by Rose Pressey
CRIME WAVE
Copyright © 2013 by Rose Pressey
Praise for Me and My Ghoulfriends by Rose Pressey
“Rose Pressey spins a delightful tale with misfits and romance that makes me cheer loudly.”
Coffee Time Romance
“Her characters are alive and full of quick witted charm and will make you laugh. The plot twists keep you turning the pages non-stop.”
ParaNormalRomance
“I absolutely loved this book! It had me chuckling from the beginning.”
Fallen Angel Reviews
Rose Pressey’s Complete Bookshelf (click title to preview/buy)
Maggie, P.I. Mystery Series:
Book 1 – Crime Wave
The Halloween LaVeau Series:
Book 1 – Forever Charmed
Book 2 – Charmed Again
Book 3 – Third Time’s a Charm
The Rylie Cruz Series:
Book 1 – How to Date a Werewolf
Book 2 – How to Date a Vampire
Book 3 – How to Date a Demon
The Larue Donovan Series:
Book 1 – Me and My Ghoulfriends
Book 2 – Ghouls Night Out
Book 3 – The Ghoul Next Door
The Mystic Café Series:
Book 1 – No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells
Book 2 – Pies and Potions
The Veronica Mason Series:
Book 1 – Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead
A Trash to Treasure Crafting Mystery:
Book 1 – Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel
The Haunted Renovation Mystery Series:
Book 1 – Flip that Haunted House
Book 2 – The Haunted Fixer Upper
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
This is to you and you know who you are.
Acknowledgements
To my son, who brings me joy every single day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who encourages me and always has faith in me. A huge thank you to my editor, Meredith Giordan. And to the readers who make writing fun.
Table of Contents
Copyright page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About Rose Pressey
Chapter One
When I was a kid, my mother ogled Tom Selleck every week during episodes of Magnum P.I., gushing about his mustache or his manly chest and dazzling smile. Of course, at the time I hadn’t understood what the fuss was about, but now I totally got why she was drooling. Watching reruns of Charlie’s Angels and Magnum, P.I. had caused me to daydream about what it would be like to be a private investigator. I’d always been a fan of detective shows ever since and still watched the reruns to this day.
Not in my wildest dreams had I ever thought becoming a private investigator would be an option for me. Okay, I had daydreamed about it a lot, but I’d never thought it would become a reality. I’d given up any idea of working in law enforcement years ago when I changed my college major from criminal justice to fashion design.
But that all changed when my uncle had a heart attack and left me his faltering P.I. agency. His death had come as a total shock…Okay, it had only been a little bit of a surprise. Other than smoking and drinking, my uncle Griffin Thomas had been the picture of health.
Right before my move to Miami Beach, I’d decided to make a new start with everything in my life. I’d added caramel highlights to my dark hair and even bought a few new outfits. Nothing high fashion or anything…mostly just shorts and T-shirts to replace the ones that had holes in them. I did, however, buy a daring red cocktail dress.
When I’d packed it in my suitcase, I’d wondered what the heck had come over me. What made me think I’d ever go anywhere wearing the thing? After all, it had been quite some time since I’d had a date. But a girl could dream, right?
Relationships seemed so complicated. I’d been dating a man for over a year when he’d broken up with me out of the blue. At the time he’d said I was too nice…too sweet for him and that I’d eventually break up with him anyway. He had gone for the preemptive breakup.
Later I’d found out it was really because he’d met someone new. I won’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt, but what could I do? Apparently, he wanted a woman who was a little less predictable and had more of a wild side. Now I’d show the world that I wasn’t so predictable after all.
It had been difficult to make the move down to Miami. Finding a decent and cheap place to live had been especially hard. But I’d found a studio apartment after a couple days. So what if it was the size of a closet.
The place was only a couple blocks from the beach and a short drive to the office, so that made it bearable. I’d grown up on the other side of Florida in the Panhandle. When Uncle Griffin passed away and left me the agency, I threw my clothes in my Ford and made the drive down to Miami.
When I dressed this morning I had a tough time deciding what a private investigator should wear to work. A trench coat and pipe were out of the question. Since my apartment had a closet that would barely fit a broom, my clothing space was limited, making my outfit options rather small. There wasn’t enough space to store a new wardrobe even if I had been able to afford one.
Anyway, my outfit needed to be comfortable in case I had to sit for an extended length of time on a stakeout. I knew the odds that I’d have a stakeout on the first day were unlikely, but I wanted to be prepared. I’d settled on a green blouse that brought out the green in my hazel eyes. Plus, green was my favorite color, not entirely because it highlighted the green in my eyes, but that didn’t hurt either. Since the temperature outside was somewhere around “heat stroke” I wore long white shorts and sandals.
