Perfect Partners?

by C. J. Carmichael

  From the bedroom came the muffled sound of her morning alarm. Lindsay allowed herself one last, delicious stretch, then left the cushioned softness of the sofa and headed for the bedroom to turn off the alarm. While she was there, she grabbed a pain reliever for the headache that was just starting to pound at the back of her skull.

  The wine. The paralyzers. The sins of her evening coming back to haunt her.

  She didn’t care. It had been worth it to sleep through the night for a change.

  You sure it wasn’t Nathan tucking you in last night that had you sleeping so soundly?

  Normally Lindsay paid a lot of attention to the little voice at the back of her mind. This morning, though, she ignored it.

  NATHAN SPENT THE NEXT DAY on the computer, putting together a history on Paige Stevens. Lindsay was out in the field, doing the sort of work she loved—checking out the firm where Paige worked and the apartment building where Paige and Maurice had spent the night.

  Just before five, Nathan took a break from the computer and went to talk to Nadine. “Heard anything from Lindsay?”

  “Not a thing.” She looked flustered. “And there were so many calls. How was your day? You were awfully quiet back there.”

  “It’s amazing what you can find out about a person just from judicious use of the Internet and a few phone calls.” He’d already told Nadine what he and Lindsay had discovered yesterday. She’d been appalled and intrigued, in equal measure.

  Nadine checked the time, saw that it was five and got up to clean out the coffee machine. As she dumped the filter into the trash she was careful not to spill any grinds on her expensive-looking, cream-colored suit.

  “I’ve noticed that Lindsay does a lot of background checks. And sometimes she needs to find out if someone is married, or if they’ve died or have a record. Is that all stuff you learn how to do during police training?”

  “Some of it we learned in training. Other stuff we picked up on the job.”

  “What about people who’ve never worked for the police? Can they be professional investigators, too?”

  He wondered where she was going with all these questions. “Sure.”

  “How?”

  “I assume we’re talking about you?”

  She hesitated, then smiled sheepishly.

  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It’s not hard to get your license as a private investigator. First, you need to apprentice with an experienced investigator. And there are courses. Some of them are offered online. Have you told Lindsay you’re interested in this?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m still learning the ropes at the receptionist job. I don’t have a lot of practical skills, to be perfectly honest.”

  Her assessment of herself surprised him. “Why would you say that?”

  “The way I was raised.” She lowered her voice. “My family has a lot of money. I didn’t tell Lindsay because I wanted this job and when people find out what my father’s last name is, they never hire me. Or they hire me because of my father’s last name and I didn’t want that, either.”

  “But…didn’t you have to tell Lindsay your last name when you filled out your application?”

  “I made up a name.”

  He tried to hide his shock. “How do you deposit your paycheck?”

  “I haven’t earned one, yet. My first payday is next Friday.” She bit her bottom lip. “That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

  “This is incredible, Nadine. You have to tell Lindsay the truth.”

  She cast her eyes down, guiltily. “I know. I was hoping to prove myself first.”

  “I can relate to that,” Nathan said, thinking of his own arrangement with Lindsay. “She’s a tough broad sometimes, but she’s fair.”

  “Yes, besides, she can’t be too upset with me. After all, she changed her last name, too.”

  “Lindsay did?”

  Nadine nodded. “I saw the forms when I was organizing the filing cabinet. Her last name used to be Yzereef. Oh. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Not to worry.” It felt wrong to pump a sweetheart like Nadine for information, but his curiosity was so strong, he couldn’t resist. “Yzereef. That’s an unusual name. How do you spell it?”

  She showed him. “It’s hard to spell and I have no clue if I’m pronouncing it correctly. That’s probably why she—Oh.” Nadine glanced at the door as it opened. “Hi, Lindsay!”

  LINDSAY WONDERED WHAT NADINE and Nathan had been discussing. Nadine’s cheeks were pink, and her gaze slid guiltily to the left of Lindsay’s face when she greeted her.

  In contrast, Nathan appeared cool and slightly amused. He had his hands behind his back, leaning on Nadine’s desk.

  She took in these details automatically because she’d been trained to do this, it was her job and by now, her nature.

  But she was too excited by the day’s discoveries to be distracted for long. “I just had the most productive day. Sometimes I love my job,” she added smugly.

  “You love any job that doesn’t entail paperwork and administrative details,” Nathan observed.

  “Your specialty,” Lindsay pointed out. “And Nadine’s.”

  “Speaking of which…” Nadine held out a stack of paper. “I couldn’t get in touch with you all day. A few things came up.”

  “Sorry. I spent the morning pretending to be in the market for commercial real estate and the afternoon making friends with the doorman at an apartment building on Fifth Avenue. I didn’t want to risk a call coming in at just the wrong moment so I kept my phone off.”

  She accepted the messages, some including case summaries that Nadine had taken over the phone. She frowned as she leafed through them. A couple related to files that she’d been working on before Nathan got her hooked on the Burchard case, but the majority were inquiries from prospective clients. She ought to be thankful that the work kept flowing her way. It was difficult not to feel overwhelmed at times, instead.

