“Excuse me?”
“It’s true. They’re always shallow and stick around for five minutes.”
Casey bit her tongue. She couldn’t lash out when Gran was right.
“I’ve been putting in a good word with someone decent, and it’s finally paid off. Don’t screw it up.”
Casey wanted to groan. How many lesbians went on dates arranged by their grandmothers? “I’m not hearing violins.”
“Give it a chance,” Gran bellowed. “You could do worse than having a good friendship as the foundation. You don’t believe those movies where they’re still swinging from the chandelier after being married for twenty years, do you? I thought you kids were supposed to be jaded. When the honeymoon ends, you’d better like whoever you’re stuck with.”
“Jesus, Gran, why don’t you trample over the rest of my dreams while you’re at it.”
Gran tutted. “Stop getting ahead of yourself. You’re going on a date. You’re not getting married.”
It took all of Casey’s willpower to not snatch the other piece of toast from Gran’s plate and throw it at her.
*****
Casey winced when Ellen answered her phone and said, “I won’t ask if you have anything to report.”
“I’m working on a lead.”
“You are,” Ellen breathed. “What?”
“Let me work it first. If it pans out, I’ll tell you. I’m calling to find out about your mother’s other relatives. Siblings, cousins, anyone she might confide in.”
Ellen snorted. “I was hoping you wouldn’t need to talk to Aunt Joan.”
“Why?”
“She’s a bit of an odd duck. Mom saw her at least once a month. Oh, shit.” Ellen fell silent for a moment. “I’m talking about her in the past tense. Shit.”
Not knowing what to say, Casey waited for Ellen to collect herself.
“What was I saying?” Ellen finally said in a more subdued tone.
“Aunt Joan.”
“Right. I don’t know how close they were—are, but Mom saw her regularly. As to whether she told her anything…who knows? Do you have to talk to her? She can be…trying.”
“What if she knows something that can lead us to your mother?”
“Oh, fiddlesticks.” Ellen blew out some air. “Do I have to go with you?”
Cripes, what was it with Aunt Joan? Casey wanted to lie and say yes, but Ellen had enough on her mind already. “Only if you think your being there will help.”
“I suppose I can go with you.” Ellen sounded as if she’d be more enthusiastic about undergoing surgery in prehistoric times. “I’ll call her, set up a time. Saturday?”
“Can you make it Sunday? I’m going to a cat show on Saturday. I’m seeing someone there about your mother.” Hey, she was working two leads, not one, though she hadn’t figured out her next step regarding Street’s emails. She wanted to ask Emily about them, but she didn’t want to ruin their date.
“I’ll try for Sunday afternoon.”
“Doesn’t she call you to find out if there’s any news about your mother?”
Ellen chuckled. “She emails me once a week. I haven’t mentioned you to her, though. I guess I’ll have to now.”
“You don’t want her to know that you hired an investigator?”
“Her emails are rants, first about the hospital, then about me, then about the police. Everyone’s incompetent. If she was in charge, Mom would be home. In fact, she never would have stayed in the hospital in the first place, because Aunt Joan would have diagnosed the problem and taken care of it before Mom slipped into a coma. You’ll just be another thing to rant about.” Ellen paused. “Hopefully she won’t do it to your face.”
Great. A cat show on Saturday, and an armchair investigator on Sunday. But first, her dinner with Emily.
Chapter Eight
Casey slipped another piece of pizza onto her plate and took a sip of water. Apart from having pizza yet again—thank god she loved the stuff—so far, so good. Emily had shown up on time, and the drive to a nearby family restaurant hadn’t been awkward. Casey felt more at home in this casual atmosphere than she had in the swanky restaurant with Leah. Jeans and a blouse were more her style than dress pants and a matching jacket. The desire to impress wasn’t driving her, either. She didn’t want to make an ass of herself, but the pressure to sound brilliant wasn’t there.
“So what do you do?” Emily asked.
