Two Guys Detective Agency (24 page)
funeral, and a check inside for twenty-five dollars with strict instructions that it be used “for the children.”
Her children were being deprived of grandparents from both sides. She’d promised herself, though, that
when the children were out of school for the summer, she would arrange for them to visit with their
paternal grandmother somehow.
It wasn’t as if their maternal grandparents were going to be available anytime soon.
She picked a few autographed novels from the shelf to add to the box. Most of the materials were
industry related — his multitude of manuals from the police academy, and from the coursework he’d taken
to become a registered private investigator. There were volumes on weapons, crime scene investigation,
Kentucky statutes and constitutional law. Sullivan had prided himself on being a good investigator, and his
book collection backed up the fact that he was thorough. But she suspected his quiet and sometimes morose
personality kept him from attracting as much new business as he needed to truly thrive.
Still, his library was impressive and was probably valuable to someone. She made a mental note to tell
Octavia to call Dunk Duncan to see if he wanted it — as far as she was concerned, he could have the books
for the cost of hauling them away. She’d rather they be put to good use.
She walked around his desk and stopped to stare at the floor. A sob welled in her chest. This was where
Stone had found him, collapsed. It was agonizing to think of how long he’d lain there, helpless. A small
dark stain on the carpet could’ve been anything — or there for years — but it struck her as ominous. She
had to look away.
The best part of the office was the window behind the desk, but someone had pulled the curtain closed.
She pushed it back to allow natural light to flow into the room.
That was better.
A picture of her and Sullivan sat on the window ledge. Her heart crowded her throat as she picked it up
and blew off the dust. They had both been in college — it had been taken early in their relationship. She
removed the back from the frame and unfolded the picture.
Oakley Hall sat on the other side of her, leaning in.
She refolded the picture and put it back in the frame, then added it to the box.
A half-empty cup of coffee sat on the window ledge, and the sight of it was heartbreaking — another
interrupted routine task. Next to the window, a ficus tree was drooping. She poured the stale coffee into the
root ball. No use for anything else to die around here.
At last, she turned to Sullivan’s desk and began to empty it. It was a big, clubby model without a lot of
usable drawer space. The contents were mostly toiletries he kept on hand, a few magazines, and a couple of
books. The first book brought new tears to her eyes:
How to Tie Knots
. The frayed length of white rope
inside the book was proof of why he hadn’t yet taught Jarrod how to tie knots for Scouts — he was still
practicing himself.
The second book caused an uptick in her pulse:
The Life of a Thoroughbred Jockey
. Part how-to, part
memoir, the book contained biographies and interviews with some of the industry’s most celebrated
jockeys. She put the book on the desk and let it fall open naturally...and it opened to the page on Rocky
Huff.
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
A knock at the door sounded. She looked up to see Octavia. “Trouble.” She opened the door wider to
reveal Jarrod standing in the reception area, his head hanging. Oakley stood behind him.
She came out of the office and noticed Jarrod’s shirt was torn and stained with —
blood
? “What on
earth?”
When Jarrod looked up, he was sporting a shiner. She gasped and sank to the floor in front of him.
“What happened?”
“I got in a fight at school,” he mumbled.
She frowned and lifted his jaw so she could get a better look at his eye. “You know better than that.
What happened?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know...Evan Padgett said something and I just got mad and I punched him in the
nose.” He pointed to his shirt. “That’s his blood.”
“I thought you and Evan were friends.”
“We are,” he said miserably.
“What did he say to make you mad?”
“I don’t even remember.” He started to cry, but she shushed him with a hug.
“Why don’t Klo and I take you to Waffle House and get you a T-shirt?” Octavia asked.
He looked at Linda and she nodded. Then she gave the women a grateful look.
When they left, she looked at Oakley. She hadn’t gotten over their last conversation. “How did you get
involved?”
“Jarrod called me. I went to pick him up from school.”
“The school released him to you?”
“Only because I’m a police officer and his godfather.”
“Did they say anything about what happened?”
He handed her a piece of paper. It was from the school counselor. She suggested that Jarrod had rage
issues connected to the loss of his father, and she recommended grief counseling.
Linda refolded the letter, feeling like a total failure. “I’m falling down on my job, it seems. I need to be
paying more attention to my children.”
“No one thinks you’re falling down on your job. This hasn’t been easy for anyone, but for you, most of
all. It’s going to take time.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I’m here for you...and for the kids.”
“I appreciate that, Oakley, I really do. But we’ll be just fine.”
He shifted foot to foot. “I got a phone call from A.D.A. Beverly Houston.”
A flush began to work its way up her neck. “Oh.”
He gave a little laugh. “She said you came to see her, that you’d taken over Sullivan’s cases?”
Her chin went up. “That’s right. Octavia and I took on the open cases...and we closed them.” She
faltered. “Well...except for Foxtrot...which by the way, you lied to me about. You said Sullivan wasn’t
working on it and A.D.A. Houston said she gave him the job on your referral.”
“I said I couldn’t
say
if he was working on it.”
“That’s not fair.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Why are we even talking about this? You were way out of line to go see
the A.D.A. about a confidential case that you’re not a part of.”
“I just happened to be in the building and stopped by to ask a couple of questions about a file that we
can’t seem to find.”
“Just happened to be in the building?” Then realization dawned. “You just happened to be in the
building stocking potato chips and thought you’d drop in to chat with the A.D.A.?”
“You act as if investigative work is some kind of closed club.”
His eyes bulged. “It is! It’s for law enforcement professionals. You’re a stay-at-home mom!”
