by Rose, Kristi
Precious narrowed her eyes. “They’re vindictive, these others. Cleaning out your account. Trying to get you kicked out of here and repo-ing your car.” She sighed with frustration. “I’m trying to understand where they’re coming from. You know, you’re the other woman and—”
“And I was sleeping with her husband.” I’d avoided saying that as long as I could because the truth of it made me sick to my stomach. I assumed she was sleeping with him, too. Or else why was the divorce dragging out? Anger from his betrayal of both his wife and myself was the strongest of all the emotions I was riding.
Images of Carson going between two women who were unaware of each other made my skin hot and itchy. I was eager to scrub him from my skin and life.
“Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she hated him.”
“And me,” I said.
Precious nodded. “Yep. You. You’re the homewrecker scapegoat.”
The very thought of being the other woman did something awful to me on a primitive level. I dashed to my kitchen sink and prepared to empty my stomach. Only nothing happened but a few stomach cramps and a convulsion.
“I’m guessing you’re not in the mood for food,” Precious said, taking a fish sandwich from the bag. She turned her attention to my computer. “Listen. I know it sucks. Well, I don’t know, but I’m guessing it sucks royally. But it is what it is, Sam. You can’t change it.”
“I’m in the mood for all of this to go away.” In the course of two days, I’d lost my husband, savings, and car. Not to mention I had quit my job prior to all this madness. My shoulders slumped from physical and emotional fatigue.
“Then throw in the towel. Close the business, go live with Russ and Liz, and lick your wounds. If you don’t want to live with your folks, you could always sleep in LC since you love him so much.” Precious finished her sandwich and dug into mine. “It would be so easy to let the others take the rest of it.”
She had a point. It being I could continue with my pity party and lose everything or I could suck it up and fight back. I had a home, a car, and a business. Albeit one I didn’t know how to run. Nevertheless, I had the opportunity of money, and I’d lost enough already. I wasn’t about to lose anymore. I snatched my half-eaten sandwich from her hand.
“I don’t know how to make this business work for me,” I said. “I can’t run a security system business.”
“Close that. Call the people, tell them Carson is dead, and you’ll be refunding their deposit.”
With money I didn’t have, unless some was magically waiting in this business account. I was desperate for an income stream. “But keep the PI portion open?” I shook my head. “Yeah, I need a job and I definitely need money, I’m not sure I have the time it’ll take to learn to be a PI.”
“If only you had access to someone who could help you sort that out.” She rolled her eyes. As a life coach, Precious helped entrepreneurs reach their potential on both personal and professional levels. Her track record spoke for itself. If I were to launch a new business, she would be the one to help me do it.
“I couldn’t afford to pay you,” I reminded her.
She dismissed my words with a wave of her hand. “You could help me out at my office. I’m short-staffed. As for income, you have those clients. That’s money waiting to be made.” She pointed to my computer with her other hand. She clicked some keys, then showed me the screen. “These people are waiting for a job to be done, and from the notes next to their name, they’re not looking for a security system.”
Holmes Securities client list showed eight names. Could I run the business? A maniacal giggle, part incredulous and part question, escaped from deep inside me. I must be losing my mind to even consider running a business I knew nothing about.
“Maybe I can hire a PI to do these jobs?” I wondered if the internet would tell me what percentage would be an appropriate cut if I was bringing the work to the PI.
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I’m not a private investigator. Or a cop. I know nothing about…” I shook my head in denial as I read a note next to a client’s name. “How to do a background check on someone.”
“What’s it take to become one?” She keyed in some stuff and pulled up a page. “Look,” she said showing me the computer. “All you have to do is take a test.” She gave me a puzzled look. “Didn’t you once study for this? Back in college? Didn’t a bunch of you in the forensic photography class talk about getting your license so you all could make it rich taking money shots? Kinda a sign, don’t you think?”
“Look.” I pointed to a line of text. “A lot has changed in a decade, including federal and state law and…oh…a few hundred other tidbits about this line of work.” My tone was heavy with a spectacular amount of sarcasm.
Precious did not like to be bested. “Why are you so afraid to take this on?”
I slumped in the chair next to her. “You weren’t there that night I had to take photos of Ms. Trina chained to the pole at Junkies. I can still see every detail of those images.” I tapped my temple. Not only did my camera capture clear pictures, so did my mind, and I had the uncanny ability to recall them on demand and see them as if I was looking at the picture in real time. A photographer with a photographic memory. A gift that was both good and bad. “Ten years of taking pictures of babies and puppies and pimple kids has done nothing to erase those images of her and that scene from my mind.”
Precious considered me, her brow furrowed. “Okay, so what does that tell you?”
I shrugged.
“It tells you that you have to stop fighting it. Stop trying to mentally look away. Own the image. Compartmentalize it. Or it’s going to continue to own you. Ten years ago you decided to not pursue forensic photography because of these images. Are you any happier? Has the image of Ms. Trina diminished any over time?” She gave me a pointed look. “Because I can tell you aren’t happier.”
“I was content,” I argued.
