by anna snow
"Sounds complicated."
That whole set up was way too complicated for me. I could barely balance my checkbook. Not that there was a lot of money in my account to balance to begin with. I was, at the moment, what I liked to call financially challenged.
"It can be at times," he agreed. "The other firm that takes care of the Hatchett Modeling accounts and I meet once a month to go over the numbers just to make sure we're on the same page, and there're no loose ends. The last thing we want to do is get Hatchett or ourselves into some kind of financial trouble because of oversights. No one wants to deal with the IRS."
Amen, brother.
"Wait." I held up a hand to stop him. "Wasn't Robert Hatchett's wife murdered in their home about two weeks ago?"
At least that's what I thought I'd heard on the bits of the evening news I'd been able to catch. In my line of work, I wasn't home much, so television watching was sparse.
"That's why I'm here."
Why did I have the feeling that the shiznit was about to hit the fan? Oh, that's right, because wherever Jason went, crap always seemed to start flying. It was like he had his own troop of poo-flinging monkeys following him everywhere he went. I briefly considered carrying an umbrella to keep myself from being splattered.
Over the last three years as a private investigator I'd learned that most cases always lead back to one of two things, money or sex. Sometimes both. Most of the time, a spouse suspected their significant other of cheating simply based on behavior, such as not wanting to make love, or their money didn't add up.
Money or sex.
With Jason, I had a sinking feeling that I already knew which of the two had landed him in trouble.
"Were you having an affair with Mrs. Hatchett?"
Yeah, it was crass of me to ask, but I had to know. I felt the need to get that little tidbit out of the way.
He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the seat. "No. I wasn't banging Lydia. Jesus, Barb." He glared at me. "I cheated once. It was a mistake. Let it go already. It's not like I sleep with every woman who walks by."
Could've fooled me.
I bit my tongue to keep from telling him to go straight to hell on the first bus out. Instead, I motioned for him to continue. When it came to sleeping with a woman, no matter what he told me, I wouldn't believe it. If the woman was willing, Jason was all too happy to oblige. Instead of nagging him about his relationship with Lydia Hatchett, I let the subject drop for now.
"The day her body was found at her place the police called me in for questioning. They released me a few hours later. Three days after the initial questioning a detective paid a visit to my office. He asked some more questions and informed me that from that point on, I was being considered a suspect."
"A murder suspect?"
"Yeah. Imagine my surprise." He shook his head.
I leaned my elbows on the desk, unable to control my rising curiosity. "What kind of questions did the detective ask you?"
"How well I knew Lydia. Were we having an affair? Had I ever done any kind of personal work for her that her husband didn't know about? Stuff like that, which were basically the same questions I'd been asked days before at the station. I contacted my attorney. He said that without any hard evidence against me, I was probably safe, but probably isn't good enough for me."
"You said that the cops don't have any hard evidence against you, but they have to have something or else they wouldn't name you as a suspect," I said as I tapped the end of a pen with my thumb. "So what do they have?"
He looked away.
"Jason? Do the cops have any evidence pointing to you or not?"
He blew out a breath. "Yes."
"What do they have?"
He cleared his throat. "They found my jacket and money clip in her bedroom."
"Your jacket and money clip? I thought you said you weren't sleeping with her." I raised one eyebrow. "If you weren't sleeping with Lydia, how did those things come to be in her bedroom, the bedroom where she was murdered, at all?"
In my line of work someone didn't lose such personal items in a married woman's bedroom unless they were mattress-surfing with said woman. Which, knowing Jason, wasn't that unlikely.
"I think I'm being framed. That's why I need your help."
"Who would want to frame you for murder?" I asked. "You're an accountant. You said that you're not into any illegal dealings, so why would someone try to frame you for murder?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm here."
"Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?" I tapped my bottom lip with my pen.
"I was home alone." He shook his head. "I know it's weak, but surely one of the neighbors saw my car in the drive or something."
"That's a long shot that won't stand up in court. Just because someone saw your car in the drive doesn't mean that you were home. That story won't fly with anyone."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "I know it won't, but it's all I have. I was home the night she was killed. I swear."
"Swear all you want, but that alibi won't hold up."
I leaned back in my chair and tapped the end of my pen on the desk as I thought. This was a tricky situation. One that could land me in a huge heap of trouble if I didn't play my cards right. There was no way on Earth I was going to interfere with an ongoing murder investigation any further than I was legally allowed, but my curiosity was getting the best of me.
"Jason, this is an ongoing murder investigation." I set the pen down and tapped the desk with my index finger, a habit I had when thinking. "I can only look into a case up to a certain point without stepping outside the bounds of legality."
Which was the truth. While I could snoop around and ask questions, I had to do so without interfering with the investigation the police were conducting. I would have to walk a very thin line if I took this case.
"I'm not asking you to interfere or do anything illegal," he said quickly. "I'm asking you to conduct your own investigation."