  “I can handle some of those,” Nathan offered.

  Grateful, she passed him some of the new client queries. Not too many, but enough to lighten her workload for the next few weeks.

  Nadine had watched the interplay with interest. Now she closed up her desk and grabbed her purse. “I should be going. It’s after five and I have to be somewhere.”

  She exchanged a quick, meaningful look with Nathan, and Lindsay was reminded of her earlier impression that these two had been discussing something important when she’d walked in.

  “What’s going on here?” She glanced from one to the other.

  “Huh?” Nadine was suddenly all innocence as she slipped on her Burberry trench coat. “I don’t know what you mean. I do have to run.” Before disappearing out the door she added, “Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”

  After the door closed, there was a moment of silence. Lindsay reflected that she should ask Nadine to take her shopping one day. She’d never had the knack of finding sales, but Nadine was obviously great at it.

  She turned to Nathan. “You two were having a pretty intense conversation when I walked in.”

  “Just personal stuff.” He lifted one shoulder as if to say their conversation would be of little interest to her.

  And perhaps it wouldn’t. At any rate, they had more interesting stuff to talk about. “We should compare notes. Were you able to find out anything about Paige’s past?”

  “I was. Where should we go? Your office or mine?”

  “Get real, Nathan. The working day is over.” She opened the front door. “Time to hit the bar.”

  “WHY DON’T YOU JUST STOCK all the ingredients for a paralyzer at the office?” Nathan wasn’t thrilled about hanging out at the Stool Pigeon again. He was starting to get hungry and if this meeting took as long as he thought it was going to take, he might be forced to order something that wasn’t liquid.

  Lindsay shook her head vigorously. “No alcohol at work. That’s a line I refuse to cross.”

  “Why? So that you can pretend you
don’t have a drinking problem?” His tone was light, but the question wasn’t totally in jest. He wondered if Lindsay ever sat down and calculated how much liquor she had in a week. From what he’d seen, it was quite a lot.

  Wendy set their drinks on the table. Lindsay touched her glass to his, then deliberately held his gaze as she took her first swallow.

  “Define problem.”

  He wasn’t going to be drawn into this. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. “I’m not your babysitter. If you don’t think you have a problem, then you probably don’t.”

  He could tell that Lindsay had expected a fight. Him backing down had caught her off guard.

  “That’s right,” she said finally. “I don’t have a problem. I drink after working hours, to relax, and that’s it. Anyone with my level of job stress would understand.”

  He had her level of job stress, and he didn’t need a drink every night, but he decided not to point that out. Instead, he downed his mineral water and tried to ignore the growling from his empty stomach.

  “So, you went shopping for commercial real estate today,” he prodded. “How did that go?”

  Lindsay’s face lit up. She leaned forward, hands splayed on the table between them. “I phoned first thing in the morning and asked if I could book an appointment with someone who had been with the company a long time. I lucked out and got a woman who was very chatty. Helena Johnson told me Paige moved here from New Hampshire about nine months ago.”

  “That jives with what I found out today. Paige Stevens was born and educated in New Hampshire. Did Helena tell you anything else?”

  “Tons. She really doesn’t like the woman. And I pretended that I’d had an appointment with her a few weeks ago and hadn’t been happy. You know what Helena said?”

  Like he could possibly stop her from telling him. “What?”

  “She said she wasn’t surprised since I wasn’t an older, wealthy male. Apparently those are the only clients Paige bothers working with. Nathan, I think Paige is working at that firm so she can nab herself a rich husband.”

  “That fits with what I learned about her past. She grew up in a small town named Lancaster in the White Mountains. Her folks were poor and she didn’t go to school past high school. She married well, though, a widower with large landholdings and grown children. Apparently he was beset with digestive problems—which hadn’t existed prior to the marriage—for quite a while before finally passing away one year ago.”

  “How did you find out all of this?”

  “As I was telling Nadine, earlier, the Internet is a lovely thing. So are small town newspapers.”

  “Digestive problems, huh? Would I be crazy to consider the possibility that she may have been poisoning him?”

  “I talked to a lot of people on the phone today, including the local sheriff. Nothing was considered suspicious at the time. But then I found someone who told me Paige had been having an affair with the sheriff.”

  “So much for his impartiality, then.”

  “Exactly what Paige’s sister-in-law said. She was out of the country when her brother died, but she said she would have insisted on an inquest if she’d been here. Her brother had never been sick a day, before he married Paige.”

  “Circumstantial.”

  “Very,” Nathan agreed.

  “But still, very interesting.” She raised her hand and made eye contact with Wendy on the other side of the room. When Wendy arrived with a fresh paralyzer, he asked if they served any salads.

  The older woman tucked aside a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Sure, we have house salad and Caesar.”

  “Could I get the house salad with the dressing on the side?”

  Wendy exchanged a “well, isn’t he a fussy one” look with Lindsay, then went back to the kitchen.

  Lindsay seemed amused by his order. “Jeez, Nathan, couldn’t you just once eat a burger and fries. Or at least a clubhouse sandwich? You know, Man Food.”

