I should've known.
The guitar player reached out his hand.
Caleigh placed hers in his, and he brought her hand to his lips.
It looked kinda over-the-top and quirky to me, but Caleigh giggled, obviously swooned.
"I'm Curtis," he said.
She gave her usual introduction. The one that informed she was a distant cousin of Elvis. Again.
Curtis took a step closer. "Seriously? I'm super impressed."
"You should be," she said with a smirk.
They chatted and flirted for a couple more minutes before he asked the inevitable, "Can I have your number?"
She pulled a pen from her purse, but instead of handing him a business card, she grabbed a napkin from a table and wrote her digits on it. Smart move. Sometimes guys were turned off by female PIs.
As we headed outside to my car, I told her, "Now you don't need Danny. You can pretend Curtis is your fiancé."
Caleigh laughed. "Oh sure, that would go over like gangbusters. 'Hey, Curtis, let's skip the first date and just get engaged.' No thanks, I think I'll stick with marrying Danny."
I laughed along with her as we got into the car and pulled into traffic, but that unsettled sensation returned to my stomach again at the words "marrying" and "Danny" in the same breath.
And it must have registered on my face.
"You sure you're okay with me using your guy like this?" she asked.
"He's not my guy," I protested. Possibly a little too harshly.
Caleigh shrugged. "No, I didn't mean it like that. But, well, Danny is yours. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you two stay friends or not. You're, like, a couple that doesn't sleep together or something."
I snorted, but part of me almost agreed with her assessment.
"Look, if this bothers you at all, I won't do it. Just say so."
Staring into her big, blue eyes, I was reminded of the woman who'd had my back many times over the years. I was touched she'd put our friendship before her lies with her father.
"I have no issues with you and Danny portraying the happy couple. Why would I? Danny and I are just friends." The words left a bad aftertaste in my mouth.
She smirked and nodded. "Uh-huh. Just as I thought." Though, luckily she dropped it until we reached the office.
My first stop as we entered the agency was Maya's desk. "Have you been able to find anything on the names I gave you?"
She set down her can of Diet Coke and nodded. "Oh, yeah. Miranda Valens is squeaky clean. She graduated Summa Cum Laude from Harvard with a degree in political science and then went on to law school. She's never been married, no kids, and has worked at the DA's office for six years."
Maya gave me a pointed look. "They snapped her up right after graduating third in her class."
With those kinds of achievements, she could've worked at a number of high profile law firms, yet she chose to work for the state, which was famous for lousy hours and even lousier pay. Was she just a Good Samaritan who believed in justice, like Aiden? If so, they were perfect for each other.
Maya tapped her notepad. "She's rich too."
I rolled my eyes. Of course she was. "Is her family wealthy?"
"Nope. Her dad works at a dry cleaner's in Long Beach, and her mother is a maid at a Best Western in Anaheim. No, Miranda's money is her own."
My radar flared. I almost gleefully rubbed my hands together and cackled at the prospect of taking her down. "How rich is she?"
Maya trailed her finger down the page. "We aren't talking Donald Trump, but she just bought a new house in Pasadena and sends money to her mother each week."
My elation crumbled. That wasn't overly suspicious. Maybe she'd been saving up for the past six years. Maybe she got a rock-bottom interest rate, or one of those low down payment loans. "Any connection between her and Rocky? What's his real name?"
Maya shook her head. "Rocco Diaz, and no, his name didn't come up."
Damn. I seriously wanted to connect dots between those two.
"By the way, a woman named Elaine called for you." Maya handed me a pink slip of paper with Elaine's name and number on it. I shoved it into my purse, hoping I could put off Derek's lie as long as possible. That was one conversation I was not looking forward to.
"Okay, well let's run down the deets for Rocco Diaz."
Maya flew into action, pulling up windows and typing along. "He has a girlfriend, Vanessa Estevez, and a couple of kids. They rent an apartment in Inglewood, a couple of blocks east of La Brea."
Not exactly the nicest area. I didn't expect him to spill his guts to a couple of strangers, or to anyone for that matter. But maybe I could get some info from the girlfriend.
