Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1)

by Jennifer L. Hart

  "Would you care to meet up for lunch? There's a great Jewish deli on the corner, and I was just on my way there."

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of a corned beef on rye, but I was flat broke. "It might take me awhile to get there. I'm across town."

  "I'll order for you, whatever you like, my treat."

  Those were the magic words. I gave him my order, glad I didn't have to head home to throw lunch together.

  Heading back over to Helga, I texted Mac. How's your new lab partner working out? Abs or glutes?

  She hit me back just as I reached Helga. You think you're funny, but you're not.

  I am freaking hilarious. Off to lunch, Len's buying, I typed, feeling important.

  There was no reply, and I figured she'd had to stow her phone. Damn public education, taking my daughter away for six whole hours every day. On second thought, she probably needed a break from my antics since I could be a handful at times.

  Pocketing my phone, I reached for the car door handle just as a hand was clamped over my mouth.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  No degree in the world will prepare you for facing down an irate subject. Especially if said subject is armed.

  From the Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living by Albert Taylor, PI

  I acted on pure instinct, trying to scream around the hand covering my mouth. When that didn't do any good, I struggled against the hold, trying to break free. So vehement were my efforts that it took me a minute to realize that the thug who had grabbed me was calling me by name. "Mackenzie, it's okay, it's me."

  I froze, trying to place the voice. "Hunter?" I asked, though with his hand still clamped over my mouth it came out more like "Mmpher?"

  "Don't scream, struggle, or ask any questions," Hunter murmured in my ear. "Just get in your car, and drive home. I'll meet you there in an hour."

  I wanted to ask why he was acting so oddly, but he met my eyes and gave a brief shake of his head.

  "I'm meeting someone for lunch," I muttered instead. "Can I do that?"

  "No."

  A shiver went through me. "Am I in danger?"

  "Trouble, not danger. Promise me you'll go right there, or I swear I'll drive you there myself and handcuff you to my bed."

  My mouth went dry as my gaze flew to his. If he was bluffing, I couldn't tell. "I promise."

  He strode off casually as though he hadn't just accosted me in a darkened parking garage and threatened to…

  All of a sudden I was sorry I hadn't snooped in his bedroom. He was a cop. Of course he had handcuffs. But did he have…other things?

  Best not to think about that.

  I got inside Helga, reversed out of the space, and headed down the ramp toward the exit. After handing over my validated ticket, I made a left and headed for the villa.

  The closer I got though, the more my temper flared. Who the heck did Hunter Black think he was, popping up out of nowhere and telling me that I couldn't go to lunch? Sure he was an officer of the law, but I was 99.9 percent sure his authority didn't extend to my eating habits.

  I should ask a lawyer, just to be safe.

  The midday traffic was light, and I made it to the deli Len had indicated. The sun shone on the little outdoor patio, and I spied Len sitting at a picnic table, his suit rumpled, his tie pulled loose. He waved when he saw me.

  "Can a police officer tell a person whether or not he or she can go to lunch?" I asked Len as I took a seat in front of the corn beef sandwich and, bless him, cardboard coffee cup.

  Good sport that he was, Len didn't inquire why I wanted the information, he just shook his head. "Not unless you're detained for questioning or under arrest."

  "How about handcuffing them to his bed?" I asked before sinking my teeth into a sandwich.

  "Not without the other person's consent. Does that help?" Len raised an eyebrow.

  I smiled and then took a swig of coffee, not wanting to lie. If Hunter ever did handcuff me to his bed I was fairly sure a big, stupid part of me would be okay with it.

  Len waited patiently while I downed half my sandwich, polished off the coffee, then wiped my hands on a napkin before saying, "So tell me what you've found out."

  Extracting the file from my bag, I flipped to the folder with my notes to help me summarize all that I'd learned, starting with the conversation with Dr. Dole and working my way backwards.

  Len listened, nodding thoughtfully as I told him my findings, though he frowned about my second run-in with the mysterious man who drove the Escalade. "So you still didn't get a good look at him?"

