Booker Brothers Detective Agency Box Set

by Maisie Dean

  “Hello, Kacey,” she said in her usual warm, deep voice. There was a drawn-out quality to the way she said my name, as though she enjoyed stringing the sounds together to make it.

  “Hi, Sidney,” I replied.

  Sidney’s gaze lingered. “I bet you were the prettiest girl in your hometown, huh?” She gave me the quick wink that usually accompanied these comments. She also gave me a subtle once-over from head to toe. At least she didn’t say anything about the ugly tan suit.

  “You know it,” I said. She’d pressed me on the issue of my looks before. I’d learned to simply agree. I had been a stand-out back home, but girls like me were a dime a dozen in LA. It was the truth, whether I was happy about it or not.

  “But not here,” she said. “Here a beautiful woman like you is a dime a dozen, isn’t she?” Sidney laughed and clapped me on the back.

  “You know it,” I said once more.

  Sidney gave me a warm smile. “By the way, I told you to call me Sid.”

  “Okay, Sid. You moved your shop from Chinatown,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “They were onto me,” Sidney said simply.

  They were onto her? She couldn’t have been talking about the police. She had enough clients in the LAPD to pay the bills for years. According to Lucky, they kept an eye out for her partly because of the work she did for them and partly because many of them had known her father. I decided not to ask anything more on that subject, as it was probably safer for both of us that way.

  Lucky asked, “Do you have those supplies I texted you about?” He bounced on his toes in that boyish, excited way he often did. The man always had a slight bounce to him, even when standing perfectly still.

  “Of course. Come on in.” She ducked under the rolling garage door.

  Lucky and I followed.

  The interior of the space was jam-packed with a variety of items. Boxes and crates were stacked around the room so high that they created mini walls. There were tubs and shelving filled with electronic equipment in various states of disrepair and plastic sealed boxes of new merchandise. A long desk with three bright lights sat in the middle of the room. It was covered in small boxes filled with even smaller pieces. I looked closer and saw that there were the tiniest screws I’d ever seen. A worn out faux-leather couch sat at the back end of the space. Beside it stood a couple of handmade shelves with a large coffee pot and a package of arrowroot cookies.

  I was so distracted by all the clutter in the room that I wasn’t aware that I hadn’t been keeping up with Lucky and Sidney until Lucky called back to me from the far side of the room.

  “I’ll be right back, Kacey. You can keep looking around,” Lucky said.

  Sidney gave him a whack on the arm and said something about how Lucky thought he owned the place.

  “Make yourself at home,” Sidney called back to me. “ There’s fresh coffee in the pot.” She led Lucky around the corner of a tall shelf, and they both disappeared from view.

  I walked around the room. I’d never had unsupervised time to explore Sidney’s shop. Despite the sheer volume of gear that she had stored, it was difficult to actually see what each contraption was. Boxes and crates were labeled and dated and seemed to be organized in a particular way. I tapped my fingers along a hard case. It must have been one of the kind that was built so tough, it had a lifetime warranty. I suddenly pulled my hand away in concern. What if one of those cases held a gun or something even worse? If it got into the wrong hands the police could find my fingerprints one day and track me down. I backed away from the heavy duty cases and headed for the couch. I heard Sidney’s and Lucky’s distant voices.

  “What ended up happening with that infrared case? Did you get the lens working in time?” I heard Lucky say.

  “No, I had to build one from scratch,” Sidney replied.

  The voices faded again as they moved around in the back. They’d started talking shop and it usually took a while to extract Lucky from those chats. I sighed. The amber light on the coffee machine had an enticing glow. I didn’t drink coffee religiously, and sometimes straight-up avoided it, but the closer I got to the couch the more the sweet, rich smell filled my nose. There was a stack of compostable paper cups on the shelf and I filled one up.

  “Wow,” I actually said out loud even though I was alone. The coffee was fantastic. I’d never had a better cup. It was dark and layered with nutty and caramel notes, or so my novice palate determined. I quickly downed a cup and went back for more.

