I always try to give people the benefit of the doubt (really, I do), but there was something about Quincy Graves that instantly set me off. He looked so smug, so full of himself that I just wanted to slap him. Okay, I was a little on edge; I needed to keep walking.
When I reached the second door, the one with Kip's name on it, I peeked through the glass sidelight and my heart skipped a beat, but then, it always did that when I saw Kip. To me, he would forever be the tanned eighteen-year old lifeguard with the quick smile and tousled hair, my first love. Now, at thirty-five, he was still tan, still quick to smile (although not so much lately), and he still made me catch my breath. My hand was on the door about to walk in when I realized he was talking to someone outside my purview. If Kip was in a meeting, I didn't want to interrupt, so I decided to wait. After all, I was early. I saw he was seated at his desk, looking down at some papers and studying them intensely.
"Are you sure there's no mistake?" he asked in a muted voice, sounding stressed.
A young woman's voice answered so softly, I could barely hear her. "I'm afraid not. You need to take action, Kip."
Kip lowered his voice even further to almost a whisper, "But is this enough to bring him down? Benjamin Wolf isn't just any sleazy developer--he's got dirt on every pol in town. They're all afraid of him."
The woman came into view as she bent her head to point out something in the paperwork and I gasped. She was beautiful! Of Asian descent, mid-twenties, with flawless skin, delicate features, and long, black, silky hair straight out of a shampoo commercial, she looked like a movie star. Her face was so close to Kip's she could've kissed him and while I'm not the jealous type, I did have the urge to give her a (gentle) shove as I (calmly) explained, "Hands off, he's taken!" Like I said, I was a little on edge.
"Don't worry," she said, "We found someone willing to work with us, so long as we keep his name out of it."
"Whatever it takes," Kip said, vehemently.
With that, the meeting was over. The woman walked towards the door and I took a few steps back so she wouldn't know I'd been listening. As she stepped into the hallway, we made eye contact. She flashed me a polite smile and walked away briskly. At the same time, Quincy Graves burst out of his door and almost knocked me over. He didn't apologize or even acknowledge me as he rushed off which only confirmed my initial assessment that he was an ass.
I walked into Kip's office and said, "Hey you, ready to go? I'm as hungry as a bear!"
When he saw me, Kip visibly relaxed, although I could still see some tension around his eyes. He smiled and gave me a hug. "A hibernating bear? Scary! We'd better feed you."
On our way out, we passed Quincy Graves' office and I said, "Your neighbor's a real prize, huh?"
Kip looked at me. "How do you know?"
"Because he practically ran me over in his rush to leave. My fault, I forgot to take off my invisibility cloak."
"He took off? Interesting…"
I felt like I deserved a little sympathy, but Kip looked strangely pleased by the news, so I let it go.
Once we'd reached the parking lot, he was back to normal. "You're going to love the buffet at Woodlands, Jamie. It's fantastic, everything is vegetarian."
"Yum! How did you find this place?"
Kip looked a bit flustered. "Um, I ate there last week with a co-worker, we had a lunch meeting."
"Oh? Who was that?" I asked, fairly sure I already knew.
"Jayashree Patel, the new liaison to the County Commission. She recently moved here from DC. You might've seen her leaving my office."
"Yeah, I saw her. If she just moved here, how did she know about the Indian restaurant?"
Kip chuckled. "Well, she's Indian, that's how."
Chapter 8
"Just 'cause she's Indian, doesn't mean she knows every Indian restaurant in town," I commented.
We had loaded up our plates and were sitting across from each other in a booth with a colorful silk curtain. I wanted to savor the spicy curry aroma filling my nostrils with its promise of complex and delectable flavors, but my gurgling stomach was yelling at me to hurry up and eat already, so I did. The savoring would have to wait for my second trip to the buffet.
"Sure, it does," Kip said. He handed me a naan from the bread basket on the table, then took one for himself. The naan looked like a large pita but, unlike pita, it was soft and chewy, warm and delicious. My lunch was incredibly good, or else I was simply ravenous. Cervantes was right; hunger really is the best sauce.
