Читать книгу Another Side Of Midnight - Mia Zachary - Страница 11

Sombody’s Got to Do It

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Jon slid my favorite mug—the one that read I’m Only Here To Annoy You—across the desk.

“Coffee-coffee-coffee.” I took a sip and moaned out loud. “I made you espresso instead of latte. You look like you could use the extrastrength caffeine.” Tilting his head, he crossed his arms. “Soo, what’s the story with that eye?”

I swallowed another mouthful before answering him. “One of the customers didn’t take too kindly to her boyfriend gluing his eyes to my chest every time I delivered their drinks. When she said something, he took a poke at her. I swung on him. After that it got a little ugly.”

“Ugly is not the word for it.” Jon sighed dramatically. “With your looks, you could be a showgirl—”

“I tried that. Then they asked me to sing.”

“Or a model—”

“I thought about that, too. For maybe a minute.”

“But, no. You have to go around beating up drunks and spying through bedroom windows.”

“Lucky for you and your sense of job security, huh?”

He rested a hip on the edge of her desk. “Oh, please. You’ve been lucky to have me these past three months. How many people did you fire before I came to your rescue?”

“About a dozen,” I mumbled into my coffee mug. “But don’t let it go to your head. You’re the only secretary—”

“Administrative assistant.”

“Whatever. You’re the only one who didn’t complain about the part-time hours, the salary or the amount of work. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be typing something?”

He made an exaggerated snap with his fingers and stood up. “Thanks for the reminder. I have to finish writing chapter twelve.”

Scowling, I waved my hand at the files on my desk. “I meant something business-related.”

“Oh, right. Because we have so many cases right now. On the other hand, Savannah and Brick are at a critical turning point in their relationship.”

“The trials and tribulations of a Southern belle and her Yankee lover.” He smiled as I affected a drawl with practiced ease. I even managed the Georgia mountain dialect he tries so hard to repress. “How’s the book coming along?”

“They were undressed and fixin’ to fall into bed when you walked in. Let me tell you—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” I stabbed my index finger in his direction. “I keep you out of my love life. You leave me out of yours.”

“Sweetcakes, you don’t have a love life.”

There’s nothing like the truth to end a conversation. And, besides, I hate it when he calls me “sweetcakes.” I scowled at Jon’s back as he swept out, then propped my boot heels on the desktop. I hadn’t had a serious relationship in over five years, not since Bobby died… I didn’t want to think about him.

And I hadn’t gotten laid in exactly two months, two weeks and four days. But I didn’t want to think about him, either.

Instead, I turned my attention to the files clogging my inbox. Private investigation is the business of information. Your client needs to know something and your job is to find the facts. People love the idea of Sam Spade, Mike Hammer, Thomas Magnum and Charlie’s Angels.

Reality is nowhere near that glamorous.

It’s hours of sheer boredom while you wait and watch and wait some more. It’s days of tedious fact checking and double-checking. And it’s paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. I

have a system for it, though you’d swear otherwise. It involves nearly illegible notes on yellow legal pads or scraps of paper shoved into my pockets.

When I’m ready to type up a report, I shuffle the paper around on my desk like an abstract collage until I make some sense of it. Conventional? No. Organized? Hell, no. But I’m not a linear thinker and it’s not pretty when I try to be.

After dropping my feet to the floor, I drained the last of my espresso and grabbed the first folder to draft a status report. Insert client’s name into document template. Briefly recap case. Inform of progress. Advise how to proceed. Save to hard drive. Repeat as necessary.

I’d reduced the stack by half when the intercom buzzed. Jon was on the phone, using his business voice. “A Mrs. Cavanaugh is here to see you.”

Who? I frowned and capped my fountain pen before flipping the page of my calendar. There weren’t any appointments scheduled this morning and I would have been happy to leave it that way. Then I glanced over at the pile of bills. Not enough to bury us, but enough to make me sigh.

Due to the steady increase of infidelity, bad parenting and civil litigation, there’s a greater than ever demand for private investigators. Just not this one. Jon says it’s because we need a Web site.

“Okay, Jon, give me a minute to get professional, then send her back.”

I rummaged through my backpack for a compact. Dab-bing pressed powder onto my eye didn’t help much. Screw it. I pulled my arms out of my T-shirt and turned it around so that the slogan was on the back. Then I yanked the spare navy blazer off the door hook and combed my fingers through my hair. Picking up my legal pad, I tried to project an air of expertise.