Maya jotted down the address and handed it to me.
I was about to turn to see if Sam or Caleigh were free, when the front door opened.
A tall man wearing a white suit and a white Stetson sauntered toward me. He removed his hat upon seeing us and smiled widely. "Excuse me, but I'm looking for Miss Caleigh Presley. Might I find her here?"
His accent was thick and southern. His light blue eyes twinkled and, coupled with a thin nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end and a narrow chin, he was the spittin' image of his daughter. Or the other way around.
Then it hit me. He was a week early. Oh crap.
I nodded to Maya, who scrambled off, and extended my hand. "Mr. Presley? I'm Jamie Bond. Caleigh works for me."
He cocked a brow and gave me the body check, but not in a threatening way. "Well, you aren't a man."
I chuckled loudly, but not in a happy way. "No, sir, I'm not."
He rubbed his chin. "Oh gosh, I didn't mean to sound insulting, but when my baby girl said she worked for a private investigator, I assumed she meant a man."
Obviously Caleigh didn't share much of her life with dear ol' Dad.
"Daddy?" Caleigh sounded as struck with fear as she looked—eyes bulged, mouth drooped.
Mr. Presley held his arms wide open. "Come to Daddy, darlin'."
Caleigh ran into her father’s arms and laid her cheek on his shoulder. For a moment, she looked happy and at peace. Then it quickly changed, and the panic returned to her face with lines crinkling between her brows.
Maya and Sam joined my side. Sam and I exchanged looks but didn't say a word. What was the likelihood Daddy forgot his darlin' was fake-engaged?
"You're early," Caleigh said.
"I wanted to surprise you."
She turned to us with a forced smile.
"Surprise," Maya, Sam, and I said in unison.
Her frown deepened. I didn't think she found us amusing.
"I would've met you at your apartment, but I wasn't sure what time you'd be off work," he added.
"Notforawhile." Her words tumbled out so fast, they slurred into one.
"I hope this isn't a bad time." He looked around the empty reception area.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "No, Daddy. I just wasn't prepared yet. I planned to have my place ready and to take off a couple of days from work to show you around. But I can't do that on such short notice."
She glared at me for help.
Sam nudged me with her elbow.
I found my voice. "Yes, I'm sorry. We're swamped with clients, and Caleigh has a huge case-load. I couldn't possibly do without her just now."
Mr. Presley scratched his head. "Well, that's alright, princess. I'm a grown man. I don't need to be entertained. I will see you when you're done working. Although I'd love to see your office and hear more about your work while I'm here."
Caleigh smiled. "Of course, Daddy. I'd love to show you." She held out a hand. "My office is this way."
They took a few steps, and he stopped. "I know this is short notice, but I do hope you three beautiful young ladies will allow an old man to take you to dinner tonight?"
Caleigh laid a hand on his arm and giggled. "You're not old, Daddy."
That so wasn't the point.
Before I c
ould open my mouth to protest, Maya said, "I'm free tonight."
Mr. Presley looked to me, but Sam replied, "I can find a babysitter."
Great. Now I had no choice.
It wasn't that I didn't want to get to know Caleigh's father. I just wasn't ready for the lying and pretending portion of the evening. Of course, the plus side was another free meal, and I had a feeling Daddy would pick someplace more elegant than a roadside taco joint.
"This is very generous of you," I said. "I'd be happy to join you." My first lie of the night, and I had a strong feeling it wouldn't be the last.
"Good." He turned back to his daughter. "When we're done here, you can give me your key, and I'll settle in at your place. Then at dinner you can introduce me to my future son-in-law."
Oh, boy.
CHAPTER FIVE
It didn't take Caleigh long to show her dad around and dazzle him with a couple of old cases we'd worked. I noticed how she didn't mention any that were too scandalous, like the actress posing as a wife, the nudist husband, the panty thief, our current swingers, or even the gay couple. She asked for an hour off to drive her father to her place, to help settle him in, and to make sure she hadn't left anything embarrassing out in the open—like her vibrator. I was a very accommodating boss.
