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

by Jennifer L. Hart

  "What did you expect?" He rounded on me, a few feet away from his vehicle. "That I was just going to spill my whole case to you when you magically reappear in my life after sixteen years? Why should I tell you anything, because you woke up one day and thought 'Gee, today I'd like to be a private investigator, and I'm Mackenzie so I can just do whatever the hell I want'?"

  "Bitter much?" I asked him.

  "Now that I've thought about, yeah. I am bitter. But this isn't about us or how you abandoned me."

  He made it sound like he was a puppy I'd left by the side of the road in a basket. "I didn't abandon you, you idiot. My parents made me move. And besides, I'm sure Tina Yates stepped right into my place."

  "Who?" Brett looked genuinely confused.

  "Oh don't bother lying. I saw you making out with her in that empty alcove by the cafeteria." My hands flew to my hips as I glared at him. "Or did you think I'd forgotten about that?"

  He grimaced. "Mackenzie, I've forgotten about that. What can I say? I was a dumbass at sixteen. Now, get in the car before someone calls in a domestic disturbance."

  I opened my mouth to argue with him on principle before recalling that I needed my phone back. "Fine. But, only because I want to know what you know about the Alphadra. No more talk of what a lying, cheating, no-goodnik you are."

  "Glad we got that cleared up," Brett muttered and held the passenger door for me.

  I waited until he shut it and turned away before leaning into the back to search for my phone. Unfortunately it was a big back seat, and he had a bunch of gadgets stowed there.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Looking for my contact. It popped out."

  "All the way into the back seat?" His tone was incredulous.

  There was the phone, half hidden beneath his seat. "Almost got it."

  "Do you want help?"

  I snagged the phone and slid it forward. Cool air brushed my stomach as my contortionist act revealed about six inches of well-fed belly. "Nope, I got it."

  I sat up, making sure to blink one eye as if I'd just replaced my imaginary contact. "There."

  "Where are you parked? That old lady is staring at us and looking like she wants to call the cops."

  "Her name is Rita, and don't worry about her. We're friends." I waved and after a moment she waved back. "And my car's on a side street."

  Brett turned the engine over. "That's why I didn't spot you. When did you pick me up?"

  I lifted my chin and crossed my arms. "At the Right Touch office building."

  "Wow." He looked suitably impressed.

  "So tell me about the missing Alphadra. Every doctor I spoke to says it doesn't work."

  "Oh it works, just not the way it's supposed to."

  I made a rolling motion with my hand, the universal gesture to keep going.

  "Mackenzie." He sounded pained.

  "I'm not trying to horn in on your case, but I want to know how it involves two dead people."

  "Fine. As an ED drug, Alphadra's a bust. But cooked up with a few over-the-counter medications, it becomes a powerful stimulant."

  "Like meth?"

  "Milder than that. It's mostly an energy booster and causes rapid weight loss, but it can be just as toxic. There were several deliveries that Paul made to various practices that have no record of stocking it. Right Touch hired me to find out who was helping him hide the trail and sell it on the street. Ruth and Kimmy were the prime suspects, mostly because they have the financial need."

  "What about the doctors in the practice?" I asked.

  "I've checked them all out. They aren't flush with cash, but most have their medical loans paid back and aren't facing any major malpractice suits. There's no motive."

  I thought back to the day I'd first gone into the clinic, how Hunter had just happened to be in the parking garage. "Do the cops know about this?"

  "Yes. After Granger's death, Right Touch told the police about my investigation. So far they haven't gotten any further than I have." He parked behind my car and laid his head against the wheel. "When I heard about Kimmy's murder, I thought for sure she must have been the one. She sent money home to her parents in Cambodia on a regular basis. I underestimated Ruth's loyalty."

  I drummed my fingers on the leg of my jeans. "You're sure someone from the office had to be helping him?"

  "Yes. The orders were made through the office computer systems, so whoever made it had access."

  "And it has to be someone with financial motive?"

  He nodded again.

  "Was Ruth's husband there?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  I looked at him, waiting for it to click.

