I shifted the laundry onto my hip, trying to block his line of sight with my arm. I didn't want to draw too much attention to the laundry lest he wonder why I was acting weird about it. "Oh yeah?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you can be a PI if that's what you want. I just want to make sure you know some of the basics and minimize the risk."
I thought about the Working Man's Guide, full to bursting with Uncle Al's tips and tricks of the trade. "I have a mentor of sorts."
"Good, that's good." His dark eyes grew warmer, and he moved close enough that I could breathe in his unique scent. "So, am I forgiven?"
"Yeah. I'm a true redhead." He smelled almost…primitive. Earthy. Like pine, wood smoke, and male musk, aromas so foreign and alluring to my city-girl senses. I swayed a little, all my aggravation forgotten in a sensual fog.
His gaze dipped downward, and I blushed all the way to my roots when I realized how suggestive that last comment had sounded.
"What I mean is, I have a short temper, but I get over it quickly too. What's your superpower?" It was a stupid and inane remark, and I wasn't sure why I said it.
A slow wolfish grin spread across his face, and he leaned in close to whisper, "It's a secret."
My breath caught, and I almost collapsed right there in the hallway into a puddle of goo. The man had game. And judging by the light in his eyes, he knew it, too.
"Maybe I can take you out sometime? Dinner? Or coffee?" The dark promise in his eyes suggested other sorts of nocturnal activities.
I wanted to say yes. Something about him made me want to take a risk. Mac would understand—men like him didn't come along every day. Hardworking, honest, sweet, and sinful all wrapped up in a big sexy package. He made my blood run hot and my knees go weak. When was the last time that had happened?
I remembered exactly when, and that thought made me hesitate.
Nona's door creaked open before I could get a word out. "Mackenzie? You still coming up, doll?"
"I have to go." I chucked a thumb to the stairs.
Hunter reached into my basket. "Nona'll be wanting her bloomers."
I snorted. "I should have known better than to sneak something by a detective. I'm just glad you didn't think they were mine. Or Mac's." Though my daughter was a string bean, she could have pitched the underwear and used it for a tent.
"Anytime you want to show me your underwear is fine by me. Though I'd appreciate them more if you modeled them for me, Red." he murmured. "Think about dinner and get back to me."
I sighed as he turned and headed toward the front door. He wasn't the first person to call me Red, though it was a far better nickname than Carrot Top or the much-hated Ginger. Something about the way he said it, though, made a traditional nickname sound so much more…intimate. Alluring, even. Shaking myself free from the sensual spell, I hefted the laundry and headed up to Nona's.
Her apartment was considerably smaller than ours—one bedroom instead of two, no fireplace, and a tiny bathroom with a shower stall instead of the cast-iron tub downstairs. I'd peeked into the unoccupied unit across the hall, and it was as sparse.
I set Nona's laundry by the door. "Just so you know, Hunter was fingering your underwear."
She waved a hand in front of her face. "I think I'm having a hot flash."
"Join the club." I took the small mug of coffee she offered me. It was a sad little thing, almost a baby mug, and would barely contain six ounces of the elixir of life. Maybe one day it would grow into a full-sized mug, but for now it was the little cup that couldn't. I'd need four of them just to make the stairs worth it.
"So did he ask you out?" Nona lit a cigarette and eased herself down onto one end of her uncomfortable-looking sofa.
"He did." I drained my mug and looked around hopefully for more.
"Oh, where's he taking you?" The Yenta was relentless.
"I didn't say yes."
Nona frowned at the unexpected wrinkle in her plans. "Why not? He's nice, single, attractive. Has a steady job and is good with kids."
I frowned at this last bit. "How do you know he's good with kids? He doesn't, like, have any does he?" Maybe it was a stupid double standard, but I didn't want to get involved with a man who had children. I'd raised my daughter and wasn't looking to be the evil step monster to anyone else's.
But Nona shook her head. "No, doll, he's never had kids. But his sisters have a whole heap of them. They come by sometimes and play in the backyard. No matter how wild they get, he's always very patient with them. He'll be a good father someday in spite of, well, never mind." She waved this last bit off.
