“Absolutely, but I need a coffee first. I’ve been chained to my desk for hours, and I ran out of coffee beans yesterday.”
“Coming right up, boss.”
I quickly made Maya’s favorite, a five-shot cinnamon latte. Five shots of espresso in one drink was enough to wake the dead. I motioned for her to come with me back to the office, which was where I’d safely stored my shiny new license.
I plucked it out of a locked desk drawer with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
Collapsing into the chair across from the desk, she accepted the license from me and looked it over appreciatively. “This will look smashing next to mine on the wall in my office.”
Truth be told, I was kind of bummed I didn’t get to carry it around with me, but rules were rules.
Maya reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a leather folio. She placed my license carefully inside, then retrieved a manila folder from the bag and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
Her dark eyes sparkled. “Your first solo surveillance assignment. A reward for your hard work,” she said, chuckling. “It’s the Kixmiller infidelity case. I’m officially passing the torch on to you.”
I opened the folder, trying not to seem as crazy excited as I felt. My first case!
Maya and I had been investigating this Kixmiller guy for over a week now. His wife had suspected him of cheating for a while, but needed photographic proof of him and his mistress in flagrante in order to get out of their prenuptial agreement. My surveillance mission tonight would be to keep watch on Kixmiller’s mistress’s house and get photos of the couple together. The only problem was that Maya and I had done this same stakeout several times already, and we’d struck out every time. Each night, Kixmiller came and went from his girlfriend’s house alone, and she didn’t set foot outside while he was there. The lovers were discreet, never seen together in public.
She added, “I hope you have more luck than we’ve had so far.”
I smiled confidently. “We’ll get him. I’m sure of it.”
Studying me for a moment, Maya said, “You know who else would be excited to hear your news?”
“Who?”
“Hamilton. You should call him.”
I frowned and let out a mirthless laugh. “Maybe when hell freezes over.”
“He keeps asking me about you.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
A few months ago, my ex-boyfriend Detective Ryder Hamilton had left me injured and alone to run off in pursuit of his long-dead wife’s killer. At the time, we were newly broken up but trying to figure out whether we wanted to give our relationship another chance. His poor judgment and total disregard for my safety sealed my decision. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since that day, so I had come to the conclusion he wasn’t interested, either. However, for the past month, Maya had been telling me about how Ryder was suddenly interested in how I was and what I was doing.
“If you won’t tell him your news, I will,” she said.
I sighed, knowing I couldn’t stop my hardheaded friend. “Knock yourself out, but don’t you dare tell him I said hello.”
—
At eight o’clock, after having worked at the coffeehouse since six A.M., I took my apron off and headed to the office to grab my purse. Pete was in there, knee deep in accounting and payroll again.
“Hey, I’m heading out,” I said, purposely vague so as to not start another “discussion” about my new job.
“Where are you going so early?” he asked.
“I have a thing…”
Pete rolled his eyes. “Obviously I’m not going to be able to talk some sense into you anytime soon. Please be careful.”
I retrieved my purse from the closet and headed for the door. “I will. This is cake. All I’m doing is hiding in my car, trying to get a photo of a cheating husband and his skanky mistress. I won’t be within fifty feet of them, and they shouldn’t even know I’m there. No danger whatsoever.”
“Will Maya be with you?”
Knowing he wouldn’t like my answer, I sailed through the door, calling, “See you tomorrow!”
—
Yes! I couldn’t even begin to describe the thrill of being on my first-ever surveillance mission as a real private investigator. My insides jangling with pent-up energy, I pulled my car up to the curb in the mistress’s neighborhood a few houses away from her residence. Located east of Java Jive near Reservoir Park, the neighborhood wasn’t a fancy one like the husband lived in, but at least it was safe enough for me to sit for hours alone in my parked car.
As Maya had taught me, I took detailed notes using a combination of the notepad and small tape recorder I’d brought. I started my report with the time I arrived, the address, and a description of the area: nearly dark, several vehicles parked on the street, three people out walking, lights on in female subject’s home, and no sign yet of male subject’s vehicle. I snapped a few photos with Maya’s fancy telescoping camera and notated the picture number and location shown in the shot. And then I waited.