  "No, and I didn't report him to the police, either."

  "If he worked for the Fox family, I think he would have confronted you or run toward their house, not park a street over and rabbit when you noticed him. That doesn't sound like killer for hire behavior, especially the part about the Mace."

  "It was pepper spray," I corrected. "And I thought the same thing. Not that I'm ungrateful about him not shooting me."

  "You need to be more careful," Len advised. "You're not law enforcement, so don't take unnecessary risks to catch a suspect. Are you armed?"

  I paused with the other triangle of sandwich at my lips. "Only pepper spray."

  "Do you own a gun?"

  I set the sandwich back down, my appetite gone. "No. Is it a job requirement?"

  "Absolutely not. In fact, if you are uncomfortable with guns, I'd recommend you stay that way. If you want to learn, hire someone experienced to teach you enough to be proficient and get a concealed carry permit. Your greatest weapon is the information you gather. I've worked with some hotheaded PIs in the past who think they're Dirty Harry. It never ends well. What's your next step?"

  I blew out a sigh. "I wanted to speak with someone over at Right Touch Pharmaceuticals, but no one has returned my calls. I guess I'll keep going down the list and talking with doctors and staff who work at the offices Paul visited. See if I unearth anything else."

  I nodded, taking his advice to heart. "I should probably go. Thank you for lunch."

  He studied me a moment. "You can submit your expenses any time, and I'll advance you and just bill the client later."

  "Do I look that pathetic?" I asked with a rueful smile.

  "Not pathetic, my dear. More…hard-pressed. I noticed you didn't agree to lunch until I offered to buy, which I will be billing our client for, by the way. You're doing a thorough job investigating, and I want to make sure you get a fair shake."

  Between Len and Uncle Al, I couldn't have asked for better mentors to help ease me into my new career. "I've been kinda worried about the expenses, not the cost as much as what I can and can't charge."

  "You compile a list, bring them to me, and we'll go over them before submitting them to the client. And since you're working for me, I'm happy to advance you the hours you've already put in on this case." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills.

  "Cripes, Len," I yelped. Standing quickly, I bent down and blocked the fistful of bills from anyone in the deli. "You shouldn't flash that kind of cash out on the street. Someone will target you for a mugging."

  He shook his head. "I keep forgetting I'm not in a small town anymore. You're right. I'll be more careful in the future."

  "Oh? How long have you been in Boston?"

  "About five years."

  I stared at him. Five years was more than enough time to become acquainted with the safety precautions deemed necessary by city dwellers. I thought back to walking him to his car the night before. "Please tell me you make a habit of locking your car and your front door."

  He shrugged. "When I remember about it."

  "You're killing me, Len. But thank you for this. What prompted your move anyhow?"

  "My sweet Madison passed, and I couldn't bear to stay in our lifelong home without her."

  How sad. "But why Boston? Do you have family here?"

  "We never had children of our own. My brother-in-law was looking to retire so I sold my home and bought h
is practice. It keeps me occupied—gotta keep the mind engaged or old age will chew it up and spit it out."

  My nose wrinkled at the image, but I understood the sentiment. "Well I better head home before the cops are out looking for me." One cop in particular.

  "Stop by the office tomorrow, and we'll go over those expenses." Len urged.

  My heart went out to my employer who was such an interesting combination of wise and foolish but above all exceptionally lonely. "I will. And you should come by Uncle Al's place for dinner some night. Meet my daughter and avoid my mother. It'll be a real insider's glimpse."

  Len's face lit up. "You cook?"

  "Hell no, but I order takeout with the best of them."

  "I'd like that."

  With a final farewell, I sprinted to Helga and prayed to the traffic gods for mercy so I'd beat Hunter back to the villa.

  It was ten past two when I walked up the front steps, wishing I had somewhere to hide. My palms were sweating, and my knees didn't seem to be working right. Len had assured me that the law was on my side, so why did I feel as if I was about to get hauled into the principal's office for flushing cherry bombs down the locker room toilets?