As I’d studied my reflection in the mirror hung over the closet door, I realized that my outfit didn’t exactly scream private eye. But I was comfortable and that was the most important thing. I knew sandals wouldn’t be good for a lot of walking or running, but I’d be sitting around all day, right? So what difference did it make?
So now I was sitting behind a cheap wood desk on a metal chair that made my butt numb after about two minutes. Shifting in my seat, I tapped an ink pen against a yellow legal pad
, contemplating my current situation. Uncle Griffin hadn’t even owned a computer, for heaven’s sake. Two metal file cabinets sat against the wall near the door. Apparently, that had been his sole means of organization.
The other day I’d ordered several items from the private investigator gadget website. I was excited about the prospect of using these new toys. I’d spent more money than I should have…definitely more than I could afford. But the items would pay for themselves in the long run, right? That was assuming I actually landed cases and completed them successfully.
To be honest, I’d purchased what the website called a “Private Investigator Kit.” I would never admit that to anyone though. If asked, I’d deny it until the end. I mean, it sounded as if I’d purchased an Inspector Clouseau kit from the toy store. In reality, this kit was just some of the more popular items from the online store that were bundled together to save money. I love a good bargain. I was most excited about using the digital recorder disguised as an ink pen and the video recorder sunglasses.
The office walls were painted an ugly pea-green color and an old mini refrigerator hummed loudly in the corner of the room. I shuddered just remembering what I’d found in there when I’d cleaned it out. To top it off, there was barely room to turn around in this space without cracking a knee on the desk. Trust me; I had the bruises to prove it.
The office had one redeeming quality though. A breathtaking sliver of beach view was visible through the tiny window on the far left wall. If you leaned your head in just the right direction you could catch a beautiful view. Griffin Thomas P.I. was written across the tempered glass of the front door. As soon as I could afford it, I’d change it to read: Maggie Thomas, P.I.
Uncle Griffin had mainly advertised for cheating spouse cases or finding long lost relatives. I was pretty sure he’d never tracked down any long lost relatives though. That would mean he’d actually had some success. After losing my job as a telemarketer, I couldn’t be too picky about career choices. I mean, who gets fired from a telemarketing job? In my defense, no one really wanted to buy their own burial plot. Money was tight and the rent was due, I had to make this work.
Yes, for better or for worse, this place was now mine. Before arriving in town, I’d taken the time to get my concealed carry permit and private investigator license. I’d passed the test, but how prepared was I for the actual work? It was one thing to take a written exam, but an entirely different ball game to actually help a real client. Like I said, I’d studied criminal justice in college, but gave up on the thought that I’d actually ever use any of that experience.
To my surprise, there was already an appointment on my schedule for this morning. A man had called early this morning. With his rushed words, I knew he was in a hurry to meet with me. Uncle Griffin employed a woman who manned the phones and did whatever else an assistant to a private eye was supposed to do. Dorothy Raye had informed me that she wouldn’t be in today until ten, so I was on my own until she got there. She mentioned something about picking up her new orthopedic shoes, but I hadn’t really paid attention to the details.
When the knock rattled the door, a flood of emotion rushed through me. I would consider it a huge success if I made it through my first appointment without uttering something stupid or some equally embarrassing event happening.
Jumping up from my desk, I maneuvered around the tight space and opened the agency’s front door. Unfortunately, the space was too small for a waiting room. The middle-aged man looked me up and down with a critical eye. He wore a tailored gray pinstriped suit. It wasn’t the cheap material that my uncle’s suits had been made out of either. This thing was the real deal. The bright blue tie matched his eyes. His short hair had sprinkles of gray in the otherwise dark strands.
After an awkward pause, I said, “You must be Mr. Abbott. Won’t you please come in?”
I stepped out of the way and gestured toward the small metal chair in front of the desk. Uncle Griffin had clearly pulled out all the stops to impress the clients. The chair looked more like a torture device to force someone to talk. Updating the office furniture was another thing to add to my to-do list, as soon as I could afford it of course.
“Is Mr. Thomas available?” he asked as he briskly walked into the room.
There was no point in beating around the bush. “He’s dead,” I blurted out.
Mr. Abbott turned to me with a shocked expression. “He’s dead?”
I moved around the desk and took a seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t inform you on the phone when you made the appointment.”
In hindsight, I should have divulged that little detail, but it makes for an awkward conversation, so I’d put it off as long as possible.
