Gotcha Detective Agency Mysteries Boxed Set (3 Books)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  My mom started every morning by vacuuming the apartment, much the same as she’d done in our house. With her being a neat freak, I didn’t have to clean anything but my bedroom. I loved that.

  I’m not sure if my mom was born obsessive/compulsive about cleaning and grooming, or if my dad made her that way. I don’t think I’d ever seen my mom without her makeup and hair done before the divorce. Now she wore minimal makeup on her olive skin, and kept her black hair short, so she didn’t have to make weekly salon appointments.

  I sat and watched the traffic go by while my mom finished shaking the ingredients for her secret fried chicken recipe. Shake ‘N’ Bake could learn a thing or two from my mom.

  “Talk to Ann lately?” I said.

  “She’s coming home next month.”

  My sister, Ann, and her family had moved to Arizona five years ago. Her husband owned a construction company, and had wanted to take advantage of the influx of snowbirds moving to Lake Havasu City, Arizona. He’d done the right thing, they were getting rich. Ann was two years older than me and had two darling kids, Ashley, fourteen, and Ben, eight. Better than my hellion sister deserved. She’d been a handful as a teen, and now she was a Martha Stewart clone.

  “Too hot to work in July, I guess.” I went to the kitchen and pulled the chicken from the refrigerator.

  “Speaking of hot, remember Nick Christianson? I saw him at the grocery store last week,” she said.

  I dropped the pan of chicken on the floor. “Shit.”

  “Mimi, watch your mouth.”

  “Whatever.” She’d said a lot worse in her time. I picked up the pan. Only one piece of chicken landed on the floor.

  “Did you hear me? Nick. You remember Nick?”

  I composed myself, and began dredging the chicken in mom’s flour mixture. “Think I could ever forget Nick?”

  “I know he was a pompous ass, but he was a cute pompous ass.”

  I laughed.

  The grease was good and hot, and I placed several pieces of chicken in the skillet. As it sizzled, I said, “I saw him last night.”

  “Last night?” My mom stopped fussing with the chicken.

  “At a crime scene.”

  “A crime scene? What were you doing at a crime scene?” Mom was freaked.

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, yes I do,” she snapped.

  “It wasn’t because of me.” I got defensive.

  “Then why were you there?”

  I told her about Lauren Silke and the book tour, and then gently, without so much detail, about Esme.

  She stood silent and still. “I really don’t think this PI thing is such a good idea.”

  How many times had I heard that one? “I wasn’t in danger.”

  “How do you know that?” She flipped a piece of chicken and it splattered grease. “Damn it.”

  “The crime wasn’t about me. It was about Lauren, or Esme, or vampires. Hell, I don’t know, but it wasn’t about me.” This wasn’t helping her calm down.

  “Some day it will be about you. And I’ll have to come identify your body.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Not this again,” I said. “Besides, on top of the dead body, it wasn’t pleasant to see Nick in that situation. I had barfed and everything.”

  “I’d think just looking at Nick would be pleasant. He’s aged very well.” She’d loosened up at the thought of Nick.

  Good God, Mom, take a cold shower already. But at least she wasn’t bitching at me about my job.

  “Yes, he has.” I admitted. “But Mom, the past is the past. Besides, he’s probably married.”

  “Nope,” she said. She rolled the chicken over, to brown it evenly. “I asked. He never did marry.”

  I took a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator, pulled the cork and drank straight from the bottle. I sighed. “It’s funny, I never expected to see his face again. I’d almost forgotten about him.”

  “Stop that.” She swiped the bottle from me and poured the wine into a glass. “We never forget the ones who broke our hearts.”

  “He didn’t break my heart. We were friends.”

  “Friends with benefits.”

  “Mom!”

  “Mimi, I’m not stupid. I know you had sex with that boy. Hell, if I was young enough, I’d have had sex with him. He oozed sex appeal, and he still does.”

  My mom and I were only twenty years apart, and since she’d been single for much of my teenage and adult life, we talked. Well, I talked. I didn’t want to know anything about my mother’s sex life. Eeeewwww! Even now that I’m an adult, I can’t even think about the subject. And my mom with a much younger man? Let’s not go there.

