?”

  “Oh. Right.” Caroline gave a small nod. “Yes. Mr. Holbrook, Ms. Houghton phoned earlier to say that she wants to discuss a problem with pickpocketing at the Riley Saunders Show.”

  “Thanks, Caroline,” Titus said wryly. He looked at Ms. Houghton. “I’m sorry for the confusion. I think I will have you speak to Duke Dunbar here. He’s the agent in charge today. You can be assured Duke is one of my most capable security officers.”


  “All right, Mr. Dunbar, then.” Olivia Houghton was already sticking her hand out to shake Duke’s hand when he managed to fumble himself out of his chair in order to greet her properly.

  “Ms. Houghton.” Duke took her slim fingers in his and hoped he wasn’t going to crush them to bits. The woman felt so fragile in his hand that he was pretty sure she was going to melt into a puddle on the floor. “It’s nice to meet you. How may we be of assistance?”

  Olivia Houghton settled herself in the chair on the other side of Duke’s desk, which he shared with another agent, but luckily neither one of them were particularly sloppy. Ms. Houghton appeared to be collecting her thoughts. She was an attractive woman in her thirties, but rail thin with short, curly black hair and deep brown eyes. It was in the back of Duke’s mind that she should have been a ballet dancer.

  “I’m the stage manager at the Riley Saunders Show,” Olivia Houghton began. “I’ve been there now for three years and I have to say that theft is just part of the business. A reality of it all, I think. And yet, in the last six months, I have seen such a drastic increase in people having their wallets or purses taken or pilfered during our shows that I’m getting really concerned. In the last three weeks, it’s gotten even worse.”

  Duke pressed his lips into a line and tried to think logically for just a moment. “You’re the stage manager but not the theater manager?”

  “Right.” She looked only mildly chagrined. “The actual manager of the Moonrise Theater on Route 76 is Harvey Lightman. Harvey won’t listen to me. He says the thefts are just part of the business and, eventually, the local police will figure out who to arrest and then some kid will get in trouble and will probably have a permanent record because of it.”

  “But you don’t think that’s correct.” Duke didn’t even have to hear her say it to know that he’d hit on the truth. “You think there’s something else going on?”

  “Definitely,” she told him with a hard nod. “It’s one thing to have a wallet lost or stolen maybe once in a month, you know? But we lost four wallets and two purses last week alone! That’s not just a little loss prevention snag. That’s a real problem. Don’t you think? I mean, come on!” Olivia Houghton was getting fired up and Duke could not say that he found her enthusiasm unattractive. She was really a rather pretty girl.

  “You’re not wrong,” Duke finally told her. He always felt as though he had to be careful when he was validating a potential client’s fears. Sometimes things didn’t turn out exactly as the client wanted and Duke could not be held responsible for that. “But I’d need to take a better look in order to really see what’s going on in your situation.”

  “Great. Yes!” Olivia said eagerly. “Tonight. Can you come by and take a look tonight? There’s a show and I almost hate to imagine how much stuff is going to go missing. At this point, I feel like we need to post signs or something to tell the general public.”

  It was an odd response, one that Duke didn’t necessarily know what to do with. “I’m not sure I would do that just yet,” he began slowly. “Sometimes it just makes people so paranoid that they stop coming to a show entirely.”

  “Oh, I know that.” She waved her hand dismissively in his direction. “I wouldn’t think of telling anyone that I think we have a group of young pickpockets hanging about our theater. It would damage the show. And honestly, there isn’t enough interest in an aging star like Riley Saunders to let us survive that kind of publicity disaster.”

  “All right. So, we need to keep this on the down low,” Duke mused. He was already thinking about a game plan. There had to be some kind of circle of pickpockets or something of the sort. It happened in big tourist traps like Branson more often than not.

  “Yes, exactly,” Olivia Houghton said eagerly. “I feel like bringing in a bunch of equipment or trying to make a big deal out of having cops on hand would be foolish.”

  Duke needed to be damned sure they weren’t stepping on any toes here. “But you did call the local police?”

  “Yes, of course. I wanted to make sure our guests weren’t in danger. You know, if a theft took place and someone spotted it and suddenly became an accessory. I wanted the police to be there in case of real trouble.”

  “All right, then I’ll have to have a chat with them. Not a big deal,” Duke assured her. He was already standing up, which was a lot like unfolding himself considering the size of his little leather chair.

  “The police?” She suddenly looked alarmed.

  Duke tried not to read too much into her abrupt reaction. “Yes. The police. Was there a particular sergeant or detective that you were working with?”

  “Sellers,” she said in a clipped voice. “But I’d prefer you don’t get them involved. I don’t want Detective Sellers to think that I’m not valuing his suggestion to increase surveillance.”