“Sure, that’s why you quit Toomey’s Photography Studio. That’s why you were saving money to start up your own business. Because you were content.” She tapped a nail against the tabletop. “Crazy as this might seem to you, I think you’re getting a second chance to discover what you’re meant to do with your life.”
We sat in silence for a few beats. Then I said, “I’m scared because this is the real deal. This is more than redoing a picture. This is life and death and heartache and happiness. It’s more disappointments than successes. I know because my parents say that all the time.”
Precious smiled. “Yet, they wouldn’t change a thing.”
I tossed the idea around another beat or two. “I just can’t magically be a PI. I’d need an internship or something if I’m going to do this right.”
Precious smiled big and clasped her hands together in excitement. “Maybe Carson had someone on contract he could call up or something. My business license has to list the number of employees.”
I showed her the Business Master file. While she scanned the documents, I pushed a French fry around a Styrofoam takeout box, collecting the dried kale seasoning.
Precious gasped then tossed back her head and laughed.
My throat constricted from fear. “What now?”
She swiveled the computer toward me. A business license was on the screen. “Your company is allowed up to six employees. Right now, the company employee roster lists three. Carson and Toby—”
“I’m the third person, right? Because I’m the owner. So no on-call PI? Maybe he had a contract PI instead?”
Precious shrunk the screen. “Oh, there’s a PI on the employee list. This image here is the one that’s gold.”
I leaned in to look at the image. It was another license. A Private Investigators license. In my name. I blinked in hopes of clearing my vision.
Yep, my name was on the license.
“You’re the PI listed,” Precious exclaimed.
“I don’t get it.”
“Evidently, you have taken
the PI test and passed. You were awarded this license.” She clicked a few other screens. “Carson has one, too. This is the document that shows the current register of employees for your company. It lists him, you, and Toby.”
“How? I never took a test.”
“Ever sign papers without really looking at them? My best guess is he took the test in your name.”
“That can’t be legal!” Mind blown. “Yeah, I signed papers, like the lease on this place and some banking documents.”
“And you never read every single sheet?”
She knew better than to ask that. The print on legal forms was tiny and speed-bump words were hard to pick out. I ducked my head with embarrassment. Besides, I’d trusted Carson.
Precious leaned forward, her face alight with excitement. “Come on, you can’t ask for a better, clearer sign than that.”
I snorted. “Let’s not ignore the fact that Carson falsified documents. I’m seeing a pattern here.”
She pointed her index finger at me. “See, you are already acting like a PI.”
I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t take a genius to make that deduction.”
“You ready to become Magnum PI and make this business work?” Precious arched a brow, excitement written across her face. She raised a hand for a high five.
“Do I get a Ferrari and a guest house in Hawaii?” Constant sun sounded magical. All that vitamin D and goodness. I smiled at the thought of escaping to anywhere but here.
Precious laughed. “What you get is your beloved LC, all this fresh air, and your townhouse until your lease is up. If you need an escape, then we can find a head shop with some wacky tobaccy that might make you think you’re in Hawaii.” She waved her hand. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
I gave her a high five. She squealed in excitement.
“Hard pass on the weed,” I said. Being in control had a much higher value to me than the idea of forgetting my woes for however long a high lasted. What if something were to happen while I was stoned? Look what had happened to my love life when I had too much to drink?
I continued, “What do I know about being a PI? Nothing.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one is asking you to solve a murder. Let’s start with looking at what clients are left and what they want you to do. Between doing that and supplementing with jobs I might have, you can totally make ends meet.”
She was nothing but positive and confident, and her flippant and easy way of presenting the alternatives made me think I could actually do it. Precious believed everyone had the ability to be awesome. Even when you didn’t believe it yourself.
“Don’t think, just do,” she said.
I hesitated and bared my teeth in an awkward grimace-like smile. Then I blew out a deep breath. “First I need to…” I needed to get organized, but was overwhelmed with where to start.
Precious stood then grabbed the hardback journal I kept on my bar to jot reminders and notes. She handed it to me along with a pen. “Go to the bank and see who owns the account. My guess it’s you. Then call those clients. You’ll have to cancel the ones who want security systems, but some of these are for other services. See how many want to continue with you. You have to tell them Carson is gone anyway. Then the ones that stay, you work their case. Now, I’m going to say to you what I tell my employees.” She clapped her hands once, loudly. “You got this! Now get out of my office.”
I sprung to my feet.
“Hold on to your titties, kitties, this is going to be an awesome ride,” she said in a sing-song voice as I hustled away.
“Or really, really bad,” I muttered as I pondered what a PI wore to work every day.
11
Saturday
The first three people on Carson’s client list seeking a PI decided to seek services with another more skilled private investigator. I couldn’t blame them. The fourth person I called was Shannon Kleppner. We’d gone to high school together; she’d been a year ahead of me. Shannon had always been nice to everyone if my memory served.
Shannon taught fifth grade at the same elementary school where Precious’s sister, Heidi, taught kindergarten. The picture in her file was almost identical to how I remembered her from high school, only older. Shannon had been a cheerleader, a perky blond cliché. With thick thighs and thicker mascara, she’d landed Sean Kleppner their junior year and held on tight. He was in line to take over his dad’s landscaping company, and everyone knew they made good money. The company had contracts with many of the towns in the surrounding area.