"So?" I asked, after taking my first hungry bites. "What's the story? Will photos of me stuffing my face today show up as blackmail tomorrow?" I surreptitiously studied the people at the other tables (I couldn't help myself), but nobody seemed interested in us. They were all busy talking and eating.
Kip put his fork down and reached over the table to take my hand, his warm brown eyes fixed on mine.
"I'm so sorry, Jamie. I know I keep saying it, but I mean it. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to bother you. My work issues are not your problem. I think we should call the police."
I squeezed his hand. "I'm not sure I agree.'Mr. I-C-U' promised something bad would happen if we did and, frankly, I believe him. Look, I have a friend named Duke Broussard who's a P.I. and I'm sure he'd help us. Why don't I ask him? We could go to the Renaissance Fair on Saturday like we planned, but have Duke on the lookout for anyone strange."
Kip burst out laughing. "Have you ever been to a Renaissance Festival? Everyone is strange! They call themselves 'larpers'--LARP is short for live action role play--and dress up in medieval costumes so they can pretend to be blacksmiths, magicians and knights. They are nerds in their natural habitat--like Trekkies at a Star Trek convention--only they speak Old English instead of Klingon."
I giggled. "What if the Trekkies went to the Renaissance Festival by mistake and asked for directions to the Star Trek Convention?"
"Would they ask in Klingon?"
"Of course," I answered.
"Then all hell would break loose! The Klingons would start swinging their make-believe weapons and the knights would fight back with their pretend swords. Someone might actually get hurt."
"I'd pay to see that," I said with a laugh.
"Me too," Kip's eyes crinkled with amusement. He stood up then and offered me his hand, as chivalrous as any knight (pretend or otherwise) and said, "Ready for dessert, milady?"
"I'm pretty full, I think I'll just have a bite of yours," I said.
Kip shook his head emphatically. "Oh no, we're not playing that game. You say you want a bite, but then you scarf down my whole dessert. I'll bring you a plate of your own."
I shrugged. "Have it your way. But I'll probably eat yours, too."
"Hmmm, we'll see about that," he countered as he made a beeline for the dessert table.
Kip still hadn't told me what was going on at work and I knew he wouldn't volunteer the information. Why couldn't he understand that his problems were my problems too? We were a team. I decided it was time for me to lawyer up. If Kip wanted to be treated like a hostile witness, then so be it. I'd give him my best F. Lee Bailey impression, with a little Lucille Ball thrown in for fun.
He plopped a silver dish and a spoon in front of me and sat down, giving me a sly grin. Holding a spoon in his right hand, he used his left hand to block me from his dessert. He never took his eyes off me as he took his first bite. Unlike me, Kip liked to eat slowly. He was the tortoise and I was the hare.
"Delicious!" he said, between bites. "Who would've thought dough balls soaking in sugar syrup could be this amazing? It needs a catchier name, though. 'Gulab jamun' doesn't do it justice."
I didn't say a word, just ate my dessert without looking up, it really was amazing. When I was sure Kip had relaxed his guard, I nonchalantly asked, "So, Kip, who wants you to back off? Do you think it's Benjamin Wolf?"
Kip was so startled he dropped his spoon, which clattered loudly off the side of his dish before hitting the floor. As he bent t
o retrieve it, I switched our desserts.
"What the hell, Jamie--?" he sputtered as he resurfaced. "What do you know about Benjamin Wolf?"
I answered his question with one of my own. "Do you think the park vandal is working for Wolf, or is the vandal on his own?" As I waited for an answer, I started on my second dessert, which promised to be even better than the first.
"Don't tell me you were listening at my door?" Kip asked, incredulous.
"Not on purpose," I said, pushing back. "It's not my fault if your office doesn't have walls."
Kip leaned in and lowered his voice. "Listen, Jamie, you can't say a word to anyone about Wolf, he's got eyes all over town and he's not a nice guy. Will you promise me that?"
"Of course," I whispered back. "But you need to tell me what's going on. I'm the one getting threatening e-mails, so I think I have a right to know."
