by Vivi Holt
The server placed his coffee on the table and he turned to smile at her. He might not be interested in a date, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Thanks.”
She murmured, “You’re welcome” and disappeared back into the café.
Callum watched his target exit the bank and hurry down the street, his shoulders hunched and his hands pushed deep into his suit pockets, and he smiled. His work was done for now. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs. Being a private investigator paid the bills, and sometimes he even enjoyed it, but he missed the camaraderie of his previous job. Two tours in Afghanistan as a Navy SEAL had created bonds of friendship he’d carry with him the rest of his life. PI work, by contrast, was often a lonely business.
He sipped his coffee, immediately burning the tip of his tongue. He grimaced and set the cup back on the table, then tugged up the collar of his coat, just as his phone rang. He pulled it out again and put it to his ear. “Hello?”
A woman spoke tentatively. “Is this Callum McKenzie, private investigator?”
He leaned forward in his seat and played with the handle of the coffee cup. “It is. Who’s speaking?”
“My name’s Katrina Callahan. I was given your number by a colleague of mine, Tracey Bruce.”
“Of course, I remember Mrs. Bruce.”
“Well, she said you might be able to help me with something.”
“I’d be happy to try Mrs. Callahan.”
Her voice brightened. “Wonderful. Please call me Katrina.”
“Okay Katrina. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
She sighed loudly, hesitated, and then the words tumbled out. “My brother died recently.”
Callum’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you – it was a shock to all of us.” She paused and sniffled. “He left his last will and testament in one of his desk drawers, handwritten. It bequeathed everything to his stepson.”
“Okay …”
She coughed to clear her throat. “It’s just that he had a substantial estate and we were very close. I knew him as well as anyone. He would never have left everything to that no good…” She finished with another sigh.
He stifled a laugh. “I see. Was the will legal?”
“The court upheld it, but I don’t buy it for a minute. He had another will, written much earlier and filed at his lawyer’s office. But this newer one was in his handwriting as far as we could tell, and witnessed by a neighbor who happened to be a lawyer. And since it was dated later than the other will, that’s the one the judge relied on.”
Callum nodded. A handwritten holographic will generally superseded any previous testament, and if it was witnessed by an attorney besides, almost any judge would treat it as binding. “Who did he leave his estate to in the former will?”
She paused. “Well, me, and his children from his first marriage, and a few charities as well. Look, I know it sounds like I’m trying to go after his estate. But the fact is, he wanted his biological children and his sister to inherit because we’re family. With this new will, his stepson got everything … yet I’m certain he never thought of him as family.”
“How old is his stepson?” He took another swig of coffee and this time the temperature was bearable. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, relishing the flavor.
“He’s twenty-six.”
“Okay. Well, I can look into it for you if you like.”
“I would like that very much. The police weren’t interested in anything I had to say. I know everyone just thinks I’m after his money, but it’s not about that. It’s about what he wanted for his estate and I know he’d have wanted his children to have something.”
Callum took Katrina’s details, wrapped up the call, then sat staring off into the distance for a few minutes, thinking the case through. From what she’d said, the stepson and her brother hadn’t been close, so it didn’t make sense for the young man to inherit everything. Of course, that was just her view, and he knew nothing about any of the people involved. He’d have to investigate her as well as the stepson to get a better picture of things. But at least he’d get paid for it.
Downing the last of his coffee, he set the cup back on its saucer, threw a fiver on the table and stood. After one last glance around the café, he walked toward his truck parked down the street. The white 2007 Chevy Silverado suited his career perfectly, blending easily into the surroundings wherever his investigations took him.
He plucked a flyer off the windshield with a frown, grateful it was an ad for a local pizza place and not another parking fine. He was becoming more careful where he parked and for how long after receiving three tickets over the past six months. He grunted as he tugged the door open – he was more careful about everything these days.