Intrigued, I opened my mouth to respond, but my cell phone started to buzz with a familiar number. "Excuse me a minute," I said and slipped out into the hall. "Hello?"
"Mackenzie?" The creaky voice sounded unsure.
I smiled. "Yeah, it's me, Len. I was going to come by in a little bit. What's up?"
"It's Jessica Granger. She sold several expensive pieces of jewelry on the day her husband was killed. The DA claims it was to pay for a hit on her husband. She's been charged with murder."
I blew out a breath. So the unlawfully obtained paperwork had called it right. "What can we do?"
"Simple," Len wheezed. "Prove she didn't do it."
CHAPTER SIX
You don't need much to work as a PI. Steady hands and stubborn will. Patience. Sense helps, but isn't required.
From the Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living by Albert Taylor, PI
Though I didn't want to admit it to myself, I needed help with my investigation into Paul Granger's death. As in technical help, aka computers. There were two people I knew who could find the information I needed on Paul Granger's life via the internet and only one person that would be willing to actually do the digging.
Unfortunately, school didn't get out until 3 PM.
I was waiting for Mac in the parking lot of the school when the bell rang for dismissal. She didn't see me at first—her eyes were glued to her cell. Several of the kids turned to watch her trek toward the bus, but no one spoke to her. Poor kid. There was only one public high school in Eastie, and most of the teens here had probably known each other since kindergarten. And not only was she the new kid, she was the mid-semester transfer new kid. When I'd lived with The Captain and Agnes, I'd had to do that a few times, and it was rough, especially as you got older and cliques grew tighter. Mac's MO tended to be speak only when spoken to, which didn't help her in the make-friends department.
I scrambled out of Helga and hurried over to intercept her before she climbed up the bus steps and disappeared. "Hey, little girl, want a ride?"
She did look up then, blue eyes round in mock innocence. "My mother told me never to ride with strangers. And they don't make 'em stranger than you."
"True, that." I took her backpack for her, groaning at the heft of it. "Oof, did you leave any books in the library?"
"It's my new netbook. You owe me fifty bucks by the way."
I cringed. "Sorry, I remember something in that heinous pile of orientation paperwork about a deposit. Must have slipped my mind. Where did you get the money?"
"Grams gave it to me."
I groaned. "Mackenzie Elizabeth Taylor 2.0, what did I tell you about borrowing money from your grandmother?"
"That it leads to the dark side and will forever dominate my destiny," she quoted dutifully. "I'm sorry, but when she came by to take me to lunch…"
I stopped. It was one of those comical types of stops that happen in movies. My feet just quit with the forward momentum even though my top half was already in mid-stride. I nearly face-planted in front of a hundred teenagers. That would have made me a YouTube star by dinner.
"Mom?" Mac looked up, her expression concerned.
"Your grandmother took you out of school?" I spoke the words slowly, in case I'd somehow confused the message.
"No, she didn't sign me out or anything. She texted me this morning and asked if I had a free period. I do this semes
ter, and you know I can leave campus for lunch if I sign out and back in. Why are you so upset?"
"I'm not upset," I grated.
"Mom, I hear your teeth grinding from here. Am I not supposed to hang out with Grams?"
No, you're not supposed to want to hang out with Grams, I thought, though thankfully didn't say it aloud. "I'm just hungry. All I've had to eat today is a couple of Pop Tarts that expired six months ago. If you ever wondered what frosted shingles taste like, I'm pretty sure that's the flavor."
"Hey, Mackenzie!"
We turned at the same time. Though when I saw the speaker, I knew he meant Mac, not me. Not only did he look barely old enough to shave, he had that weird aura that some favored children sported, all golden and glowing, as if nature provided him a constant spotlight. He was fit and showing it off, wearing athletic shorts in spite of the chill air.
"You're going by Mackenzie now?" I hissed
"It's on all the attendance rolls," she hissed back and then raised her voice and actually smiled at the kid who looked like Justin Bieber's little brother. "Hey, Todd."