Kip sighed. "Okay, but not here, and I can't tell you everything. Just wait until we're in the car."
"Alright, and I'm sorry I upset you, but you've been carrying the weight of the world all by yourself and I want to help. I love you, you know that, right?"
He gave me a little smile. "I'm not so sure you do."
"But I do want to help--wait, you think I don't love you? Why would you think that?"
Kip made a face at me. "Because you stole my dessert!"
Chapter 9
"What aren't you telling me?" I asked. We were still parked in front of the restaurant and I'd turned on the AC, but we weren't going anywhere until I got some answers. You could say it was a hostage situation.
Kip sighed. "Look, Jamie, I told you what I know. Benjamin Wolf's been running this town for years. He's behind every big project built in Broward County because Wolf Construction makes big campaign contributions. His latest project is the Sapphire Sky Tower and it's a political hot potato. Not only would it be the tallest building in the area, it would also destroy a sensitive wetland area. So, to answer your question, he's not the park vandal, it's not his style. If Wolf wanted my attention, he wouldn't be that subtle."
I had to laugh. "Mowing 'Bite Me!' into the grass is subtle?"
"For Benjamin Wolf, it is."
"Okay, so he's not the park vandal, but he has to be Mr. I-C-U, right? Who else would want you to back off'?"
Kip's shoulders slumped. "A lot of people want me to back off, too many to count. I'm about ready to give up on the Parks Division, it's impossible to fix."
I really felt for him, he looked so beaten down. I squeezed his hand. "Babe, if you're unhappy, why don't you just quit? It isn't worth it. You don't need to prove anything to anyone, especially now that Wolf is sending threatening e-mails."
Kip shook his head. "I don't believe Wolf sent that e-mail, he's not the type. He's more like the school bully demanding your lunch money."
"So, what's the plan?"
Kip didn't answer right away; he just stared out the window. When he turned around, the look he gave me was so intense I thought he was mad at me.
"I'm not sure if this makes sense, Jamie, but I have to see this thing through. I already chalked up one failure in California and I can't go through that again. It's the fear of failure, it's killing me."
I had tears in my eyes. "How can you think this is your fault, Kip? Nobody could fix this! I want to help, please let me help."
He took a deep breath. "Alright, I accept. I think bringing your P.I. friend on board is a good idea. Maybe he can figure out who sent that e-mail, or who the park vandal is--but I have to deal with Benjamin Wolf on my own. Deal?" He gave me a little smile and held out his right hand.
I shook it firmly. "Deal!"
"Renaissance Festival on Saturday?"
"I'll expect you on a white horse," I said.
Kip grinned. "Only if you dress like Lady Godiva."
Chapter 10
After dropping Kip back at his office, it was time for me to get to work. First thing on my list was to call the only P.I. whose office was a bar stool at "The Big Easy", my former client and the president of his own fan club, Marmaduke Broussard, III, a/k/a Duke. With his shoulder-length brown hair, shark tooth necklace and alligator boots, Duke looked more like a pirate than a P.I. to me, but then, I wasn't sure what a P.I. was supposed to look like. To say he had a way with the ladies didn't begin to cover it but, for him, it was both a blessing and a curse. It's also how we met. No, we didn't date (that's never going to happen), he was my client. I handled Duke's extremely messy divorce from Wife Number Three, Candy Broussard (she kept the name 'Broussard' just to piss him off). Candy was so furious when she caught him cheating on her that she reported him to the IRS, the Better Business Bureau, the P.I. licensing board, the newspapers, and Angie's List. She trashed him all over Facebook and Twitter, too, but the coup de grace was when she bought a billboard on I-95 to tell the world what she thought of him. It was a big mess, but, with my help, Duke was able to save his P.I. license and stop all the madness by paying a large (but not unreasonable) sum of alimony. It's always about the money--except when it's not. That's when a sincere apology goes a long way.
A year later, my cousin Adam was accused of murder and I had to call in the favor Duke forgot he owed me. By working together we were able to keep Adam out of jail and we've been friends ever since--at least I think we're friends. Maybe he just sticks around so I'll introduce him to the ‘hot lady lawyers’, as he calls them. It's a definite possibility.