  “That was another lifetime,” I said.

  I put the fried chicken on a plate while my mom made gravy from the drippings and flour. And when I pulled the bowl of mashed potatoes from the oven, I could smell the butter she’d mixed in. Nothing was better than fried chicken and mashed potatoes with my mom.

  We ate the chicken with our fingers, and nearly licked the plates. I missed nights with my mom. But she had a steady boyfriend now, and it looked serious. I broached the subject while we ate our Jell-O pudding dessert.

  “So, speaking of sexy. How’s Luke?”

  My mom blushed. “He’s wonderful.”

  They’d been dating for more than a year and still acted like they’d just met. They held hands and touched each other constantly. If I wasn’t so happy for my mom, I’d be embarrassed. Now, my sister, on the other hand, hated change, and Luke was change, so she hated him.

  If my mom missed her weekly call to Ann, it was Luke’s fault. Actually, anything that took attention away from Ann was suddenly Luke’s fault. But Luke was good for Mom, and I loved him for that.

  “Why isn’t he eating with us?”

  “Oh, he thought we needed the girl time. He’s coming over later.”

  “When are you two going to move in together?” I prodded.

  “When are you going to go out on a date?” she retorted.

  “Fine.” I gave up, not wanting to have this discussion.

  “I have Nick’s card. Maybe I’ll invite him to dinner. Won’t he just die when he comes back here, after all these years?”

  I nearly spit Jell-O pudding all over my mom’s floor.

  By the time I started home, the fog had rolled in on an otherwise sunny day. I punched buttons on my cell phone until I had it tuned to Pandora Radio, then I plugged the headset into the stereo of my Land Rover Discovery. John Mayer radio serenaded me all the way home.

  The best thing about dinner with Mom, other than the company, was leftovers. She always made too much and sent me home with gobs of food. Lola danced around at my feet as I put the Gladware containers in the refrigerator. She was hoping for a late night snack later. That wasn’t happening.

  I let Lola out in the small fenced yard behind my house and got in the shower. For a couple of hours I hadn’t thought about vampires, Esme, or death, but now I was overwhelmed by it. I wish I hadn’t met Esme before the murder. I kept thinking of the potential she’d never achieve. And in death, I’d probably learn more about her than I ever would have if she were still alive.

  I hadn’t heard from Lauren or Henry since last night. I hoped they’d gotten settled in the hotel before Lauren had to catch her plane.

  I put my head under the showerhead and let the water engulf me. I didn’t know anything, and the cops weren’t going to share. The cops. Nick. I didn’t think anyone could get under my skin after Dominic died, but suddenly there was Nick.

  And my mom hadn’t mentioned Nick in fifteen years, then whammy, she brings up his name. Surprisingly, I hadn’t choked on my food.

  I forced myself out of the shower when the water turned cold. I dried off and dressed in an old T-shirt. When I took the towel off my wet hair, I could see a good half inch of roots. The roots didn’t bother me so much as the gray. I didn’t want to have grey roots when I had lunch with Nick.
I wanted to look my very best. Aren’t you supposed to color your hair before you wash it? So what, I was going to color my roots.

  I just happened to have a box of medium brown hair color stashed in my medicine cabinet. I blow dried the hair near my scalp only. It’d take another half hour to blow dry all of my hair, only to get it all wet again when I rinsed and conditioned. I applied the color, being careful to keep the goop only on the roots. I looked in the mirror. The hair near my scalp stuck straight out for about an inch, the rest hung like mangled spaghetti. I could just see Nick knocking on my door about now. I had to laugh.

  When I let Lola in she sniffed the air, trotted past me to her bed in the living room, and shoved her head under her blanket. I had to agree, I did stink.

  I sat in the kitchen and tried to read Lauren’s latest novel, Prey. I was careful not to rumple the dust jacket or crease any pages, as this was an autographed copy. With each page Esme’s corpse became more and more vivid, and I hadn’t even gotten to the slaying scene. It was the first time I’d ever put down one of Lauren’s books voluntarily. Maybe I’d do some cleaning instead.

