The Blonde Before Christmas: a Barb Jackson Mysteries holiday short story

by anna snow

  "Jason?" I prodded.

  "Yeah. Kind of."

  "Care to elaborate?" I pressed. "Because in my line of work, kind of doesn't cut the cake."

  "You know I started my own accounting firm four years ago?" He leaned his elbows on his knees.

  "Yes." I nodded. If there was one thing Jason was good with, it was numbers.

  "I do a lot of business for individuals as well as some larger companies. One of those companies in particular being Hatchett Enterprises."

  "Hatchett?" I interrupted. "As in modeling mogul Robert Hatchett?"

  Robert Hatchett owned and operated the biggest modeling agencies in the United States. His models were everywhere—television, movies, magazines, and billboards. Hatchett was the name in modeling. If you wanted to be the next Naomi Campbell, Hatchett Enterprises was the agency you tried to land.

  "The one and only."

  "That's a pretty big deal," I said. "How'd that happen?"

  "Mr. Hatchett came into my office six months ago, chatted me up, said he heard great things about me from a colleague, and hired me on the spot to work as his personal accountant. The money he offered was just too good to pass up."

  "I can imagine." I shook my head. "Personal accounts? As in illegal?" I asked.

  "No, no, nothing like that." He waved a hand in the air. "The modeling agency has its own accounting company, due to the fact that it's a multi-million dollar business. All agency accounts are dealt with by another firm, but Hatchett has more going on than the modeling agency. He has charities and such, and that's what he hired me to keep track of."

  "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 j
ust 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 girls 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.

  BUBBLEGUM BLONDE

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

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