Detective Flint Box Set: A Detective Story Box Set Books 1-3

by Nancy McGovern

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Maybe,” Flint said, then walked to the office door. “I'm going to talk to the groundskeeper. I'll give you a call when I'm finished. In the meantime, could you call Daytime Temp Service and have them send my new partner to Dry Canyon Studio? Secretary job.”

  “How do you know the studio needs a secretary?”

  “The studios all use Daytime Temp. You could have the service send Tori to Wilson's office and recall the person they already have there. Tori will be able to enter the studio without suspicion and get the job done, don't worry.” Flint hurried out of the office before Chief Cunningham would have time to object.

  *****

  On the way back to his car Flint put a quick plan of action together in his mind. He leant against the back bumper and looked up into a bright afternoon sky. “It rained,” he said to himself. “The yard was well kept. The groundskeeper wouldn't have arrived for work so early, either. Rain stopped around six...”

  “Listen, jerk,” Tori said, storming up to Flint with a brown folder in her hand. “You could have scalded me with that coffee.”

  “You up for some undercover work?” Flint asked.

  Freezing in her tracks, Tori stared at Flint. “Undercover... me?” Her surprise quickly turned to suspicion. “Are you pulling some joke on me, Flint?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

  A slow smile crossed her face, and she nodded over and over. “Yes, I’ll do it. So what will it be? Mob? Gang war?”

  “Seeing as we're still on the Lila Crastdale case, that would be a no…?”

  Tori shrugged. “A girl can dream.” She handed him the file. “Here’s the medical information you needed.”

  Flint took the folder and took a quick look over it. “Okay,” he said, closing the folder. “Go see Chief Cunningham. He's arranging for you to be a temp worker at Dry Canyon Studio. When you get inside, go to Richard Wilson's office.”

  “Why?”

  Flint grinned. He walked around to the passenger’s side door, opened it, and pulled out a small black button-like object from the glove compartment. “I want you to plant this bug in his office.”

  “Looks like a button,” Tori said with some sass. “Did this Mr. Wilson lose a button?”

  “Help me,” Flint begged. “Arnold, this is a listening device.” He turned the bug around and showed Tori the small wired hidden on the back.

  “I know what it is,” Tori said with a cheeky smile. “I just like to see you riled up, Flint.”

  “Just...” Flint bit down on his tongue and tried to be casual. “Listen, just get into Wilson's office and lay this device down in a hidden location. Can you do that?”

  “I think I can,” Tori answered, suddenly nervous.

  “You can,” he said. “All you have to do is go into Wilson's office, place the bug, hang around until it's time to go home, and then leave. Don't just place the bug and high-tail it out of there. Don't draw suspicion to yourself, got it?”

  “Place the bug, file my nails until it's time to go home, and then split, got it,” Tori said. “But how will I know where to put this little gadget of yours? I've never done this before. I might mess up.”

  Flint drew in a tired breath. “I've never been in Wilson's office, and I can't get in there without Wilson being present. I don't know the layout. Just put it somewhere that's out of sight but close to Wilson's desk, okay? The bug picks up extremely good. It's top notch, Arnold. Your job is to get the bug into the office and out of sight. Can you do that?”

  Seeing the strain eating Flint's face, Tori quickly forced confidence into her posture. “Will do, boss. You can count on me.”

  “Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all,” Flint said, handing Tori the bug. “Okay, get lost and go see the Chief. I'll meet you back here tomorrow morning around seven.”

  “You mean I'm not going to see you anymore today?” Tori asked. “I thought, you know, we could grab some more lousy Chinese food and go over the case. Compare notes, thoughts, that sort of thing.”

  I've got a lot of footwork to do. After you leave the studio, go home, pop yourself a meal in the microwave, watch Jeopardy, and get some sleep, okay?”

  “If you say so,” Tori said with a sigh as she turned to walk away.

  She sounded so disappointed that Flint did something he never thought he’d do. “Hey Arnold,” he said. “Meet me back here around seven. We'll go get a bite to eat and see where we're at in the case, okay?”