  He smacked himself on the forehead, saving me the trouble of doing it. "He has no job, plenty of time to deal, and could probably obtain access to the system through her. Why didn't I think of that?"

  "You realize you'll have to go back up there." I warned him. "Ruth might put your head on a pike."

  "No need. I have surveillance equipment in back. If I can catch him dealing, I can call the cops and have them bust him. Case closed."

  "That easy, huh? You don't suppose he's a murderer too?"

  "Nah, no motive. Why bite off the hand that feeds him?"

  "So I'm still spitting into the wind."

  "Chin up, Mackenzie. Someday you, too, will be a great mastermind detective like me. In the meantime…" He moved in to kiss me.

  My back slammed against the side door. "Whoa there, Sparky. What are you doing?"

  "Trying to kiss you. As a thank you."

  "Ha, I'm not sixteen anymore. Say it with cash." I held out my palm.

  He looked from it to my face and back. "What do you say I buy you dinner sometime?"

  All the case cracking had shoved my original purpose in following him to the backburner. Dinner might be just the thing. "Give me your number, and we'll set something up."

  Hope flashed in his eyes, and he rattled off his number. "Can I have yours?"

  "You'll get it when I call you."

  He shook his head. "You always wanted all the power in our relationship."

  My hand was on the door handle, but I froze at his words.

  Brett noticed my odd mood shift. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

  "No, but you aren't the first person to tell me that this week. See ya." I slithered out onto the sidewalk on rubbery legs, leaving him behind.

  * * *

  "Mom," Mac met me at the door. "Where were you?"

  "Cracking a case wide open."

  "Does that mean you're getting paid?" My daughter looked hopeful.

  "Unfortunately not. Shoot, is that the time?" I glanced at the Felix the Cat wall clock.

  "Yes, and we still have no plan for this dinner that's supposed to be starting in less than an hour."

  I set my shoulder bag down and shucked my coat then rubbed my hands together. "Bring me everything we have. Cabinets, fridge, freezer. Let's empty this mother out."

  Mac looked at me like I'd lost my mind but did as instructed. Fifteen minutes later we had a passable feast, at least if we had a bunch of eight-year-olds. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiched between crackers, cheese cubes, cheese puffs, apple slices dipped in caramel, candy, cookies, and popcorn. And the pièce de résistance, root beer floats, though I wouldn't make those until the guests arrived.

  "It's all in the arranging," I told Mac as I set a bowl of M&M's as a centerpiece. "Oh, and see if we have any candles."

  "Because then it will look like we tried?" Mac shook her head.

  "Always with the quips," I muttered. "Trust me—you don't want people coming to you for food. Once they do, they never stop."

  The doorbell rang, and Snickers leapt from her favorite couch cushion to sound the alert.

  "You don't think she'll bite anybody, do you?" I asked Mac.

  "Only you." My daughter headed for the door and peeked through the peephole. "Mom? Did you invite Atticus Finch?"

  I nudged her out of the way so I could see. "
That would be Len, the kind soul who sees fit to employ me. Hold the dog."

  Mac backed up so I could open the door and usher Len inside.

  "Mackenzie." He nodded at me and handed over a lovely autumn bouquet and a bottle of Moscato. "Good to see you."

  "Len, may I introduce my daughter, Mackenzie Elizabeth Taylor the Second, though we just call her Mac."

  Mac extended the hand not holding a squirming puggle and, like the true southern gentleman, Len took it and raised it to his lips. "Just as beautiful as your mother, I see."

  I watched as Mac's surprise faded into pleasure. The charming devil had ensnared her, too. I bet opposing counsel never saw Len coming.

  He wore a seersucker suit and matching fedora, which he'd removed the second he crossed the threshold. He also carried a cane, but since this was the first I'd seen of it, I got the feeling it was an accessory more than anything else. Kindly older man comes a-calling. "Am I the first to arrive? I'm not too familiar with this area, so I left early."

  "It's fine. We just set the table." I waved at what looked like a dentist's wet dream and asked, "Root beer float or wine?"