On their way out Mr. Presley waved and shouted, "Don't forget tonight."
Like I could if I wanted to.
As they walked out, I took Sam aside and explained what was happening over at the DA offices.
"How can I help?" she asked.
I grabbed my purse from my bottom desk drawer. "Go with me to check out this Vanessa Estevez and find out what we can about Rocco."
"Sure thing."
We pulled up in front of Vanessa and Rocco's home, a two-story former motel turned apartment building that clearly needed to be condemned. Boarded up front windows in half the units, loose shingles, and a broken concrete walkway. A line of beat-up, rusted cars bookended a late model SUV at the curb. And on a pathetic strip of dried grass than ran between the buildings sat a popped beach ball and an overturn tricycle.
At the corner, a small circle of guys hung out, they're eyes shifty enough that even to the casual observer they were obviously up to something. Two cars had slowed down in the past ten minutes we'd been parked here. One of the guys would step to the passenger window, lean in, and he and the driver would make exchanges. It was all done so openly. They obviously weren't afraid of the cops, or more likely, the police didn't drive by this part of town too frequently. The beat cops weren't stupid.
"What's the plan, boss?" Sam asked.
The address Maya had given me listed a unit 104 on the ground floor as belonging to Rocco. The curtains were drawn, and there was no sign of life inside. I dialed the office. "Not sure yet."
"Bond Agency, how may I help you?" said Maya.
"It's me. Can you run a plate, please?" I rattled off the numbers and letters of the SUV and waited for her to do her magic. Even if Rocco were a low level dealer, there's no way that swaggering guy would be caught dead in any of the other junk-yard rejects at the curb.
One of the men at the corner stared in our direction. He'd been watching us since just after we'd arrived. Now he pointed to us. It was time for us to make a move. The last thing we needed was them coming this way and causing a scene. We'd never get to speak to Vanessa then.
I looked to Sam and said, "How do you think we should play this?"
"She has kids, so…"
"Social workers." It was the easiest way. Into the phone, I said," Got anything yet, Maya?"
I heard her fingers clicking on the keyboard. "Yes. It belongs to Rocco Diaz."
Damn. If he was home, we couldn't talk to…
"But he has two cars registered to him, and the other is a Ford Mustang."
What was the likelihood that he let his girlfriend drive the sports car with the tiny backseat not big enough for two car seats?
"Thanks, Maya," I said and hung up. "I think that's her car."
"Sure hope so," Sam said.
I turned to the rearview mirror and pulled my hair back into a makeshift bun. I grabbed my jacket from the back seat and shrugged it on, all while keeping my eye on the guys. So far, they remained on the corner, but more were watching us now.
Sam wiggled her skirt low enough so it almost met her knees. Thankfully her top was long enough to meet the top of the skirt and not show off her navel. Last I knew, social workers didn't go to work with skin showing.
We stepped out of the car, and I opened the trunk for more supplies. I kept a small box with random items for just these occasions. I pulled out an empty manila envelope, an old auto body receipt from my last tune-up, and a couple of pages from last year's edition of Vogue. The black leather handbag in them was to-die-for.
I stuffed the papers into the folder, grabbed a clipboard, then dug to the bottom of the box for a pen. I slammed the trunk down, and we went across the street. The walkway was worse close up. My heels got stuck twice in the cracks, and once I twisted my ankle with such a jerk that I almost went down.
Safely at the door to 104, Sam knocked while I peered into the windows. The curtains might have been drawn, but they were threadbare. I spotted two young kids seated on a ratty sofa. They were watching SpongeBob on a big, flat screen TV. Part of the wallpaper was torn off the wall above it, and a back window looked like it hadn't been washed in a year, but on the coffee table sat a Juicy handbag and an iPad.
The front door opened, and I jerked back. The woman was probably in her mid-twenties. She wore red skinny jeans, a pink ruffled blouse with tiny white flowers, and gold sandals. Maybe she was colorblind?
