The Lady Who Sang High: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 7) (4 page)

I leaned closer. “Like what?” I asked conspiratorially.

She stopped picking out seeds and tugged nervously at her piercings. Then she fixed hard blue eyes on me. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure,” I whispered.

She hesitated. “No, never mind.”

“Come on,” I urged. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She pondered me for so long I grew uncomfortable.

“Whatever,” I finally said, knowing I sounded petulant.

“Okay.” She scooted her chair closer to mine. “I’m pretty sure they’ve discovered some new, revolutionary way of growing the plants.”

“So?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” She slapped my hand in disgust, and weed flew across the table. She frowned and murmured an apology. “It takes a long time to grow marijuana.”

“I know that,” I said as I brushed up the mess with my hands.

She leaned even closer to me and I got a whiff of minty breath. “I can trust you, right?”

I kept my expression neutral. “Yeah, sure.”

“They’ve got a way that will decrease that time…a lot. It’ll make them even
more
money.”

“You
think
they discovered this or you know?”

“I’m not sure.” She worked for a moment. “They have Pete and Carlo working on separate things. I overheard Carlo talking to someone about what he was doing, something about growth cycles and changes to them, and other stuff like that.”

“Who was he talking to?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Besides that, Jude is in the lab a lot at night. I think he’s taking their research and adding to it. I can put things together.”

No questioning that. She’d put an awful lot together. “But you’re not sure,” I reiterated.

“Uh-uh. But I’ve been doing some research myself. What do you think would happen if I figure out what they’re doing?”

I played dumb. “I don’t know.”

“I could use it myself and open my own store. Or better yet, I could sell the new method to someone else.” She snickered. “You know how many people would pay big bucks to have a way to grow better weed faster?”

“A lot, I’ll bet,” I said. Wow, this was Jodie’s nightmare come true.

“Or I could blackmail Jude and Jodie into keeping what I know secret.”

“But what about your job?” I continued with the naïve new employee act.

The snicker was now a derisive laugh. “Who cares? They pay me, I’ll be long gone.”

 Such a devious mind. I had no idea
.
“Cool.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You clean upstairs, right?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Not yet.” I had no idea if Jodie would task me with that. Cleaning…ugh.

“Well, if you do, let me know if you see anything that looks like Jude’s notes on new growing methods, okay?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to get in trouble or lose my job.”

“Hey, if you help, I’ll cut you in on it. I’m real close to figuring this out.”

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think too long.”

I glanced at her. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“I know what it’s like to be unemployed. The economy stinks, jobs are scarce. And I’m a pretty good judge of people, and you look like someone I can trust. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How so?”

“You need money, right?”

I shrugged.

“Come on. You keep talking about just being grateful to have this job, and how you can’t lose it. Makes me think you need money.” I had been saying that – part of my ‘disguise’. She stared at me. “Am I wrong?”

I tried to look humbled by my employment circumstances. “No, you’re not wrong,” I lied.

“Like I said, you help me, I’ll help you.”

“What if I tell them?”

“I’ll deny it. No one has proof of anything. It’d be my word against yours.” I didn’t like the sudden chilly tone. “Besides, Jodie likes me and she’ll never believe you, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t trust you, and guess who will lose his job?”

I gazed into those striking blue eyes that were now glinting dangerously. “I’ll see what I can do,” I finally said.

“Good.” She put a lid on one of the jars and stood up. “I’ve got to get this out front. Fill up the other jar, bring it out front along with the bag so I can lock it up.” She glared at me long and hard, and then left the room.

I sat for a moment after she’d left. If I was just employee Reed Ferguson, I’d have plenty of trepidation. This was not what I expected from Ivy. And I doubted that Jude or Jodie knew any of this. But I wasn’t just an employee. I was ace detective Reed Ferguson. And I had one big thought: Ivy deserved a second look. Definitely.

***

When I came back into the store, customers were milling about. I was about to ask Ivy what I could do when a guy with a ponytail raised his voice.

“I got a right to this!” He was jabbing a bony finger at Bill.

Bill said something and suddenly the guy reached a long arm across the counter. Customers stepped back as the man shouted obscenities at Bill.

“Sir!” Ivy said firmly but he turned on her.

I stepped forward to help as she ran out the back door.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

The guy took a swipe at me, but only succeeded in hitting his knuckles against the counter. He yelped in pain and backed up.