Careful and cautious – words he never thought he’d use to describe himself. But after everything he and his SEAL team had been through in Afghanistan, he’d learned to assess risk with every step he took. It was why he held back in many areas of his life now. He’d come close to death so many times that he liked to take his time and think things through before he leaped.
The truck growled to life and he pulled out into the light traffic typical for midday on an Marietta side street. He knew the main roads would be bumper-to-bumper as always, but he’d lived in the area long enough to know his way around without resorting to the use of major thoroughfares every time. Granted, outside of Marietta he’d have to stick to the highways – he wasn’t a local yet.
In just over half an hour he was home. Since his business had only one employee – himself – he worked from his house. He’d considered renting office space and hiring a secretary, but decided it was a waste of money given all the time he spent on the road and in the field. Besides, he wasn’t doing so much that he couldn’t answer his own phone and write his own invoices.
As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed his neighbor Tim Holden’s Harley in the driveway next door. The garage door was closed and it wasn’t like Tim to leave his bike out in the weather, so clearly his neighbor was on his way out. As a fireman he came and went at odd hours, and Callum found it impossible to keep up with his schedule.
Callum liked his garage tidy, and as the door rose he made a mental note to sweep it out that weekend – some dry winter leaves had found their way in. In the fall, it was mounds of colorful foliage drifting in on the breeze or stuck to the wheels of his truck; in the summer, fresh-cut grass from using the lawnmower or weed eater. Now in the early spring, he enjoyed his brief period of rest before the hibernating lawn turned green and pushed skyward. Still, after weeks of cold weather, he couldn’t wait for it to warm up.
After sending Katrina Callahan a contract to sign that would officially make her his client, he spent the next hour researching her, her deceased brother Kyle Callahan and his stepson Alton Meer. He found newspaper articles announcing the engagement of Mr. Kyle Callahan, millionaire businessman from Marietta, Georgia, to a Ms. Susan Meer of Tallahassee, Florida.
After a bit of digging he ascertained that it was Kyle’s second marriage (supporting Katrina’s story) and Susan’s fourth. Kyle had two children from his first marriage, both now in their thirties with children of their own, and she had one from her first, Alton. Kyle and Susan were wed only three years ago, and Susan died a year back.
And yet Kyle had left Alton all his millions despite having two biological children and only being married to Alton’s mother for two years. Was it possible Kyle got so close to an adult stepson – Alton would’ve been 23 when Kyle married his mom – over such a short period of time that he’d write his own biological family out of his will? Possible, yes. Probable, he didn’t think so.
He frowned and ground his teeth, a bad habit. Katrina was right – something stank about the whole thing. She’d asked him to keep things to himself until he knew enough for her to take it further – she didn’t want to put her niece and nephew through any more grief or disappointment. So he couldn’t call
them up and ask them about it. He’d have to figure it out on his own. Which suited him fine – he’d gotten used to doing things alone since mustering out of the Navy four years ago. He didn’t always like it, but he was comfortable with it.
One more Google search brought up a few articles and social media accounts he hadn’t seen yet. He should look through them later – his eyesight was starting to blur and he had a headache. Did that mean he was getting old? Perhaps he should get his eyes checked. He frowned, scrolled down the search results and one caught his eye – Alton had posted something on his Facebook page only two hours earlier. He clicked the link:
The Mrs. and I head for the Caribbean in five days. Can’t wait! Royal Duchess True Love’s Cruise, here we come!
He frowned. Who was “the Mrs.” Alton was referring to? He hadn’t found anything in his searches about Alton getting married. Worse still, it looked as though his target would be out of the country for the next couple of weeks, which would make his investigation virtually impossible. He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts wandering. He’d either have to put Katrina off until Alton got back, though he could at least ask her about the mystery wife. Or he’d have to find out more about that cruise.
He found the number for the cruise line, called it and drummed his fingers against the desk while it rang. “Hello, Royal Duchess Cruise Lines. How can I help you?” The woman’s voice was artificially chipper.
