by Niecey Roy
“It’s because you don’t care about us. A year, Roxanna. That’s how long it’s been since you visited.”
Another one of my mother’s guilt trips. “Yeah, yeah. I do work, you know. You’re the one who travels all over the world. You could fit in a visit to your only daughter.”
“How is the writing? When will your book be in a store so I can show my friends? None of them believe you’re published.”
My mother hadn’t grasped the concept that finding an agent to push my novels wasn’t the same as having a publishing contract. She assumed I would be a renowned author any day now. My dad, however, didn’t think of it as any more than a hobby. I was dead set on proving how wrong he was. I hadn’t told them I had an offer already, because all they’d hear were the contingencies, which I hadn’t met yet. After last night, though, I had hope again. A week of writing like last night, and I’d have those chapters to send to my agent.
It was easiest for me just to tell my mother soon when it came to my writing. It was what she wanted to hear anyway, no matter what the truth was.
“I’ll let you know as soon as my agent lets me know. Can you tell Lucky to call me?”
My cousin hated her name. Her mom thought it was cute, and due to the culture disconnect, she didn’t understand that throwing a pretty Asian girl into the snake pit of teenager-dom with the name Lucky was like signing her prison sentence. My cousin had spent most of her teenage years being teased endlessly by the mean girls at school. She had a variety of eccentricities, all of which had been the inspiration for the paranormal series I now wrote.
“I’m not sure she’ll have time to call you. She’s always with that boy.”
My mother and aunt didn’t approve of Lucky’s boyfriend. Mostly because he wasn’t rich. I wasn’t sure why neither of them believed their daughters were capable of taking care of themselves. Lucky didn’t share my aversion to marriage, so one day she’d find The One, get married, settle down, and give her mom grandbabies. The fact that I had no interest in marriage and having kids gave my mother anxiety and heartburn. I’d never tell her that hearing her and dad fighting every night for years, and then listening to her cry every night for months after he left, had scarred me.
“There’s nothing wrong with Tyler.”
“He doesn’t work. How will he buy her a house?”
“He does work. He’s an artist.”
“An artist who makes no money,”
“I’m a writer who makes no money from it,” I argued.
The phone went silent. After a moment, she said, “Yes, well, your dad and I talked about this. If you’re not making money after a year, you’re going to get a real job.”
“A real job, as in joining his company?” I glared at the floor.
When my dad left for Las Vegas, I hadn’t understood what he was going for, or why he needed to go without me. After a few years, and culinary critics raving about Chef Mario’s inspired dishes, my dad’s one restaurant turned into two. Ten years after he left, he had restaurants all over the United States. He was a busy man, my mother always told me, and he took care of us, she’d say in his defense, but those words hadn’t made up for the fact that growing up, I’d needed my dad.
“You’ll never have to worry about money, Roxanna.” By the tone of her voice, there was no room for argument.
“Mother, I have a job. I’m going to be a PI. That’s what I’m training for. I’ve already got my own cases. And I’m writing now. Someday, I’ll make money from that too. I am happy with what I’m doing. I love my job.” I needed sleep. Conversations with her wore me out.
“Women do not work as investigators.”
“Yes, they do.” This was an argument I would not win. Talking to her most times was like talking to a wall.
“It’s not safe for you.”
“If it wasn’t safe, Leo and Uncle Leone wouldn’t let me do it, and you know that.” I sighed. “Really. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m not out chasing the bond skips, and they don’t put me on the big cases with the bad guys. I mostly take pictures.”
“Well, when you get tired of taking pictures, your dad will have a position for you. He just told me—”
“Okay. Okay,” I said, just to placate her. “Can you just tell Lucky to call me so I can find out if she’s really engaged?”
“She’s not yet. But I think she’s pregnant.”
“Holy shit, what?”
“Roxanna, your mouth.”
“Sorry,” I said. She hated cuss words. Well, cuss words in English. She mostly cussed in Tagalog, but when she let a swear word out in English, it was hysterical. “You’re hitting me with a lot of information right now and I’m tired. Why do you think she’s pregnant?”
“All she eats is junk. Pizza.”
I sucked in a breath and heaved out a heavy sigh. “Mother. That doesn’t mean she’s pregnant.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.
Her ability to change the subject in seconds always left me in a daze. I squeezed my eyelids together. Tight. My head thrummed.
“No.” And then Chase’s face flashed into my mind. Weird.
“My friend’s son owns his own business,” my mother said.
“I’m not dating your friend’s son. I live in Nebraska. That’s over two thousand miles away. Long distance relationships don’t work, mother.” And I wasn’t interested in getting married, which was what she wanted. She’d been dropping the grandchildren word a lot this past year.
“I don’t know why you won’t move here. Don’t you want to see your mother more?” She sniffed in irritation. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“I know, I saw the wrinkles the last time I visited,” I teased, and she sniffed.
“You wouldn’t have to visit if you moved here.”
“Mother, you’re the one who moved there.” Because she had selective memory, I added, “Before I even graduated. I practically raised myself.”
“I did not,” she huffed.