She answered on the second ring.
When I finished my spiel as to why I was taking over Carson’s case, she said, “I’m sorry about your loss, Sam. Are you sure you’re up to taking this case? I asked your husband to get me the money shot.”
Money shot was the picture of the cheating spouse with the new honey and used in court to win whatever the jaded partner wanted. This is what us fools in college had thought would be easy money. I learned from YouTube videos on how to be PI that money shots could also be clandestine business meetings, worker’s comp fraud, and any commissioned photo one person could use against someone else.
I snorted. If only she knew. “I’m up for it. Besides, I’m pretty handy with a camera. Thanks for taking a chance on me.”
“Who else am I gonna use? Your husband promised discretion, and I expect that from you.” Shannon huffed, then cleared her throat, her voice thick. “You did my family pictures, remember? That cheating turd. I’m going to cut him out of them as soon as we hang up.”
“And you’re sure he’s cheating?” If so, why did she need me?
“Oh, I’m sure. Lipstick on the collar. Late night hang-ups. It’s like a bad made-for-TV movie. Who calls a landline anyway?” She was fairly shouting.
“I dunno,” I said. Who had a landline these days?
“It’s the phone the kids use, and his bimbo is calling it. My child is picking it up. I want you to get all the shots. Every possible angle. I need you to help me nail his butt to the wall. You think you can do that?”
I gauged my feelings. Was I in the mood to nail someone to the wall? “Yeah, I can totally do that.” Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to work through Carson’s death and betrayal but who was I to be picky?
“Great! Your husband had a list of the places Sean frequents. Let’s see, it’s Saturday, so he’ll likely be at the casino. He loves his roulette. I suspect when he’s done wasting his retirement money, he meets up with his bimbo somewhere. If I didn’t have little kids in bed, I’d follow him myself and find out where.”
The sun was fading, which happened later here in the PNW. My watch said I missed dinner, but the hour was ripe for gambling.
“I’ll let you know when I get something,” I said. “Um, Shannon. Do you mind me asking? How did you know to hire Carson for this?”
“He put in a security system for the house. We got to talking, and I maybe told him about Sean. He offered to help.”
So Carson would do one service then pitch for more work? How very entrepreneurial.
We ended the call with plans for me to check in with her in a week after school.
Dinner was drive-thru with nothing to show for my sub sandwich but the small bit of lettuce clinging to my shirt. Two Winds Casino was in La Keep but on the Cowlitz Reservation, Leo’s tribe. In 2002, the tribe finally received recognition from the federal government. The battle for that right had waged from before I was born.
Shannon said Sean would be in his work truck, which was easy enough to find, but a drive through the parking lot turned up nothing. I contemplated my next move. From Sean’s company website, I screenshotted his picture and headed into the casino, figuring I’d probe staff and hope something turned up. The lot was full, and I was forced to park at the farthest corner from the casino.
I flung Carson’s boring black backpack over my shoulder and headed inside. I was wandering through the place, getting a sense of the layout, when I came across the pit boss, an averag
e height woman with bottle-blond hair, a big smile, and a killer tan, like she’d stepped off the beach today. She was wearing the Casino uniform of navy-blue slacks with a matching blazer and a white button-down shirt.
“Nice tan,” I said with genuine envy. No one around here was that sun-kissed. People had to travel south for that, and one place in particular was a favorite. “Mexico?”
She nodded. “My brother runs a fishing boat out of various foreign ports. Comes in handy.”
“I need a brother like that,” I said.
She laughed. “How can I help you?” In her ear was an earpiece, the microphone clipped to her shirt, the curlicue cord visible from the side. Her nametag read Lisa Harper.
I said, “I’m looking for a friend, a guy who likes to come here and gamble.” I laughed and slapped my forehead. “Duh, I guess that’s almost everyone in here.”
She chuckled. “Pretty much, yes.”
“We were supposed to meet up, and I don’t see him anywhere.” The lie rolled off my tongue. Weird. Perhaps it was because I was getting used to the job. Maybe people, like Carson, who spent their life having to stretch the truth for their work couldn’t stop themselves from doing it in their personal lives as well.
“I can have him paged.”
I grimaced. “He’d hate that.” I shuffled through the backpack for my phone. “He comes here a lot. Maybe you know him.” I flashed his picture.
She nodded. “Sean? Yeah, we know him. Especially since he’s a big winner.”
“A big winner?”
“He didn’t tell you? He won a jackpot three weeks ago. Over two million.” She walked me to a large electronic board a few feet away. A variety of messages slid across the screen.
One read: Congrats Big Winner Sean K!
Note to self. Work on observation skills.
In my defense, the sign was vague enough, and lots of people from all over came to the casino. Though, I was surprised the rumor mill hadn’t started in Wind River.
“That turkey,” I said with mock frustration. “He never said anything about winning. Just said he’d teach me the game.” I shook my head.