“Stay there,” Bill instructed me.

He was about to head around the counter when Jude and Wes rushed into the room. They quickly subdued the guy, and with one on either side of him, they led him outside. His yelling could be heard for a few minutes longer.

“Wow,” someone muttered.

Sirens grew in the distance, then died out as a patrol car screeched to a halt outside.

“That’s some neighborhood response,” another person said.

Ivy returned and took charge. “Sorry about that,” she said. I hadn’t noticed that she’d come back into the room.

“What happened to that guy?” I asked.

“The police are talking to him,” she said.

The excitement over, Bill and Ivy focused on the customers again. Heath showed up and went outside, along with Jodie. I helped for a while, and Ivy and Bill educated me on how various aspects of the sales process worked. At intervals, we were each interviewed by the officers, telling what little we saw. After a while Jude, Jodie, Wes and Heath disappeared back upstairs, and the rest of the afternoon was uneventful. I wasn’t doing much at that point to help, and Ivy told me so.

“Go back and ask Jodie what she wants you to do in the warehouse,” she ordered. “We’ll finish in here and close up.”

I let myself into the back and headed up the stairs. As I got to the top, I heard voices coming from Jodie’s office.

“Did you take them?” Jude said, and judging by his volume, he was more than a little mad.

“What’re you talking about?” Jodie elevated her voice, her indignation palpable.

“Jodie, don’t mess with me on this.”

“I’m not.” She enunciated slowly.

“Were you in my office earlier?” He sounded less sure of himself now.

“Of course not.” A pause. “Wait. Are you worried about someone spying on you? I told you we have to be careful.”

“I
am
being careful. You’re just paranoid.”

“Who was that guy you were talking to this morning?”

“It’s got nothing to do with this,” he said.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No!” he shouted. “Now leave me alone!”

Footsteps pounded across the floor. I ducked back and peeked around the corner. Jude stormed out of Jodie’s office and down the hall to his own, slamming the door for good measure. He hadn’t noticed me.

I waited a minute to see if he’d come back. Then I walked into her office. She was staring pensively into space.

“What’s up?” She tried for cheery, but it didn’t quite work.

“Ivy asked me to see what else I can do.” I smiled sheepishly. “I was in the way.”

“Oh, okay.” She thought for a moment. “How did things go today? Find out anything?”

“It went fine, but it’s too early in the game.” I decided not to tell her about what the others felt about Jude. All in due time.

She sighed, then heaved herself out of her chair. “I guess it’s time to wrap things up in the warehouse. Are you hungry?”

I shrugged. “I could eat.”

“Why don’t you grab something down the street? When you get back, you can help me with feeding the plants. And you’ll be here in case anything unusual happens.”

“Sure.” We headed downstairs.

“Here’s a key,” she said. “Let yourself back in. I’ll be in back.”

I went out the front door and walked over to a brewpub that was a couple of blocks down. I ate slowly, enjoying the break. Wimp that I was, I was tired of being on my feet, but I also felt mentally drained from trying to keep up with all I was learning, both about the business and about all the employees at Blue Light. I’d gathered a lot of information, but I wasn’t sure what any of it meant yet.

I finished and walked back to Blue Light. I let myself into the store and went through the back door and into the warehouse. Remembering the light assault, I reached for sunglasses. As I donned them, a low voice floated over the sounds of the fans, singing about a sweet leaf. I was partial to 80s alternative music, but that didn’t mean I was unfamiliar with 70s hard rock. The tune was “Sweet Leaf” by Black Sabbath. How appropriate for this environment.

I ventured farther into the warehouse, in the direction of the voice. I found Jodie partway down one of the aisles, toking on a joint. And unless I missed my guess, she was singing
to
the plants.

She whirled around. “Oh.” She turned fire engine red. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“I didn’t want to be gone long, in case something happened,” I explained.

She contemplated the joint. “Okay, sometimes I use. It’s been a stressful day. But I never use when others are around.”

“And the singing?”

“I heard that singing to the plants helps them grow better.” She giggled. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it makes me feel better. My parents sang to me when I was little, and…I don’t know…maybe singing to the plants will help them like it helped me.”

“Did your parents sing stoner songs to you?”

“Of course not.” She blushed.