  I must have been on the third and a half cup when Lucky strode into view holding a paper bag. He looked as though he’d come from a high end organic grocery store. Sidney followed behind him. They were laughing about something and Sidney clapped him on the back.

  “This is excellent coffee,” I said to Sidney and took another sip.

  “It is. It’s from a guy I know down south a few borders. It’s addictive, but don’t worry. It’s decaf. You should try the caffeinated blend. The stuff’s like crack!” Sidney said.

  She turned her attention back to Lucky and pointed at the bag.

  “Where are you headed with all that?”

  Lucky waggled his eyebrows and faux-whispered, “A stakeout.”

  “Not a bad way to start the week, even if you are stuck in a car with this guy,” Sidney said, catching my eye and elbowing Lucky in the ribs. Then she clapped her hands together as if remembering something.

  “Kacey, can I offer you the new deluxe stakeout start-up kit especially for ladies, if you know what I mean?” Sidney said. She winked again and mimed an apparatus that I gathered would assist a woman such as myself in peeing into a bottle. Lucky smirked while I stiffened my cheeks to keep from grimacing.

  “Thank you, but I’ve got a good bladder. Besides, I’m sharing this shift with Lucky and he’s got one of those built in,” I said.

  This set Sidney off howling. Lucky joined in too.

  “Hold on, let me get you…” Sidney held up a finger and rummaged through a nearby pile. She then produced a thick catalog, the kind I’d feel confident going after a spider with. “Take this in case you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she said, and winked again.

  I took the bound stack of glossy pages from her and nodded. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Now, Lucky, today you owe me—”

  “Put it on my tab, will you, Sid?” Lucky said with a grin. He was already inching back toward the garage door slowly.

  Sidney threw her hands up and scoffed, and the three of us ducked back under the blue door into the bright sun.

  “You Bookers, always with your tabs!” Sidney exclaimed, grinning affectionately. She slid a hand on to one hip and shot the other one to the side seductively. She watched Lucky and I walk back to the car.

  “We’ll settle up next time, I promise!” Lucky called over his shoulder.

  I gave her a shrug and we shared an eye roll at Lucky’s expense.

  Once we had climbed back into our seats, Sidney called out to us. She may have been talking to Lucky but her gaze was locked on me.

  “It’s only for you, sweetheart,” she said, waving us off. “Now get out of here, I’ve got paid work to do.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I must have been too distracted by Sidney’s long glances as we left her shop. It wasn’t until we were merging back onto the freeway that I realized Lucky was driving and I was in the passenger seat of my own car!

  “What—how?—Lucky!” I shouted. Not being the one driving my own car momentarily made me feel like I was in one of those nightmares where you suddenly realize there’s no one at the wheel. For better or worse, there was someone at the wheel. He was even more sly than I thought. I shook my head.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” Lucky said. An I-got-away-with-something twinkle in his eye reflected the sun. It was dazzling. No, Kacey. No.

  To distract myself, I flipped open the catalog Sidney had given me. It wasn’t brand-new. There were stains, a few rips, dog-eared pages. The title
on the front cover read Incognito and boasted having the “premier gear and technology for the modern investigator.”

  “Have you ordered from this before?” I asked Lucky.

  “Sure, all the time,” he said.

  It was comical that detectives ordered things from a catalog the way Rosie and I ordered things online. The last item we had received was a large, pink plush toy that was meant to look like a tonsil. Rosie had her tonsils removed months ago and insisted the pillow-like toy would make her feel better. Her decision had been fueled by a lot of pain medication, but the little tonsil still kept up regular company when we cozied up on the couch.

