Two Guys Detective Agency (13 page)
her eyes filled.
“And I’m sorry about your job,” Linda said, her eyes welling, too. “What will you do?”
“I usually land on my feet.”
Octavia would’ve guessed the woman usually landed on her back. Irritated at Klo for getting her sister
worked up again, she asked, “When will that background check be ready?”
Klo turned flashing eyes in her direction, obviously perturbed at the intrusion by someone she
considered an outsider. “Is Monday soon enough?”
“No. But it is what it is.” She exchanged a challenging look with the older woman. “Bye now.”
When they walked out, Octavia headed toward the van.
“Come with us,” Linda said, gesturing to the sidewalk that fronted the motley arrangement of
businesses. “After we drop off the thank you cards, we’re going to have lunch at the Waffle House.”
Octavia made a face. “That’s not remotely tempting.”
“Waffle House is wonderful,” Maggie said with awe in her voice.
Octavia glanced at the little girl’s chubby tummy that peeked out under her too-short T-shirt. “Beauty
queens shouldn’t make a habit of eating waffles.”
“Says the woman who packed her a marshmallow lunch,” Linda said dryly. Then she gestured with her
hand. “Come with us. We could all use a little diversion.”
Octavia sighed — how could she argue with that?
Their first stop was a dry cleaner’s whose generic sign was as unimaginative as Sullivan’s. A chime
sounded when they walked in, and they were immediately assailed by heat and the scent of fabric softener.
Dust motes floated in the air and the hum of dryers sounded from behind the garment conveyer that was
packed with plastic-covered clothes. A slender dark-haired woman emerged from the back and smiled
when she recognized Linda. She walked up to the waist high counter, her face pink with perspiration.
“Hello, Mrs. Smith.” She was pretty and modestly dressed, and looked to be in her mid-twenties. She
spoke with a faint Hispanic accent.
“Hello, Maria.” She introduced the woman to Octavia as Maria Munoza.
Octavia didn’t extend her hand, but when Maria did, she had no choice except to take it.
“You’re Mrs. Smith’s sister,” Maria said, holding her hand longer than necessary.
“That’s right.” Octavia squirmed under the woman’s coal black eye contact.
The pressure on her fingers increased. “The two of you are very different.”
Octavia gave a little laugh. “Right again.” And obvious to anyone with vision. She extricated her hand,
then took a step back from the disturbing woman.
Linda handed Maria the thank you card. “We just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate you
coming to the service and sending flowers.”
“You’re very welcome. Sullivan was a good man.”
A warning bell went off in Octavia’s head. How odd that the young woman would call Linda “Mrs.
Smith,” but call her husband by his given name.
“That’s very kind of you to say,” Linda murmured.
Maria gave the children each a piece of hard candy, then they were on their way. Octavia felt heat on
her back as they were leaving, and when she looked back, the woman was staring at her. She shuddered
involuntarily and caught up to Linda and the kids.
The next storefront was empty — not a good indication of the area’s prosperity. The next place was
called the Slim Gym, a surprisingly spacious facility that seemed to cater to muscle heads, from the sight of
the spandex-clad, belt-wearing behemoths doing biceps curls in front of a mirrored wall. Linda warned the
children to stay away from the equipment and smiled at the bulky man behind the counter who lit up like
neon when he caught sight of her.
Hm.
“Octavia, meet Stone Calvert. He’s Klo’s nephew and he runs this place. Stone, this is my sister, Octavia
Habersham.”
The big man with the shaved head had a quiet voice, but a dangerous edge to him. And from the looks
of the crude knuckle tattoos, he’d either served in the military, or the penal system — or both. She watched
him interact with her sister when Linda handed him the thank you note and caught the whiff of interest on
his part. Guys like him and that detective went all Knight in Shining Armor over a widow with kids.
Octavia glanced around. Her personal trainer Javier wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. She
worked out with him twice a week at a club facility that had a sushi bar.
