Electile Dysfunction (Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Book 6)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Skinner beamed. “And you are?”

  “Cortnie Criss. I work for Mimi Capurro and Charles Parks. Are you hiring the firm?”

  Skinner nodded. “I hope so.”

  Cortnie looked at me like a fan girl, eyes wide. I could tell by the eager“Can I sit in?” expression on her face, she wanted to stay.

  “Have a seat,” I said. “Skinner was just telling us about how he’d like us to investigate his old team roping partner for fraud.”

  “Not Bucky?” Cortnie sounded disappointed.

  “Bucky,” I confirmed. “Can you be a part of this investigation and be impartial?”

  Cortnie looked at the floor, then at me. Then she looked Skinner in the eye. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Mathis, I never did like Bucky. Sorry. Something has never sat right with me about him. And when he got into city politics, well that was the icing, wasn’t it? I just knew he was a snake.”

  She was in. Whether she was telling the truth or not, I had no idea. I’d ask her when Skinner was gone, but I was pretty sure she had just pulled a line of bullshit out of a hat. She earned her place in this investigation. And right now, everyone needed something to keep their mind busy.

  We had just finished a difficult case where one of our decoys had been killed while working on a prostitution sting for us, and the fallout still hurt. There had been some personal fallout recently, too, and the entire office was still in mourning. This case seemed like just the right thing to keep our minds moving forward.

  “His wife is still running barrels, isn’t she?”

  There was a twinkle in Skinner’s eye. Whoa. That was more than a twinkle. Then it was gone. “Yes. She nearly won the world championship two years ago. Looks like their daughter is fixin’ to win it this year, but they may be losing their good horse, so I’m not sure. Though his daughter still has her good horse.”

  Cortnie looked distressed. “Losing a horse? Like putting it to sleep?”

  “No, but it’s a long story. Another of Bucky’s business deals. Not my problem; I have enough problems without worrying about his. Though you may want to have a chat with Pamela Brown about that business deal she had going with good old Mr. Cox. Like I said, I have enough problems of my own.”

  “Don’t we all?” Cortnie commiserated with Skinner.

  “So you follow team roping?”

  “Rodeo, actually. I have since I was a kid. Salinas is a big rodeo town, as you know. I got hooked at an early age. Junior rodeo, high school rodeo, scholarship at Cal Poly Pomona.”

  Skinner’s brows raised, then lowered. “I’m a Cal Poly San Luis Obispo alum myself,” he looked her up and down. “So you aren’t a buckle bunny then?”

  Even I knew what a buckle bunny was, and I couldn’t believe he’d asked Cortnie such a derogatory question. For the uninitiated, a buckle bunny is a girl who goes to rodeos to pick up cowboys and have sex with them, or if she’s really lucky (a matter of taste, I suppose), she’d snag him and marry him.

  Cortnie giggled like a teenager. “Good one. Nope, just a former cowgirl. I miss it sometimes. Cowboys like you and Bucky were my heroes back in the day. Having you in the office is like having a celebrity here, but I promise not to be a fan girl.”

  Under her breath, Jackie said, “Too late.”

  “So I think our next move should be to go out to Bucky’s place and pay him a visit.” I stood, indicating the meeting was coming to an end. “Would you like to join us, Skinner?”

  “I think you should talk to Pam Brown before you visit with Bucky. She can tell you about her business dealings with him. They just came out of a nasty court battle, and I’d say she was on the losing end.”

  “Why don’t you save me the time, and give me the details?”

  “I’m not privy to the details, so anything I say would be gossip.” He put his hat back on his head. “I’ve got to get to work. I can’t go out to Bucky’s with you; he’s got a restraining order against me.”

  That would have been nice to know up front. I looked at Jackie and Cortnie, who now had thin straight lines for lips.

  “Cortnie, want to help me before we leave? It’s almost time.” Jackie dashed toward the kitchen.

  Cortnie didn’t even say goodbye as she followed after Jackie.

  “Mr. Mathis, full disclosure up front is nice.” I came around the front of my desk. “I’m going to let this one pass, but please, if there is anything else I need to know that is going to affect our ability to investigate, let me know now. Getting blindsided is not one of my favorite activities.”