Naturally he was a Todd. I rolled my eyes so hard one of them almost got stuck.
The kid did a flip thing with his ridiculous golden mane and dimpled at my daughter who actually blushed. It took every ounce of restraint for me to not go for his throat when he said, "Is this your sister?"
"No," Mac said, at the same time I said—
"Yes."
"Cool." Todd nodded as if that were all settled.
Mac gave me a dirty look, but I smiled placidly. The kid would probably be more himself if he thought I was an older sibling rather than a parental unit.
"So I was wondering if you wanted to be my lab partner for the rest of the semester. I just broke up with Bethany." He spoke as if the two items on his agenda weren't mutually exclusive. Maybe to him they weren't.
"Of course," I grumbled but was ignored.
"And now she doesn't want to work with me anymore."
"Some girls." Mac gave a strained-sounding giggle.
Oy vey. This was painful to watch.
"So what do you say?" He flashed those pearly whites at her.
I prayed she'd say no. I didn't want her within a mile of Golden Boy, who seemed to steal all the snark-coated thoughts right out of her head. But I had to stay out of it, had to be the sort of mother that my mother had never been. Accepting of my daughter's choices. Even if they were dimple-wielding meatheads that were using her to up their biology test scores. She was a smart kid, and I trusted her. I just had to keep telling myself that.
Repeatedly.
"Sure," she said and, oh Lord, actually bit her lip. "As long as Mrs. Fox says it's okay."
"Great. Okay, so I'll see you in class tomorrow." He flashed that dimple once more and then ran off.
Mac slid her blue-eyed gaze to me. "Don't, sis."
I held up my hands. "I didn't say a word."
"Let's keep it that way. So, food. Where to?"
I slung an arm over her shoulders. "Where did you eat with Grams? Top of the Hub?" I said naming a fine dining restaurant on top of Prudential Tower.
"No, we just went to a bakery and had cappuccino and scones."
"How about Santarpio's for pizza?"
"We just had pizza."
I looked at her blankly over Helga's roof. "So, what's your point?"
"Nothing, I just figured I'd mention it for the record. Hey, can I drive?"
"No. You're officially grounded after the some girls comment." She wasn't really, but I wanted my protest on the record.
Mac blew out an exasperated breath. "Did it sound as stupid as I thought it did?"
I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Honey, I know he's cute and all, but don't go changing who you are for a guy."
"Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "You're gorgeous."
My heart squeezed. "And so are you. But you have so much more going for you than I ever did. You're smart and capable, and you know enough about life to never let anyone take advantage of you. Plus you have a mother who would slay dragons for you. Or pesky quarterbacks with jock itch."
She snorted. "Subtle."
"I'm just saying, don't carry Golden Boy through science no matter how many times he flashes that dimple."
"Don't worry. He's an honor roll student, so I don't think he's after me for my brain."
I cut her a sideways glance. "That doesn't make me feel any better. You'll tell me if you want to go on the pill, right?"
"Mom!" She barked the word. "I don't even know his last name. Jeez, I'm not that stupid."
I said nothing.
One thing about Mac: unlike me, she knew when to extract her foot from her mouth. "Sorry."
I blew out a sigh. "Don't be. Getting pregnant in high school wasn't the brightest move I could have made. And it's not something I'd recommend to anyone, especially not you. You've got your whole life ahead of you. So if you do want to go on the pill, tell me."
She was quiet. "Did you know my father's last name?"
Oh no, I didn't want to go there. "Mac."
"I don't want to know." She shook her head. "If you say he wasn't good enough to be my father, then I believe you. I'm just curious."
And really, what could I say to that? "Yeah, I knew his last name."
She nodded, and we drove in silence, both pretending that was good enough.
* * *
"So how far did you get in your search into Paul Granger's death?" Mac cracked open a bottle of water and sat on the couch in front of her main PC.
"Um, Google?" I sat next to her so I could watch her type. "Oh, and I Facebook-stalked him, too. He was one of those sandwich people."
