Hot Stuff (8 page)

“True,” James said, the three of us knowing full well that he'd deliberately hit the man with the truck's door.

“We didn't mug him. We didn't threaten him or hit him with our fists. James stepped out of the truck and this guy, this detective, happened to be in the way.” Em was trembling but sure of herself.

“Yeah. The guy walked into it. We cannot be accountable for that, right?”

“It happened that way. We had no idea who he was.” I was in total agreement. We had our defense all ready for the trial.

“So we call 911? We tell them there's been an accident, and—”

“Right after we called and said we were being attacked?” James said.

“Right after we thought we were being attacked, James.”

“What happened?” The voice was shaky and weak.

I swung the light back to the horizontal body, and his eyes were open. A puzzled expression on his face, the prone figure lifted his arm and felt his chest, searching for the pistol in his holster.

“What the hell happened?”

“James,” Em pointed to my best friend, “James was getting out of the truck and it so happened you were walking by at the exact same time, and—”

He struggled to sit up. “That the way you remember it?” The cop looked at me as he worked himself into a sitting position.

“Exactly.”

He nodded, still touching his chest and stomach.

“Where's my badge?”

James leaned down and handed him the shiny gold metal. “We were just doing an ID check,” he said. “We didn't know who you were and we just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

Sitting on the blacktop, the man pointed at Em.

“You're Emily Minard.”

The light was dim, the moon and a lamp from the rear of the restaurant throwing shadows on the property. The cop appeared to be in his forties, hair slightly gray. I was pretty sure I'd never seen him before, but he seemed pretty confident in his identification of Em.

“Do we know each other?” Em was studying him, and I flashed the light back on his face.

“We do,” the man slipped the badge into his shirt pocket. “Get the damned light out of my face.”

I did.

“And you're eventually going to tell me what our relationship
was?” Em's voice projected her irritation. A minute ago she was worried the man might die and now she was upset about his gamesmanship.

“I arrested you about nine years ago.”

There was no response. There was no sound. James and I had nothing to add and Em was stunned. So this was back when her world was collapsing around her. I'd never heard the story.

The detective pushed himself off the black pavement and staggered to Em's Jaguar. Putting his right hand on the shiny black metal, he rested for a moment.

“The diamond theft. From Kahn's Jewelers. The one your friend eventually confessed to.”

No sound. Em said nothing.

“You walked on that one.”

“So did my friend, Detective Conway. Amanda Wright walked on that case too. The case ended up with no conviction. Do you remember that? You didn't have a lot of luck with that case, did you, Detective?”

This time it was the detective who said nothing.

“Did you ever find the robber? Ever figure out where the ring went? I don't recall ever hearing that you solved that case. You just put two people through a lot of stress.”

“No, we never found the perp.” Leaning on the new car, he gingerly rubbed the back of his head.

“Sorry about that,” James said. “Really, I was just getting out of the truck when you walked by and—”

The detective ignored him.

“We had a pretty good idea. We still think we know who lifted the ring.” He sounded sullen.

“Statute of limitations run out on that?” Em was goading him.

“Five years, Miss Minard. If you did it, you're off the hook. However, I was looking you up for another reason.”

She nervously ran her hand through her blonde tresses.

“You looked me up in the parking lot of a restaurant at this hour of the night? For God's sake, what for?”

“What for? Because I'm now working homicide, and I'm the lead on the Amanda Wright murder. And you're supposedly still a good friend of hers. Or you were.”

Conway took his hand off the Jaguar and stood up straight. A good sign for him, and good sign for us.

“I'm looking you up because I've dealt with the two of you before and because Amanda's mother told me that you referred a private investigation agency to the restaurant. Lessor and Moore?”

I glanced at James who was shaking his head. The cover was blown in less than twenty-four hours.

“Is that against the law?”

“No. By law they can solve this damned case if they want to, but if they get in my way, if they interfere in any way with the investigation, it
will
be against the law, and I'll come down on them like a ton of bricks.” His voice had an edge. “Do you understand?” Tough guy attitude.

“And you're telling me this because?”

“Because I can't find this agency in the phone book, online or—”

“They're licensed with the state,” Em said. “How hard can it be? Is this another case you can't solve?” My girlfriend, sticking up for us. She sounded very frustrated.

We were licensed. With the Florida Department of Agriculture. Yeah, I know, what is FDOA doing licensing private detectives? I have no idea. This is Florida and Florida does some strange things. However, when they licensed us they misspelled James's name and we never bothered to correct it. Their letter said that “Moore or Less Investigations” had been approved as a private investigation firm, but James's name was spelled
Leser
on the official form. Not even close to the real spelling.

“Couldn't find them. This Lessor and Moore.” He rubbed his head again. “I came to the restaurant to talk to the owner, and as luck would have it, they're closed. It was a long shot that you would be here, but since you recommended these guys I thought maybe you were involved.”

Em said nothing.

“Anyway, I'm asking you to tell them for me—don't interfere. We'll find whoever did this and we don't need a couple of amateurs getting in the way. It usually makes things a lot harder. Okay.”

He moved from the Jag, walked over to me a little wobbly on his feet, and grabbed the flashlight from my hand. Heading away from us, he looked back over his shoulder.

“I mean it. Those guys get in my way, I'll put them away.”