Because of my looks, most people think I only have enough brainpower to keep me breathing. While I have no qualms about using their assumptions against them on a case, it works against me when meeting new clients. But as my visitor walked in, I knew my appearance didn’t matter.

Her shoulder-length brown hair had expensive-looking gold highlights. She wore a lavender business suit and matching heels. Diamonds flashed at her ears, neck and wrists. She actually wasn’t much smarter than she looked, but I liked her anyway. Always had.

“Maria DiMarco.” I came from behind the desk to take her hand. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“It’s Cavanaugh now. Mrs. Gray Cavanaugh.” Her breathy, childlike voice rushed from between pale pink lips, but her tone had an undercurrent. Something flickered in the back of her eyes. Then she smiled, looking like the girl I remembered, and indicated my shiner. “Still raising hell, huh, Steele?”

I grinned back at her and shrugged. “Somebody’s got to.” At St. John the Evangelist High School, Maria had been the princess of the popular crowd while I’d been in trouble more often than I’d stayed out of it. Our second year, I’d chosen peer tutoring over detention when the principal caught me smoking in the girls’ bathroom.

At first Maria and I had nothing in common except our Italian heritage and American History class. But over time we had become good friends. That lasted until I’d started at UNLV and we lost touch, as people do when they leave childhood behind.

“I didn’t realize your aunt wouldn’t be here when I called. I’m sorry, Steele. I know you two were close.”

Like that, I remembered the last time I’d seen Gloria. She’d needed a hospice, but she’d opted to stay home and go out on her own terms. We’d been sitting on the patio, toasting the sunset with twelve-year-old scotch and a twenty-five-year-old male nurse… That was Gloria. A bad girl to the end.

“Thanks. I miss her.”

Maria looked around, a slight frown pulling her brows together. “So…you’re doing this stuff now? I mean, do you think you’ll be able to help me?”

“I’ll do my best. Why don’t we sit down.”

Maria seemed nervous, in no rush to get started. She was twisting the rings on her left hand. I didn’t have to take a wild guess at the problem. This town provides plenty of work in the marital discord department.

I settled against the couch, wanting to put her at ease. “It’s been a long time. What have you been up to?”

“Daddy finally let me be part of the family business.” Her lips curved, but the feigned emotion didn’t get close to her eyes. “I put in a couple of days a week at the Palazzo Napoli. I’m the events planner for the hotel.”

“That’s great. How is Big Frank?”

“Good. He’s, uh, okay.” She dropped her gaze for a second. “How’s your family, Stella? I hear your brothers are working at Mezzanotte’s now.”

I shifted in my seat. “Just Rafe and his wife. You remember Laura Caporetto? She was a year ahead of us. Anyway, they help run the restaurant side. Joey’s still a cop. He’s doing good.”

Neither of us mentioned Vince.

“And your folks. Are they as cute as I remember them?”

“Yeah, they still can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Maria nodded and kept twisting the big-ass solitaire and matching band. With most investigations, you find out a lot more by shutting up than by asking a lot of questions. So, I nodded too and waited for her to tell me why she was here.

She sat and fiddled for another minute or so, then cleared her throat. “You know, my father didn’t want me to marry Gray the first time he asked. Daddy didn’t think he was good enough for me. Of course, nobody I chose ever was.” Maria gave a humorless laugh. “I really loved Gray, though.”

I leaned back against the couch, having picked up on that past tense verb, but not wanting to comment.

“The wedding was beautiful. We had a five-tier silver foil cake, a chamber orchestra and dinner with three hundred of our closest friends. Then we spent two weeks in Hawaii for our honeymoon. Daddy gave Gray a job managing the Palazzo’s casino. I thought we were happy….”

Listening to the slight catch in her voice, I watched her face. I had a pretty good idea what was coming. I didn’t have to wait long.

“I think…maybe…Gray’s been, um, unfaithful.”

Maria looked at me, her expression bewildered, gauging my reaction. I guess she expected me to be as shocked as she was. Nine times out of ten, if you think your man is cheating, he is. So I made a sympathetic humming noise and didn’t try to dismiss her fears.

“At first it was just a feeling, you know? He’s constantly on his cell phone and doesn’t say who he’s talking to. He started dressing differently.” Maria shifted her gaze and focused on the carpet. “For a while he was really affectionate, almost too much, but now he’s completely disinterested in… You know.”

I hummed again. “What made you decide to hire an investigator?”

