D is for Drunk

by Rebecca Cantrell

“Horseflesh?” Sofia said, as soon as she was sure he couldn’t hear her anymore.

  Tex pulled the towel closer around Sofia and rubbed her arms. “I have a Thermos full of hot tea over by my chair.”

  Sofia suddenly realized how cold she was, and how much she wanted to sit down.

  Tex led her to a wooden cabana chair, sat her down, and poured her a Thermos-cap full of green tea. The cup shook in her hands.

  “It’s the adrenalin,” Tex said.

  “And the cold.” She took a sip of scalding tea.

  “Jaxon Ford could warm a woman right up.”

  Sofia wasn’t going to argue with that.

  “That’s the kind of thing that makes me want to take up swimming again,” Tex said. “Salvage. You get to keep whatever you recover on the high seas, you know.”

  CHAPTER 3

  L ess than an hour later, Sofia pulled out onto the PCH and her red Tesla joined the traffic crawling along the highway. She turned on the car’s heater full blast. That was the last time she was going swimming without a wetsuit. But the thought that, because of her swim, Jaxon and his wide-open smile were still around made it all worth it.

  When she turned into the parking lot, she checked her watch. Still on time. A yellow Porsche and a black Lincoln Town Car sat alone in the parking lot. Not a good sign. Business had been slow at the detective agency lately, and it hadn’t picked up this morning. The Town Car belonged to the owner of the agency, Brendan Maloney, a former Los Angeles police detective and consultant to the TV show Sofia had spent most of her childhood working on, The Half-Pint Detective. The Porsche belonged to his son, also a former Los Angeles police officer, and Sofia’s partner at the agency. He lived to drive her crazy.

  “You’re tardy,” Aidan said as soon as she walked in.

  “It’s thirty seconds past nine.” She made a beeline for the coffee machine. “That’s perfectly on time.”

  “Thirty seconds is a long time.” He wandered into the kitchen after her. “Ask a trapeze artist.”

  “Any new work?” She poured herself a coffee and took a quick sip. Aidan made good coffee, but she’d never tell him.

  “How was your morning?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Why?” Something was up.

  “You have a certain glow about you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rosy cheeks,” he said. “Star-struck eyes.”

  “I went swimming this morning before I came in.” She took a longer sip of the coffee. Coffee was the elixir of the gods.

  “In the freezing cold Pacific? With the undertow?” Apparently, Aidan wasn’t a water person. “And the pollution?”

  “I made it out alive,” she said. “And I pulled someone out with me.”

  “Do tell.” Aidan’s blue eyes sharpened, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.

  “A surfer guy named Jaxon Ford.”

  “Action Jaxon,” he said. “Doesn’t sound like the name of a guy who’d need rescuing.”

  “He got hit in the head by his board.”

  “Not good at the whole action thing then?”

  “He’s probably plenty good at it. He’s a horseback rider in that show, The Riders of Randorin. And he owns a ranch.” She wasn’t sure why she was defending Jaxon to Aidan, so she decided to change the subject. “What are we supposed to be doing this morning?”

  “I brought some locks in for you to practice on.” He pointed to a pair of handcuffs sitting on her desk next to a package of bobby pins.

  “Ooo! Lock picking!” She raced across the office to her desk. He had been promising to teach her to pick locks for a while now. She ran her finger across the handcuffs. “How do I start?”

  “Don’t make so much noise. We don’t want Brendan to hear.”

  She had often wondered where Brendan came down on lock picking. She guessed on the law and order side. Not Aidan, though. She’d watched him pick locks before, and he was too good at it not to have had a lot of practice.

  “Let’s start with the handcuffs.” Aidan gave her one of his trademark Irish smiles, all dimples and insincerity. “Hold out your wrists.”

  She hid her wrists behind her back. “I’m not letting you handcuff me.”

  “It only makes sense to practice in real world conditions.”

  She wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he had her handcuffed, but she sure wasn’t going to find out. “I’ll practice with them on the table the first time.”

  “Always so suspicious.” He locked the handcuffs and handed her a bobby pin. “This is what’s called a single lock handcuff. You’ll start with that.”