Okaaaay. That’s a little odd
, I thought. I glanced around. “What do you need me to help with?”

“You want some?” She held out the joint.

“No, thanks. I need to keep a clear head.”

“Oh, right. Good thinking.” She took another hit, bent down and tamped out the joint. Then she pocketed it. She made a production of brushing off her hands, then said, “We’ve got to clean up first. Then we’ll water the plants.”

I followed her through the aisles to one corner of the room, where some brooms and other equipment was stored. “Have you seen anything suspicious back here?” I asked as I started sweeping the aisles.

“I thought I heard voices a couple of times when I was supposed to be the only one here, but when I walked around the warehouse, I didn’t find anyone. But I’m wary when it comes to our secret. Or as Jude would say, paranoid, so I’d be more interested to know if you noticed anything unusual.”

“No,” I said. Unless you counted her arguments with Jude.

The conversation idled, and time crawled as we spent a couple of hours in the warehouse. I knew it had to be getting dark outside, but under the lights in the warehouse, there was no way of knowing that.

At nine, Jodie walked up, carrying a large plastic trash bag. “Will you throw this out in the Dumpster? It’s in the alley out back.”

“Sure,” I said.

I took the bag and walked down an aisle to the back door. I pushed it open and stepped into the alley. It was dark, but still hot, without the humidity of the warehouse. A light illuminated an area near the door, leaving the rest of the alley in shadows created by moonlight. I walked down a short flight of stairs, turned left and walked to the Dumpster. I shoved the lid up and dropped the bag in. As I was turning away, I noticed something on the other side of the Dumpster. A Nike tennis shoe. The kind Jude was wearing. My stomach churned.

I took a couple of tentative steps toward the shoe. A body came into view. It was Jude, sitting next to the Dumpster, his torso leaning against the building, his legs splayed out in front of him. His face was twisted into a mask of surprise and shock. A dark hole in his forehead gaped at me like a third eye. He was most definitely dead.

“This is unusual,” I said to the empty alley.

What would Jodie think? That was my first thought. She adored her brother. This would crush her. Then my investigative instincts kicked in.

I looked up and down the alley, but saw no one. I listened, hearing only the buzz of traffic on the nearby streets.

My gaze fell to that hole in his forehead. Blood ran down from it and into an open eye. I stepped back, took a deep breath and let it out through my clenched teeth. I’d only seen a dead body one other time, when I was trying to rescue Deuce after he’d been kidnapped, and it wasn’t pleasant. Neither was this. In the distance, the city went about its business, oblivious to the death in one tiny corner of its landscape. It’s times like these that I know I’m not like my noir heroes, who were so cool, and seemingly indifferent, to something like this. Maybe you got used to it…but I hoped I never would. The hot night air stuck to me and the drone of traffic faded as I tamped down my revulsion and focused. I bent down and studied the body.

The body was leaning at an awkward angle, as if he’d fallen back against the side of the building, where he’d then slid to the ground. His arms were at his sides, his head was tilted to the left, one leg bent at an odd angle. I looked at the wall behind him. No blood or brain matter there. Was he shot somewhere and dragged here? I scanned the asphalt around him, but my untrained eye saw nothing that would indicate that that had occurred. The police would be able to tell if his shoes were scuffed from dragging along the ground, but in the dimness, I had no way of seeing if there was any damage to them. And his body being moved here also didn’t seem likely based on the position of his body. I don’t know a lot about guns, but it was a good guess he’d been shot with a small caliber bullet that never exited.

I scrutinized the ground around him, wanting to get a closer look, but knowing I’d catch hell from the police if I disturbed the crime scene. With only a partial moon for light, I didn’t see anything unusual. No glaring clue that would lead me to his killer. He was shot dead, and that was that.

I stood straight and shook myself off, as if his death clung to me like the heat. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. I made a report and was just putting my phone away when Jodie stuck her head out the door.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long? I want to get out of here sometime to –” My face betrayed me and she stopped. “What?”

I walked slowly over to her. “It’s Jude.”

“What? Where?” She rushed toward me. “What’s wrong? Where is he?”

I held her back. “The police are on their way.”

“Reed! Is he hurt?” She tried to push past me.

“You can’t go back there,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do now.”

“Oh god,” she said, then repeated it, over and over, as she fought against me. “Jude!”