And waited. And waited…
Just as my buzz of excitement began to wane, my male subject pulled in several cars ahead of me in his brand-new Mercedes. My heartbeat revved up again at the sight of my mark, who showed up here at eight-thirty P.M. every night like clockwork. Walter Kixmiller was an overweight fifty-something man with a bad comb-over. What then, did his pretty little mistress, Vanessa Berry, see in him? It rhymed with honey. Kixmiller was the owner and CEO of a huge construction firm in Nashville that was currently building a massive hotel downtown. In short, the guy was loaded. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell could buy you a young, nubile girlfriend.
It could also buy the girlfriend a matching Mercedes, which she kept stored safely away in her garage. It was Maya’s opinion Kixmiller had bought the vehicle through his construction company, because his wife could find no record of the purchase in their personal accounts. That was a whole other can of worms, which we luckily didn’t have to delve into. We were only in charge of proving he had a little something on the side.
I was ready with the camera when Kixmiller exited his vehicle with a bouquet of red roses and approached Berry’s house. I snapped photos of him all the way up the cracked sidewalk and got a good close-up of him lumbering up the front steps. Unfortunately, this house’s front porch was screened-in, and without the porch light on, it was impossible to get a clean shot of Berry’s face as she opened the door and let him into the house. Damn. Just like every other time we’d been here.
Dejected, I slumped back into my seat. This was always the worst part. Whatever it was that they did in there generally took between thirty minutes and two hours. I didn’t know what the big time difference was, except maybe some days the girlfriend couldn’t choke back the vomit any longer than a half hour and had to call a halt to their lovemaking. I knew I couldn’t pretend even for a moment to be attracted to that blob of a man, no matter what the paycheck.
Bored out of my mind, I shifted in my seat to get a sliver of light from a nearby streetlight and listlessly flipped through a cooking magazine I’d brought with me. I couldn’t use my phone any more than absolutely necessary because even at the darkest setting, the screen illuminated the interior of my car way too much. If I was going to do a lot of surveillance, I needed to consider getting my windows tinted. However, that didn’t matter too much tonight, because it was sweltering outside and I had to keep the windows partially rolled down so I didn’t have a heatstroke. Maybe the beginning of summer wasn’t the smartest time to start my PI career.
My eyes became tired of squinting to see my magazine, so I set it aside, now completely out of entertainment. It occurred to me that I might need to grow some patience if I were going to be an effective investigator. Settling in for the long haul, I suppressed my negative thoughts and cleared my mind.
No sooner had I achieved a moment of Zen, than the front door of Vanessa Berry’s house burst open and
Walter Kixmiller came stumbling out, his young mistress hot on his heels. I scrambled for the camera and managed to capture a shot of the light from inside her home glinting off the chef’s knife she had pointed at his bulging belly. They were arguing, but not loudly enough that I could make out what they were saying. I began recording a video as well as snapping still shots, hoping to catch a snip of their conversation. As he hurried down the stairs, she followed him, and now that she was out in the middle of her front yard and had raised her voice, I could hear her clear as a bell.
“I never want to see you again, you son of a bitch! And you can try all you want to repo my Mercedes. You come back here again, and I’ll chop off more than the end of your tie!” she shouted, holding up the other half of his designer necktie.
Kixmiller, now ridiculously disheveled with his comb-over flipped the wrong direction and wearing a nub of a tie, bellowed, “I’d like to see you try, you psychotic little whore! I can bury you with one phone call.”
“Bring it on! At least I don’t have to pretend to like your nasty, sweaty man-boobs and droopy balls flopping all over me anymore! I had to fake it every time!”
I called that one. And I also caught her admitting to having sex with him on video. Score one for the new PI.
Berry turned on her heel and began stalking back toward her house, but Kixmiller had to get the last word. “I knew it was time to break things off with you. My new girlfriend is younger, prettier, and much better in the sack.”
At his biting comment, she wheeled around to face him, her face bright red and eyes flashing.
He didn’t know when to shut up. “Perkier in every way, too. Plus, you were getting a little too well-used.” He added smugly, “Quite frankly, you were beginning to bore me.”
She let out a screech and charged him, knife first.
Every great mystery needs an Alibi
eOriginal mystery and suspense from Random House
randomhousebooks.com
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
A Whole Latte Murder Page 34
