D.B. Hayes, Detective

by Darlene Scalera; Dani Sinclair

  “All right. Did you learn anything from your aunt?”

  I told him what Trudy and my aunt had divulged, but I couldn’t see how it would be of much help and said so.

  “You never know.”

  “Instead of going into all these theatrics, Elaine should have just hired you to get evidence on him. Then she would have had something to fight him with in the divorce settlement.”

  Brandon looked thoughtful. I had the distinct feeling there was more going on here than he was saying.

  Over coffee and slices of banana-cream pie that melted on the tongue he turned the talk to general conversation, mostly about the Cleveland area and its suburbs.

  “How is it you came to set up shop here instead of Pittsburgh?” I asked when I found an opening.

  “My brother moved here with his family a little while ago. His wife is from this area. My parents recently moved to North Ridgeview to be closer to their grandson. When my brother…died, I decided to move closer to the rest of my family.”

  “Oh.” Somehow I hadn’t pictured him with family. Before I could ask any more questions, he signaled for the check and changed the subject.

  “What’s this job you’re doing tonight?”

  I squirmed uncomfortably—and only partly at the question. I wondered if he’d notice if I undid the button on my slacks. Yeah, he’d notice. Those sharp eyes of his didn’t seem to miss a thing. I shouldn’t have eaten so much.

  “I’ve got a stakeout,” I exaggerated slightly. “My client thinks someone has been stalking her. She wants me to make them stop.”

  Brandon leaned forward, his expression turning earnest. “A stalker is nothing to fool around with, Dee. You should let the police handle something like that.”

  I almost told him he didn’t know Mrs. Keene, but his intent stare and the phrasing he’d chosen irritated the heck out of me.

  “Is that what you’d do?” I asked sweetly. “Call the police?”

  He was smart enough to see the trap before stepping into it, but the answer he didn’t say out loud was written plainly on his expression.

  “Or is that what you think I should do because I’m a woman?”

  “You are a woman.”

  “Who happens to be a licensed private investigator. Just like you.”

  “Not like me, Dee. You’re how old—twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  He’d definitely pressed my hot button.

  “What does my age have to do with anything?”

  “I’m twenty-nine, Dee. I spent almost five years as a police officer in Pittsburgh. I’ve had a lot more training and experience than you’ve had.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is. You’re just a—”

  “If you call me a kid, I’m going to seriously hurt you. I’m twenty-four and I spent almost two years working for Hunter and Barnett Investigations in New York City. Good. I see you’ve heard of them. Now maybe that experience doesn’t equal being a street cop in Pittsburgh, but it does take me out of the novice category, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Look—”

  “No, you look, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I like being a detective. I’m good at my job. I’m not the one who was set up to be someone’s patsy, remember? And I don’t need some condescending pretty boy trying to tell me what to do.”

  I didn’t realize how much my voice had risen until a hush fell around us. My face flamed as I stood and dropped my napkin on my half-finished pie.

  “Be a good little detective and pay the waitress, won’t you? I’ll wait for you outside. I believe you did hire me to guard your body, so I’ll just make sure no one is lurking out there waiting to murder you—besides me.”

  I stalked past the other tables with my head held high. A little old lady who had to be at least eighty if she was a day beamed up at me as I came abreast of her.

  “You go, girl,” she said.

  I offered her a weak smile, already feeling foolish. After all, I still had to ride back to the flower shop with Brandon and I didn’t figure he was going to be in the best of moods.

  Outside it was still muggy and hot. I hoped Lake Erie would send some rain our way soon to cool things off, but it didn’t look promising. I was the one starting to cool off. I admit I have a quick temper. Fortunately it tends to cool almost as quickly as it flares. I was already cringing over what I’d said as I hurried to where he had parked. Since I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, I never saw the man until Hogan Delvecchi stepped directly in front of me.

  All that rich, wonderful food I’d just eaten threatened to back-pedal. My mouth went dry and I stared up at him, tongue-tied.

  “Mr. Russo doesn’t think you should be consorting with Brandon Kirkpatrick,” he said without preamble. “Mr. Russo says you might get hurt that way. Mr. Russo says to remind you that he paid for a confidential investigation.”

  I swallowed hard. The man was threatening me!

  Maybe it was because Brandon thought I was incompetent. Maybe I was PMSing. Whatever the case, I swallowed my fear and met his little piggy eyes with a hard stare of my own.

  “Please assure Mr. Russo he has nothing to worry about. Mr. Kirkpatrick and I are merely acquaintances in the same line of work. I have no intention of betraying any confidences to Mr. Kirkpatrick or anyone else.”

  I could feel a trickle of sweat sliding down my back as Delvecchi regarded me. It was not a pleasant sensation.

  “That’s good,” he said after a long pause. “Mr. Russo would be very upset if anything was to happen to you.”

  Oh, help. It wouldn’t do for my knees to buckle now. I tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace instead.

  “I’d be pretty upset, as well.”

  He gave a curt nod.

  “Stay away from Kirkpatrick.”

