Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) (18 page)

By the time I made the turn back onto Child, Brett was striding across the street to a dove-gray house. He didn't look in my direction, so I idled halfway down the street and waited to see who would open the door.

Of course, when the door did finally open, I couldn't see a damn thing. Brett stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

So was this stop personal or work related? I needed more information. I drove around the block again, this time cutting up a side street and parking around the corner, before securing Helga and walking up to the house.

There were three buzzers beside the intercom labeled
A
,
B
, and
C
. No names, which didn't help. I scribbled down the address and dialed Mac's number. "Is there any way to check who lives at a particular address?"

She responded right away. "Tax records would show the owners."

I thought about our particular set up and took a step back to study the house. It wasn't uncommon for these kinds of houses to have multiple tenants. "What about renters in a building with multiple apartments?"

"Give me the address, and I'll see what I can do," my own personal girl wonder ordered.

I rattled it off and waited while she did her little tech thing.

"The owner is Rita Fuller, and she lives in apartment A. I could try to track down leases for the other two if you want."

I eyeballed the buzzer for the bottom floor apartment. "Does it say how long she's had the property?"

"Fifty-seven years. You gonna put the squeeze on her, Fogey-Whisperer style?"

"Hey, one day we'll be lucky to make it to senior citizen status," I cautioned.

"Especially with the way we eat," Mac said and disconnected.

I depressed the buzzer, and almost instantly the intercom crackled. "Who's there?" a reedy and yes, elderly, voice called out.

"Rita Fuller?" I asked. "This is Mackenzie Taylor. I'm a private investigator. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your tenants."

Telling her exactly who I was and what I wanted was a gamble. If she had something to hide, she might not admit me. I was banking on the boredom and loneliness that often plagued older people.

Sure enough, the door buzzed, and I slipped inside, praying I wouldn't run into Brett in the hallway.

Rita Fuller's door was open, and the woman herself sat there in an automatic wheelchair, a devilish gleam in her eyes. "You don't look like any PI I've ever seen." Her accent was soft but distinctly Chicago, not Boston.

"Seen a lot of PIs, have you?" I grinned.

A smile kicked up one side of her mouth. "Enough to know that you have to have a license. Let's see some ID"

I pulled my driver's license from my wallet and handed it over for her inspection. "I'm actually working for a lawyer right now, just learning the ropes, so I'm not licensed. But that's me."

She looked it up and down then studied me before handing it back over. "Okay then."

She maneuvered the chair backward and ushered me into her apartment. It was small but clean, with photographs of handsome men and smiling women, stylish art, and comfortable furniture strategically placed out of the way of her wheelchair. "Want some coffee?" she called over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.

"No, thanks." It wasn't natural for me to turn down coffee, but I already had to use the bathroom. There was a large bay window facing the street, so I took the chair opposite it to keep an eye on Brett's car. "You have a nice place. Are these all your kids?"

She moved around expertly in the kitchen. Obviously she had her system in place. "And grandkids. And great, great, well, you lose track of the greats after a while."

"Good-looking crew," I told her as I moved from photo to photo.

Rita returned, coffee cup in hand. "Now, tell me what you're investigating and what I can do to help you."

"A man came in here a little while ago. Did you see him?"

She nodded. "I've never seen him before. He went upstairs."

"Do you know which apartment?"

"It has to be the third floor. The girl on the second floor is a friend of my granddaughter's."

"And who lives on the third floor?"

"A couple. The man's a no-goodnik. The wife supports him. I forget the name, but it's on the rent check." She headed down the small hallway to what I assumed was a den before I could even ask.

She was back a moment later, check in hand. "It's a good thing I didn't cash this yet, or you'd be out of luck. The name's Brown, Ruth Brown."

I blinked in surprise. "Is Ruth about five-foot-five, a curvy African American woman with a no-nonsense attitude who looks like she eats tacks for breakfast?"

Rita nodded. "Oh, so you know her then?"

"Our paths have crossed," I said, just as the sound of glass breaking came from upstairs.

