Dusted (8 page)

“You may not have gone there because you knew the murderer was there but because you suspected there was a clue there. That means this worked. It’s like doing exploratory surgery. I go in looking for something. I tend to know where I’ll have a good chance of finding it, but I’m not sure about anything until the moment that I am sure. You organized the information and you went looking for the answers…and you found them. Maybe not where you thought, but you wouldn’t have found them at all if you hadn’t looked.”

That was actually the most convoluted thing my mother had ever said, but I knew exactly what she meant. “Thank you.”

“So, where are you looking with the forgeries?”

“I’ve talked to two of the clients. I have one more to talk to. I’m hoping I find someone who had access to all three houses.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll just keep going over the information and adding anything new I find.”

My mother stared at my board. “These homes have security. Maybe you should check with them. See if there were any anomalies in the last few months. Any reasons why the security companies came out, even if they didn’t find a problem.”

That was a brilliant idea. “Mom, if you ever decide to give up surgery, I think you may have found your new career. Dick will be so impressed.”

“Just be careful. Though I have to confess, chasing after an art forger has to be safer than chasing after a murderer.”

“Let’s hope,” I agreed.

We—by we I mean me and Dick, still impersonating an insurance investigator—checked on the first of the two different security companies. It hadn’t had any security blips.

Here’s the weird thing, my mother, the professional doctor type person, went all geeky fan-girl over my writing mentor, Dick Macy. I introduced them with a bit of trepidation, but mom practically fawned all over him. The two of them huddled together on the couch talking about screenplays and writing as I called the security firms.

I was dialing the second one when my mother announced, “I’ve always wanted to write a novel. A romance novel, with a medical mystery element.”

“Then you should. Talent needs to be fostered and honored,” Dick said with all sincerity.

“How do you know I have any talent? How do
I
know I have
any
talent?” my mom asked. It was weird to hear my mom, the poster child for self-assurance, asking that kind of question.

“I’ve read your daughter’s work. She’s brimming with it. And I’m sure the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She must get that sort of gift from somewhere. I’m guessing you.”

My mother shot me a speculative look, and I concentrated on dialing and pretending I didn’t overhear their conversation though I was actively trying to listen.

All I managed to hear was my mother saying, “Well, she is amazing, isn’t she?”

I felt myself choke up as I got passed from desk to desk, trying to find someone who would answer my question. I finally hit on Mr. Peterson, and said, “Hold for Mr. Macy.”

Dick took the phone.

“He’s a very nice man,” my mother said.

“He is. He really believes in the script.”

“He said you’re the most talented new writer he’s ever worked with.”

“I think he’s exaggerating for your benefit, but still, that’s nice to hear.”

At that moment, Dick hung up. “Nothing there either, but they said they’d talk to the security crews and see if anyone noticed anything that didn’t fall into the criteria for reporting but simply felt weird. He’ll get back to me after he talks to them.”

“I’m sorry, Quincy,” my mother said. “I guess that’s it for my short-lived detective career.”

“Oh, mom, don’t write your career as an investigator off just yet. I can’t tell you how many dead-ends I’ve bumped up against. This wise mentor I have,” I shot Dick a smile, “talks about writing
crap drafts
. When I work on the script, I don’t have to worry about it being perfect. As a matter of fact, I have permission to write utter crap because—”

Dick interrupted. “Because you can fix crap, but you can’t fix a blank page.”

My mother laughed a teenaged girl sort of giggle that felt oddly disconcerting coming from her.

“I’ve decided that investigating is sort of like that,” I said, wondering what alien pod-person had taken over my mother’s body. First Peri, now Dick. “You have to give yourself permission to follow leads that take you to a brick wall, because eventually, you might find a clue that creates a door in the wall, or you might find an entirely different path.”

“That makes sense,” my mother agreed.

“And who knows, the security companies said they’d talk to their employees. Maybe someone will have something for us.”

We talked about other ideas, none of them were overly inspired. Then all talk of the investigation was cut short when the boys came in after dinner.

“I said everyone needed a night off to mentally prepare for tomorrow,” Miles said.

“Yeah, everyone but Miles.” Eli elbowed his brother. “He’s going to worry and fret all night.”

“How about a game of Trivial Pursuit,” my mom suggested. “Maybe everyone here could use some time to not think about what’s going on in their lives.”

“Only if it’s Disney Trivial Pursuit,” Miles said.

Eli turned to Dick and stage-whispered, “Grandma kicks everyone’s butt at the regular kind.”

The doorbell rang and I went to get it. I got that shivery feeling when I saw who was there.

It had been so many years since anyone inspired that kind of feeling. It was a warm, mushy feeling that was mixed with a healthy dose of lust.

“Cal. I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.” I thought my voice sounded sort of husky.

Rather than a greeting or waiting for an invitation to come in, he stepped inside, kicked the door shut and swept me into his arms and kissed me in the least chaste kiss I’d ever had. “I need you,” he whispered.

“I need you, too.” That was an understatement. I wished like anything that I could strip his clothes off right here and have my way with him. But my mom, Dick, and the boys put a damper on that impulse. “But you’re going to have to settle on being needed to partner with me at Trivial Pursuit. The boys, my mother, and Dick are all waiting to play.”

He groaned. Actually groaned. As if the thought that he couldn’t haul me off to bed was the worst news he’d ever received.

I felt terribly desirable.

“I know it’s not quite the same, but since you’re here, come on. Mom will be happy to get to spend time with you.”

And thus the end-all, be-all game of Disney Trivial Pursuit began.

The boys paired up against Mom and Dick and me and Cal.

It was a no-holds-bar, no-mercy-shown game.

In the end the boys won.