  Surveillance. Interesting. It was apparent that Olivia Houghton had already gotten an opinion from Branson PD about her problem and had been dispatched with a suggestion to beef up security in the old theater. That wasn’t really like the Branson PD. They usually took their calls a bit more seriously.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Houghton.” Duke tried to smile at Olivia Houghton to alleviate some of her anxiety, but she didn’t seem to want to be alleviated. She was more interested in making sure he didn’t make her look bad to the police. “I know Detective Sellers. I’m sure he and I can have a good chat about your issue and discuss some possible solutions to catch your pickpocket that the police might not have the manpower to execute.”

  It was a standard answer to a standard question. Why Olivia Houghton seemed determined to think this was a bad idea, Duke could not be certain. She shot to her feet and began to wring her hands. “Okay. That’s just fine. I’ll see you tonight then? I’ll leave a ticket for you under your name at the Will Call desk. The show starts at seven.”

  “Thank you.” Somehow, the idea of sitting through one of Branson’s tourist attraction comedy shows had all of the attraction of heading home to his family farm in order to inseminate an entire herd of Charolais cows. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d like to confer after the show and talk about what happened tonight, whether or not you had any reported thefts and what I saw during the performance. That sort of thing.”

  It was innocent enough, standard procedure actually, but she pressed her lips into a line and looked bothered. Finally, she nodded. “Of course. Meet me by the Will Call desk after the show and I’ll bring you backstage to have a look around.”

  With those final words, Ms. Olivia Houghton sailed out of the office and back to the Moonrise Theater, or at least, that was where Duke figured she was heading.

  “That was odd,” Titus murmured after Olivia was safely out of earshot.

  Duke turned to shrug at his boss. “It’s Branson. Who knows what kind of jack-in-the-box I’m poking my nose into.”

  “Yeah,” Titus murmured. “Keep in mind that she didn’t ask a thing about our fees or whether or not we require a contract for representation. This could all be one big hoax.”

  Duke chuffed out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m pretty bad at all that paperwork stuff.” He cut a look in Caroline’s direction. “Too bad we don’t have an office assistant to take care of that shit.”

  “Yeah,” Caroline agreed with a nod. “It’s really too bad.”

  Chapter Three

  Olivia slipped back into the Moonrise Theater through a side door that squeaked so loudly it sounded as though it hadn’t been oiled in years. Not that she should have been surprised by that; Harvey had been waiting for the old theater to go under so he could sell out to a new developer and cash in on the land. The place was ancient. One of the oldest theaters left in Branson. A sprawling dingy white building with an elaborately-styled façade that had once looked like the front of an old barn. The building behind the façade was nothing more than a squat, square structure that was falling down around its ears.

  “There you are.” Oliv
ia froze at the snide sound of Harvey’s voice. “I thought maybe you had taken my advice and gotten yourself a new job.”

  Grinding her teeth together in agitation, Olivia struggled to hang onto her composure. Harvey was a mean little man and that was it. “I told you, I’m not leaving Riley. He’s not washed up. The guy still makes people laugh and they pay him to do it. That’s all that’s required to have a successful show in this town and you know it. Families love to come to the Riley Saunders Show.”

  “Sure they do.” Harvey’s sarcasm wasn’t masked at all. The bald little man with the permanent spiteful expression on his face flounced off, leaving Olivia standing alone in the wings.

  The building was dark inside, as only the emergency lights were on in the corridors. They didn’t even try to light the cavernous space during the day. When Riley was practicing his act, he sometimes turned on stage lights, but for the most part, this place was a tomb until show time.

  Olivia crept along and tried not to think about possible serial killers waiting in the darkness. That left her scrambling for something else to think about. Something like the very unusual security guard she had just hired. The man who wasn’t supposed to be a security guard, but more of a security consultant.

  Duke Dunbar looked more like a bouncer. The man had to be at least six-foot-three inches tall. Olivia was five-eleven and she wasn’t used to men being that much taller than her. She’d spent a very long time looking down at just about every man in her life, whether he was younger or older. To have to look way up at one was a novel thing.

  And then there was the outfit. Branson was filled with people that Harvey often referred to as a hillbilly. Somehow, Duke Dunbar came off more cowboy than hill country. But he didn’t look Western-fake either. Not like the country and western singers in their tooled leather boots and bling encrusted jeans. Duke had been wearing a very plain white T-shirt with the Rock Wolf Investigations logo on the back. His jeans were worn in the seat and on the inseams as though he’d actually been on a horse a time or two in his life. His boots were comfortably worn leather and had appeared to be brown instead of some elaborate combination of colors involving flames or flags or some other machine-tooled monstrosity.