  I watched him stride over to a late-model Lexus, of all things—silver gray, naturally—that was double-parked. I noted the license plate number as he slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot without a backward glance. Relief vied with quivering excitement. I’d faced down a gangster who had threatened me. An edge of fear slipped into the mix. He’d actually threatened me.

  “Dee, I owe you an apology.”

  Dazed, I saw Brandon approaching, his expression contrite.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked quickly.

  I shook my head, still trying to sort out my emotions. “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just missed Hogan Delvecchi.”

  His head swiveled about the lot. “Delvecchi was here? He approached you? What did he want?”

  “To warn me to stay away from you. Mr. Russo doesn’t like you. He doesn’t want to see anything happen to me.”

  Brandon’s jaw dropped.

  “I’m thinking maybe we could both use a bodyguard.”

  Chapter Six

  I nibbled at the cookie with all the eagerness of a condemned person. Mrs. Keene had not forgotten the sugar this time. She’d doubled it. If I’d been a diabetic, a single cookie would have sent me into insulin shock. There is no kind way to tell the woman she shouldn’t cook—ever—so I suffered through stoically and continued to explain why it would be better for me to watch the house from the outside.

  “But what if he sneaks in the back while you’re out front, or vice versa?”

  “You call me at the first sound of anything.”

  “But what if I don’t hear anything? I’m old, you know. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

  I wasn’t going to win this battle. I could tell.

  “You’ve only seen him twice after all the lights were out, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we need to pretend you’re going up to bed early. If he’s watching the house, he won’t come if he knows you have company.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “I’ll move my car next door and go and visit with my father for a while.”

  “I should go with you. I ha
ven’t talked to your father in ages.”

  He’d kill me.

  “No. You can socialize with him another time. Right now we need to deal with this first.” Her face dropped. “You make it appear that you’re getting ready for bed. We’ll let things quiet down and then I’ll come back over and patrol.”

  She didn’t like it, but she finally agreed to the plan. I left Mrs. Keene to go over and say hello to my father. I found him in the basement, as usual.

  Dad works for the sanitation department by day. For some unfathomable reason, he’d recently decided to take up woodworking in his spare time. To that end, he’d cleaned out the basement and purchased all sorts of power tools that scare the heck out of me. So far all he’s made is a stool. It’s a very nice stool, if a little wobbly, but he’s pleased with the results, and as long as he doesn’t give it to me, I’m happy if he is.

  We conducted our chat over the sound of the circular saw, with me standing a respectful distance away hoping I wouldn’t witness anything being mangled beyond the wood. He finished sawing a board in half, lifted his goggles and stared at me.

  “Why’d you say you’re going to be next door?”

  “Mrs. Keene thinks someone has been…prowling around her house at night.”

  “Woman’s a nutcase.”

  “Yes, well, she’s paying me to make them go away. You haven’t seen a red car in the neighborhood, have you?”

  “Fred Lyons down the street has a red Jeep. What sort of car?”

  I grimaced. “Small.”

  Dad snorted and pulled his goggles back into place.

  “You need to find a good man and settle down like your brothers.”

  I decided that was my cue to leave. “Have fun, Dad. And be careful.”

  He grunted as he lifted another board for slicing. I was starting across the backyard when my cell phone rang. Mentally I groaned as I saw Mrs. Keene’s name flash on the screen.

  “Dee! The car’s here.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “Where?”

  “At the end of the block. He’s parked near the corner.”

  I hesitated. “How can you possibly see that from your house?”

  “With my night-vision binoculars, of course.”

  Of course.

  “I’m on my way. Is he in the car?”

  “I think so, but I can’t tell.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  She had night-vision binoculars. Even I didn’t have night-vision binoculars.

  I saw no reason for subterfuge. I mean, even if someone was in the car and was for some inexplicable reason watching her house, they wouldn’t expect me to come strolling down the sidewalk right up to them.

  I expected it to be some kid and his date looking for a dark place to park, but as it turned out there were two burgundy red cars parked near the corner. A large, dark shape emerged from the one nearest to me to stand there waiting as I approached.

  Nervously I reached into my purse and fingered the can of pepper spray I always carry. Except there was something familiar about the man. The car was familiar, too, and as I drew closer, I knew why. I’d last seen it driving away from the front of the flower shop where I’d demanded to be dropped off only a short while ago.

  “Brandon?”

  Shoulders lifted and fell in a rueful shrug.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It wasn’t as if we had exactly parted on good terms. We’d argued all the way back to the shop. He’d wanted to come with me tonight. I’d pointed out that I’d be safest wherever he wasn’t. In the end I’d gotten mad and told him exactly how little use I had for his help.

  “I can’t believe you followed me!”

  “I didn’t. I called your aunt.”

  “Aunt Lacy told you where I was?” I asked, outraged.

  “No, Trudy told me.”

  “I don’t believe this. You actually called my aunt! After all the things I told you—”

  “You don’t even carry a gun, Dee.”

  “Trudy told you that, too?” I’d kill her.