Rita shook her head. "Fight like cats and dogs, those two. They don't make men like they used to, that's for sure."

"I don't know about that," I said as footsteps thundered down the stairs. "I need to go, Rita, but it was real nice meeting you."

"Come back anytime," my hostess called.

I hit the hallway the same time as Brett barreled down the stairs to the second floor landing, a pissed off Ruth hot on his heels.

"Come back here, you, so I can squish you like the no-good cockroach you are!" Ruth thundered.

"I'm sorry," Brett said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Neither of them had noticed me yet. I ducked back into the shadow of Rita's doorway to listen.

"Upset? Why would I be upset? What with you accusing my poor dead friend of dealing drugs. Nu-uh, nothing to be upset about there." Rita had, for whatever reason, a fistful of pennies, and she lobbed one at Brett's head every time she paused her tirade.

He put his hands up as though to ward her off. "Mrs. Brown, the company who hired me knows for a fact that someone was helping Paul Granger fake orders for Alphadra."

"Is that right?" I said stepping out so Brett could see me. "Funny, this is the first I've heard about it.

Brett's hands fell to his sides. "I'm so busted."

Trade Secret—A formula, pattern, process, device, information, or compilation of information that gives the owner of that secret an advantage over competitors who do not know or use it. I'd tell you mine, but then I'd have to kill you.

From the
Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living
by Albert Taylor, PI

"You know this loser?" Ruth huffed from the stairs. She looked different in jeans and a purple hoodie, with her hair down, though her expression remained as menacing.

"Intimately."

"He's asking if Kimmy was helping the leg-humper forge orders for that stupid drug that didn't even work. I been telling him Kimmy wouldn't do such a thing. He's a damn liar."

"No argument here," I said.

Brett's face was flushed, his gaze split between the two pissed-off females who had him in their crosshairs. "Look, ladies, I didn't mean to disrespect your friend."

"And then when I told him Kimmy wouldn't do it, he said
I
was helping him." Ruth's nostrils flared—she was practically breathing fire.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," I tried to soothe her.

"Mean it or not, the man owes me an apology." Ruth crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toe.

"Brett, apologize."

"But—"

"Apologize!" I barked, not wanting to see Ruth commit murder, even if it was justifiable.

"I'm sorry." Brett lowered his gaze. "I never meant to impugn your honor."

"Hmmph," Ruth said. She whirled on her heel and stomped up to her apartment, slamming the door behind her.

"Impugn your honor?" I raised a brow.

Brett trotted down the steps and took me by the elbow. "Heard it on
Game of Thrones
. Come on, let's get out of here before she changes her mind and decides inflation demands nickels."

"Let go of me." How dare he try to perp walk me like I was the one in the wrong? Well I was, but not at the moment.

"Take it easy," he said when I yanked my arm back. "It's really not that big a deal."

"Oh, lying to me isn't categorized as a big deal, huh? Good to know." I saw the irony that I was the one accusing him of being a liar when I was the one with the big Mac Daddy whopper of a secret, but still, I was too pissed to care.

"What did you expect?" He rounded on me, a few feet away from his vehicle. "That I was just going to spill my whole case to you when you magically reappear in my life after sixteen years? Why should I tell you anything, because you woke up one day and thought 'Gee, today I'd like to be a private investigator, and I'm Mackenzie so I can just do whatever the hell I want'?"

"Bitter much?" I asked him.

"Now that I've thought about, yeah. I am bitter. But this isn't about us or how you abandoned me."

He made it sound like he was a puppy I'd left by the side of the road in a basket. "I didn't abandon you, you idiot. My parents made me move. And besides, I'm sure Tina Yates stepped right into my place."

"Who?" Brett looked genuinely confused.

"Oh don't bother lying. I saw you making out with her in that empty alcove by the cafeteria." My hands flew to my hips as I glared at him. "Or did you think I'd forgotten about that?"

He grimaced. "Mackenzie,
I've
forgotten about that. What can I say? I was a dumbass at sixteen. Now, get in the car before someone calls in a domestic disturbance."