The older I got, the more time she’d spent traveling. With my uncle and aunt in town, and my grandma always eager to have me as a house guest, my mom had found taking off to wherever her heart desired was easy. She hadn’t wanted to live in Nebraska in the first place. My dad had convinced her Nebraska would be a safer place to raise me than in Southern California. On that, she could agree, but once he left, living in the house he’d built her had been too painful. By my junior year in high school she was more of a house guest, coming and going with her excessive luggage, breezing in and out with shopping bags during her vacation before breezing out the door to her next adventure. After I graduated high school, she made the permanent move to San Diego and never looked back.
“I’m exhausted. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you I’m coming to visit for your birthday.”
“You are?”
“Of course,” she said, “It’s your birthday.”
“Since when do you visit me on my birthday?” I cocked my head. “What’s wrong?”
My mother preferred I visit her, but if she did visit, it was never after September. Nebraska was too cold for her taste. My birthday was in October.
“Can’t a mother visit her daughter on her birthday? Jeez, anak. You make me sound like a monster.”
“Of course you can visit me. You just haven’t been here in almost two years, that’s all.”
“Your father and I thought it would be nice to visit you this year.”
“Dad’s coming too?” I squinted with skepticism. Something was up. I smelled trouble—or a lecture session from my parents. When was the last time they’d ganged up on me? Senior year, college applications. My plan had been to put off college for a year to travel Europe. My parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go straight to business school.
“As if we’d miss your birthday.”
I bit my tongue. My mom’s selective memory was no match for my exhausted brain. My b
irthday wasn’t for a few months. I had time to mentally prepare for whatever they were planning to ambush me with.
“Sure, sounds like a good time. Can’t wait.”
“I’ll tell your cousin to call.” My mother sighed. “I hope she’s not pregnant. I think that would send your aunt over the edge. She’s crazy already. I’m not sure I can live in the same city as her.”
By the time my mother let me go, I was past bone tired, I was barely functioning. I didn’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.
Chapter Ten
The next day I was back on the catnapping case. I sat slumped in the driver’s seat of a sleek sedan parked across the street and two houses down from Beverly’s. I’d been hesitant to leave on a camping trip with her case open, and the disappearance of her cat still so fresh. I’d needed the time away from the city, though. After another successful writing sprint, I couldn’t deny I’d needed a recharge.
Luckily, nothing out of the ordinary had happened at Beverly’s while I was gone.
I wasn’t here to talk to Beverly though.
Meredith was spraying water on the blue hydrangeas planted around a tree in her front yard. Every now and then she glanced over to where Beverly sat planting geraniums in a pot on her front porch. What was going through her mind? Was she the cat thief? I didn’t think Beverly could have mistaken Meredith for an alien, though.
Unless Meredith IS an alien. My eyes squinted at the idea. It would make for the perfect plot twist. I dictated the idea into my cell phone’s voice recorder so I wouldn’t forget.
“What’s your story, Meredith?” I whispered to myself, pressing the binoculars to my eyes again.
I had no prime suspect. All I had was a thong-wearing alien—maybe—and an angry neighbor. I couldn’t call on the alien for questioning, so I needed to work with what I had, and that was Meredith Jensen. She was about Beverly’s age, her hair colored a rich mahogany. She only had one posture—shoulders back, chin raised—which told me she was always ready for a disagreement.
It was exactly one week since Beverly had shown up at the firm. I’d spent that time distributing flyers, posting the reward in online forums, in the newspaper. There was now a report filed with the humane society in case someone turned the cat in as lost. The case was cold. The cat was gone without a trace, a break-in with no sign of forced entry. All I could do now was pull on strings and hope something eventually gave.
A tap on the driver’s window startled me. Linda’s face was as close to the window as the bill of her purple visor would allow. Her eyes were scrunched into a squint while she squinted at the dark tinted window. I hit the switch on the door and the window retracted.
Linda’s forehead softened in recognition. “Roxanna!” Then she scrunched down and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you on the case? Doing surveillance?”
“I am.” I smiled. At least, I had been. And not a very good job of it if I’d captured Linda’s attention. “Which one of these is your house?”
She pointed over her shoulder at the duplex I was parked in front of. “That one with the god-awful green door. That’s the ball-and-chain’s idea of getting under my skin. I wouldn’t let him get a yappy poodle.”
My lips twitched with a smile. “You don’t like poodles?”
“I don’t like dog poop.”
“Do you think anyone else has noticed me out here?” I’d only parked ten minutes ago. Either Linda had been standing with her nose to her living room window, waiting for something suspicious to happen, or people in this retirement community weren’t used to having visitors driving through.
“I saw you on my way over to Beverly’s. I thought maybe you were an insurance salesman. We get a lot of those here trying to steal us old people’s life savings before we croak.” She peered into the window. “That’s a nice bag you got there. What’s in it?”
I glanced to the open duffle on the passenger seat. The binoculars sat on top. “It’s my gear.”
“Private investigator gear,” Linda said, and her gaze skittered over the bag, the binoculars, and the computer tablet propped open on the center console.