Casey tensed. Okay, what she’d just said to herself about not needing to impress? Not entirely true, but her discomfort with the dreaded question wasn’t specific to Emily. Being so new at the game, calling herself a private investigator didn’t sit right. Maybe when she had a solved case or two under her belt… She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then said, “I’m a private investigator.”
Emily stared at her. “Really?”
“I’m new. I—I’m working my first case. I—”
Emily held up her hand. “I’m surprised, that’s all. It’s not the answer I expected. Why a private investigator? I thought you were working at Walmart.”
Casey felt her face flush. God, how embarrassing. Why the hell was someone who was working on her PhD sitting having pizza with a former Walmart minion pretending to be a private investigator? “I was. But I always saw that as temporary.” That was what she’d told herself when she’d graduated from high school with no burning desire to be anything. Most of her friends had applied to university and looked forward to taking the next step on the path to their dream careers. She’d trudged from store to fast food joint, dropping off a resume that listed the glamorous skills she’d acquired from her summer jobs serving behind counters at food courts. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I left high school.”
“So why a private investigator?” Emily asked again.
“I’d helped a few people find their missing pets. One of them said I had a knack and should be a pet detective, like Ace Ventura.” It sounded so stupid now. She couldn’t believe she’d seen it as a sign from the Universe—and that she was telling Emily about it. “It got me thinking. I figured limiting myself to pets would be dumb.” When Emily grinned, Casey couldn’t tell whether she thought the entire notion of being an investigator was dumb. “Either way, I needed an investigator’s licence, so I got one.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as that.” Emily lifted a piece of pizza from the platter and bit into it.
“I had to take an exam. I took courses at a security college.”
Emily swallowed her mouthful of pizza. “Working and going to school can be rough. It takes dedication.”
Casey’s modesty wouldn’t allow her to nod. “What about you?” she said, wanting to shift the focus away from herself. “How did you end up where you are?”
“It’s not where I expected to be, that’s for sure.”
“How could you end up doing a PhD without any planning?” Casey blurted.
Emily’s answering smile sent a surge of warmth through Casey. “I was working on my Bachelor of Arts in sociology when I decided to take a computer course. Grudgingly, I might add. I had to choose from a list of electives, and the other courses didn’t interest me at all. So I held my nose and hoped the programming course wouldn’t be too difficult or boring.”
“You liked it.”
“To put it mildly. Nobody was more surprised than me. I switched majors, went on to graduate school, and here I am.”
“What about sociology?”
Emily shrugged. “I thought it was what I wanted to do, and it still interests me. But the fire just wasn’t there, not like it is for interpretive languages.”
“I’m not sure I should ask what that is, because I probably won’t understand the answer.”
“I’m sure I could explain it to you, but I’d rather find out more about what you do.” Emily pushed her plate away. “You said you’re working on a case?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you tell me about it, or is it top secret? How’d you get it? D
o you have an office?”
Casey chuckled. “No. I don’t even have business cards,” she said before she could stop herself.
Emily’s eyes danced. “You should definitely get business cards.”
“Yeah, I’m planning to. As for the case…I can only speak in generalities. It’s a missing person case. One of my friends recommended me to someone.”
“Good friend,” Emily murmured. “How’s the case going?”
“I’m working a couple of leads.” Casey swallowed. She couldn’t let this opportunity go by. “Do you know anything about email?”
“I take it you mean beyond how to send and receive it?” Emily said dryly.
“Yeah. I know you said you hate it when people assume you know everything about anything related to computers, but…one of my leads is a bunch of emails. I’m just wondering if I could somehow find the sender.”
Emily frowned. “It would be a long shot. The IP address would have to be tied to one person.”
The what?
“Finding out who that person is will be next to impossible. It’s the sort of thing the police need a warrant for, otherwise ISPs won’t release that information.”
The who?
“If you have the IP address, you can usually find out what city the person is in, though.”