  "Lord have mercy, what a choice." Len laughed. "It's been a dog's age since I had a root beer float. Set me up with one of those. This looks like a carnival!"

  "Coming right up." I circled the counter to retrieve the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer. "Would you like a tour, Len?"

  "I'd be much obliged." Sure enough, he set the cane aside.

  Mac set Snickers down and offered him her arm. He grinned and took hold of it.

  I made three root beer floats, adding a generous dollop of whip cream, and tried to make a plan of attack for when my parents both arrived. Unfortunately, having them in the same room at the same time caused me to break out in hives, so I'd never given much thought to their couple's dynamic. What I did know for a fact was that neither one liked surprises.

  The plan had "harebrained scheme" splattered all over it.

  I was still fretting when the doorbell rang again. I checked the time, ten minutes to seven. That had to be Mom or Nona dropping by early since The Captain was perpetually punctual. I wouldn't be surprised if he was sitting out in his car, watching the clock so he could arrive on my doorstep at seven thirty on the dot.

  "Mackenzie, looking good as always, doll." Nona wore a long shapeless sack covered with giant tropical flowers and a wide-brimmed Sunday hat. Her press-on nails were tipped in what looked like gold dust, and she wore bright pink lipstick. "I brought latkes."

  "Excellent," I said taking the dish from her. "Mac's never had them, so this will be a treat."

  I set the plate on the table and opened the aluminum foil to let the fragrant steam wash over me. "These smell delicious."

  "I'm out of sour cream, but there's apple sauce for dipping. I really should have gone to the store, but my knee was bothering me," Nona fretted.

  I debated offering to go get the ketchup, but didn't. "Maybe I should run upstairs and see if Mom has any sour cream?"

  Nona sagged in relief. "Oh, that would be great. I was gonna knock on her door but my hands were full."

  "I'll do that then. Mac, you're in charge till I get back."

  I shut the door behind me a second after hearing Nona whistle and say, "Well, hell-o, handsome." I smiled to myself. Somehow I had a feeling they'd hit it off.

  I took the stairs and knocked on my mother's door.

  "Go away, Mackenzie," she called.

  "Is that any way to talk to your only child?" I called.

  There was a pause and then the door opened a crack, the chain still in place.

  "Seriously?" I asked, waving at the chain. "Do you really think I'm going to bust the door down?"

  "I never know with you," my mother replied tartly. "You run hot and cold."

  I bit my tongue. Hard enough to taste blood. Getting her downstairs to see dad was the goal, and me losing my temper wouldn't help. My root beer float would be well earned. "Didn't you get my note?"

  "You think I'll come down only to go through the humiliation of having you kick me out again? This time in front of witnesses?"

  "I won't. Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry I made you leave last night. You have the right to your opinion."

  She didn't say anything, and I sighed. "Mom, I wrote you an apology note. I'm here groveling right now. Judas Priest, what do I have to do, order a singing telegram?"

  "Don't be ridiculous." She spoke without venom. "Well, I didn't make anything."

  "That's okay." My mother's contribution would probably contain kale or some other superfood and ruin my theme. "If you have any sour cream though, could you bring that? Nona's plotzing because she made latkes and didn't have any."

  "Let me check the fridge." The door shut, and a minute later the chain rattled, and she reopened it.

  "I'm not really dressed for a dinner party." She fussed, plucking at her navy sweater and taupe slacks.

  At least she was worrying about her own clothing instead of mine for a change. "Trust me—it's a very casual affair."

  She went to her stainless steel fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a container of light sour cream. "Will this do?"

  "Perfect." I could always put it in a bowl and try to forget that it was low fat.

  "Do I need my purse?"

  "Yes, because Mac's carding and charging a five spot at the door."

  "Oh, you and that smart mouth." She swatted my arm then turned to lock her door.

  We were headed down the steps when the front door to the building opened and The Captain strode in and marched toward my door.

  "What's he doing here?" my mother hissed. Loudly. She'd never gotten the hang of volume control.