  Nathan leaned back a little in his chair. “I don’t need to eat a hunk of grilled meat to prove my masculinity.”

  Amusement sparked an extra glow in her eyes. “Is that so?” she asked softly.

  He indulged in a long, intimate look at her. The words beautiful or pretty couldn’t come close to describing her. She had a quality that was…iridescent. Her translucent skin glowed. Her pale eyes shimmered. The contrast between her delicate exterior, and the energy and fire within, was irresistible.

  Nathan was a man of reason and logic.

  Usually.

  “Would you like me to prove that I’m a man? ’Cause I can definitely do that.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “NATHAN, STOP IT.” LINDSAY took a drink, then coughed as the liquid went down the wrong way. “This is a working meeting, for God’s sake.”

  “You’re the one who questioned my virility,” he pointed out. “I had to defend myself as a point of honor.”

  His salad arrived and Lindsay didn’t say another word about so-called “Man Food” as he set about eating it, though he could tell she was biting back a comment as she watched him add only half the dressing to the greens.

  “The love nest?” he prodded. “You said you checked it out this afternoon?”

  “Right. I met with the building manager after lunch.” She snapped back into work mode, leaning in toward him, her hands moving expressively with each word. “I said I was in the market for an apartment, preferably on the top floor.”

  “Clever.”

  She nodded. “He informed me that the entire upper floor is being leased by the owner of the building.”

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  “I asked when the lease would expire and he said six more months.” She frowned. “I expected it would be longer.”

  “It’s not like Maurice will have a problem renewing if the affair lasts that long.”

  “Or maybe he has no intention of renewing either way. Maybe he asked Audrey for a divorce because he plans to marry Paige.”

  “He certainly looked pretty head over heels about her last night. But I wouldn’t be so sure about marriage.”

  “Paige is smart. She’ll be looking for some way to lock him in. Maybe get pregnant?” she mused.

  “That would be some trick. Paige Stevens had her tubes tied before she married Mr. New Hampshire.”

  Lindsay gaped. “How on earth did you find out that?”

  “Hey, that’s my specialty. Uncovering other people’s secrets.”

  “Impressive work, Fisher.”

  He wondered what she’d say if she knew he’d uncovered one of her secrets today, too. The fact that she’d changed her last name was still difficult for him to fathom. Perhaps Nadine was right and Lindsay had found Yzereef too awkward to spell and pronounce. The Lindsay he knew wouldn’t change her identity for such a superficial reason.

  If people had trouble pronouncing and writing her name, she’d say that was their problem.

  No, there had to be some other reason. Possibly connected to her parents’ deaths, but not necessarily.

  He pushed aside his empty salad plate. He’d had enough talk about work. He wanted to continue where they’d left off the other night. Getting to know each other.

  “I got an invitation in the mail yesterday from my alma matter. NYU is holding a series of lectures on the history of criminology for alumni. You ever go to stuff like that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Where did you go to school, by the way? I don’t recall you talking about it.”

  He’d thought he’d done a good job of slipping the question in, all natural and casual, like.

  But Lindsay wasn’t fooled. She glared at him. “In California.” Then she put some money on the table. More than enough to cover her two drinks. “I should get going.”

  “Don’t you want some dinner? How about I treat you to one of those potpies you love so much.”

  “I thought maybe I’d order pizza tonight for a change.�
�

  He didn’t think that had been her plan fifteen minutes ago. He put down some money, too, then slid out of the booth seat after her. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “Give it a rest, Fisher. I’m just down the block.” She pulled her jacket close to her body and brushed past him.

  He noticed Wendy, and her husband Mark, watching with concern.

  “You okay, Lindsay?” Mark called out.

  She waved dismissively. “You bet. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Out on the street, Lindsay sunk her hands into her jacket pockets and hunched her shoulders against the cold wind. Nathan had to hurry to keep up with her.

  “What’s the story with Mark and Wendy?” he asked, just to make small talk.

  “No story, as far as I know. When I moved in three years ago, they were already operating the Stool Pigeon. As far as I know, they’ve owned it a long time.”

  “So…did they meet in Manhattan? Do they have children?”

  “No idea.” She fumbled with her door key and he took it from her.

  “What are you doing? Give that back.”

  “I will in a minute. Tell me something first.”

  “Stop playing games. I’m tired.”

  At seven-thirty in the evening? He didn’t think so. She’d been full of energy and enthusiasm when they’d been discussing the case. “Did it bother you that I asked where you went to college?”

  “Of course not.” She tried to laugh, but he wasn’t fooled. He sensed something lonely and sad in her and it puzzled him how one simple question seemed to have affected her so strongly.

  “How come you don’t like talking about your past?”

  “Jeez, Fisher. Why the inquisition? Who cares what school I went to—what could it possibly matter?”

  She pulled back slightly, and their gazes met. Her eyes were luminous, wide and full of emotion. He thought he could see desire mixed in with the anger, but maybe he was just kidding himself.

  “This isn’t about any one specific fact,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder what I’d learn if I did a background check on you.”