  Note to self: you're in the right, so stop being such a wuss.

  That conviction only lasted until I strode through the front door to see Hunter Black sitting on the steps to the upstairs, obviously lying in wait.

  He didn't say anything as I shut the front door. The tension built as I strode closer, chin lifted as though ready to do battle. At the last second I dove for my own door in a desperate bid for freedom.

  "Not so fast."

  Hunter moved like lightning. He had my key out of my hand and spun me to face him, pinning both my arms above my head. His expression was neutral, but those midnight eyes blazed with righteous indignation.

  "You pick, Red. We doing this at your place or mine? Or right here in the hall for all I care, but I doubt you want your mother to see what comes next."

  "I…" I had to swallow. My throat had dried up like a grape left in the sun. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "You promised me you'd come home."

  "I did. I'm home now."

  From the other side of the door I heard scratching followed by a soft whine. Hunter's gaze fell to the door.

  "She's been in there alone all morning." I was a horrible, awful, desperate person to be playing the poor doggie card. I mentally promised Snickers I'd feed her pizza crust from the table every night if she'd just distract Hunter long enough to let me escape. She could even sleep in my bed as long as she stayed away from my shoes.

  "Your place then." Hunter made the call and inserted the key into the lock.

  Snickers barked, at me, not Hunter, then trotted towards my bedroom and scratched at the door. Hunter propelled me forward by the arm, following in the dog's wake.

  "Hey," I struggled to break free of his hold. "Can you at least tell me what I did that was so horrible that I deserve the perp walk?"

  Hunter didn't pause at my bedroom door, just let himself in as though he had every right. The room looked as though a tornado had touched down, with clothes, shoes, CDs, and other personal flotsam strewn every which way. It was apparent that my mother's tidying hadn't extended to my space.

  After releasing my arm, Hunter made for the French door that led to the back yard, opened it, and let Snickers out before turning to face me. "Do the words interfering with a police investigation mean anything to you?"

  "I didn't—" I began, but he held up a hand.

  "How about obstruction of justice? Lying to a police officer."

  "I didn't lie to you! I promised I would come home, and here I am."

  His eyes narrowed. "Maybe not to me. But how about the uniform who responded to your attack last night?"

  "I wasn't attacked." I frowned. "You have faulty information."

  He moved in closer, a dangerous panther prepared to spring. "No? A man didn't try to carjack you and your mother in the Beacon Hill district last night?"

  "Oh, that."

  He crowded in closer, so I was forced to look up to see his face. "What were you doing there anyway, Red. Hmm? There are grocery stores a hell of a lot closer than Beacon Hill."

  Cowering really wasn't my designer knockoff handbag of choice. I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eye. "If you must know, I was doing surveillance. And I wouldn't have to except that you arrested our client without investigating any of the other suspects."

  His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned stark white. "So it's my fault some thug carjacked you?"

  "I wasn't carjacked." I said, wondering if there was any way out of this without winding up in handcuffs. "I did something stupid and made up that story as a cover."

  "Did you spritz yourself again?" he asked.

  Lying was a temptation, but it didn't seem to help where Hunter was concerned. And whatever punishment he did concoct would probably just make it worse. "No, a guy spritzed me after I tried to run him down. Let the dog back in before she scratches up the glass."

  Without taking his eyes off me, Hunter stepped back and opened the door. Snickers trotted in, and he shut it again in one tense motion.

  "I'll tell you if you promise not to go ballistic on me."

  "I promise," he said.

  "That was fast. No caveat or addendums before you agree?"

  "It's obvious you've been hanging out with a lawyer. No, and I'm a man of my word, so when I say I won't get angry with you, you can count on it."