“Detective, what if they could put someone in the kitchen? Someone who was a cook. Undercover?”

I was stunned.

He stopped and turned, the beam hitting James square in the face. The prominent frown on his face told me my partner was not happy.

“Who? This Lessor and Moore?”

“If they had someone who worked the kitchen, they could talk to the employees, get a feel for the inside of the operation. Would that help the investigation?”

The light was off James, but I knew he was pissed. There was no way he wanted to work with cops.

“They could do this?”

“Maybe.” She was being coy, a little hesitant after his threat to shut us down. “This would be someone who has a culinary degree. Someone who knows his way around a kitchen.”

“It's not something that we normally do. Asking someone who isn't in law enforcement to go undercover. I may have a hard time getting this approved.”

“Detective,” she said, using her most persuasive voice, “the one undercover has a culinary arts major. He's made a living working in restaurants, and he's a very good cook.”

Conway seemed to weigh it for a moment.

“You think they could go under and make it believable?”

“I do.”

“If they go under, they go under my supervision.”

“I don't think it would work like that. A team effort maybe. These guys are pretty independent.”

He was quiet. And I could hear James taking deep breaths. When Emily took control, he would usually go nuts.

“Then why would they work with me on this?”

“Because Amanda was a good friend of mine, and the two investigators would realize that we'd have a better chance of finding the killer if we worked together. You, Lessor, Moore, and me.” She shot a glance at James, putting him on notice.

“No one else could know.” The cop was quieter now, thinking through the idea. “I mean, if they pulled this off. Someone who fit in, who knows what goes on in a professional kitchen. I wouldn't tell anyone, you couldn't tell anyone. Undercover means exactly that.”

“You wouldn't tell your supervisor?”

“Confidential informant.”

“You can do that? You just said you'd have to get it approved.”

“I'm lead investigator on the case. I can do anything.”

“We could share information.” Em was negotiating, while we were just observing. I knew it was driving my partner crazy.

“Some.”

“We'd need a give and take.” Em sounded confident. Like she was in charge. I wasn't so sure.

“We?”

“Mmmm, the investigators. Lessor and Moore. I mean, they would need a steady flow of your information. If you want theirs.”

“They could get someone hired in that kitchen?” Cautious, but optimistic. The detective seemed excited about the possibility. “You think they could actually do this? Remember, we're dealing with a murderer here. I mean, if the killer really does work for that restaurant, that's a pretty dangerous place to be right now. This would have to be their call.”

“They
already
have someone in there. Detective Conway, meet James Lessor and Skip Moore. James is a cook, pretending to be a sous chef, and Skip,” she paused, obviously not proud of my station, “Skip is the dishwasher.”

He looked at James, turned and looked at me, and took a deep breath. Glancing back at Em he said, “Oh, great.”

“He is going to watch you like a hawk.”

The three of us stood in the parking lot as we stared at his unmarked Chevy driving off, the red taillights winking in the dark Miami night.

“I don't care. We don't need to be sharing any information with the cops. You had no right to—”

“Listen to me, damn it.” With an edge to her voice, she spoke to him in a firm tone. “Conway said you'd better stay out of the way. If he found you interfering, he'd nail you. He was ready to put you out of business. Shut you down. Do you understand that?” She was breathing hard, and I was somewhat worried about her. “Did you not hear him, James? Did you? I dealt with this guy. Nine years ago. He's serious, and he doesn't back down.”

James was quiet, waiting for the tempest to subside.

“And what did I do? I gave you a free pass, Lessor.” Now she was pointing at him, almost pushing her finger into his chest. “I gave you a chance to earn your three thousand dollars a week, no
hassle from the cops. What the hell do you want? If your fragile ego is in the way of your earning power, then let me know. I'll call the detective and tell him to go ahead and hassle you all he wants.”

Em took a deep breath, put her hand to her side, and kept her gaze on my partner.

“You want the money, James. I want Amanda's killer.”

“Em,” I very seldom saw her so riled, “we just didn't see that coming.” I just wanted her to settle down.

“I want this case solved, Skip. I've got a very personal stake in the outcome of this investigation. This girl was a friend. She stood up for me. Usually, I look out for you. And sometimes, your partner. Actually, very seldom is it your partner. But this time, I'm looking out for Amanda, because she can't very well look out for herself. Got it?”

I nodded. James was still seething.

“Em, take it easy. We want the job.” I glanced at James, trying to gauge his reaction. In the deepening shadows, his face was a curious mask of anger and awe.

“As I see it, we approach the situation just as we have. The only difference is, we now have some access to what the cops know. And that has got to be a plus.”

After a long silence James spoke. “All right.”

I'm certain my jaw dropped. The resignation surprised me. This was a surrender I hadn't anticipated.

“We have no choice at this point. However, I think we need to keep Bouvier out of this. He's paying for our service, but the reason he hired us was that he doesn't trust cops.”

James paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.

“I understand that sentiment. I think you two know very well that I come down on the side of there is too much ‘law' in this land. However—”

“However what?” I wasn't sure where he was going with this.

“As far as anyone else is concerned, anyone else, we're working undercover for Jean and Sophia Bouvier.”

“James,” I had to point out the obvious, “as far as anyone else is concerned, we're not undercover. You are a sous chef.”