“Well, Gray’s been going up to Reno on business. Daddy’s thinking of buying a place up there. I called the hotel one time.” Maria took a deep breath. “The front desk told me Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh had already checked out.”

I winced. I couldn’t help it. Guys can be so damned dumb. “Yeah. I guess I should have seen it coming, considering… But I guess the wife really is the last to know.”

Did I mention that I hate domestic cases? Despite the amount of business they’ve brought the agency. The first one I ever took without Gloria was a freaking disaster. I wasn’t too sure of myself so I kept in close contact with the client as I followed the husband. First he met his lover for lunch. Then he took her to look at rocks and I don’t mean the geological kind.

My client was pissed; the husband never took her to expensive restaurants or bought her jewelry. She showed up at the motel I’d followed them to. The client ran into the room, the girlfriend ran out and, to make a long, stupid story short, I got shot in the ass trying to break up the fight.

Since then, I set off metal detectors at the airport and I keep my mouth shut until after I write up my case files.

“What would you like me to do, Maria?”

Her eyes and voice hardened unexpectedly, erasing her vacant appearance. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll find out for you one way or another. But if Gray really is cheating, you’ve got to promise not to pull any of those movie-of-the-week theatrics, okay?” The look she gave me was totally uncomprehending. “No taking matters into your own hands.”

She agreed and asked me to get hard evidence for any future legal action. After jotting her contact information onto the standard contract, I had to decide how to handle the financials. Gloria had used a sliding scale that depended on how much she thought a potential client could afford. With the shades drawn, there was still enough light in my office to illuminate the facets of Maria’s diamond jewelry.

I named a figure that included my time, mileage, expenditures and front-row tickets to Cirque du Soleil at the MGM Grand.

She accepted the terms without blinking. “Whatever it takes, Stella.”

Damn. I should have added enough for dinner and drinks before the show. “Tell me about Gray.”

Maria’s lips curved and I could hear the wistfulness in her little girl voice. “The first time I saw him, I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Not handsome. Beautiful. Gray has incredibly expressive amber eyes and a face that should be on magazine covers.”

That was nice, but it wouldn’t help me pick him out of a crowd. “Maybe you could bring me a picture?”

“I should have a recent one.” She reached for her wallet and removed several pictures from one of the pockets.

As she sorted them, a rectangle fell onto the sofa between us. It was one of those four-pose strips you get from a photo booth. I had a quick glimpse of a much younger Maria kissing a guy with long blond hair. I noticed his Spirits Dancing concert T-shirt before she slipped the pictures back into her wallet.

“Here.” She handed me a snapshot taken on the gangway of a cruise ship. “This is from our vacation last year.”

I studied her husband’s image, trying to commit it to memory. He was tall with sandy hair and a goatee, a lean build and an angular face that I wouldn’t have called either handsome or beautiful. Gray Cavanaugh looked…slick. He was too attractive, too stylish, too everything.

I handed the picture back and went over to my desk. I rifled the bottom drawer for one of Gloria’s checklists. She’d called the one for domestic cases the Cheat Sheet. After grabbing a clipboard, I returned to the couch.

“Okay, so tell me. What kind of car does Gray drive?” Maria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I bought him a white Mercedes, but I don’t know the license number.”

“No problem. I can get that myself. Is there any property other than your main residence?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

Because if he kept an apartment, he didn’t have to pay for hotels. Out loud I said, “So I know where I’m most likely to find him.”

“Oh. Well, we’d talked about buying a vacation place but I didn’t get around to it.”

I made a note to do an asset search anyway and look for rental properties. “What about his work schedule?”

“He usually takes the noon-to-eight. But one of the other managers has been sick recently, so Gray’s working some graveyard shifts. I’m not sure of his schedule this week, but I’ll find out for you.”

“That would be great.” I scribbled more notes as she told me about his routine and habits. “Okay, tell me about any hobbies.”

She shifted, recrossing her legs. “Gray’s been spending a lot more time on his golf game lately. He plays eighteen holes on his days off. We’ve got several memberships. Aliante Golf Club, of course, but also Spanish Trail and Red Rock.”

Uh-huh. The Canyon Gate Country Club property, where the Cavanaughs lived, was home to a championship private course. I was back to thinking how much I hate domestic cases.

Then Maria pulled a thick envelope out of her purse. “This should cover the first week of your time.”

I ran a thumb over the bundle of fifty-dollar bills before shaking hands with my newest client.

It’s like Gloria always used to say—as long as there are sins and cynics, I’ll have a job.