I opened my mouth to argue with him on principle before recalling that I needed my phone back. "Fine. But, only because I want to know what
you know
about the Alphadra. No more talk of what a lying, cheating, no-goodnik you are."

"Glad we got that cleared up," Brett muttered and held the passenger door for me.

I waited until he shut it and turned away before leaning into the back to search for my phone. Unfortunately it was a big back seat, and he had a bunch of gadgets stowed there.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my contact. It popped out."

"All the way into the back seat?" His tone was incredulous.

There was the phone, half hidden beneath his seat. "Almost got it."

"Do you want help?"

I snagged the phone and slid it forward. Cool air brushed my stomach as my contortionist act revealed about six inches of well-fed belly. "Nope, I got it."

I sat up, making sure to blink one eye as if I'd just replaced my imaginary contact. "There."

"Where are you parked? That old lady is staring at us and looking like she wants to call the cops."

"Her name is Rita, and don't worry about her. We're friends." I waved and after a moment she waved back. "And my car's on a side street."

Brett turned the engine over. "That's why I didn't spot you. When did you pick me up?"

I lifted my chin and crossed my arms. "At the Right Touch office building."

"Wow." He looked suitably impressed.

"So tell me about the missing Alphadra. Every doctor I spoke to says it doesn't work."

"Oh it works, just not the way it's supposed to."

I made a rolling motion with my hand, the universal gesture to keep going.

"Mackenzie." He sounded pained.

"I'm not trying to horn in on your case, but I want to know how it involves two dead people."

"Fine. As an ED drug, Alphadra's a bust. But cooked up with a few over-the-counter medications, it becomes a powerful stimulant."

"Like meth?"

"Milder than that. It's mostly an energy booster and causes rapid weight loss, but it can be just as toxic. There were several deliveries that Paul made to various practices that have no record of stocking it. Right Touch hired me to find out who was helping him hide the trail and sell it on the street. Ruth and Kimmy were the prime suspects, mostly because they have the financial need."

"What about the doctors in the practice?" I asked.

"I've checked them all out. They aren't flush with cash, but most have their medical loans paid back and aren't facing any major malpractice suits. There's no motive."

I thought back to the day I'd first gone into the clinic, how Hunter had just happened to be in the parking garage. "Do the cops know about this?"

"Yes. After Granger's death, Right Touch told the police about my investigation. So far they haven't gotten any further than I have." He parked behind my car and laid his head against the wheel. "When I heard about Kimmy's murder, I thought for sure she must have been the one. She sent money home to her parents in Cambodia on a regular basis. I underestimated Ruth's loyalty."

I drummed my fingers on the leg of my jeans. "You're sure someone from the office had to be helping him?"

"Yes. The orders were made through the office computer systems, so whoever made it had access."

"And it has to be someone with financial motive?"

He nodded again.

"Was Ruth's husband there?"

"Yeah, why?"

I looked at him, waiting for it to click.

He smacked himself on the forehead, saving me the trouble of doing it. "He has no job, plenty of time to deal, and could probably obtain access to the system through her. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You realize you'll have to go back up there." I warned him. "Ruth might put your head on a pike."

"No need. I have surveillance equipment in back. If I can catch him dealing, I can call the cops and have them bust him. Case closed."

"That easy, huh? You don't suppose he's a murderer too?"

"Nah, no motive. Why bite off the hand that feeds him?"

"So I'm still spitting into the wind."

"Chin up, Mackenzie. Someday you, too, will be a great mastermind detective like me. In the meantime…" He moved in to kiss me.

My back slammed against the side door. "Whoa there, Sparky. What are you doing?"

"Trying to kiss you. As a thank you."

"Ha, I'm not sixteen anymore. Say it with cash." I held out my palm.

He looked from it to my face and back. "What do you say I buy you dinner sometime?"

All the case cracking had shoved my original purpose in following him to the backburner. Dinner might be just the thing. "Give me your number, and we'll set something up."

Hope flashed in his eyes, and he rattled off his number. "Can I have yours?"