  “Yay!” Tori said. “That would be awesome.” She took off running for the station door.

  Shaking his head, Flint began a countdown. “Five...four...three...two...”

  Tori turned to look back at Flint. As she did, she tripped and tumbled down. “I'm okay,” she said, picking herself up. “Just scraped my knee again, that's all.”

  “My partner,” Flint said with a sigh, then jumped into his car.

  *****

  Easing down a street lined with lower middle-class homes, Flint rode past a group of teenagers standing around a purple 1987 Oldsmobile blaring with music that hurt his ears. The teenagers cast mean glares at Flint, but he didn't care. Instead of throwing a fresh coat of paint on the yellow house the Oldsmobile was parked in front of, the teenagers wasted their time acting like thugs. Nothing Flint could do or say would change the attitudes of the younger generation. White, black, Hispanic – none of them would listen.

  Instead, he rode on down the street and stopped in front of a green house sitting on a dry lawn littered with cans. Spotting a gray work truck resting in a worn down, cracked, concrete driveway leading up to a rundown single car garage, Flint turned off his car.

  Sitting still for a few minutes, he examined the house and the yard. No sign of any items belonging to children. A wife surely wouldn't put up with a yard that looked like a recycling center for cans, or such a badly peeling house. The work truck was rusted and old; maybe a 1977 Dodge, Flint thought. The groundskeeper had to be a single guy who lived alone.

  With that fact in mind, Flint got out of his car, walked across the littered lawn to a brown wooden door, and knocked. The door opened immediately. A pair of nervous eyes appeared out of the dark. “You the detective?” a man asked in a nervous voice.

  “I'm Detective Flint. Can I come in?”

  “No,” the man said, and quickly stepped outside. To Flint's surprise, the groundskeeper was a young white male in his mid-twenties. He’d expected someone older. “Make it quick, okay?”

  Flint glanced at the white t-shirt the man was wearing. The t-shirt stopped at the elbows, allowing Flint to see numerous gang tattoos on his forearms. “How much time did you spend in prison?” he asked.

  “Hey, man,” the young man said in an angry voice, then threw his eyes around to make sure no one was looking at him. “I did my time, got it. I'm clean. I even got a job... well, I had a job before the lady fell into the pool and drowned.”

  “Is that your story?” Flint asked, folding his arms together. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  The young man looked him up and down, suspicion clouding his face. “Cody Adams.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s my name. Now what do you want?”

  Flint looked right into his eyes. “Tell me, how did you like the rain this morning, Cody?”

  “What? You on something?”

  “Rain stopped about six. You found Lila Crastdale in her pool around seven. It's a good thirty minute drive from here to her place. You always get to work that early? Especially after it rained. What kind of work can you do so early with the land wet from rain?”

  Cody tensed. “Listen... I...” he stuttered. “I...”

  “Did someone pay you to arrive that early?” Flint pressed hard. “Cody, I can haul you in right now and make life very difficult for you. I know Richard Wilson paid you. He's locked up right now.”

  “You locked up Mr. Wilson?” Cody asked with wide eyes.
<
br />   “I sure did,” Flint lied. “Now you work with me and then get out town or I can haul you in. You are leaving town, aren't you? Richard Wilson paid you a lot of money to leave town, didn't he?”

  “Look,” Cody said, lowering his voice down to a desperate whisper, “I did get to work early, okay. I got a call, someone said Lila Crastdale wanted me to get to her place earlier than I usually do because she had some lame inside plants that she wanted me to take care of. She pays me by the hour, and I need the money, so I didn't think much of it.”

  “Man or woman, Cody?”

  “A woman called me,” Cody confessed.

  “What time?”

  “Last night around eleven. And before you ask, yeah, I thought it was a little strange, too. But every since Lila’s niece showed up, things just started being different.”

  “How?” Flint asked, pretending he knew about Lila Crastdale's niece.