She stopped. He was right...so why did it feel like such a putdown?
“Duly noted,” she said quietly.
“Linda — ”
She saw the trio returning with Jarrod sporting a brand new Waffle House T-shirt. “Thank you very
much for coming to Jarrod’s assistance today...and mine. Goodbye, Oakley.”
“Are you leaving, Uncle Oakley?” Jarrod asked.
“Yeah. See you soon, champ. No fighting, okay?”
“Okay.”
Linda hugged Jarrod to her and over his head, watched Oakley stride to his unmarked sedan and climb
inside.
She could hear his car door slam from there.
“WELCOME TO Waffle House,” Brittany said. “Coffee, half and half, right?”
Octavia looked up. “Yes.” Under the bill cap, the girl actually had really nice bone structure.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“No, and that’s the problem. You know, if you wore just a little mascara, your eyes would really pop.”
The girl frowned. “I don’t have the time to fool with all that crap.”
Octavia read between the lines.
I can’t afford makeup and wouldn’t know what to buy if I did
.
“Do you want to order something to eat?”
“I’ll have that chicken salad thing again.”
“Good choice. Coming right up.”
Octavia massaged her temples to ward off the building explosion in her head, then decided a cigarette
would calm her nerves more. She and Klo had been working for the better part of three days to piece
together Richard’s activities for the past few months to try to predict where he might be hiding out.
So far, nothing had panned out. Klo had good connections with the Lexington Police Division because,
no big surprise, she used to be a stripper. And she must’ve been a good one, because every time she called
with a question, it got answered.
She pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a two-dollar lighter.
If Richard were indeed hiding out. Lately she’d started to worry he might be dead. What if that thug had
found him?
She drew on the cigarette, then exhaled.
She certainly hoped not...because she wanted first crack at him.
The only thing she hadn’t shared with Klo or the police was the evidence envelope she had. She didn’t
know what move to make, and the stress was killing her. If she turned it in, it might mean worse things for
Richard, and as furious with him as she was, she wasn’t ready to send him up the river yet...not while her
boat was still attached to his.
She took another drag, then exhaled.
The worst thing was knowing this could go on and on — they didn’t even know if Richard was still in
the area. He could be any-fucking-where.
A man’s cough sounded, then Grim swung into the booth opposite her. “I hate to break it to you, but
you can’t smoke in here.”
She frowned. “Why the hell not?”
“Because those things will kill you.”
“Really?” She thumped the menu. “And sausage gravy and biscuits, with an order of smothered hash
browns won’t?”
“You’ve got a point. But death by biscuit generally takes longer. And there’s no such thing as second-
hand cholesterol.” He reached over and removed the cigarette from her fingers and snubbed it out on a
saucer. “What’s got your La Perlas in a twist?”
“How do you know what brand of underwear I have on?”
“Lucky guess for a lady who refuses to buy jewelry in a pawn shop.”
“Well, if you must know,” she said, counting on her fingers, “in the last three weeks, my husband left
me stranded, then I found out we’re broke, then I found out he’s having an affair, then I found out he’s a
fugitive for conspiracy to commit murder.”
He pursed his mouth. “That actually explains a lot. But any man who would have an affair on you needs
to be locked up anyway.”
“Do not try to cheer me up.”
He held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.” Then he leaned in. “So...that thing I’m keeping for you...does
it have anything to do with...anything?”
“I don’t know what’s inside. It’s an evidence envelope, so if I break the seal, then whatever’s in it will
be compromised.”
“So would it help if you could tell what’s inside?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”
“If whatever is inside is solid. I have at least a couple of handheld x-ray devices in the shop. Depends
on how good the resolution is, but we should be able to get some idea.”
She was already on her feet and heading toward the door.
Grim lifted his hands. “Can I have lunch?”
“Afterward.”
“Me and my big mouth.”
Inside the pawn shop, Grim led her to a room in the rear where he produced the envelope and a
handheld x-ray machine. But it took them a while to figure out exactly how to use it.
“This isn’t working,” she said.
“Patience,” he chided, and hit the reset button again to allow the machine to reboot.
She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh.
“By the way, Ms. Would Never Buy Anything From a Pawnshop, guess what came in earlier this
week?”
“I’m not guessing.”
“A Picasso.”
She laughed. “Right.”
“I’m not kidding. This couple had a Picasso drawing and a, a — ” He snapped his fingers. “The art glass
guy, what’s his name?”
She sat forward. “Chihuly?”
“Yeah, a Chihuly bowl. Should’ve known you’d know the name.”
Her heart galloped in her chest. “Did you buy them?”
“No way — I don’t keep that kind of cash lying around. I told them they’d have to find a gallery or a
museum.”
“Do you think they did?”
“Maybe, but they made me nervous...I kind of got the feeling the items were stolen.”
“They were —
from my house
.”
His eyes widened. “No kidding?”
“Dark-haired slender man? And did the woman look like me?”
“That’s the guy...and the woman had dark hair, but she looked nothing like you.”
Okay, that scored him a few points. “You’re going to have to talk to the police. But you can’t mention
this envelope.”
He looked wary. “Okay.” Then he held up the x-ray. “Let’s try this again.” This time he was able to get a
passable image of the contents of the envelope on the machine screen.
But to Octavia it looked like a flat textured blob.
“What is it?”
He turned the image right, then left. “It’s a bullet.”
“It doesn’t look like a bullet.”
“It a bullet that’s already been shot.” He looked at her, his expression grave. “And if it’s evidence, then
that probably means it killed someone.”