  I have a small, 700-square-foot house, which is too big for me, and I have a hard time keeping up with the cleaning. I looked at the overflowing laundry hamper and decided to stuff the clothes inside rather than start a load. Besides, I’d used up all the hot water with my shower, and I needed some to rinse my hair. For once, I wished a part of my mom would rub off on me.

  Instead of cleaning, I tried to think of things I could do to get ready for tomorrow. I needed to get started on the investigation. I’d see who Nick had talked to and interviewed, and then I’d try to talk to them too.

  Then it hit me: look up Lauren’s website. I set the timer on the stove so I’d remember to wash out the coloring. I didn’t want to lose track of time, fry my hair, and be bald in the morning.

  I did a Google search, and found the official website. It opened to a black page graced with a large image of the cover of her newest novel and smaller images of her previous novels below. She even offered an excerpt from Prey to entice the readers to want more. The designs on the earlier jacket covers were sexy. Each cover had a detailed close up of a woman. The images were artist’s sketches, but they were so lifelike. They also became gradually more erotic as the Sophie Nolan vampire series continued. The Prey cover suggested violence and sex, showing a woman’s neck and chest. A corset barely covered the woman’s nipples, and long dark hair draped along her neck, slightly covering a dripping wound.

  She had all of the usual links, about the author, contact information, frequently asked questions, Twitter, Facebook, and a blog.

  The timer buzzed just as I finished reading her author page. She had been vague, telling only a little more than the jacket covers of her book. Lauren was born and raised in Ringling, Oklahoma, and moved to Santa Cruz just before high school. She went to college at the University of California at Santa Cruz. She was always fascinated with ghost and vampire stories surrounding Santa Cruz. She loved to walk the beach at night and imagine vampires on the periphery. She has worn a cross on her neck since she was fifteen. Blah, blah, blah. Not all that interesting.

  I tore my attention from the author page, rinsed and conditioned my hair, then planted myself back in the chair to read through her Facebook and Twitter feeds.

  I didn’t bother to dry my hair, since I knew I’d be up late, surfing Lauren’s site. My hair would be dry by the time my head hit the pillow. I wanted to check posts and comments on her blog and Facebook. Maybe there was something there that might be linked to Esme’s murder. Wow, Lauren had thousands of followers on Twitter and even more Facebook fans. I’d have to check out that Twitter thing someday.

  I started with the blog, reading the posts and comments, looking for something out of place. She shared her progress on her latest novels, and gave hints as to what her new series would entail. Her imagined world, in which Sophie lived, was very real to her.

  There was one very long rant, which seemed out of character for Lauren. In the rant, she chastised all the people who criticized her writing, and the world in which her characters lived. She wrote, “If you don’t like it, then don’t read it. But if you keep buying my books and reading them, then I must be doing something right.” Okay, so I paraphrased. I looked at the date on the post. Two weeks ago.

  In all fairness, if you aren’t into sex and violence in your reading, then she’s right, don’t read her books. The Sophie Nolan series is very violent and erotic, and Lauren made no apologies. As well she shouldn’t, since the book covers spoke volumes about the content.

  I thought I’d get through the blog in a hurry, and then move on to Lauren’s Facebook page, but there were thousands of comments to sift through. If I had any interest in becoming a writer, the site would have been interesting. Lauren presented a wealth of information about the publishing industry. She answered the emails in her blog, so others could comment, and ask more questions. I thought this time-consuming task was admirable. Then I wondered if maybe Esme was responsible for writing the blog and social media posts.

  I began feeling like I was on a stakeout. In other words, absolutely nothing was leading me anywhere, and my mind started to wander, and I had to pee. But then a photo on Facebook caught my eye.

  CHAPTER 6

  I got to the office early the next morning and found Charles already at work, staring at the screen of the computer he was dissecting. I walked up behind him, taking small steps on my toes. I wanted to scare him. Lola made sure that didn’t happen. She raced past me and pushed her cold, wet nose at Charles’s arm.