“Hi, my name’s Alton Meer. I’ve booked a cruise with you leaving for the Caribbean in five days – the True Love’s Cruise.”
“Oh yes, that’s a wonderful cruise, Mr. Meer. I’m sure you’ll have a fantastic time. Hold on a moment, I’ll just look you up … Ah, there you are. Can I get your confirmation number to verify?”
“Oh, no need for that. I just wanted to check on where I’m supposed to meet the boat.”
“The True Love’s Cruise leaves from the Main Ship Channel at the Port of Miami – Gate 6. If you need transportation to get there, please let me know and I can arrange it for you.”
He smiled. “That won’t be necessary, thanks. Actually, I was just wondering if there were any tickets left for the cruise. A buddy of mine wanted to come along and I thought I’d get him a ticket.”
“Yes, Mr. Meer, we have a few rooms still available. But since this is a honeymoon cruise, it’s for newlyweds only. Is your friend a newlywed?”
Well, that was inconvenient. “Uh … no, he’s not.”
“I’m sorry. But we do have plenty of other cruises your friend might enjoy.”
“Thanks. I’ll let him know.” Callum hung up, then studied the screen in front of him with narrowed eyes. So the mystery Mrs. was Alton’s new bride and they were headed to the Caribbean for their honeymoon. It was a shame the cruise was for newlyweds only – he’d considered booking himself a ticket and taking the cruise with the Meers to eliminate a couple of weeks’ waiting. He ran his fingers through his hair, yawned, then headed downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea. He drained it in three enormous gulps, then poured himself some more.
A noise outside caught his ear and he wandered out the front door. Tim was there, washing his Hog down with a hose. Nearby sat a green bucket overflowing with suds. Callum waved to him. “Afternoon.”
Tim nodded and smiled, plunging his hand into the bucket. “Good afternoon to you. Whatcha up to?”
Callum sat on the pavement just uphill from the Harley so he wasn’t in a puddle, took another sip of tea and rested his elbows on his knees. “Just taking a break from work.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a day off today.”
“Your luck. My boss is a real back-breaker – he never lets me have a day off.” Callum chuckled and cocked one eyebrow.
Tim laughed. “Yeah, I heard about him. I can have a word with him if you like. You really should take a vacation sometime – it’s unhealthy the way you live. One job to the next, no breaks in between.”
Callum grinned. He knew Tim was only half-joking. His friend ribbed him often about his schedule. But working for himself made taking time off difficult. Ever since he got his PI license, he’d barely been able to keep up with demand. Every happy client referred someone else until he couldn’t fit any more into his schedule. He’d only been able to take Katrina Callahan on because someone else had canceled. He managed it well enough, but hadn’t had a vacation in about three years. “Yeah, I hear you. I promise to take some time soon – it’s just …”
“I know. It’s just busy, and you’re just a workaholic.”
“I’m not a workaholic. But I’m single and none of my friends are anymore.” He stared pointedly at the recently-married Tim, who rolled his eyes. “And I have no one to vacation with. A holiday on my own doesn’t appeal to me, so why not keep working? I like the work – and it keeps me sane.”
“Well, I just want it on the record that I think you need a break. You’re starting to look a bit haggard.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Tim laughed. “You’re welcome. Hey, I’ll be joining you with that haggard look soon enough, though.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Tim straightened and tossed the sponge he was wiping down his bike with into the bucket with a splash. “I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but Molly wouldn’t let me. We’re expecting!”
Callum’s eyes widened. “Wow! Congratulations, man!” He stood, threw his arms around his friend and whacked him on the back. “You’re gonna be a dad – that’s amazing. I’m happy for you both.”
Tim smiled, his eyes gleaming. “Thanks. We’re really excited about it. Actually, I can’t wait. I might have to get rid of this beauty …” He looked at the Hog wistfully. “… and get a minivan or something like that, but I don’t care. It’s worth it.”