  I flipped through the booklet and found some things just as strange as a tonsil pillow. There were glasses that cut out all the colors of light that were the most taxing to the eye. (The point being that the wearer would be able to focus longer while on duty.) There were thigh mounts for phones and a wide variety of other devices, few of which I recognized. There were heart rate cameras, and disguised cameras in pens and air fresheners. Six pages were dedicated to GPS trackers and software. My favorite part was the “gear and apparel” section for women. A Lara Croft–looking woman filled the page with a strong stance and serious expression. She wore gray cargo pants that were tapered as they neared the ankle and a black tank top. Her brown hair was tied into a braid that rested over her heart. It was the boots that really caught my eye. They were nearly knee high and of sturdy black leather. Built into the right-side boot was a small holster and even smaller gun. I’d never seen one so small. It looked like the perfect size for me.

  “Now we’re talking,” I said.

  Lucky glanced over at the page and murmured his approval. “Mmm,” he said.

  “It’s almost adorable,” I said, “if a gun and holster boot can be adorable.”

  Lucky must have seen my eyes widened in curiosity, locked on the page. He snorted.“Unfortunately, pursuant to California Penal Code 25610, you are not getting that gun, Kacey. The boots are sexy, though.” Lucky gave the page another look, and then I felt his eyes drift over to me for a moment. He cleared his throat. “You could get the gun,” he said, “but if you’re transporting it anywhere, it needs to be inside a trunk or locked container. Not just in the trunk of the car.”

  The Lara Croft model stared back at me from the page. Lucky was right. Sexy was an apt description of the boots, and that part I liked, but did I want to get into the kinds of situations where I might need a gun? I closed the catalogue with a small snap and slid it under my seat.

  “It’s fun to imagine playing dress-up,” I said, “but I don’t really want the boots or the gun.”

  CHAPTER 5

  By the time Lucky and I pulled onto Annie’s block, we had almost reached Pasadena.

  Annie’s neighborhood was pleasant. The houses were old, but refinished to look more current and inviting. Many people had also put some effort into landscaping the area between the sidewalk and their front porch, but maintaining the plants was another matter. Exploding fuchsia bushes, poppies, and rose bushes leaned over fences.

  Lucky drove us around the back of Annie Berry’s house first. Establishing the number of exits was the first step to surveillance duty. There was a back gate, but its base was covered in tough weeds that had grown too dense and tall to allow for any regular use of the gate.

  Back on the main street there were a couple empty lots on the block, growing tall with grasses and weeds that were beginning to mix in with the neighboring plants. Next to one of these lots was where Lucky parked. From our position, we had a clear view of Annie’s front door and through the window beside it.

  I’d been on enough cases to know that there were a lot of rules when it came to surveillance. Individuals had privacy rights that could not be ignored or overlooked. From where I sat, I would be able to use a telephoto lens to peer inside Annie’s house. No one would know, but if I happened to see something to crack the case wide open those images wouldn’t be admissible in court, or in any kind of legal proceedings, as evidence. Only what could be seen with the naked eye from a public area would be allowed, such as from a sidewalk or a parked car.

  I squinted at the window.Everything was in shadow compared to the bright sunny day outside.

  Lucky sat up and reached back between our seats to retrieve a black padded case. He dropped the camera onto my lap and abruptly popped the car door open. “I’m off to get us tacos from the truck,” he said.

  “It’s still morning,” I reminded him.

  “Your point is? Breakfast tacos are the best! Don’t knock it until you try it.” Lucky climbed out of the car.

  “Wait, wait,” I half-spoke, half-whispered. “You’re going to leave me to do this on my own?”

  “Don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine. You’ve done this before. Don’t take your eyes off the front door. I’ll be back in no time with breakfast tacos that will rock your world!” With that, Lucky closed the door and walked back down the street the way we had come.

  ***

  An hour passed, and then another.

  I began deeply regretting all the free coffee I’d had at Sidney’s shop.

  Hours later, Lucky still hadn’t returned from his taco mission. How long did it take to buy some tacos?

  I imagined the taco truck being run by slow-moving sloths. The idea was admittedly charming and momentarily distracted me, but the pressure on my bladder was increasing to a point I couldn’t ignore. I was worried that it would soon outweigh the pressure of my job.

  Where was Lucky? He hadn’t answered my texts or calls.