  “This is what’s called a bobby pin, not a lock pick.”

  “Strip off the rubber part, then bend the end to a 45 degree angle,” he said.

  “Do we have pliers or something?”

  “Are you going to have pliers sitting around if you’re ever handcuffed?”

  Was she going to have a bobby pin around either? She resolved to start carrying an emergency bobby pin in her wallet. She stuck the bobby pin in her mouth and stripped off the rubber tip with her teeth. She hoped Aidan hadn’t spit on it or something. She spat the rubber into her hand and scraped it into her garbage can.

  “Ladylike,” Aidan said.

  She ignored him and put the bobby pin back in her mouth. She bent the metal against her teeth, hearing her mother’s voice in her head telling her to be good to her teeth, because they might have to last a hundred years. It looked like a forty-five degree angle, but it wasn’t as if she had a protractor lying around to measure it.

  “You’re going to want to insert that into the keyhole and wriggle it around until you feel it catch against a little lever thing in there, then push in the direction the cuff locked in and it’ll pop right open.” He reeled off all the steps as if it would be easy.

  She slipped the bobby pin into the keyhole and stirred around inside the lock, hoping she’d luck into it. She didn’t. Not as easy as Aidan made it sound.

  “It’s all about the wrists,” he said. “Finesse not force.”

  “Considering your dating life, you probably have a lot of finesse in your wrists.” The end of the bobby pin caught on something.

  “My dating life?” Aidan snorted. “You’re the one who’s dating The Village People.”

  The bobby pin slipped off the lever, and she tried to reset it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He held up one finger. “You started with the bartender, right? Felipe Rose from the Village People was a bartender.”

  “Which one was he?”

  “The one with the headdress. So, that’s your first Village person.”

  She decided to ignore him and concentrate on her lock.

  Aidan held up a second finger. “And now you’re dating the cowboy.”

  “For a straight guy, you’re awfully familiar with the Village People.”

  “So you are dating the cowboy?”

  “I didn’t say that.” The bobby pin caught against something again. She pulled up as gently as she could.

  “You didn’t say you weren’t.”

  It felt as if the lever moved. Maybe this would work. “It’s not really a date.”

  “Some kind of event where the two of you are together?”

  The handcuff lock still didn’t open. “None of your business.”

  “That’s a yes. What do you know about him?”

  The bobby pin slipped back off the lever. This would be a lot easier if Aidan shut up. “I know he’s cute. He has a ranch in Wyoming. He’s a rider in this show. And Tex likes him.”

  Aidan blinked a couple of times. Maybe it was from information overload. “Tex likes him?”

  “She was on the beach when we came in.” She almost told him Tex had been invited too, but stopped herself.

  “So, basically, you know what he told you, which was nothing.” Aidan folded his arms.

  “You only know what the women on your dating sites tell you.�
� She bent the bobby pin back to 45 degrees and stuck it in the lock. What if she were handcuffed with her hands behind her back? How would she get to a bobby pin then?

  “I verify that across multiple sites, plus the Internet is full of information about them. I know plenty.”

  “Doesn’t that make you a cyberstalker?” The lever moved the tiniest bit. She held her breath.

  “It makes me informed. Keeps me from wasting my time on women who are less than ideal.”

  “How’d that last one slip by you, Mr. Sperm Donor?” Aidan’s last serious girlfriend had asked him to give her some sperm so she could have a baby. And raise the baby without him. They weren’t dating anymore.

  “It’s a process,” he said. “The checklist helps, but it’s obviously not an entirely foolproof system.”

  The lock clicked, and the handcuffs sprang open. “Ta-da!”

  Before she had more than a second to celebrate her triumph, Aidan slammed both handcuffs closed around her wrists. The bobby pin fell onto the floor, and he put his foot on top of it.

  She glared at him.

  “Real world,” he said. “Make another pick from scratch.”

  She pulled another bobby pin off the cardboard packaging, which wasn’t easy with her hands cuffed together. A quick bite to get the rubber tip off, a bend, and she held the pick in her right hand. It was a lot harder going than the first time, especially with Aidan looking so smug.