“I don’t suppose…”
“You want me to do it.” Emily blinked at her. “Wait. This is what you wanted to ask me when you came to the shop, isn’t it?”
“Uh—”
“And I railroaded you into dinner. Oh, god.” She picked up her napkin and held it against her mouth.
Aghast, Casey wanted to reach out and touch Emily’s arm, but she didn’t move. “No! I mean, okay, yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask, but I wouldn’t have asked you to dinner if I didn’t want to have dinner with you.” Her mortification deepened when Emily didn’t respond. “I’m serious. I’m glad we’re having dinner together. I’m enjoying it. I’m hoping we’ll go to a movie or a club afterward.” She realized it was true as she said it. “Emily, you were leaving. I stopped you to ask you to dinner.”
Emily’s eyes met Casey’s. “You have those emails…”
“No. That’s not why I stopped you. I stopped you because I twigged that you were gay, which hadn’t even entered my mind before that point. I wanted to have dinner with you.”
“You didn’t know I’m gay?” Emily said, lowering the napkin.
“No.”
“I thought you knew.” She shook her head. “How stupid! I thought your grandmother was dropping hints about you because you were interested in me.”
It was more that Gran had been interested in getting them together, and Casey suddenly understood why Gran hadn’t told her about Emily. It would have smacked of matchmaking and instantly turned Casey off the idea of ever dating her. “Look, can we forget about the emails, because that’s honestly not why I’m here. I shouldn’t have mentioned them.”
“I asked you about the case,” Emily pointed out, making Casey feel worse. Emily shouldn’t be defending her!
“True, but I didn’t have to bring them up.” Funny how she’d had a somewhat cavalier attitude to this evening—no violins!—but now desperately hoped she hadn’t blown it. The soaring violins still weren’t there, but she had the feeling that a song could break out at any time. Not wanting to fidget, she reached for her napkin and patted her mouth as she waited for Emily to say something. The silence stretched on. Shit.
“Did you mean it when you said you want to go out after this?” Emily finally said.
If Emily was setting Casey up to tell her to go to hell, she deserved it. “Yeah, I did. And you know, maybe I’m glad the email thing came out, because if we’re going to start something…get to know each other…I guess it’s better you find out now that I’m a bumbling idiot.”
Emily’s mouth twitched. “Save the emails to a thumb drive and drop it off at the shop.”
“You don’t have to,” Casey said.
“I doubt I’ll be able to help, but I’ll have a look.”
“Thanks.” But she felt dismayed. Emily hadn’t confirmed that they were starting something. Gran would be disappointed.
The waitress stopped at their table and started to collect their dishes. “Coffee?”
Casey looked to Emily, who nodded and said, “Please.”
Casey’s spirits lifted. “I’ll have one too, please.”
When the waitress left, Emily leaned back in her chair. “I think I’d prefer a movie over a club, if that’s okay.”
Casey struggled to not leap out of her chair and thrust her fist into the air. “Yeah. Absolutely. We can check what’s playing around here.”
“As for getting to know each other better…I’d like that.” Emily folded her arms. “But I want to take things slow, okay? Not because of the emails. I just…” Her voice dwindled.
Casey could tell she was flailing. “Slow suits me just fine.” Heck, she was ecstatic that Emily didn’t hate her. She was also curious about the reason behind Emily’s caution, but wouldn’t pry. Maybe Emily wasn’t long out of her last relationship, or maybe Casey was on probation. Time to move on before awkwardness set in. “What types of movies do you like?”
*****
As Casey rode the bus to the cat show, she reflected on her date with Emily the previous evening. They’d enjoyed the movie, and the drive home had been a comfortable one. Emily had dropped Casey off in front of her building. No kiss. Taking it slow. They hadn’t arranged another date, but Emily had texted her that morning and said she’d enjoyed herself and would call her. Yep, they’d exchanged phone numbers, at least, and Casey expected that Emily would call. She wouldn’t give out her phone number and then use the “Don’t call me, I’ll call you” routine, right?