  He assured me there wasn’t, and I walked him out to his pickup at the curb. As we walked down to the sidewalk, I explained how we would go about investigating Bucky Cox, and that we had have to be very discreet because of the campaign. Discreet that is, until we had concrete proof, then we could blow the lid off his campaign and muddy his little waters until his campaign was in the toilet.

  Skinner reached in his pocket and pulled out another wad of cash.“Look, I know I gave you a retainer, but this should be enough for the entire case. When this runs out, you’ll have to be finished. It’s all I have.”

  I didn’t want to count the cash in front of him and look greedy, but the thickness of the stack of bills told me it would be more than enough to cover our expenses for at least several days’ worth of work, if not more. And if we were efficient, maybe we’d be able to give him back some of the money. I’d count the exact amount when I got back inside. I knew he knew exactly how much he’d given me, especially if it was all he had left.

  When I got inside, everyone was waiting for me in the foyer. I dashed past them to my office and put the cash in my safe, then I came back to meet up with the ladies and head out.

  Cortnie, all five feet nothing of her, was dwarfed by Jackie’s five-six or so, plus the four inch heels of her Jimmy Choos. She’d pulled out all the stops that morning. We all had on little black dresses, and could probably stock a small store with what we own in our closets. Owning black clothing was a hazard of being a private detective. Fading in on a dark night was a necessity.

  “You ready?”

  My stomach lurched. “We still have time. Do you think we can drive by Bucky’s ranch before we go?”

  “You don’t want to get there early?”

  “I don’t want to go at all.” I walked toward my office. “I’m going to grab some flat shoes in case we get out of the car at Bucky’s.”

  Walking out to the parking lot, I saw Nick pull up in his Porsche Boxster.

  Jackie said, “Cortnie and I will wait in your car.”

  I nodded and walked over to the driver’s side of Nick’s car and leaned down as he rolled down the window.

  Nick Christianson was my boyfriend. Oh, I love that word, boyfriend. We’d been dating almost since he’d moved back to Salinas to work for the police department. Detective Christianson worked homicide, and we’d become reacquainted when I’d been working for a New York Times bestselling author, as a bodyguard, and that author’s assistant had been murdered.

  Nick and I had been in a weird relationship back in college, and I’d hoped to never see him again, but with time passing, we had a better relationship this time around.

  Nick had been a looker in college, with wavy black hair always just a little too long, and piercing gray eyes staring out from his dark, brooding face. Now he was even more handsome, with the lines of time adding to his character, and the brooding turned to wisdom. For a man I’d never wanted to see again, I’d fallen pretty hard, very fast.

  “Don’t you look snazzy?” I said.

  Unlike his normal simple suit for work, he wore a tailored charcoal gray jacket with a deep purple shirt, and a lavender tie. It was obvious he’d learned a few things from Charles about dressing. I’d bet he was even using Charles’ tailor, because the fit around his torso was snug, and his shirt sleeve showed about the same amount of fabric I’d seen when Charles wore a suit.

  “Thanks.” A man of many words.

&nbs
p; I looked past him to the passenger seat, and then back. “I thought you had to work today. Are you going to the funeral after all?”

  CHAPTER 2

  CHARLES

  Nick turned away from Mimi and looked at me. Oh, hell no, I wasn’t going to be the one to explain it to her. I sat quietly in the passenger seat and didn’t say a word. I’d been getting good at it. It might be a new characteristic for me. Or not.

  He looked back to Mimi. “No, we aren’t going to the funeral. The time for mourning is over. But you don’t have to worry, because you’re always dressed in black, ready for any funeral, any day.”

  I’m pretty sure I saw Mimi visibly exhale. The silence ended. I leaned down and asked, “So, traitor, were you planning to go?”

  She stuck her head clear in the car, right in front of Nick’s face, her freshly colored caramel hair, with creamy highlights, brushing his nose. “I’ve been dreading it all morning. So has everyone else. But we were going to support you, you jerk. And now you aren’t going?”

  I leaned over and got nose to nose with her. “It’s dead and buried. It’s a hunk of metal, scrap metal, and I don’t ever want to see it again.”