  "You're already angry with me. I can tell because there's this vein in your forehead, kind of like a Klingon vein. You know, Klingons from Star Trek? Well it's standing out all angry and—"

  "Mackenzie." That was all he said. My name sans any real emotion attached to it. One word, three syllables. It was enough to cease my babble mid-stream.

  "Tell me," he prompted, "everything."

  So I did, not because he insisted, or because he was a cop, but because I needed to tell someone the whole entire story. My daughter was my best friend, but it wasn't fair to burden a sixteen-year-old with the grim reality of our financial circumstances, plus I didn't want to worry her.

  But Hunter was already worried, and what was more, he wouldn't relent. I had zero doubt that if I stopped speaking he'd come up with some very creative ways to make me talk.

  "Dr. Granger is innocent, of murder at least," I finished. "I'm sure of it. Why would she hire a PI to tail her husband if she'd already hired someone else to bump him off?"

  "So a witness could truthfully claim she wasn't there." Hunter sat down on my unmade bed. "She still could have hired someone."

  "You're so stubborn." There was a lacy purple bra about six inches from his butt. No way to move it without drawing attention to it.

  "I'm stubborn?" He raised one dark eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

  "Because you won't even entertain the possibility that someone else could have killed Paul. From what I saw last night, Robert Fox has a vicious temper and serious rage issues. And the victim ruined the guy's marriage. Plus the staff at the doctor's office called Paul the leg-humper."

  "That's unique." Hunter looked like he was thinking about smiling.

  "And it indicates that besides his gorgeous and frosty wife and wealthy mistress, he'd chase anything in a skirt. That's the sort of guy that'll piss people off, women and the men they're involved with. Would you like it if some sex fiend was macking on your girl?"

  I didn't know what possessed me to ask this last part. Stupid, broken brain-to-mouth filter.

  Hunter's gaze intensified, his seamless shift from cop mode to potential lover almost unsettling. "No."

  Message received. My hands clenched in the comforter, my heart thudding against my rib cage like it wanted to leap out and run screaming down the street. Oh, I was playing with fire with him. I knew it, but I couldn't seem to stop.

  Hunter broke eye contact first. "But I also wouldn't off a man due to petty jealousy.
Murder requires a strong motive or psychotic personality. You're sure it was the same guy, the one you were tailing and the one who spritzed you?"

  "Since I didn't get a good look at him either time, no. But it was the same Escalade."

  "Why are you so sure?"

  "There's a dent in the front quarter panel." I pulled out my phone and opened my gallery. "See here? I noticed it because it looks like he hit some sort of small animal. If it was a deer or another vehicle it would have been bigger."

  Hunter frowned so I enlarged the photo so he could get a closer look. "How did you pick up on this?"

  "I used to work at a body shop," I told him, "when Mac was a few months old. I liked cars, and the guy who ran the place had a soft spot for me. He gave us room and board above the garage, and I did the paperwork for him. He had a heart attack about a year after, and his family decided to sell the shop, but I did pick up a few things."

  "You were just a kid." Hunter searched my face. "Where was your family?"

  I rose, unable to hold that penetrating gaze a moment longer. "Look, the day is zipping by, and I have a few more doctors' offices to visit, so are we done here?"

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stand and move toward me. "One of these days you're going to trust me with your secrets."

  "We just met." It was a token protest, but I was desperate to achieve a little distance. "Besides, it's not like you're opening up to me."

  "I let you into my apartment, didn't I?"

  "It's not like it's oozing with personality."

  "I'm sure you learned something interesting. You were certainly in there long enough."

  I blushed, but didn't answer.

  He tipped my chin up with his forefinger. "What can I say to convince you to give up private investigation?"

  I thought about Mac, proud of my cool new job. I thought about Len, sitting by himself in his law office. And I thought about Uncle Al and his unpublished manuscript. The man had loved the business, and I had begun to love it too. "There's nothing. I want this more than I've wanted anything since my daughter was born. It feels…right. I don't want to keep crossing swords with you over this. What can I say that will help you accept that I'm doing what I want to do?"