I set my phone on hands-free so I could talk while I drove to my office. Although it had been a while, I still had Duke on speed-dial; he was number six. His number used to be four, but then I found my Dad and started dating Kip at about the same time, so Duke got bumped. It was the perfect time to talk since I was stuck in traffic, waiting for a long train to inch its way down the track.
He answered on the first ring.
“Dang, Jamie, where ya been hiding? I thought you’d run off with your park ranger and were living in the woods somewhere. What do they call that? Livin’ off the grid.”
“Hello to you, too," I said with a laugh. "Phone works both ways, and mine didn't ring once. And not because I'm living off the grid, either.”
Duke chuckled. "You got me there, counselor. What can I say? I've been a little busy."
"Yeah, I bet. Not working, I imagine. Who is she? Hope she's not a bimbo like the last one--what was her name?"
"You mean Lulubelle? She wasn't real smart, but that girl had 'personality', if you catch my drift."
I sighed. "Duke, everybody catches your drift, you're about as subtle as a tsunami--no offense."
"None taken, Darlin'." He laughed. "So, what's the story? You got some work for me, or is this just a social call?"
"I've been meaning to call and catch up," I said, feeling bad that I hadn't, "but I do have some work for you. It's personal stuff. No favors though, I'm a paying customer."
"Hell, no! I'd much rather have you owe me a favor. It's just a matter of time before I find myself in some nasty jail cell with no idea how I got there and a guy named Bubba standing over me licking his lips. I'll need you to get me out, girl!"
I burst out laughing. "I'm having fun picturing that! Look, we'll settle up later, okay? Here's what's been going on."
I told him about the park vandal and his annoying pranks and finished up with Mr. I-C-U's threatening e-mail. Duke whistled through his teeth.
"That vandal is something else--I'd like to buy him a drink for being so damn funny. As for the other one, I'd like to kick his ass! There's no way it's the same guy. Tell me what you need me to do."
I felt better already. Duke's investigative techniques were unorthodox and (occasionally) illegal, but he always got the job done. And if I didn't know exactly how he did it, I'd have plausible deniability. At least that's what I told myself.
"Duke, you're the best! Do you think you can trace the e-mail from I-C-U?"
"Maybe, I got this techie who can break into anything--"
"Don't need to know, don't w
ant to know."
He laughed. "I hear ya. What else?"
"Well, what are you doing on Saturday?"
Chapter 11
Duke had never been to the Renaissance Festival before, didn't even know it existed. Hard to believe considering it was an annual event that featured his two favorite things, alcohol and comely maidens. To be honest, though, the beer was expensive and the whole thing was super-geeky. It was like high school when the cool kids wouldn't have been caught dead hanging out at the chess club or playing Dungeons and Dragons. And how else would you describe the Renaissance Festival? It was a humongous game of D & D for 'grown-ups'.
Although I-C-U had already revealed that he'd been stalking us the past few weeks, Duke thought he might still be at it. His plan was to walk around the Ren-Fest and check out anyone suspicious. At a festival filled with jugglers, fire-eaters, mud wrestlers, jousters, apothecaries, magicians, knife-throwers, performing dogs, musicians, and yes, chess players, there was no reason for anyone to pay attention to Kip and me, we would be the most boring people there.
I had one final question for Duke. "How in the world will you be able to work with so many let's call them 'distractions' everywhere?"
"I'm a professional, Darlin', that's how."
"A professional party boy, maybe…"
I hung up with Duke just as I arrived at my office where I proceeded to spend an uneventful afternoon playing catch-up--scheduling mediations, setting hearings and exchanging e-mails with an attorney about settling a case. I definitely made a dent in the pile which allowed me to shake off some of the guilt I'd been carrying around. It felt so good that I wondered why I kept procrastinating to the point of paralysis. After dreading a project for a week, when I finally took care of it I'd realize it wasn't so terrible. All that dread for nothing.
Peril in the Park: A Jamie Quinn Mystery Page 3