I always typed up my notes. That way I could arrange them in chronological order, along with suspect profiles. There wasn’t much to this case yet. I had taken the time to check into Meredith Jensen, and nothing I’d found raised a red flag. She was a wealthy widow who collected salt and pepper shakers from all over the world. Her online shopping mostly consisted of the nick-knacks and gifts for grandchildren scattered all over the United States. No criminal background to speak of. What I needed to do was break into her home and check the browsing history on her computer—now that’s the key to a person’s soul and deepest, darkest secrets.
Though PIs operated just outside of the law, without the rules holding us back from climbing through an open window, hiding in bushes on private property for the money-shot, rifling through files we weren’t supposed to be in, we still had to be careful. Meredith Jensen wasn’t a bond skip; I couldn’t just break down her door and start searching her house. I wondered if Richard’s techie talents consisted of computer hacking so I could bypass the breaking and entering part.
Linda leaned closer to the window and took on a conspiratorial tone. “Your secret is safe with me. Beverly told me we’re not telling anyone details. Just you, me, and her. Oh, and your alien expert.” Her face lit up. “We’re going covert.”
The we made me nervous.
“At this point, I think it’s definitely a good idea to keep the alien bit to ourselves.”
“It was an alien. I’m sure of it.” Linda placed her hands on culottes-clad hips. “My husband’s cousin was a deputy in Roswell, New Mexico, when that spaceship crashed in ’47. The government cleaned it up, you know.”
“I’ve watched a few documentaries on it.” A few? More like a ton. Possibly too many.
“I checked out a video at the library. I watched it with Jerry. Beverly doesn’t want to watch any more alien videos.”
I tugged the keys out of the ignition. “I think you and Gen should spend some time together.”
She stepped aside so I could open the door and get out of the car. “Do you think she’d want to see the video? I can keep it for a week.”
“She might. I’ll mention it to her.” I shut the car door and shoved the keys into the pocket of my jean shorts. During our conversation, Meredith had disappeared into her home. I waved my finger toward Meredith’s house. “What’s the deal with Beverly’s neighbor?”
“It’s about a man.”
I raised my brows and leaned back against the car. “Beverly didn’t mention anything about a man last week.”
Linda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Of course she didn’t. She doesn’t see things like that. She’s not interested in getting hot and bothered.”
It was official—Linda was my new favorite person. With a snicker, I asked, “But Meredith would?”
I wondered how well everything in the nether regions worked in your seventies.
“All the single ladies in the community want a little Peter action.”
“I—uh—suppose I can relate.”
Linda laughed. “No, Peter is a person. Peter Wood.”
My eyes widened. “That’s his real name? Peter Wood?”
“It’s a doozy, isn’t it?”
“So Meredith has the hots for Peter, and this involves Beverly how?”
“Peter has the hots for Beverly.”
“Okay, then. Now it makes sense. I didn’t think her issues were just about the way Beverly prunes her roses.” I pressed my lips together in consideration and let the information marinate for a moment before nodding. “Meredith is jealous. This might be her last chance to get some nookie and Beverly’s stealing her man without even trying.”
We both looked to where Beverly stood in her yard, rubbing her gloved hands together to knock off the gardening soil.
“She’s still in mourning,” Linda said. “She
and Henry were married for fifty years. She’s not interested in Peter.”
“Do you think Meredith would steal a cat just to torture her competition?” I asked. It seemed a stretch. However, I had no clue what senior citizens did to amuse and entertain themselves. Maybe life in a retirement community was insanely boring and stealing cats was just another day in paradise?
“I hear Meredith is his second choice,” Linda said.
“Sheesh, what’s the deal with Peter Wood, anyway?”
“He looks like that sexy man who played in the James Bond movies.”
“No way,” I breathed.
“And Meredith has been single the longest so she called dibs.”
Dibs. Apparently being in a retirement community was like being in high school. Who knew?
“I’ll keep an eye on Meredith. You know Beverly better than anyone else; you’re her best friend. Do you think anyone else is capable of tormenting her and stealing her cat?”
“If I were you, I’d check out that sleaze of a stepson of hers.” She narrowed her eyes. “That man never liked Beverly.”
“She mentioned that. But she also said their relationship got better with time.” I crossed my arms. “Why would the heir to a fortune want to torture his stepmom? Doesn’t he have too much money for that kind of thing?”
“I don’t know the details, but Matthew Garrett is a gambling fool. His dad had to bail him out of gambling debt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gambled away his inheritance. If he did, he won’t get any more until Beverly dies.”
And just like that, Matthew Garrett’s name was added to the small pool of suspects. Only, what would he gain by stealing the woman’s cat? Maybe there was a black market for exotic animals and he’d stolen the cat to make some quick cash. I made a mental note to check into a possible exotic animals market as soon as I returned to the office.
“Tell Beverly I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m going to dig up some information on Matthew Garrett.” I pulled the car door open. Before getting in, I turned to look at Linda over the door frame. “I don’t want to alarm her about Matthew.”
“I won’t say anything. It would break her heart if she thought he had anything to do with this.” She shrugged. “But it’s probably not him anyway.”