A few sweaty guys went out of their way to walk by her as they picked up a towel or refilled their water
bottles from a fountain. One of them flexed his man boob her way.
Ugh — honestly?
As they were leaving, Stone said, “I’m so sorry, Linda. I only wish I could’ve done more.”
“You did plenty,” she assured him, “and I’m grateful.”
When they left, Octavia quizzed her about the conversation.
Linda made sure the kids were out of earshot, then said, “Stone was the person who found Sullivan and
called 9-1-1.”
“What was he doing in Sullivan’s office?”
“Sully hired Stone sometimes to work cases with him.”
Octavia pursed her mouth. She could see how the bald man could be intimidating. So Sullivan took on
some dangerous cases, did he? Her estimation of him rose a smidgen.
“When are we getting waffles?” Maggie whined.
“We have one more stop to make first,” Linda promised.
Grim’s Pawn appeared to be the “anchor” of the sorry little strip mall — at least according to the
signage, which was impressive, and the foot traffic, which was steady.
And seedy.
She wrinkled her nose when they stepped inside. Fluorescent lights illuminated every corner. And every
square foot of wall space was occupied with junk, as far as she could see. Guitars galore, stereo equipment,
televisions, and laptop computers ad nauseum. Glass display cabinets formed a U around the edge of the
shop, full of jewelry, coins, and silver pieces. The discards of other people’s lives. The place gave her the
absolute creeps. She hung back by the door, impatient to leave.
Linda told the children not to touch anything, then waited while a man with his back to them showed a
hairy customer a handgun of some kind. Criminals, probably. Derelicts, for sure.
“Aunt Tavey, come look,” Maggie said, her voice high with excitement. Octavia walked over to a glass
case to see what had her niece so enraptured.
Of course — tiaras.
She crouched to examine them. White, pink, gold, and silver, studded with rhinestones and flowers and
colored paste gems, glistening under the lights like the Crown Jewels. Most of them were of inferior quality,
but there were some standouts, perhaps college-level pageant awards.
“Aren’t they awesome?” Maggie asked, breathless.
“Yes, they are.” Octavia wished she could buy the entire case for the little girl. Two days ago, she
could’ve.
Dammit, she hated being poor!
“I see we have a budding Miss America on our hands.”
Octavia looked up to see the mocking grin of a dark haired ponytailed man. His arms were covered with
colorful — and lewd — tattoos. A memory chord strummed in her head, then she remembered — the ill-
mannered thug who’d insinuated himself next to her in the pew at the funeral.
She straightened. “You!”
“Last time I looked.”
Her mouth tightened. “I should’ve known you would run a place like this.”
“If you mean profitable, then thank you.” He smiled wider. “Linda tells me you’re her sister.”
Octavia looked across the room to where Linda and Jarrod were perusing musical instruments.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.” She gathered Maggie next to her. “And yes, I have no doubt that my niece
will someday be Miss America.”
“I was talking about you.”
She glared. “If you must know, I was Miss Kentucky.”
“Were you now? What decade was that?”
Fury rose in her chest. “Of all the insufferable — ”
He interrupted her with a laugh. “I’m Grim Hollister. And you are?”
“Leaving,” she chirped. “Come along, Maggie.”
“Too bad,” he said, then nodded to the rear of his shop. “I keep all the good stuff in the back case.”
She scoffed “I seriously doubt that you know what ‘good stuff’ is.”
Before she could react, he picked up her hand and squinted at her rings. “I’d say the emerald would
make the grade.”
Okay, so the plebian knew something about gemstones. The man was probably a thief.
He made a dubious noise. “But he got duped on the sapphire. Matches your eyes, though.”
She yanked her hand back. How dare he criticize the jewelry her husband had given her? “Linda,” she
called, “Maggie and I are heading to lunch.”
“We’re right behind you,” Linda said, pulling Jarrod away.