Callum chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d get rid of your Harley.”
Tim shook his head. “Me neither.”
“You know, I might have an idea about a vacation …”
Tim cocked his head. “Oh yeah?”
“Well, it would be a working vacation, but it’s a Caribbean cruise, so it almost counts, right?”
Tim laughed. “Seriously? Okay, I’ll give you that one. Are you gonna do it?”
“Well, there’s a catch – it’s a couples-only cruise, for newlyweds. So I can’t get a ticket.” He rubbed his chin, suddenly recalling he hadn’t shaved that day. Or the day before.
Tim crossed his arms. “You’re always saying you need help, you’re so busy. Maybe now’s the time to find someone. You could hire another investigator to go with you and pose as your wife. It’d help you get on this cruise, and if you like her, you could see if she’d go in with you for a long-term arrangement, give you some flexibility in the long run.” He picked up a dry cloth that was draped over the cycle’s handlebars and began polishing its black paintwork.
Callum frowned and ground his teeth. It wasn’t a bad idea – he did need to bring someone onto his team, had needed to for a long time now. And he’d had plenty of jobs where working with a woman would’ve been a big help. It could be a kind of audition, an extended job interview. The only problem was, he couldn’t think of any female PI in the Atlanta metro area who fit the bill. He’d need to do some research – and quickly with the cruise only five days away.
Keep reading…
Excerpt: Dalton
Cowboys & Debutantes
Chapter One
Dalton Williams scanned the crowd packed into the arena. Wide eyes peered through fence rails, button-down checked shirts and blue jeans crammed the rows of stadium seating. Eager mouths chomped on burgers, hot dogs, corn dogs, fried pickles and cotton candy and exclaimed over the spectacle below. The glare of stadium lighting illuminated the entire arena with an eerie glow.
Dalton’s gaze drifted to land on the cowboy sitting astride a bronco in the bucking chute. The man adjusted his seat, locked his gloved hand around the leather strap and nodded. Stuart “Buck” Handle
y was the man to beat. He’d won the National Bronc Riding Championship trophy five years in a row – something no one thought could be done.
But last season Dalton had won, against all odds, throwing the whole circuit into a spin. Dalton had ridden against Buck for years and never come close to beating him. But last season had been different – he’d been at the top of his game after years of focus, practice and strength training. His dream of winning the championship had finally come true. Pundits were certain it was the start of a new era, one with Dalton at the helm.
But when the circuit started up again after the summer break, he’d torn a rotator cuff at the first event of the year. Now Buck Handley was back in the lead.
Dalton watched the bronc jump out of the chute, bucking and twisting, its hindquarters almost vertical above its head, ears laid back against its neck. Buck held on tight, his body flexing with the movements of the animal, one hand high in the air.
The buzz of the eight-second timer rang out and the crowd erupted into cheering and catcalls. Dalton shook his head and spat in the dirt as the announcer went wild, his voice echoing loudly through the cool night air.
“You ridin’ tonight?” asked a soft feminine voice behind him.
He turned and nodded. “Yup.”
Carrie Finnick stood there, her torn denim short-shorts and knotted flannel shirt leaving little to the imagination. “I’ll be cheerin’ for you,” she said, laying a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.
He glanced at it, then smiled. “Thanks, Carrie. I sure do appreciate it. I’ll need all the support I can get.”
“Oh, you’re gonna win for sure – everyone knows that,” she drawled, letting her fingers trail softly down his arm. His skin goose-pimpled beneath her touch.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know about that. Buck just had a good ride that’ll be hard to beat. But I’ll sure try.” He hated to be rude, but he had no interest in Carrie. She followed the circuit whenever they were in Texas and had hit on him every season. He’d taken her out to dinner once after a breakup, but hadn’t felt any kind of spark. Not being the kind of man to lead a woman on, he’d left it at that. But she didn’t seem to take ‘no’ for an answer – not where he was concerned, anyway.