  “I don't know. Lila just started acting strange, like she was waiting for something. She was already one step away from the mental ward, you know. Real loco, man... out there. All she ever did was play that piano... the same song, over and over. It drove me crazy.”

  “Anyone else besides her niece ever come to the mansion?”

  “Nah,” Cody said. “Just the niece. Ms. Fancy Pants from New York. She treated me like dirt just because I did some time way back. Yeah, I know that’s bad, but do you see hanging up the street with those gang bangers? I'm clean, man. So what if Mr. Wilson dropped some major cash into my hands and told me to split? It ain't like I matter. I'm just a thug to you.”

  “The day you learn to have integrity and do what is right, then you'll stop being a thug in my eyes.”

  “Don't lecture me,” Cody said. “I come from a hard life and--”

  “Save the sob story,” Flint fired back. “I work the streets, boy. I see hard lives. Now I need you to answer my questions, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cody said, dropping his hostility.

  Nodding his head, Flint asked Cody a series of questions. Cody answered each question without hesitation. And then, to his surprise, Flint told him to wait until it turned dark and then to leave town. What Cody didn't know was Flint was going to have him tagged.

  “I have to call Mr. Wilson and tell him when I'm leaving,” Cody said. “What do I do? He's locked up.”

  “Wilson will make bail,” Flint lied. “Call him as soon as it gets dark and then get out of town.”

  “Hey, thanks,” Cody said. “You're okay for a pig. I mean a cop. Sorry.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Flint answered as he walked back to his car. “I'll pay Dr. Greenfield a visit and then Ms. Fancy Pants.”

  As he pulled back onto the street, he wondered how Arnold was getting along.

  *****

  As Flint drove away Tori walked into a lobby designed with furnishings that, to her shock, were cheesy and cheap. A brown shag rug lined the floor, ugly against the dark yellow walls decorated with artwork that came from the hands of a drunk hippie. The smell of cigar smoke dominated the air. And the worst part, she thought, was the gray business suit she’d had to borrow from Melinda. It fit her body like a tired glove and made her feel like a frump.

  “Can I help you?” an older woman with dark gray hair asked Tori in a hoarse voice.

  Tori watched her work on putting away a filthy cigarette. Holding back a cough, she put on a polite smile. “The agency sent me,” she said, presenting a work card.

  Sitting in a gray cushioned chair, the old woman rolled her eyes, leaned forward and snatched the card away from Tori. “Oh, yes, you're here to replace the girl working for Mr. Wilson,” she said in a bored voice.

  Tori carefully eyed the older woman's brown shirt and heavy gray dress. She appeared to be a hippie that was trapped in a decaying body.

  “Well, a girl's gotta make a living,” Tori said.

  The old woman almost gagged at Tori's remark. “Listen, just go on back, sit your butt down, answer a few calls, take a few messages, and file your nails.” She tossed the work card back at her. “I'll call the agency and let them know you're here.”

  Tori scrambled to pick the work card up from the floor where it had fallen. Looking to her left and then to her right, she saw a door at the end of the wooden counter. “Through that door?”

  “Go through the door,” the old woman growled at Tori as she took a puff on her new cigarette. “Hallway leads to a locked door. When you get there, press the button on the door and I'll buzz you in. Go into the reception area, sit down, don't touch anything, and take a few calls.”

  “Is Mr. Wilson here?” Tori asked, putting on a fake, excited, voice. “Oh, I've heard--”

  “Listen,” the old woman snapped at Tori, blowing cigarette smoke from her nose, “if you think you're the first person to come here and try to romance Mr. Wilson because you believe he'll make you into the next big star, you have another think coming. I've been working for Mr. Wilson for over thirty years. I know the man and I've seen him boot out your kind, so if you want your job, get those stars out of your eyes.”

  “So here's not here then?” Tori asked, pretending to be disappointed.

  “No, and he won't be here the rest of the day, either.”

  Tori made a sad face for show, then walked into the hallway, which was just as cheesy as the lobby. It was long, lined with an ugly brown tile. Walking past one door and then another, Tori began to hum to herself as she imagined what it would be like to be a star—to really be a star—and to live in a fancy mansion like Lila Crastdale.