"Which is exactly what I just said." I rolled my eyes. "But tell me something, Jason. Why should I help you?" I asked. "I can't think of a single solitary thing that you've ever been honest with me about." I flopped back in my cushy chair. "Why should I believe that you're innocent?"
"Because I am," he said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. As much as I disliked Jason, I had a hard time believing he was capable of murder. He just didn't have it in him.
"You're asking me to delve into a murder. A high-profile murder that the cops are currently investigating. I can do it, but you have to understand that this is a tricky situation for me and my girls. One wrong move, one step over the line, and we could be in trouble right alongside you, and in case you're unaware, prison orange is not my color. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
While I really wasn't afraid of getting thrown in jail, I was concerned about what exactly I could do to help him. I usually dealt with cheaters, liars, and the occasional thief. Murderers were a whole new crop of crazy that I had little experience with.
"Please, Barb," he begged. "I need help with this, and you're the only one I can trust right now. I didn't kill Lydia Hatchett. You have to help me. I'm desperate."
Good gravy, if there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was the sight of a man begging. Despite his cheating, Jason was a good man. (Well, he had been at one time.) He was honest. (Somewhat. That was still kind of a sketchy area with the cheating and all.) But despite my personal feelings about him, I had a gut feeling that he was actually innocent. If there was one thing I'd learned in my thirty years of life, it was to trust my gut.
I knew taking this case was a bad idea. I also knew that this was the case that could either make me or break me because Hatchett was an important man, and this was a popular case.
There was also the small matter of if I turned this job down and Jason really was innocent, then an innocent man would be sitting in prison for the rest of his life because I was too afraid to get involved.
Could I afford to let the case that could make my company the biggest in the city slip through my fingers? The only thing I could do was put on my big-girl panties and bite the bullet, so to speak. Kelly was so going to kick me right in the rear for getting us into such a situation, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and I knew my girls would have my back no matter what decision I made.
This single case could put Jackson Investigations on the map, and I might be able to pay the light bill on time next month, which was a rare occurrence as of late. Last month I'd actually considered sending them an IOU with a pic of Kelly in a bikini as payment and hope they left the power on.
I reached into my top desk drawer, pulled out a piece of my favorite watermelon Bubblicious, and popped it into my mouth.
Some people smoked. Some drank. I chewed bubblegum.
"I'll do it," I said and nearly choked on the words as they passed my lips. "On one condition."
"You name it," he said and scooted to the edge of his seat, hope evident in his shining eyes.
"From this point on, you never lie to me. If I ask you a question for information, anything at all, you tell me the truth. No exceptions. I don't care how bad it might make you look, how scandalous it may be, or who besides you it involves—you tell me exactly what I need to know. It isn't just your butt on the line anymore, and I'll be dipped in the sewer before I let you drag me down with you."
"I swear," he answered quickly. "Thank you, Barb. You don't know how much this means to me."
"I think I might," I muttered as I stood. I already felt the weight of the world resting on my shoulders.
I circled the desk and held out my hand for a handshake before I could come to my senses and change my mind. I was more than a little surprised when Jason jumped to his feet, reached out, and pulled me into his arms in a tight embrace.
I stood still, in total shock until his scent hit me. The fragrance of his musky aftershave and the natural scent of his skin enveloped me. My inner hoochie took over, and I let myself melt into him.
I know, I know, it was a seriously bad move, but give a girl a break. My love life had been practically nonexistent for the past year, and sad to say, I'd been head over heels in love with Jason at one time…until he betrayed me.
I felt him press his lips against the top of my head.
Oh, God! Not that! Not the tender, you're so-special head kiss! Abort! Abort!
I forced myself to pull away before things got really out of hand, and I did something stupid like let my hormones take over. There was no way on Heaven or Earth I was going back down that road again. That sucker was full of potholes.
"I'll get started today and call you if I find anything."
He smiled and some of the tension visibly lifted from his body. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
"I do." I smiled and turned back to my desk, then pressed the intercom button.
"Yes?" Kelly's voice echoed in the room between us.
"Mr. King will be paying you for our services on his way out. Charge him the cheating-arrogant-fool rate."
"You got it, boss," she answered, and I could hear the grin in her voice.
Jason chuckled and shook his head as he strode to the door and grasped the knob.
"Same ol' Barb."
He grinned once more at me over his shoulder and exited my office.
I shrugged because, really, what could I say? He was right. I was the same ol' Barb, and I was happy with that.
I just hoped he wasn't the same old Jason, because if he was, he'd be sitting in big-boy jail by the end of the week, and I'd be back to not being able to pay the light bill.
CHAPTER TWO
"You agreed to do what?"
I cringed at the deadly look Kelly cast me from across the desk.
If looks could kill, I'd be dead with a capital D.
"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be, but I couldn't just let him walk out of here knowing that he may very well be innocent.
She continued to look at me with a, you-expect-me-to-believe-that expression.
"Seriously, Kelly, could you live with yourself if you knew an innocent man was spending life in prison because you were too afraid to help him?"
She scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips. "No," she finally admitted. "But is that the real reason you agreed to help him? Or is it because you two used to be engaged? Which, by the way," she wagged her finger at me, "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about." She flipped me off.
Maybe some of the reason I wanted to help Jason was because of our past. Maybe a small part of me wanted to prove to him that I was good at this private investigating thing, which was something he always laughed at me for dreaming about. But I'd never admit it.
I groaned. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Jason. We happened before I opened the office. Besides, it's not like our relationship is something that I like to remember." I shrugged and tried to explain. "I loved him. He loved to roll around with other women. I'm completely over him. End of story."
And I was. Getting over Jason took a while, several bottles of wine, and a few sappy chick flicks, but after all this time, I really was over him.
"And this is the same guy you put our rears on the line for because you think he's innocent? How can you trust him after what he did to you?"
I shrugged one shoulder. "I feel it in my gut. Besides, he cheated on me, he didn't sell me out to the mob or something."
She pursed her red lips. "I don't know, Barb. This case, it sounds like more trouble than it's worth. What if he's lying?"
"I know," I admitted, "but just think about it, Kelly. This case, if we can crack it, could make us. Can you imagine what kind of cases people would bring to us if we discovered who really killed Lydia Hatchett? We wouldn't have to hunt cheaters all day everyday just to make ends meet."
"Chasing cheaters is sort of fun. We get to see all kinds of crazy stuff." Kelly grinned.
I rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut because she was right. Busting a cheater could be exciting, and you never knew what you were going to see.
We'd seen some things I still couldn't get out of my head. There were just some things a person could never unsee.
"But"—she sighed and shook her head—"I'll do whatever you need me to do. We need to be extra careful with this one. Make sure we dot our I's and cross our T's. The last thing we want is the police department thinking that we're stepping on their toes and shutting us down."
"You don't have to remind me," I said and meant every word. The last place I wanted to end up because of a shifty ex-boyfriend was in the slammer…or labor and delivery, but that's a completely different story.
"So, where should we start?" she asked.
I spat my now-flavorless bubblegum in the trashcan, then immediately popped a new piece in my mouth.
"I think we need to start by digging into the pasts of Robert and Lydia Hatchett and Jason as well. We need to get a peek at their financials, anything they might have had their thumbs into, pending deals, and so on, in case Lydia was the victim of some deal gone wrong."
"Done." Kelly made a note on the yellow legal pad she held.
I still wasn't used to Kelly's lack of tech knowledge. She still used an ancient-looking flip phone that had definitely seen better days…in the nineties.
"I'll call up Mandy. If anyone can find that info, it's her."
"Perfect." I nodded. "I know it's her day off, but we could really use her help."
I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the number to the local police department.
"What are you doing?" Kelly asked.
"Calling the police station to see if by some chance I can see the police report or at least get some information on the case."
"You think they'll let you see the file?" Kelly raised her eyebrows.
"If this were a simpler case, yeah, but with this one being high profile, no." I shook my head. "But it can't hurt to try. The worst they can do is tell me no, then I'm right back
where we started."
She nodded and continued to dial Mandy's number while I waited for the police station to pick up.
On the third ring a perky dispatcher answered. "Police Department. This is Tiffany. How can I help you?"
"This is Barb Jackson of Jackson Investigations. I need to speak with the detective in charge of the Lydia Hatchett case."
"Sure. Let me see if he's in. Just one moment."
The dispatcher put me on hold, and a second later, the worst elevator version of Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell" I'd ever heard filled my ears. I had the fleeting thought that whoever had the brilliant idea to destroy that song needed a swift kick in the rump.
At least five minutes passed before a deep voice finally came over the line.
"Detective Black. What can I do for you?"
"I'm Barb Jackson of Jackson Investigations. I'd like to speak to you about the Lydia Hatchett case."
"What about it?"
He was quite brusque, but I brushed it off. He was a detective. He had a lot on his plate.
"Well, for starters," I began, "I've been approached by someone concerning the case. I'd like to see the case file if possible to aid in my investigation."
"No can do. Sorry."
"I understand that this is an ongoing investigation, but I've been hired to look into this case as well. I'm sure you can understand and extend a little bit of professional courtesy."
"Listen, lady, I get that you're a private investigator and all, but this is an ongoing murder investigation. At this point I'm not willing to show anyone this file." I heard the snap of what sounded like a heavy folder hitting the desk. "So I'm sorry, but no. There's no way you're getting your hands on the case file."
His bluntness started to rub me the wrong way. I was doing my best to be polite, but he was making it rough.
"I understand how important this case is," I said, "but my client—"
"I can only imagine who your client is, seeing as how there's only one suspect in the case." He huffed out a breath. "Just in case you didn't hear me, this is an ongoing murder case. I can't tell you not to conduct your little investigation, but I can tell you to stay out of my way. Don't tamper with anything, and I mean anything, or I'll toss you in a cell. Understand?"