  “I figured you might need backup if things got sticky.”

  “Sticky? Sticky!”

  “Uh, Dee, you might want to keep your voice down.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what to do! Who do you think you are?”

  “A friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “You’re starting to sound like a parrot, Dee. I just thought it might be a good idea to—”

  My cell phone trilled. I was so mad, I pressed the button to answer it without thinking.

  “Dee! He’s here! He’s on my back porch. I think he’s trying to get in through the kitchen window!”

  “What?”

  Her shrill, terrified voice carried easily in the still night air. Brandon began to pound down the street. His much longer legs ate up the ground ahead of me as we raced back toward Mrs. Keene’s house.

  I am not a runner like Aunt Lacy. My idea of exercise is a comfortable stroll through the shopping center—or a frantic dash, if the sale is spectacular—so I was slightly winded before we reached her yard. Brandon had no such problem. He disappeared into her backyard before I reached the front. His backside was just disappearing over the neighbor’s privacy fence as I came around the side of the house.

  I don’t do fences. I especially don’t do fences behind which dogs are barking. Brandon was welcome to play hero. Dog bites are much worse than cat scratches. I lightly rubbed my offended hand.

  Lights were coming on around me at the commotion. This is generally a quiet neighborhood with mostly older residents. As I moved onto the back porch, I saw the screen had been removed from the window over the kitchen sink. The window itself had been pried halfway up. I stuck my head inside and yelled to Mrs. Keene.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes! He ran toward Clarence.”

  The intersection we had just left. Didn’t it figure?

  “Come and lock this window.”

  I trotted back the way I had come. Maybe I should reconsider joining a gym. Except I hadn’t liked PE even in school. Swimming? I could take up swimming. It was good exercise, cool, refreshing, not sweaty. But swimming involved water and the whole wet-hair issue. Besides, I’d seen Lakewood Park with its wall-to-wall bodies. No, thank you. Maybe yoga.

  A car came whipping down the street going at least fifty miles an hour. It was hard to tell the exact shade of the vehicle given the dim streetlights, but I thought the color might have been red. The windows were darkly tinted, but there appeared to be only the driver inside. I was guessing a young male based on his speed and the fact that the car was a sporty-looking model. The car went past so fast, I only thought to look at the tag as an afterthought, much too late.

  I reached Brandon’s car and glanced inside. He had a pair of night-vision binoculars lying in plain sight on the front seat. The other burgundy car that had been parked behind his was gone. I had a sinking feeling I’d just seen it whiz past.

  I was feeling very foolish as I waited for Brandon to show up.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  When he didn’t arrive after several minutes went by, I started to worry. That had sounded like a very big dog on the other side of that fence. He could be lying there bleeding to death, with his jugular ripped out, for all I knew. I headed back to Mrs. Keene’s house at a respectable jog.

  Brandon met me in the side yard holding a bouquet of long-stemmed yellow roses.

  “Nice touch,” I panted, more relieved than I wanted him to know, “but I don’t think I’ve known you long enough for you to give me flowers.”

  “Funny lady. He dropped these going over the fence.”

  My jaw sagged. “Do you know what yellow roses cost?”

  “Nineteen ninety-nine, according to the sticker.”

  “Only at a discount store. Let me see those.”

  The sticker at the bottom of the cellophane did indeed say nineteen ninety-nine.<
br />
  “These aren’t good-quality roses.”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “Well, they aren’t. Your arm’s bleeding. And your pants are torn.”

  “I scratched the arm going over the fence. The terrier ripped the pants.”

  “That was a terrier?”

  “Mixed breed with a deep voice.”

  I shook my head. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live, but he got away.”

  “I assume you don’t mean the terrier.” He gave me a dirty look and I sighed. “I know. He was doing about fifty going up the street.”

  “I don’t suppose you got the license plate?”

  “I got a partial.” I bristled. “It’s dark, in case you hadn’t noticed, and he was moving when I saw him. How come you didn’t get it?”

  He shrugged. “Same reason.”

  “Did you at least get a good look at him?”

  He shook his head. “He’s young, dark haired, Caucasian, early twenties or late teens. Five-ten, one-fifty-five, right-handed.”

  “Right-handed?”

  “Primary hand he used to pull himself over the fence.”

  I was impressed, but I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why? Most people are right-handed.”

  “Mrs. Keene is in her sixties.”

  It was Brandon’s turn to gape.

  “Does she have a daughter?”

  “In Michigan. Married with two children.”

  “A burglar?”

  “Who planned to leave her a dozen yellow roses after casing the place for the past two nights?”

  “Mind if I meet your client?”

  Since I wasn’t going to get a say in the matter, I simply shook my head. Mrs. Keene came bustling up to us, an impossibly colorful muumuu waving about her generous form.

  “You caught him!”

  “No, ma’am. This is Brandon Kirkpatrick, my…associate.”

  Brandon raised his eyebrows at me but smiled graciously at Mrs. Keene. He clasped her hand warmly, causing her lashes to flutter.