  She blew her TicTac minted breath in my face. “Not the damn car, idiot. Anthony’s funeral.”

  I shook my head. “I sent flowers. I’m pretty sure his family doesn’t want me there. They’ve already tried to have me brought up on murder charges.”

  Nick and Mimi looked at me, eyes wide.

  “They actually tried to have me charged in Anthony’s death. Something about causing him so much grief that I baited him into suicide.” I really felt for his family, and I understood they’d lost their only son, but maybe they should have been there for him more while he was alive, then he’d have had someone to turn to, and not had to endure the loneliness. They’d hated his way of life, but in death,he was now somehow a saint, and I had tainted, or in their eyes, killed him.

  “You realize that’s bogus, right?” Nick asked.

  I stared at him. Did I look stupid?

  Mimi slammed the back of her head on the door as she tried to stand. “Crap.” She backed out of the car, but still had her hands on the window sill, and her face in the window. “I didn’t order flowers. It’s probably too late.”

  “It won’t matter. They’ll never even notice. It’s the thought that counts. Are you still going?”

  Mimi cocked her head and rubbed the back of it. “Are you?”

  I shook my head. “Like I said, not my place. Besides, like Nick said, the time for mourning is over. My baby is gone. Time to move on.”

  The hunk of metal was my baby, my Porsche Spyder 550. My precious baby of a car. I’d treated that car better than I treated myself, which is pretty damn good, and within a matter of minutes, it was a pile of rubble on the rocks off of Big Sur. Who drives a car they are unfamiliar with like a bat out of hell, on winding roads they don’t know, in weather that may affect the conditions? Apparently the idiot Anthony was screwing. Well, not anymore, unless they have cars and roads in hell.

  I’d gone to Monterey to talk to Anthony about our breakup. Not to reconcile, just to talk. I’m not one to get mushy, but we had years under our belt, and I didn’t want to cringe every time I thought of all of the time we had together, good and bad. It ended badly, and in no part due to me. Well, maybe in some part due to me, but I’m not the one who cheated. I got busy, he got busy, we drifted. He drifted into the arms of another, I didn’t. The guy he drifted to was one jealous creature, and while Anthony and I were saying our last goodbyes, making it a good closure, and giving me a chance to have my say (I always have to have my say), he snatched my keys from the table and sprinted out to my car before I knew what was happening. But just like a mama knows her baby’s cry, I knew the sound of my Spyder’s engine. That crazy mofo had stolen my car, my baby. No way on God’s green Earth did I think it’d end in death. Who gave a shit about him? I was talking about my Spyder.

  Okay, fine, he didn’t die in the car accident. I want you to think he did, because he broke up my relationship with Anthony, and ruined my personal life, then mangled my car, but he lived. At first, I was glad he was alive, only so I could press charges against him for grand theft auto. In the end, I didn’t even do that, because the guy was going to have a shitty life going forward. That would be punishment enough for his incredibly stupid actions. I didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. He was in pretty bad shape.

  Anthony took it hard. Being the prima donna he was, he didn’t want to be with the man anymore.( I’m sorry I don’t mention the guy by name, but I’ve drawn a complete blank, and I’m not about to ask anyone because I don’t really want to remember). Anthony was embarrassed at his lover’s actions, and horrified by the guy’s looks after the accident. (Yes, he’s more shallow than I am). That ol’ boy came crawling back to me. I do mean crawling, literally, on hands and knees, begging. I don’t do begging, so I slammed the door in his face, evicted him from the old house, and had the locks changed on both houses. Since I’m keeping the house in Salinas, I had all of the furniture moved here, and sold the other house within a week. Sadly, I had no idea Anthony was such a weak man. He committed suicide. This was what had prompted all of the funeral talk.

  Mimi backed up and stood. “Then I’m going to go out to Bucky Cox’s place and have a look around.”

  This got me curious, and made me forget all about my Spyder. “Bucky Cox?”

  “We started a new case this morning. Cortnie, Jackie, and I are going out to Bucky’s to talk to him.” Mimi looked smug.