  My father froze mid-step, then looked up, his expression blanking as he looked at the woman he'd been married to for thirty-five years.

  "Dad wanted to see our new place." I looped my arm through my mother's so she wouldn't get away. "And meet my boss. Just like you."

  "Agnes," my father said curtly. "Mackenzie. Good evening."

  "This isn't a good idea." In spite of my grip, my mother tried to pull back, to retreat back up the stairs.

  "I should go." The Captain was also backing toward the exit.

  "Now hold on one minute," I snapped. "I've gone to a lot of trouble to get the two of you here. The least you can do is tell me what the hell is going on."

  "Language," Agnes chastised, but it was a reflex more than anything else.

  "You have bigger problems than my language," I said. "Can you two look me in the eye and tell me that after spending half your lives together you can't play nice for one dinner?"

  My mother didn't move. Neither did my father.

  I threw my hands up in the air. "Did one of you have an affair? Is there another man? Another woman? Both?"

  "Don't be lewd," Reg Taylor barked.

  I stared at him. Maybe it was my newly emerging PI skills or women's intuition, but I heard what he didn't say just as loudly as what he did. "You didn't answer the question. Is that it, Mom? Did he screw around on you?"

  My father's face darkened to a blotchy red-purple. "How dare you? How dare you stand there and let her accuse me of throwing it all away when you're the one who's leaving."

  "No one's accusing anyone—" I interjected, but he ignored me.

  Coming closer one slow, menacing step at a time, he glared at his wife.

  My mother had her arms wrapped protectively around herself. "You gave me no choice."

  He laughed, totally without humor. "You disgust me anyway. I can't even look at you without thinking about his hands all over you."

  My mouth fell open. My mother had cheated?

  "Who would want you now anyway? You're nothing but a dried-up bag of used goods."

  "Hey!" I came back to life and stepped between my advancing father and my silent mother. "Hold on here. I don't care what she did! You can't talk to her that way."

  His attention snapped from her to me, an
d then he shook his head and headed for the door. He pushed it open so hard it slammed against the outer wall with a deafening bang.

  Without a word my mother handed me the sour cream and disappeared up the stairs.

  I let her, my head swimming as I replayed the scene from the last few minutes, shaken to my core.

  My own door opened, and Mac's head popped out. "Everything okay out here? I thought I heard shouting."

  My lips parted, but I didn't know what to say.

  The front door opened and I blinked, dreading it would be The Captain all wound up for round two. Instead, Hunter stood there, filling the doorway, the western sun backlighting him like some romantic movie hero.

  I rushed down the steps, eager to run into his arms, to let him hold me while I quietly put myself back together in the safety of his embrace. I was so focused on him that I didn't notice the swarm of uniformed police following hot on his heels.

  "Hunter?" I asked.

  "Mackenzie Taylor, you are under arrest."

  "What did I do?" I barked, outraged, gaze locked on Hunter, demanding an explanation. Seething at the betrayal. If he was going to arrest me, he could have least sent me a heads up text.

  "Not you," the uniform said and then broke my heart when he pointed at my wide-eyed daughter. "Her."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Felony—A crime of a more serious nature than a misdemeanor; generally, a criminal offense punishable by death or imprisonment in excess of one year. Depending on the state, the judge and how much your lawyer charges by the hour.

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

  "What did you do?" I asked my daughter for the zillionth time. We were shut together in what I could only assume was an interrogation room—no windows, no mirror, just a video camera in the corner above the door. We were waiting for Len to get the 4-1-1 on why Mac had been arrested.

  "Nothing." My daughter sounded offended that I'd even asked.

  "You know the drill. You're not supposed to get incarcerated unless I'm sitting in the cell beside you." It was a lame joke, but admittedly I wasn't on my A-game.

  "Len will find out what the deal is, and we'll get you out of here." As a parent, there's no worse feeling in the world than watching your only child being led away in handcuffs by the police. Except maybe being physically restrained by the sexy traitor you'd been running to for comfort only moments earlier while watching your only child be led away in handcuffs by the police.