  As soon as she realized what she was thinking, she scolded herself. Hey, focus on the case.

  Stopping at a heavy wooden door that didn't have a viewing window, she cautiously reached out and examined the wood. “Like the door on a vault,” she said, impressed. Spotting a red button nested above the door knob, she pressed it. A few seconds later a loud buzzing noise screeched into the air and the door clicked open. “Like taking candy from a baby,” Tori whispered with a smile.

  As she opened the door she found yet another cheesy room that was identical to the front lobby. Spotting a wooden desk sitting next to a gray wooden door, Tori nodded her head. She drew the door closed behind her quietly, then made her way to the desk and sat down. “It's like the studio time forgot,” she thought, making an ugly nose at the decor.

  Leaning back in a cheap, black office chair she bit down on her lower lip and examined her surroundings. No windows, a few gray chairs against the back wall, a flimsy office table holding expired magazines...yep, like being in a prison cell, she thought. Cautiously, she examined the room for any signs of hidden cameras. Unable to spot anything, she then stood up and searched the room for hidden bugs. Nothing, as far as she could see.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she walked to Mr. Wilson's office door and tried the doorknob. Expecting to find the door locked, Tori was shocked when the doorknob turned in her hand. “Hey, this is my day,” she whispered happily, and then jumped when the phone on the receptionist desk began to ring.

  Easing the door shut, she hurried to the desk and snatched up the phone. “Hello... I mean, Mr. Wilson's office, how can I help you?”

  “It's me,” Chief Cunningham said. “Are you in?”

  “Whew.” Tori wiped some sweat from her forehead with her left hand. “I'm in, Chief, and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Wilson's office door is unlocked,” Tori said in an excited voice. “But boy, it's like getting into Fort Knox around here. And the old lady up front who buzzed me back here, she's like a prison guard and--”

  “Ms. Arnold,” Chief Cunningham interrupted. “I'm against this whole idea. But I have to trust Flint. If I can't trust my people, then I might as well resign. So do us all a favor, plant the bug, and then ride out your time and get out of there.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Tori said proudly. “I'll make you proud, wait and see.”

  “I know you will, Detective Arnold,”
Chief Cunningham said and then hung up. When he hung up he popped four aspirin and prayed for a miracle.

  “He called me Detective.” Tori beamed, clapping her hands together. The phone in her right hand hit her left hand and smashed a finger. “Ow!” Tori said and slammed down the phone. “Okay, focus...” Digging out the bug from her purse, she eased into Mr. Wilson's office and then stopped in her tracks.

  “Huh?”

  Instead of walking into a normal office that had a view of the studio grounds, Tori walked into an empty room with gray walls looking down at an old brown carpet. A single door was attached to the back wall. Looking over her shoulder, Tori swallowed and then moved across the room toward the door. The door was metal, thick, and locked.

  What in the world? she thought, confused, examining the metal door with her left hand. Oh man, Flint is going to have a fit about this.

  Trying the doorknob again, Tori shook it.

  There's gotta be a way in, she told herself, but how?

  Kneeling down, she studied the doorknob. Nothing. Standing up she bit down on her lower lip.

  How do they get in? Unless Attila the Hun buzzes the door open from the front?

  She was certain that the old lady at the front lobby had all the controls. There was no way she was going to get past the old lady, though. Excited, confused and nervous, Tori stood still and stared at the metal door. And then, to her shock, a loud metallic click snapped through the air and the door popped open.

  She could hear voices from behind the door, far away, as if they were coming up a stairwell. Rushing back to her desk, Tori stuck the bug in her hand back into her purse. Minutes later a young, attractive girl appeared alongside a grumpy, mean looking old man. Richard Wilson cast a dull eye at Tori and then, without a word, walked into the hallway with the young woman, closing the door behind him.

  Jumping to her feet, Tori grabbed her purse and dashed into the empty room. The metal door was slowly closing, but she picked up her pace and managed to squeeze through.