Because she was Mac, she knew right away what I was talking about. "Do people really think anyone is interested in their lunch? Okay, so you've covered the basics. But unless you're an idiot, you're not going to be spilling all your deep dark secrets on social networks. So, I'm thinking we need to find out a little bit more about his job and financial stats. Did you meet with the wife yet?"
I glanced at the clock. "Not yet. I'm supposed to meet up with her and Len at his office at six, but it would be nice to have accomplished something."
Mac was busy typing furiously. "Okay, well let's start with a standard background search. Name?"
"Paul Granger."
"And he lives in Boston. Get your credit card out."
I frowned at her. "Why?"
"Because for fifty bucks we can find out everything from a criminal record to marriages and divorces to neighbors, lawsuits, and judgments."
"Cripes," I breathed, looking over her shoulder. "Do me."
"Mom, focus."
"I just want to see."
Mac blew out a sigh and typed in Mackenzie Elizabeth Taylor, Boston, MA. We waited while the entire World Wide Web was scoured for my dirt in less time than it took to make a K-Cup of coffee.
"Nada." Mac sat back in her chair. "Way to keep it on the DL."
I frowned. "That's weird. Shouldn't it spit out something like address, phone number, anything?"
Mac leaned in close. "Depends on where they're getting their sources. If you have a valid driver's license, anything on public record should show up."
It was odd, but I didn't have time to fall through the internet looking glass. "Back to the task at hand. Here's the card." I handed it to her, fairly sure there would be enough room on it for the fee to clear. I'd just have to find another way to pay my mother back.
Mac punched in the numbers, and a few minutes later we were poring over the intimate details of Paul Granger's life.
"We already knew about the custody case. Len told me that's part of the DA's case against our client. She was in an ongoing legal battle over the kids, which speaks to motive."
"You sound all official-like, saying things like 'our client' and 'motive.'" Mac smirked.
"I watched a lot of Matlock as a kid."
My daughter turned back to the screen. "A cost
ly battle from the look of this. He'd filed for bankruptcy."
I drummed my fingers on the table. "Weird. There was nothing about that in the file. He was employed and had flexible hours and all."
"What did he do?" Mac took another swig from her soda can.
I reached into my shoulder bag and thumbed through the file. "He worked for a small pharmaceutical company selling their drug to doctor's offices and such. Right Touch Pharmaceuticals."
"Any idea what they make?" Mac asked.
I did a palms-up. "I never heard of them."
Mac opened a second screen and typed in the name of the pharmaceutical company listed as Paul Granger's employer, then bust out laughing.
"What?" I nudged her aside to get a closer look at the screen. It was just a picture of a couple of moderately attractive people having a sunset dinner by the seashore. "What am I missing?"
She tapped the screen. "It's an ED drug."
I stared at her blankly.
Mac shook her head. "Erectile dysfunction? As in the little blue pills."
"Oh," I mumbled, feeling like an idiot. "Well, okay. So I guess he wasn't making any enemies at work."
"Unless the drug doesn't work." Mac crossed her slim legs—all-knowing Buddha disguised as a sixteen-year-old computer whiz. "That could make guys kind of mad."
I narrowed my eyes on her. "How would you know?"
This garnered an eye roll. "Mom, get real."
We were interrupted by a steady knock on the door.
"Shoot, what time is it?" I scrambled over to where I'd left my purse. "Mac, are you expecting anyone?"
She shook her head. I glanced at my cell. It was five thirty-five. "I've got to go. Let me just see who this is."
With the file in my mouth and struggling to turn my coat sleeve right side out with one hand, I opened the door with the other. The file hit the floor and papers scattered when I took in the sight of my mother.
With a massive amount of luggage stacked behind her.
A sense of foreboding filled me at the sight of all those suitcases. "Mom? What are you doing here?"
"I've left your father." Her tone was brisk as she whisked past me into the apartment as if she hadn't just yanked the rug out from underneath me. "I'm moving in."
Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) Page 6
