Two Guys Detective Agency (6 page)
the name “Smith” on the marquee of the wood-framed sign.
Her husband was lying in there, his life over. There would be no more anniversaries, Christmases, or
birthday parties. He wouldn’t get to see his children grow up and have children of their own. They
wouldn’t get to travel and do the things they’d planned. Hell, he wouldn’t even get to see the kitchen
remodeled. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles cracked. It wasn’t fair.
“It isn’t fair!” she shouted. “It isn’t fair!
It isn’t fair!
” She screamed until her ears rang and her throat
was raw and her palms hurt from pounding the steering wheel.
A rap on the window brought her up short. She turned her head to see Stone Calvert standing outside
her van, his face a mask of concern. “Are you okay?”
Mortification bled through her. The man had witnessed a bona fide meltdown. Spent, she zoomed down
the window. “No...but I’m better.”
He gave her a tentative smile and she realized suddenly that he was a handsome man, especially when
dressed in slacks and dress shirt. “I know this sounds trite, but you will be happy again someday.”
She nodded, wondering if he spoke from experience…and thinking he was blowing his image of an ex-
con by using words like “trite.”
“The funeral isn’t for another couple of hours,” she offered.
“I know. Klo asked me to bring over some flowers the florist couldn’t deliver in time.”
“That’s nice of you.”
He looked pained, as if he didn’t want to be thanked. “Mrs. Smith — ”
“Linda.”
“Linda…I was running a little late to meet Sullivan the day he died. I keep thinking if I’d gotten there
sooner — ”
“Mr. Calvert — ”
“Stone.”
“Stone…you can’t blame yourself for my husband’s death. His heart simply gave out. Thanks to you, he
made it to the hospital, and he regained consciousness long enough to tell me he loved me. You don’t know
what that means to me.”
The tension in his face and body eased somewhat. “Thank you for that.”
She opened the door and climbed down. He gave an appreciative look at Octavia’s handiwork, then
seemed to remember himself. When she removed her bag of paperwork, he took it from her, and walked
with her to the door of the funeral home. Next to his bulk, she felt positively diminutive.
When she took her bag, she thanked him again.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I’ll have to rely on you and Klo to help me close the agency,” she said. “But that will have to wait.”
“Of course. Meanwhile, if I can do anything for you at your home…” His color rose. “I know Sullivan
was doing some renovations. I’m good with my hands — er…that is, I’m handy.”
She smiled. “I will definitely keep that offer in mind.”
He nodded, then opened the door for her and said he would return later.
Inside the funeral parlor, she was assailed by the scent of death — mothballs and air freshener and live
flowers. She wanted to turn and run…she didn’t want to do this. Would it be so bad if she wasn’t there for
the funeral? People would just assume she was too grief stricken to endure the service, instead of the truth:
That she was too
guilt-ridden
to endure the service.
She turned and had taken one step toward the door when an employee of the parlor appeared to greet
her with cold hands. She followed him to the office where she signed a stack of papers, then wrote a check
on a good portion of Octavia’s gift as a down payment on the somewhat staggering invoice.
Dying was an expensive undertaking.
Soon after, people began arriving for the service — neighbors, teachers at the children’s school, soccer
parents, and members of the church they sometimes attended. Uniformed cops and other former coworkers
of Sullivan’s, including Oakley, who stayed close to her side. His presence was comforting, yet she sensed
an undercurrent of tension between them in the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eye. But she reminded
herself that he was grieving as well.
Stone returned with Klo, who introduced her to two neighbors in the strip mall where the agency was
located — Grim Hollister, a pony-tailed man who ran a pawn shop, and Maria Munoza, a pretty young
woman who ran the dry cleaners. Linda greeted them warmly, but when she shook Maria’s hand, the
woman held on a few seconds longer, and held Linda’s gaze with her coal black eyes.
“Sullivan didn’t die in vain,” she murmured with a faint accent.
Startled, Linda didn’t know what to make of the woman’s odd comment, until Klo leaned in. “She
fancies herself a palm reader, don’t pay her any mind.”
Stone nodded in agreement, although she could tell he was affected by the woman’s remark. Recalling
their earlier conversation and the man’s pressing guilt, she wanted to tell him to let it go, that her guilt
trumped his. After all, while Sullivan had been lying on the floor, dying, she’d been home fantasizing about
not being married to him anymore…about starting over.
And she’d gotten her wish.
The funeral director touched her arm. “Mrs. Smith…it’s time.”
“I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Octavia whispered to Richard as they were led to a pew near the front of the
chapel to the tune of maudlin music.
“That’s something new,” he said dryly.
She ignored the jab — he’d been cranky the entire drive over. Between him and the kids — especially
that mouthy little Maggie — she was ready to scream. “I think returning to Louisville after the funeral is a
good idea.”
“Why the change of heart? Too much family togetherness?”
“Something like that.”
From his jacket pocket, his phone chimed.
“Will you turn that thing off?”
“Gotta take this. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Irritated, she sat near the end of the pew, and set her bag next to her so she wouldn’t have to share the
space with someone. It was a packed house.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She looked up and tried to hide her disgust. Biker Man was tall and sinewy, his dark hair pulled into a
ponytail. Tattoos spilled out from the long-sleeve shirt he wore onto his neck and his wrists. And someone
needed to tell him that handle-bar mustaches went out of vogue two centuries ago. “Yes,” she chirped, “I do
mind.”
“Guess you’ll have to get over it,” he said, then picked up her purse and dropped into the spot.
She suppressed an expletive and grabbed her bag — he looked like the type who could smell the
jewelry case inside. Thug.
“Nice bracelet,” he said, nodding to her diamond and onyx cuff.