  “Who’s next after the cowboy?” he asked. “The construction worker? The soldier?”

  “The cop?” She had the bobby pin in the right place already, now she needed to move that tricky tumbler.

  “A cop!” He sounded surprised, but she couldn’t look up at him while picking the lock. “You should never date a cop.”

  She held the bobby pin perfectly still and looked up at him. “Why not? Brendan was a cop. You were a cop.”

  “See what I mean?”

  “Brendan’s a very nice guy.” She went back to her handcuffs.

  “Excuse me?” A short round blond man and a shorter and rounder blond woman came into the office. They looked like Cabbage Patch dolls, all grown up. The man spoke again. “We’re here to meet with the head of Maloney Investigations?”

  As if he’d heard them from behind his closed office door, Brendan swept into the room. He wore a nice blue suit and a blue-gray tie. With his salt-and-pepper hair and his rugged face, he looked exactly like a private investigator should.

  She remembered the handcuffs and shook her sleeves down to cover them. Aidan grinned wickedly, and she kicked the back of his leg where no one could see.

  CHAPTER 4

  “M r. and Mrs. Grigoryan, please come in!” Brendan hurried over and shook their hands.

  Aidan shook their hands, too, and Sofia stayed behind Aidan and nodded. She couldn’t exactly shake their hands in handcuffs.

  Brendan shot her a puzzled look and led everyone into the office. Mr. and Mrs. Grigoryan got the couch, while Aidan herded Sofia into the chair. He stood guard behind her like an annoying sentry. She hoped he’d drop the handcuff key into her hand, but suspected that was destined to remain an unfulfilled hope.

  “Would you care for anything, Mr. and Mrs. Grigoryan? Water? Coffee? Soda?”

  “Maybe some water.” Mrs. Grigoryan cleared her throat.

  Sofia stood up. She could go to get the water, get the cuffs off, and come back with nobody the wiser. “I’ll get it.”

  “On my desk,” Aidan mouthed where his father couldn’t see. He must mean the handcuff keys.

  “Never mind,” Mrs. Grigoryan said. “I’d rather we get started.”

  “Fine. Let’s do that,” said Brendan. He looked at Sofia. “You can sit back down.”

  She sat back down, folded her hands together in her lap, and tried to act as if nothing was wrong. She still had the bobby pin. She could do this during the interview. It would be a good test for how she performed under stress. Or a good chance to look like a fool in front of clients and Brendan.

  “I understand you’ve been having some problems with your neighbor?” Brendan asked.

  “Problems?” Mr. Grigoryan rolled his bright blue eyes heavenward. “Vandalism is more like it.”

  “Oh?” Brendan asked.

  “I have a convertible. A Mercedes. A very nice car.” Mr. Grigoryan looked at Sofia, Aidan, and Brendan in turn, as if it was important they remember this.

  “I see,” Sofia said, although she didn’t really see anything. But she wanted him to look away so she could get to work on the handcuffs.

  “That’s not why we’re here.” His wife’s words were so soft Sofia strained to hear her. Brendan leaned forward.

  “We’re here because he is stealing from me,” Mr. Grigoryan said. “And damaging my property. And harassing us.”

  “Those are serious charges,” Brendan said. “Perhaps you’d be better served talking to the police?”

  Sofia’s hand crept up to the top of the handcuff. She was almost to the keyhole. Or at least she hoped so. She couldn’t see the lock because her sleeve covered it. Mrs. Grigoryan started staring at her, round eyes curious.

  “I have. Of course I have. But they say there is no proof anything has been stolen.”

  Aidan leaned against the edge of her chair, partially blocking Mrs. Grigoryan’s view. She could tell he felt at least a little guilty about the mess she was in. Good. She felt around for the keyhole with her fingertip. It was hard to find by feel.

  “What do you think is being stolen?” Brendan asked.

  “Water,” Mr. Grigoryan trumpeted. “He’s stealing my water.”

  “Perfect case for you, Sofia,” Aidan said. “A case about holding your water.”