The chair creaked loudly as he sat down and I prayed he wouldn’t fall though the old thing. He clutched a manila envelope in his hand.
“Yes, you should have.” His brows drew downward in a frown.
I cleared my voice and continued, “Yes, well, my name is Maggie Thomas. I’ve taken over the agency for my late uncle. I can assure you that you’ll get the same level of professionalism and service with me.”
Okay, I couldn’t actually assure him of that, but what was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell him he was my first case ever. Perhaps if he gave me the case and it was successful I could let him in on my little secret.
After another long pause, he said, “I’m in a bit of a hurry, so I trust you can work quickly on this.”
I nodded. “Of course. What is it you want me to do?”
Mr. Abbott’s expression darkened. I didn’t like the look on his face. He had been extremely vague when I’d spoken to him on the phone. No matter how badly I needed the money, I refused to do anything illegal.
“I believe my wife is cheating on me and I’d like for you to obtain the proof,” he said matter-of-factly.
Oh, was that all? I could handle that. How hard could it be? I’d follow her to some hourly rate hotel, snap a few photos, and then get paid. But why the Thomas Agency? Mr. Abbott had told me on the phone that he was a partner at some big law firm. Surely he had some fancy, high-powered agency to use. No matter what the circumstances though, it was an easy job, and I was going to take it. My first real case.
“Don’t you have a real, er, I mean, a regular private investigating agency that you use for your law firm?” I leaned forward in my chair.
“I’d rather keep this matter confidential. I’m sure you understand?” The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more.
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
“I was told that Griffin Thomas was good.” He folded his hands in his lap.
Who would have told him such a thing?
“Yes, he was the best,” I said.
I had no idea if Uncle Griffin was the best, but it sounded good anyway.
Mr. Abbott placed an envelope on the desk and scooted it toward me. “Enclosed is a photo of my wife and other essential information.”
I stared down at the envelope for a moment, then finally picked it up. As I slid a manila folder out of the envelope, a photo fluttered to the floor. Mr. Abbott frowned, then reached down and picked up the picture, handing it to me. I took the photo from his outstretched hand, pretending not to notice his scowl. “Thank you.”
The glossy photo featured a woman in her mid-fifties with shoulder-length blonde hair and big bright blue eyes. Her smile revealed perfect white teeth. She looked so sweet; she couldn’t possibly cheat on him, right?
“She’s very pretty,” I said.
He scowled. “Yes, she is beautiful.”
I opened the large file and spread the contents across my desk. The remaining papers in the file listed her address, height, weight, and favorite hangouts. He’d practically done my job for me already.
I met my client’s gaze. “Mr. Abbott, what makes you think she’s cheating on you?”
“Please, call me Arthur.” His tone was terse, but surprisingly calm.
I nodded. “Okay, Arthur.”
“My wife always claims that she is going to yoga class, but I know that she couldn’t possibly stretch that much.” His mouth deepened into an even deeper frown.
“Maybe she really needs the relaxation?” I attempted my best compassionate grin.
He scowled again. “No, I don’t think so. What has she got to relax from? I make sure that she has everything she could possibly want.”
Did he? Arthur Abbott was obviously an affluent man, but money couldn’t buy everything, right? Regardless, it was none of my business. He was hiring me to do a job, not access their personal relationship.
“Well, I’ll see what I find and provide you with a full report…and any evidence that I may uncover.” I leaned back in my chair.
Pushing to his feet, Arthur reached into his suit pocket and handed me his card. “I’ve written my address on the back of the card. My wife and I aren’t living together at the moment. I have a condo that I’m staying at for now. You’ll find the cash for your fee in the envelope.”
I flipped the card over and looked at the address scribbled across the back. It was none of my business why he’d moved out, but nonetheless, I had to ask, “Why are you living apart? Is it because of her suspected infidelity?”
“We started arguing when I questioned her about being away so often. That’s when I decided to move out for a while.” He glanced at his gold watch.
“Do you have any idea who she’s seeing?” I asked.
“No, but when I find the bastard—” He cut off his words before saying too much.
Finding the bastard definitely wasn’t my job. All I had to do was provide Arthur with the evidence that his wife was cheating, not who she was cheating with.
“Do you know what you’ll do if I capture evidence?” Our eyes met for a moment, but he quickly looked away, checking his watch again.
Did he plan on divorcing her? What other reason would he have to check up on her if he didn’t plan on divorce? I hoped he didn’t plan to kill the man she might be sleeping with. I didn’t want to be a part of a murder investigation.