She glared at him, pressing on her brow wrinkle — just as she thought.
“Grim Hollister,” he said, introducing himself.
“I don’t care,” she returned with a saccharine smile.
In hindsight, she probably should’ve sat with Linda and the children in the front, but the detective who
had been Sullivan’s partner on the force seemed to have stepped in…hm. Neighbors and uniformed cops
filled up the space between.
As expected, the service was a boring, sad affair. Octavia passed the time by inserting words of her own
that the person giving the eulogy — the hunky detective again, hm — saw fit to leave out.
“Sullivan Aaron Smith was a good man.”
Lazy
.
“An ambitious man.”
Self-indulgent
.
“Who cherished his family.”
So much so that he let them live in a construction zone
.
“He leaves behind his wife Linda.”
Who could’ve done so much better
.
“And two wonderful children.”
For whom he probably didn’t even provide life insurance
.
Throughout, her mind kept bouncing to Richard and she felt a little contrite. She nagged at him for
working too hard, but he had always been a wonderful provider, and would never leave her in a lurch the
way Sullivan had left Linda. She felt sorry for her sister, but she had made her bed, so to speak.
She scanned the faces of the seated crowd, passing over most, but stopping on one in particular.
Her breath left her lungs.
Dunk?
Next to Louis Vuitton, Dunk Duncan had been the closest thing to the love of her life. When she was a
cheerleader for UK, he had been a basketball star, which in this state, was akin to royalty. He had pursued
her relentlessly, but Octavia knew better than to pair up with a man who was more high-maintenance than
she was. She and Dunk both liked the spotlight, and when he was around, there was only room for him.
He’d aged almost as well as she had, the handsome devil.
Why would Dunk Duncan be attending Sullivan’s funeral?
Her chest clicked with nervous excitement even as she tried to force her attention back to the service.
Mercifully, the funeral was short…ish. When the generic minister dismissed the crowd, she stepped over
the Grim person and hurried down the aisle, keeping her eye on Dunk.
“Octavia? I thought you might be here.”
She turned around to see a bespectacled, well-dressed man. Her memory chords pinged, but she
couldn’t place him.
“Oh, honey, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.”
And then the voice registered. “Emmett?”
He grinned. “Atta girl.”
She grinned and hugged him. Emmett Kingsley had cheered with her in college. They’d been fast
friends, but she hadn’t seen him in years.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Only yesterday, because neither one of us has aged a day.”
“True. What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to see you. I heard about Sullivan’s death and remembered he was your brother-in-law.
I’m so sorry, by the way.”
She gave a dismissive wave. “I barely knew him. What are you into?”
“I’m an events coordinator, which is how I know everything that happens in this town.”
“I’m sure you’re good at it.”
“I am. Are you and Richard still in Louisville?”
“Yes. In fact, he’s waiting for me in the car. We have to get back.” She glanced to where she’d last seen
Dunk, but he was gone. She felt deflated.
“We have to get together soon,” Emmett said.
“Come to Louisville, we’ll have lunch.”
“I take it you don’t visit Lexington much.”
“No.” She craned to look for Dunk — a man of his height should be easy to spot.
Emmett leaned in. “Did you see Dunk?”
Her attention snapped back, but she decided to play coy. “Dunk Duncan? He’s here?”
“Yeah. He runs a swank investigative agency downtown — I guess Sullivan was his competition.”
She snorted. “From what I hear, Sullivan’s agency was in a strip mall and he kept company with
questionable people.” But Dunk was a P.I.? That was kind of sexy.
Emmett nodded over her shoulder. “I believe your family is waiting for you.”
She glanced back to see Linda looking her way expectantly. “Yes, I’d better go.”
He gave her his card. “Don’t be a stranger.”
She said goodbye, then made her way against the crowd back to the front of the chapel. She felt a tug
on her dress and looked down to see Maggie.
“Careful, hon, this is Chanel. What is it?”
She pointed to the closed casket. “My daddy is in there asleep.”
Octavia sighed and leaned down. “I know. You will miss your daddy so much.” Although a parent
dying didn’t seem quite as hurtful as one walking out and never looking back. “But you have to be very
strong and help your mommy not to cry.”
“Do you have a little girl?”
“No.”
“Why not?’
“Because I don’t like children.”
Maggie bit her lip. “I’m a children. Don’t you like me?”
Octavia worked her mouth from side to side. “Maybe a little. You remind me of someone I used to
know.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Me.” She poked her in her chubby stomach and made her giggle. When she looked up, Linda was
watching them. She straightened. “Sis…I’m sorry, but something came up and Richard needs to get back to
Louisville.”
Linda nodded. “It’s fine. I understand.”
She gave her a quick hug.
“Thank you for the money,” Linda whispered.
“You’re welcome,” Octavia said, eager to get away. She loved her sister, but her situation seemed
hopeless and she just wanted to put some distance between them. And see if she could catch Dunk before
he left. She said goodbye to the kidlets, avoided the neighbors and the rest of the motley assembly, and
exited to the lobby. She scanned for Dunk, but didn’t see him in the waning crowd. Defeated, she walked
out into the parking lot. Couldn’t something go right today?
She stopped and looked around. That was strange — the Mercedes wasn’t parked where it had been
before.
Irritation sparked in her stomach. She pulled out her phone and texted
Where are you?
to Richard.
“Octavia? Oh, my goodness, I thought that was you.”
She looked up and up and up into the handsome face of Dunk Duncan. Her body felt electrified, but her
tongue remembered to play it cool. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“We used to,” he said smoothly. “I’m Dunk Duncan.”
She feigned surprise. “Dunk! Of course! You look so…mature.”
His jaw tightened, but he masked his annoyance that she hadn’t acknowledged his preserved good