"You'll get it when I call you."

He shook his head. "You always wanted all the power in our relationship."

My hand was on the door handle, but I froze at his words.

Brett noticed my odd mood shift. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, but you aren't the first person to tell me that this week. See ya." I slithered out onto the sidewalk on rubbery legs, leaving him behind.

*   *   *

"Mom," Mac met me at the door. "Where were you?"

"Cracking a case wide open."

"Does that mean you're getting paid?" My daughter looked hopeful.

"Unfortunately not. Shoot, is that the time?" I glanced at the Felix the Cat wall clock.

"Yes, and we still have no plan for this dinner that's supposed to be starting in less than an hour."

I set my shoulder bag down and shucked my coat then rubbed my hands together. "Bring me everything we have. Cabinets, fridge, freezer. Let's empty this mother out."

Mac looked at me like I'd lost my mind but did as instructed. Fifteen minutes later we had a passable feast, at least if we had a bunch of eight-year-olds. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiched between crackers, cheese cubes, cheese puffs, apple slices dipped in caramel, candy, cookies, and popcorn. And the pièce de résistance, root beer floats, though I wouldn't make those until the guests arrived.

"It's all in the arranging," I told Mac as I set a bowl of M&M's as a centerpiece. "Oh, and see if we have any candles."

"Because then it will look like we tried?" Mac shook her head.

"Always with the quips," I muttered. "Trust me—you don't want people coming to you for food. Once they do, they never stop."

The doorbell rang, and Snickers leapt from her favorite couch cushion to sound the alert.

"You don't think she'll bite anybody, do you?" I asked Mac.

"Only you." My daughter headed for the door and peeked through the peephole. "Mom? Did you invite Atticus Finch?"

I nudged her out of the way so I could see. "That would be Len, the kind soul who sees fit to employ me. Hold the dog."

Mac backed up so I could open the door and usher Len inside.

"Mackenzie." He nodded at me and handed over a lovely autumn bouquet and a bottle of Moscato. "Good to see you."

"Len, may I introduce my daughter, Mackenzie Elizabeth Taylor the Second, though we just call her Mac."

Mac extended the hand not holding a squirming puggle and, like the true southern gentleman, Len took it and raised it to his lips. "Just as beautiful as your mother, I see."

I watched as Mac's surprise faded into pleasure. The charming devil had ensnared her, too. I bet opposing counsel never saw Len coming.

He wore a seersucker suit and matching fedora, which he'd removed the second he crossed the threshold. He also carried a cane, but since this was the first I'd seen of it, I got the feeling it was an accessory more than anything else. Kindly older man comes a-calling. "Am I the first to arrive? I'm not too familiar with this area, so I left early."

"It's fine. We just set the table." I waved at what looked like a dentist's wet dream and asked, "Root beer float or wine?"

"Lord have mercy, what a choice." Len laughed. "It's been a dog's age since I had a root beer float. Set me up with one of those. This looks like a carnival!"

"Coming right up." I circled the counter to retrieve the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer. "Would you like a tour, Len?"

"I'd be much obliged." Sure enough, he set the cane aside.

Mac set Snickers down and offered him her arm. He grinned and took hold of it.

I made three root beer floats, adding a generous dollop of whip cream, and tried to make a plan of attack for when my parents both arrived. Unfortunately, having them in the same room at the same time caused me to break out in hives, so I'd never given much thought to their couple's dynamic. What I did know for a fact was that neither one liked surprises.

The plan had "harebrained scheme" splattered all over it.

I was still fretting when the doorbell rang again. I checked the time, ten minutes to seven. That had to be Mom or Nona dropping by early since The Captain was perpetually punctual. I wouldn't be surprised if he was sitting out in his car, watching the clock so he could arrive on my doorstep at seven thirty on the dot.

"Mackenzie, looking good as always, doll." Nona wore a long shapeless sack covered with giant tropical flowers and a wide-brimmed Sunday hat. Her press-on nails were tipped in what looked like gold dust, and she wore bright pink lipstick. "I brought latkes."