"Can I help you?"
I flashed my fake badge. The generic one that didn't have a specific seal or insignia. Danny had made it on his computer, like a high-schooler hoping to buy alcohol. "Hi, we're from Child Protective Services, and we'd like to speak with Vanessa Estevez. Is that you?"
Her eyes widened for a second; then a twitch began at the corner of her mouth. "What do you want? My kids are well fed and cared for."
"May we come in, please?" I asked, not wanting to have this conversation outside, just in case the corner guys decided to investigate the two strangers.
Vanessa hesitated, looking to each of us and then inside her home. "We're about to leave."
"Just for a minute," I said with a reassuring smile, or so I thought.
But she stood firm and didn't allow us access.
"We're not from INS or the IRS," Sam said, jumping into the conversation.
I took her lead. "That's right."
I wasn't sure if Vanessa was legal or not. Maya hadn't mentioned anything. But she relaxed her shoulders and took a step back. "Okay."
I smiled and stepped over the threshold. Sam followed on my heels.
As I suspected from outside, the interior needed new wallpaper, new flooring, and even the furniture was unlivable. The kids glanced up at us but then went straight back to watching their cartoons. A boy and a girl, they wore new-looking footie pajamas—one was a dinosaur and the other a princess. The girl clutched a baby doll, and I thought of Danny and his progressive teachings. They didn't exist in this home.
Vanessa led us into the small kitchenette and pointed to the lopsided, round table. "Please sit."
Sam and I took a seat. I leaned on the table, and it titled toward me. I removed my arms and sat back, praying the spindly chair legs wouldn't crush beneath my weight.
"Coffee? It only does one cup at a time, but I can make it twice," Vanessa asked, pointing to a shiny, new Keurig Brewer. It sat beside an old stove with grease buildup on the back wall. Everything else was clean though—the counters, the table, even the floor. It was worn and spotted from wear and tear, but it was obvious Vanessa took pride in what they had.
I shook my head. "No thank you. We're here about…" I looked down to the folder, flipped it open, and pretended to read from documents. "Um, Rocco Diaz. There's no employment listed, a
nd we're inquiring about his income, co-workers…"
"He's a good man. He plays with the kids and bathes them." She twisted her hands together and stared at her children. "They love him."
"I'm sure they do," I said in between her frantic pleas to inform us he was a great father. Her nervousness was making me jumpy.
"Just the other day, he took them to the park. Not the one down the street because it's not clean and the swings are broken, but one someplace else. Where the rich people live. They had so much fun. The kids came back exhausted and took a long nap. They're good kids."
I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she kept on talking.
"I know this place isn't that nice, but I keep it clean, and we buy the kids what they need. We pay our bills on time. Never late. The kids start school in one and two years. I stay home with them, and I never leave them alone. Never." Her voice cracked. "If Rocco and I want to go out and be sexy, we take them to my mother's in Riverside. No babysitters. Ever.
Sam looked away again. She stared into the living room. As a single mom, she didn't have that luxury. Julio spent most of his time at school or with sitters. Our job demanded flexibility. Did Sam feel bad about that? She never talked about it. The only conversations we had about Julio were on how great he was doing in school, or how he had a crush on a girl named Cherry. And how in high school, that name would haunt her. She'd be forever asked if she'd been popped yet.
"My son can write his own name, and my daughter knows how to count to one hundred. Aye, Papi, show these nice ladies how you write your name," she called out to the little boy.
He looked up, dazed for a second. I doubted he'd been following our conversation.
"No," I said loud enough for him to hear. "That's fine."
He turned his eyes back to the television. That must've been one enthralling sponge.
"We don't smoke. Well, I don't. Rocco used to, but he gave it up over the summer. He's gone two months without a cigarette. And we don't drink, except on special occasions. Like we had a bottle of champagne on New Year's Eve. I buy lots of milk and chicken for the kids, to keep their bones healthy. I try to buy fruits but sometimes they're expensive, or the stores in this area don't have them fresh. They're rotten."
Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 Page 5