  Sofia busted out the biggest, fakest smile she could muster. He was making a veiled reference to an incident on stakeout a while ago where she’d had to pee next to her car because he wouldn’t let her take a bathroom break. She’d been caught by paparazzi, and the video had gone viral. She still hadn’t paid him back for that. She mentally added it to her list of things she still needed to get even with Aidan for. The list was really long, and growing.

  Brendan gave Aidan a warning look. “What do you mean, stealing your water?”

  “I own a winery here in Malibu.” Mr. Grigoryan puffed up like a peacock. “It’s very fine wine, made to the best Armenian standards. Wine has been made in Armenia for thousands of years. We are part of a long tradition.”

  Mrs. Grigoryan leaned around Aidan to look at Sofia’s lap. She smiled, and Sofia froze. The bobby pin scraped off to the side.

  “My neighbor, Marcel Befort, he has a winery too. French swill is what he sells.”

  Mrs. Grigoryan shook her head. She didn’t seem to agree with her husband.

  “We use a great deal of water for the grapes, of course. My water bill is criminally high, always, but a few months ago my bill went up ten percent. I called the water company and they came to check the meter. They say I’m using ten percent as much water, so they must charge me for it.”

  Sofia inched her finger back into position.

  “Maybe there’s a leak?” Brendan asked. “Or you’re increased consumption? Ten percent isn’t a huge amount.”

  “The water company says that, too, but there is no leak. A leak I would see. Marcel is stealing my water. He’s a bad man, and he’s stealing my water!” Mr. Grigoryan’s voice rose on the last words.

  “You don’t know this.” His wife patted his hand.

  “I do know! And I want you people to find out, to prove that this is what is happening. Then I’ll take him to jail. Marcel will have to sit in a tiny, smelly jail cell, and he will think of what he has done to me. To us.”

  “Neighbor disputes can be difficult.” Brendan used his calming voice, the one that usually put everyone around him into a coma. But it didn’t seem to be working on Mr. Grigoryan. “It’s often problematic to live next to someone, and grievances can build up over time.”

  “They
do.” Mr. Grigoryan jutted out his jaw.

  “I’ve found the best thing to do is to try to de-escalate the situation, find a way compromises can be reached, so neighborly feelings can come back.” Brendan was still acting like a Zen master.

  “I don’t want his feelings to come back. I want him to stop stealing my water, and to go to jail for what he has done. That is what I want.”

  Brendan folded his hands. “I understand how difficult it must be, but it’s best to avoid conflict if you can. Neighborhood fights rarely end well.”

  “Good.” Mr. Grigoryan glared at Brendan.

  Sofia had been so taken in by their discussion she’d forgotten to work on getting herself free. Brendan was usually a pretty calm guy, but it seemed as if he was telling this guy to forget it and let his neighbor steal from him. That wasn’t right.

  “It’s many dollars every month,” Mr. Grigoryan said. “I won’t walk away from this.”

  Aidan circled around to stand by his father. “What makes you think this is Mr. Befort’s fault and not a leaky pipe? Or a glitch with the water company? Or another neighbor?”

  “I’ve told you. I looked for leaks. I spoke to the water company. That isn’t the problem. Mr. Befort is the problem.”

  She felt the bobby pin catch the lever. She held her breath. Mrs. Grigoryan was watching her, but she didn’t care. She had to get the cuffs off before everyone left. She’d have to shake hands good-bye or Brendan would notice.

  “What about other neighbors?” Aidan asked loudly. He must be trying to cover the noise of the handcuff unlatching.

  “Our properties join up in a triangle. Me, I’m not using more water than usual. Our neighbor on the other side, Rick, his property is running wild since his wife died. He doesn’t need my water. Only Marcel does.”

  So, the water rustlers were Rick and Marcel. The handcuffs opened with a click. She coughed too late to disguise the sound, but she was committed now. She leaned forward to hide what she was doing, let loose with another round of coughs, and slid the handcuffs into the chair cushion.

  “Is she OK?” Mrs. Grigoryan asked. “Is she one of the detectives, or is she a prisoner?”