  I cursed myself for not accepting Sidney’s intelligent offer of the deluxe kit for women.

  I waited as long as I could and then decided I would need to take matters into my own hands. I could do this. I got out of the car and stepped into the bushes beside the sidewalk. I still had a clear line of sight to the front door and the bushes obscured me from view well enough.

  “Ouch!” I exclaimed. The side of my butt had been pricked by something. Brilliant, Kacey. There were thorns all around me, woven amidst the bushes and weeds. I could trace the tendrils back to an overgrown rose bush in a nearby garden.

  Once I had relieved myself, I carefully stood up to avoid getting any more pricks. I was stepping out of the bushes when I heard a loud slam. My eyes snapped back to the house.

  A tall woman dressed in dark colors from head to toe strode across the porch and out through the front gate.

  Busty Honey! I was so shocked to see her so suddenly, and from such a compromised position, that I stumbled as I tried to extract myself from the bushes.

  “Oww!” I moaned. I had landed amongst hundreds of thorns and badly scratched up my shin through the cheap polyester.

  I quickly covered my mouth. I’d just blown my cover.

  Not two seconds later, a pair of platform-heeled boots appeared on the sidewalk in front of me. The black cuffs of ripped skinny jeans rose out of them and ended at a studded belt. That was as high as I could see with the sun right behind the woman, casting her in silhouette.

  The woman, Busty Honey, said, “Girl, are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

  The sun was positioned right behind her head. I could barely see her.

  “I...I think I’m okay,” I answered.

  Busty reached down, slid her hands underneath my armpits, and yanked me up to a standing position. She was strong.

  Now that I stood in front of her, bleeding from about five different places, I got to see Busty Honey clearly.

  She stood at least four inches taller than me, which could be attributed to the punk platform boots she had on. Her shiny black hair was smooth and luscious, and streamed down her shoulders. It was her face that captivated me the most. She wore more makeup than I’d ever seen, besides on men in drag. Her skin tone looked tanned and incredibly even, and from that base she’d filled in her eyebrows, her lips, and darkly encircled her eyes with eyeliner. She wore a deep red T-shirt with a low V that showed off s
ome incredibly voluptuous cleavage. Was the cleavage real? My insecurities bubbled up. My own chest hadn’t developed much past the eleventh grade.

  She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one side.

  “I was checking the mailbox,” she said. “I’m glad I came out when I did, or you’d be out here painting the roses red with your blood, like Alice in Wonderland.” She offered her hand. “My name is Busty.”

  I shook her outstretched hand. Her fingernails were painted a deep maroon. Silver bangles and black leather bands crowded her wrists.

  “What were you doing in there?” Busty asked. “Who are you?”

  “I’m K—,” I began, and then snapped back to reality and the need to preserve the case I’d just severely complicated. “Kate. I’m Kate.” I could taste the seed of a lie already unfurling on my tongue. I went with my instincts and let the story build. “I was just leaving this guy’s place a couple streets over,” I said nonchalantly. “He was so clingy this morning. I had to get out of there. I didn’t use his washroom before I got out of there, so...” I grimaced and motioned to the bushes.

  “Girl, I feel you,” Busty said nodding. “His name wasn’t Alec, was it? Or Jordan?” She looked down the street over my shoulder as though she expected one of those men to be coming to find me.

  “No, no. It was Owen,” I said. “I think,” I added. Owen’s name had been the first name that popped into my head. I immediately regretted implicating the real Owen in my fictional concoction. Sweet Owen didn’t deserve to be woven into my lies.

  “Whoever he is, he’s old news,” Busty said. “Breaking news, girl. You’re bleeding from all sorts of places, and that needs to get cleaned up.” She held up a finger and waved it around. She had an attitude and toughness that made me want to have her in my corner. Truth be told, I already feared getting on her bad side.

  “I’ll be okay, thank you—”

  “I insist,” Busty said. “Come on in for a minute. It’s no trouble.”

  The mix of kindness and firmness in her voice convinced me that going with her was the only option she’d be happy with.