  She knew I loved politics. Not so much politics, but the dirt, grime, and underbelly of it all. The smut, smell, and sleaze. Yeah, Bucky Cox was the epitome of politics, and he was my hero, or anti-hero, one and the same. Nick put his Boxster in gear before I could say another word, and reversed out of the parking lot.

  “Love you, babe, but we’ve got an errand to run.” Nick rolled up his window before I could get a word in edgewise.

  “Damn you, Nick. I wanted to go talk to Bucky.” I pretended to sulk.

  Nick looked me up and down. “Sure, you’re going to go out to some horse farm in that…who made your suit?”

  I ran my hands over the earthy brown English woolen fabric of my suit pants. Yes, they were flat front pants, with no cuff and very little break at the leg. I wore chocolate brown socks with a pale blue horizontal stripe that picked up the blue in my plaid pinpoint cotton shirt. “I’m still not telling you who makes my suits. Besides, on a cop’s salary, I doubt you can afford him.”

  “On a cop’s salary, you think I can afford this car?” Nick gunned the engine and we were on our way to Monterey.

  I looked over at his suit. It was definitely not as pricey as mine, but you’d never know it. His tailor did a damn fine job. If the fabric held up well, a $200 suit could look like a $2000 suit, and Nick’s suit fit like a million bucks. We both needed to look that good, because we were headed to Marriotto Imports on Del Monte Avenue in Monterey. I needed him to look like he could afford to be there with me.

  “Nick, I think you bought this car when you were a football player, and you baby it like I babied my Spyder. If you had to buy it today, you couldn’t, so if I were you, I wouldn’t leave my keys were some jealous bitch can get a hold of them.”

  Nick laughed, “Bingo. Nailed it. But let me ask you, other than the price you paid for that car, why was it so special? I mean, who mourns a car for weeks on end?”

  I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Nick didn’t take his eyes off the road as he maneuvered along toward Highway 1. “Try me.”

  “Are we having a moment?”

  “Let’s just say we are.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever shared this with anyone, and I couldn’t believe I was going to share it with Nick. “Did you know James Dean was driving a 1955 Porsche Spyder when he died?”

  Nick nodded.

  “It was brand new. Well, James Dean was f
rom Marion, Indiana, where my grandparents were from. Bet you didn’t know that?”

  Nick smiled. “That I did not.”

  “Anyway, he was raised a Quaker. Ever since I first saw Rebel Without a Cause, I was mesmerized by him, and my grandparents said he was raised nearby.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He didn’t get it, but no one ever would. I don’t know why I shared it with him. “It was just the closest I ever got to James Dean. He was so cool. When I was a kid, I wasn’t cool. I was that kid, you know? I had to grow into myself, and it takes a while to mold into this kind of greatness.”

  “Yeah, that it does.” Nick grinned. He got it. He probably grew into his greatness earlier than I did, but he had lost it along the way, so he knew.

  “Funniest thing, and I know you don’t know this, they were on their way to Salinas the day James Dean died. Salinas, of all places. Headed to the races. He was supposed to trailer the car, but it needed some road time, so they decided to drive instead. Some kid named Turnupseed, a student at Cal Poly, crossed the center line, and the rest is history. Turnupseed, what a name. And what a thing to be saddled with for the rest of your life, the guy who killed James Dean.” I was rambling.

  “I didn’t know that. Thanks for the history of James Dean.” Nick turned off Highway 1 onto Del Monte Avenue.

  “That car was my piece of James Dean.”

  Nick looked at me with somber eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I wanted to tell him to screw off, but I think he was serious. I’d already lost Anthony, so when he actually died, the grief didn’t hit so hard, it was only the fact that I’d really never see him again. In the back of my mind, I had dreaded getting the rent check every month, or running into him in the old familiar places. Not that I would be frequenting those places since I’d moved to Salinas, but it could happen. Not now. I’d never see Anthony’s face alive again. It actually hurt worse than losing the car, much worse.

  Nick pulled into the lot of Marriotto Imports, and we both got out like we meant business, or like we were cheesy cops, you choose. It looked ridiculous. Thank goodness no one was outside to see us, but within moments, a yummy salesman seemed to be at our service. And I do mean yummy.