“Come back sometime,” Grim said behind her.
Octavia didn’t acknowledge the hoodlum, just kept walking.
Jesus God. How depressing was her life when a waffle was the highlight of her day?
“I NEED SEVEN bags of Doritos and four Clark bars.” Linda held out her hand, but when nothing
landed in it, she looked over to find Octavia sitting in a chair of the break room on the fourth floor of an
office building in which she was not employed.
With her feet propped up on a table.
Eating a Clark bar.
“What are you doing?” Linda hissed.
“My feet are killing me.”
“That’s why you don’t wear four-inch heels to fill vending machines!”
“Filling vending machines is your job, not mine.”
“I could’ve sworn you said you’d help me — you know, in exchange for the whole room and board
thing.” Linda walked over to a cardboard box and removed the items herself. Her feet hurt, too — along
with her entire body, from lifting and squatting and twisting. But she had to keep moving so she didn’t have
time to stop and think.
About how lousy the weekend had been, sharing space with Octavia and her mountain of clothes.
About how lonely she was now that Sullivan’s absence was starting to sink in.
About how desperately she needed this tedious job.
“What building is this?” Octavia asked, gesturing to the nice wood tables and tiled floor. “It’s a pretty
snazzy break room.”
“From all the security we had to go through to get in, I assume it’s a government building of some kind.
I saw signs for cold check enforcement.”
“We should stop by — maybe they have a photo of dear old dad on their wall of fame.”
Linda angled her head. “A little help, please? This is our last stop. If we hurry, we can stop by the
agency to see what Klo has on that background check.”
Octavia’s expression went tense, but she lowered her feet. “Okay.”
“And stop eating the merchandise.”
“I’ll pay for it!” Octavia stood and brushed off her dress. After tossing the candy wrapper, she walked
back to the box of potato chips and candy bars they’d carried in. “What do you need?”
Linda counted the empty slots in the large springs that delivered the items to the front of the machine
and dropped them. “Five Baked Lays, five peanut butter crackers, and three giant cookies.”
Octavia rummaged in the box and handed over the items. “This sucks.”
Linda fisted her hands and started counting to ten, but only made it to five. “I know. I’m here, too.”
“I’m just saying you’re too smart and too talented to be doing a job a monkey could do.”
“Yeah, well, lucky for me, monkeys don’t have to work for a living.”
But she knew what Octavia meant. When they were kids struggling together and both dreaming of better
days, it hadn’t included this particular little scene, of them as grown women, stocking snacks for the
grownups who’d actually made something out of themselves.
“If you ask me, I think we should tackle those open cases of Sullivan’s.”
Linda stared, then gave a little laugh. “That’s insane.”
“Not really. I looked over the files and they’re lame, Nancy Drew-type stuff. You and I can do it.”
Linda frowned. “Those files are supposed to be confidential. By all rights, even I shouldn’t be looking
at them.”
“Jesus, Linda,
who
am I going to tell?”
She dismissed the previous ramblings, but Octavia’s question seemed to be more deeply rooted. She
realized all this time Octavia hadn’t been on the phone with friends or neighbors or...anyone. No one
seemed particularly concerned about her absence.
Linda forced levity into her voice. “You do have friends, don’t you?”
Octavia was suddenly fascinated by the ingredients in a bag of Fritos. “Of course I have friends. At the
club. And...all around Louisville. Richard and I do a lot of entertaining.”
She allowed the present tense verb to slide by...hopefully Richard was simply on a mental health
excursion until their accountant sorted things out. He would probably call Octavia any minute now to
smooth things over.
A suited businessman buzzed into the break room and made his way to the coffee machine. While the
dark liquid dripped out, his gaze strayed to Octavia.
Her sister was a beautiful woman, Linda acknowledged. Her shoulder-length dark hair and vivid blue
eyes were an unusual combination, and her features were sculpted into perfect proportions. Her skin was