“I feel I get to claim some of the credit, since I obviously did a superb job training them in all things Disney,” I said.

“By that faulty logic, I get to claim credit for you solving Mr. Banning’s murder or get to claim it when you solve the forgeries mystery, since I raised you to be such an intelligent, inquisitive woman,” my mother joked.

Most days I’d be marveling at the thought of my mother joking and helping me with an investigation. But right now, I simply cleared my throat wildly as my mother spoke, hoping Cal couldn’t hear her.

The teasing and gloating continued, but I glanced at Cal who seemed to be annoyed. More than annoyed, to be honest. I knew my throat-clearing hadn’t been loud enough to cover my mother’s statement.

“I really have to go,” Dick announced. “I’ll talk to you, Quince. Don’t get up. The boys will see me out.”

The boys were aware of the sudden tension in the room and quickly agreed.

That just left me, my foot-in-her-mouth mother, and my very angry boyfriend.

My brilliant, insightful mother didn’t seem to realize she’d just made a faux pas, because she forged ahead and added, “So, Cal, when are you going to make an honest woman of my daughter.”

This time I groaned, and it had nothing to do with unrequited lust. “Goodnight, Mother. Tell Cal goodnight before you immediately walk down the hall to my room.”

My mother looked from me, to Cal, whose face had turned an ever deepening red, then back to me. “I don’t know what I said, but I do know it’s time to follow Quincy’s advice. Goodnight, Cal. It was so good seeing you again.” Then she kissed his cheek.

I’m pretty sure my career-oriented, very serious mother had been replaced by a game-playing, kissing-people, gumshoe-assisting pod-person. Seriously, that was the only explanation for the way she was acting this visit. I mean, I’d officially seen her kiss and hug more times today than I’d seen my whole life prior to today.

She left and presumably headed to my room.

I waited for Cal to say something.

He was silent a little too long. As if he were fighting to stay calm…and losing.

Finally, with a tight, pinched quality to his normal Sam Elliot sort of voice, “You’re investigating the forgeries?”

“Not really investigating as much as looking into them.”

“Which is investigating.”

“No, it’s simply looking at the information to see if there’s anything I can give to your detective friend.”

“Quincy…” He didn’t say anything more than my name, but in it I could read his thoughts. I was driving him nuts. He worried about me. I should leave the detective work to real detectives. He wished we were alone in the house so he could make wild, passionate love to me.

Well, that last part could have been me projecting my wants onto him.

“Cal, I—”

He interrupted me by barking out, “When I saw the information on the board the other day, it wasn’t just organizing information for Mickey was it?”

“Now, Cal, I.…”

I was talking to dead air because he was heading toward Hunter’s room.

“Cal,” I called as I followed him but he didn’t break stride. He reached Hunter’s room, through open the door and shouted, “Aha. There’s more up there.”

“Aha yourself, Caleb Parker. What makes you think you have the right to burst into my bedroom uninvited? I think your mother would be horrified. I bet she thinks she raised you better than that.”

“Don’t try to change the subject—” he started.

“And speaking of your mother, do you realize I’ve never met any of your family? And the only friend I’ve met is Big G. You’ve met my entire family and Tiny, Sal, and even Dick. Do I embarrass you, Cal? Do you want to hide me away from everyone you know? I mean, I’m only a maid after all. And I’m the mother of three teens. Yes, you’re dating a woman who has teenaged sons. That might be embarrassing for a super-cop who has a reputation with the ladies.”

“I do not have a reputation with the ladies,” he said loudly.

“Big G says you do. He says you date them then dump them. Is that where this is leading? You’re planning on dumping me and making out that my looking for information to help your friend’s investigation is more than it is so you have an excuse?”

“Quincy, last time you tried your hand at investigating, you almost got yourself killed. I just want you to be safe.”

“Yeah, well, I almost got killed crossing Ventura Boulevard the other day. When I was eight, I almost got killed trying to climb the mulberry tree in the yard. Right after I moved to LA I almost got killed trying to surf in order to impress a man…well, then I thought he was a man, but he was a boy, a man-child at best. There are any number of other ways I’ve almost gotten myself killed over the years. If you’re going to try and forbid me crossing streets, swimming, or climbing the occasional tree, well, this isn’t going to work.”

“Quincy, how did you turn this around on me? This is about you. It’s about your investigation. You. Are. Not. A. Private. Detective.” He annunciated each word, as if he were afraid I wouldn’t understand otherwise. “There are all kinds of hoops to jump through here in California before you can be a private investigator. I doubt you even know what they are.”

“I don’t want to be a detective. I just want to find out who stole the paintings so Tiny and I don’t lose our business.”

“We’ll find out without your help.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I did find out who killed Mr. Banning. And I will find out who stole these paintings. If we’re going to continue dating, you’d better be clear on one thing…I don’t need some man to ride in and save the day for me. I’ll save it on my own, thank you very much. I divorced Jerome before I’d hit my mid-twenties. I managed to raise three of the most fantastic boys ever—and I call them that with no bias whatsoever—I’ve also built a successful business with Tiny. I’ve supported myself. For a long time I wondered what I was going to do when I grew up, but I think I’ve found it with this writing thing. I love working on the script, though I don’t have nearly as much time as I’d like.”

“Quincy—”

“Notice I said
writing,
not
detecting.
I am looking at the case, but simply so my business doesn’t suffer. No one’s mentioned Mac’Cleaners and the thefts in the media yet, but they could. There’s no murderer this time. There’s just someone who is stealing and forging artwork. I don’t know about you, but most of the artists I’ve met don’t seem very murderous to me.” I’d never really met an artist but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any who were overly violent. “Oh, they might cut off an ear now and again but generally it’s their own ear. They don’t do murder.”