A jab on her leg broke her out of her reverie. “How many more stops?” Gran asked.
Casey peered out the window to get her bearings. “We’re around five minutes away.”
Gran grunted. “You should have asked Emily to come with you.”
“We only just saw each other last night.” Casey turned to her. “We’re taking things slow.”
“Oh.” Gran’s tone spoke volumes.
“We’re not blowing each other off. We’ll be seeing each other again. She already texted me this morning.”
Gran’s brows lifted. “So it went okay, then.”
“Yeah.” Though a couple of doubts had crept in, more to do with Casey’s insecurities. What if they eventually got serious? Would Casey get along with Emily’s friends? They were probably all geniuses. “She’s twenty-six,” she said, voicing another concern.
“So? She’s only three years older than you.”
“She’s working on her PhD.”
“That sounds good to me.” Gran’s eyes narrowed. “Stop looking for excuses to not see her. If you don’t want to see her, don’t see her.”
“I do want to see her.”
“Well, then?”
It was more that Casey couldn’t believe Emily was interested in her. Usually Casey was the one with the crush, the one who’d suffered in silence for months, admiring from afar. Yes, she’d asked Emily out, but on a whim. She hadn’t hung around the coffee shop hoping to snatch a few minutes of conversation with her, hadn’t lain on her bed daydreaming about their perfect life together. Emily hadn’t been on her radar, but apparently she’d been on Emily’s. She couldn’t shake the feeling that as Emily got to know her, she’d realize that she’d made a terrible mistake.
“Remember, when we find the person I’m looking for, let me do the talking,” Casey said, wanting to think about something else.
Gran huffed. “I won’t have anything to say. I’m not even sure why they have cat shows. Dogs do things. They chase balls, do tricks, sit, heel. Cats don’t do anything except ignore you and eat plants.”
“Mid keeps us company.”
“Especially when she wants something.”
Gran’s attitude d
idn’t fool Casey. One of them spoiled Mid rotten, and it wasn’t her. “I think cat shows are all about how closely a cat matches its breed standard.” At least that was what she’d learned when she’d done a quick search.
Gran sniffed. “Sounds boring to me.”
“Keep that opinion to yourself, okay?” Casey said, imagining a riot breaking out over a flippant comment from Gran. “These people are serious about their breeds.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what I really think.”
That would be a first. “I’m sure there will be vendors there. You might find something for Mid.”
“Ooh,” Gran said, brightening. Yep, Mid had her wrapped around her little paw.
An hour later, Casey had to admit that Gran was on her best behaviour. When they’d stood and watched a judge examine a cat, lifting it, stretching it out, and waving around a feather, Gran’s tongue must have bled. Now they were watching a similar display with a different breed. Gran didn’t say a word, but she shook her head as they walked away. “Don’t get it,” she muttered. “Now, where can I get something for Mid? And when are you going to talk to that person so we can go home?”
Casey sighed. “I saw a sign back there pointing to the vendor room. As for Donna Wilkins, according to this,” she held up the program book they’d bought on the way in, “she’s over in Hall B.”
“What the hell are we doing standing around watching cats for, then?”
“I don’t want it to be obvious that I’m only here to talk to Wilkins.”
Gran snorted. “Nobody’s taking a blind bit of notice of us two.” Her face softened when Casey scowled. “But I suppose it doesn’t hurt to put on appearances, and you have.”
“I guess I can talk to Wilkins now,” Casey admitted. “Come on.” She’d imposed on Gran enough. The cat show obviously wasn’t enthralling her, but Gran had pretended to be interested and quietly endured. If she splurged on Mid, Casey wouldn’t tease her about it.
They stopped inside the entrance to Hall B while Casey examined the floor map. “Wilkins should be just over here,” she murmured, walking that way. “Now, let me do the talking.”
The Missing Comatose Woman Page 9