  He scrubbed her behind the ears without looking away from the screen. “Hello, my lovely.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  He looked up. “Oh, hey, good morning. Don’t you look sharp?”

  I’ll admit I’d spent some extra time getting ready. I pulled my freshly colored hair into a high ponytail, and took extra care in applying my makeup. I wanted to wear my most form-fitting outfit, but since I had a few extra pounds gripping tightly to my ass, I chose a knee-grazing A-line dress in black, with large yellow rose cutouts. The top of the dress was fitted, so it showcased my boobs, and diverted attention from other parts.

  I sat my ever-widening butt on the side table and put a sling-back black pump on Charles’s chair. I leaned in to read the screen.

  “What’s the scoop?” I said.

  “I just got started. I hacked into her Blackberry software. Look at this, she abbreviated everything.”

  I looked at the page. There were acronyms, symbols, and abbreviations for almost every entry.

  “ITM BK w/ SO IHOP,” Charles said.

  “In the morning, breakfast with whoever SO is, at the IHOP pancake place,” I said.

  “Well, that was an easy one,” Charles said. He scrolled down the page to another entry.

  It read: MC Fri, br Sab swd.

  “Not a clue,” I said.

  “Me either,” Charles said.

  “Maybe Henry would have an idea,” I said.

  “Or you could call Lauren,” Charles offered.

  “No. Just call Henry, and if he’s not in, we can call Lauren.”

  “I figured you’d say that, so I called and left a message on his cell phone.”

  “You have his cell phone number?” I didn’t even have it.

  “I have everyone’s number. I have Esme’s address book from her Blackberry.”

  “Everyone’s number?” I said. “You don’t have her phone.”

  “I don’t need it, she syncs everything with her laptop.”

  “Oh.” Good to know.

  “Just because I love you, I printed off all the contact information from her address book.” He handed me a stack of papers. “Don’t tell the detective. He’ll be pissed I gave you the info first.”

  “Not a problem.” Of course I wouldn’t tell. He’d have the information soon enough. And it’s not like I was jeopardizing his investigation by gettin
g a jumpstart.

  I flipped through the pages. She had every contact needed: Publishers, web designers, agents, writers, restaurants in nearly every metropolis and several smaller towns, hair salons, bookstores, coffee houses, and then just names. No wonder Lauren would miss Esme. It looked as if Esme knew everything, and then some, about Lauren and her needs. Not that she wouldn’t miss Esme as a person, and a friend. Right?

  “Looks like I have some work ahead of me today.”

  “See you in a few days,” Charles said.

  “Huh?”

  “When you get through that list.” He pointed at the stack in my hands.

  I needed coffee before I embarked upon this task.

  “You want some coffee?”

  “I’ve already been through a pot and a half. If I have anymore, they’ll have to insert a catheter so I can get through this hard drive.”

  The visual rolled across my mind. I shuttered.

  “Well, I’m making a pot if you change your mind.”

  “I’m good.” Charles said, absent-mindedly as he stared at his computer screen.

  “Hey, if you get a chance today, take a look at Lauren’s Facebook page and see if any of the pictures catch your eye.”

  Charles looked up. “Because?”

  “I don’t know, there’s just some weird stuff with people dressed as vampires. I swear one of the people is Esme.”

  I went to the kitchen and started a pot of vanilla flavored coffee. While the pot brewed, I debated changing my clothes before lunch. Was a skin-tight bodice and strappy shoulders the impression I wanted to make? Hell, yeah! Even with the few extra pounds (thank God they gripped my hips and thighs, which could easily be disguised) I looked good in this dress. Four-inch black heels helped finish the look. I poured fat-free half and half into my cup with a dash of sweetener, then pulled the coffee pot from the maker before the pot was full and filled my cup.

  In my office, I sipped from my cup as I went through the pages of contacts, crossing off out-of-town restaurants, bookstores, coffee houses, vintage clothing boutiques, office supply stores, publishers (other than Newton Publishing, Lauren’s publisher), and agents.