She collapsed in my arms, sobs wracking her body. I was still holding her when the police arrived.

***

A while later, I was sitting in the tiny chair next to the tiny table in the corner of the store, waiting to talk to Detective Sarah Spillman of the Denver Police Department. Once the police had arrived, they’d cordoned off the alley and escorted Jodie inside the building. The crime scene unit arrived and I watched from a vantage point at the alley entrance. The press arrived, and within seconds of them, Spillman. She had one of her partners, Ernie Moore, bring me into the store, while her other partner, Roland “Spats” Youngfield, went with her. I told Moore exactly what happened, and it took about fifteen seconds. He sat across from me, dwarfing the chair, and seeming aloof as he took notes. But I knew better. Just because he looked like the clichéd slob cop from many a dime mystery – cheap brown suit, gut hanging over his belt, yellow-stained teeth – that didn’t mean he wasn’t sharp. Spillman wouldn’t have put up with him otherwise.

Moore paused when I’d finished, then started in again, asking the same questions but phrasing them differently. When he kept getting the same answers, he looked disappointed.

I was getting bored. “How about we go around back?” I asked.

He stared at me, stone-faced.

“It’s more fun than being here.”

He obviously wasn’t thrilled to have drawn the assignment of interviewing the smartass detective, and I found myself slightly miffed at that. I’m not such a bad guy. Since my snappy repartee was falling on unappreciative ears, I lapsed into silence. A half hour later, Spillman swooped in from the warehouse.

“Why is it you’re always a part my investigations?” she asked, running a hand through her blond hair. She was casually dressed, khakis and a green blouse, but she was all business, as was her style.

“It’s your lucky day,” I said.

As I’d become a more seasoned private investigator, I’d encountered Detective Spillman, and her partners Youngfield and Moore, on more than one occasion. She’d tolerated me, like campers tolerate mosquitoes. Maybe it was my charm and dry sense of humor, but whatever it was, I had the feeling I was winning her over.

She frowned at me, then jerked her head at Moore. He stood up, and she walked with him back to the door as they spoke in low voices. Then Moore disappeared into the warehouse.

She turned back to me. “I’ll haul your ass into jail if you messed with my crime scene.”

Okay, maybe I hadn’t quite won her over.

She came over and sat at the tiny chair previously occupied by Moore, taking less than half the space he did. She fixed me with a solid gaze. “Jodie told me you work here at Blue Light. Tell me it’s just a coincidence that on your first day on the job, one of the owners ends up dead.”

“That is strange,” I said.

“You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” I put my hands on the table. “Jodie told you about why she hired me?”

Spillman nodded. “She and her brother discovered a new way of growing marijuana, and she thinks someone might be trying to steal the idea. She hired you to go undercover to see if you can find out who’s behind some suspicious activities.”

“You know as much as I do.”

She contemplated me for a moment. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Maybe because I’ve lied to you in the past
, I thought but didn’t say.

“Did you see any suspicious activity today?”

“No.”

More silence. I waited her out.

“Moore tells me you found the body and you didn’t touch a thing.”

“Scout’s honor,” I said but didn’t hold up any fingers because I had no clue if Scouts held up two fingers or three.

“Did you notice anything unusual or see anyone in the alley?”

I shook my head. “I took the trash to the Dumpster. That’s when I saw a shoe sticking out beside it. I went to check it out and found the body. Then I called the police.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Like Moore, she seemed disappointed. She glanced around the store, then grimaced. “Murder at a pot store. The press is going to have a field day with this.”

“Are they still out there?”

“Oh yeah.” She stood up.

“What can you tell me?” I asked.

She gazed at me. “He was killed with a small caliber gun at fairly close range. At this point, it doesn’t look like he fought with anyone, so he probably knew the killer. Or maybe someone took him by surprise.”

“Was the body moved?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Was he robbed?”

She shook her head. “Still had his wallet with forty bucks in it, and credit cards.”

“You don’t have much.” Once the words were out, I regretted them.
Acting like the mosquito
, I thought.

My words hung heavily in the air. Then she gave me a frosty smile. “You’ve heard the expression ‘Don’t leave town’?”

I nodded.

“Well, don’t.”

With that, she strode through the warehouse door, her heels clicking like gun shots on the hard floor.