Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

"Nona, you're a trip, you know that, right?"

She shrugged. "I've been called worse. See you later, doll."

Mac was waiting for me on the front porch. "What were you doing?"

"Inviting the upstairs neighbors to dinner. My boss is coming too, and The Captain."

"They're coming here," Mac repeated. The chill autumn wind brought out the pink flush in her cheeks. "For dinner. Tonight."

"That's right." I unlocked Fillmore's driver-side door, squashed myself in behind the wheel, and then reached over to unlock Mac's side.

"Mom." She had an incredulous look on her face as she plopped in her seat. "You know they're expecting actual food to be cooked and served to them."

"Mac, I told you that you can't waste your time worrying about other people's expectations." Fillmore had always had a rough starter, but the week of sitting idle hadn't done him any favors. He choked and wheezed and grumbled like the little old man he was before finally throwing up his hands to do what I wanted. "Besides, considering the way your grandparents are ignoring each other, it might not last too long."

"But," she protested as I pulled out onto traffic, "we've never hosted a dinner before."

The sad little Jetta putt-putted along. Helga had ruined me for other cars. "Where's your adventurer's spirit? I'm trying to do a good thing here. The least you can do is support me."

"The least I can do is commit you," Mac grumbled as we reached the coffee shop. "You better keep the engine running if we don't want it to die on us. What do you want?"

"Coffee with extra coffee and a side of coffee. Oh, and see if they'll top it with coffee beans." I handed her a twenty.

When she disappeared inside I called Len. The machine picked up at the office, but I doubted he was in. He'd given me his home number, and I rummaged around in my shoulder bag until I found the scrap of paper where I'd scribbled it.

"Lo?" Len wheezed.

"It's Mackenzie. I spoke with one of the detectives on our case last night. There's been another murder. One of the employees who worked for the men's clinic."

"This could be good news for our client, but only if they can tie the murders together. She has an alibi for last night."

"Oh?"

"An administrative meeting at the hospital. She called me this morning to tell me they've asked her to take a leave of absence for a while."

Damn it. It made sense. No one wanted his or her kid being treated by a pediatrician who was fighting a murder rap, but still… "What should I be doing?"

Len answered my question with one of his own. "What does your gut tell you?"

"To find out information on the victim and find out if there was a connection to anyone besides Paul Granger. And find out who would want her dead."

"Exactly what I would suggest." There was a smile in Len's voice. "We can discuss anything you find after dinner tonight."

I hung up with him just as Mac reappeared carrying two giant cups of coffee. Even with the windows rolled up, my mouth began to water.

Supplied and ready, I headed back to Brett's neighborhood. Mac fiddled with the radio as we drove down the street. "There's nothing good on. Freaking auto-tune BS."

"You know, I have never once doubted that you are my child. No hospital mix-ups for you." Taking a page out of his book, I backed into an empty driveway three houses down with a for sale sign on the lawn.

"What if someone sees us?" Mac slunk down in her seat.

"They'll think we're just waiting for a real estate agent to show up."

"And if an actual agent shows up?" She raised a brow.

"Then we say we were driving past and wanted to schedule a showing. You were just dialing the number when they arrived. Sit up. You'll draw more attention by looking suspicious. We have every right to be here."

"So who are we investigating?" Mac asked.

I looked over at her. "Your dad."

Her eyes got big. "Oh Mom, no. I'm not ready, and look at what I'm wearing! Look at what you're wearing!"

I frowned down at what I thought had been a stylish choice. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"You look like you spent the night with your artist boyfriend and threw on his shirt to cover your pit stains."

I looked up at the ceiling. "This is why we shouldn't teach children to talk."

"Mom, focus. I don't want to meet him."

"We're not going to meet him. We're going to tail him."

Mac's panic ratcheted back a little. "Why?"

"Well, to see what kind of guy he is. I want to know more about him before I bring him into your life."

"And?" My kid knew me too well, knew when I held things back.

"And so I can practice tailing a car. If he doesn't make me, it's been a success."

"And if he does make you?" Worry crept back into her voice.

"We'll jump off that bridge when we come to it," I said as Brett's front door swung open. "It's show time."

"No one runs away without telling someone else first. The trick is finding his or her confidant."

From the
Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living
by Albert Taylor, PI

"That's him?" Mac starred at the figure emerging from Brett's house the way I stared at designer boots I couldn't afford—hungrily.

"Yes."

She watched as Brett trotted down the steps, flipping his keys around his finger and catching them in his palm. She pressed her own hand to Fillmore's dirty window. "What if he doesn't like me?"

Something pinged in my chest. Taking her out on surveillance had seemed like a good idea when I'd first come up with it, but seeing her lost expression made me rethink the scenario. "Babe, how can anyone not adore you?"

She didn't turn her head from the window. "You're biased."

"He will be too."

"Do you think he'll be mad, when you tell him?"

"I honestly don't know. He used to be a very easy-going guy, but people change. If he's mad at anyone, it'll be me, though, not you."

"Are you going to do it now?"

Coffee churned in my stomach. When I told him. Not if. It was one thing to know I had to come clean, another entirely to waltz over to my high school boyfriend who I hadn't seen for more than a decade and a half and ruin his life.

"Not now."

"Mom," Mac pleaded.

"I thought you weren't ready?" I asked.

"I'm not, but I want him to know about me. He should know about me." She lifted her chin to a stubborn angle and for one second was the spitting image of her grandmother. Java help me.

"Don't, hon, I can't right now. Let me call him and set up a meeting."

"Tomorrow. You need to do it tomorrow." She turned back to the window. "I don't want to keep wondering how he'll take the news. It's making me feel sick."

"That makes two of us. I promise, I will call him tomorrow." Brett's SUV pulled away from the curb. I waited until he'd turned the corner before pursuing.

"We lost him," Mac said, not even five minutes later. "You weren't kidding when you said you needed practice."

"Hey, I've got mad driving skills. I just didn't want to risk having him bust us." I cruised through again at the intersection where we'd been held up. No sign of the Escalade. "Damn it."

"It's probably better this way," Mac soothed. "We should get you some GPS tech to tag vehicles you need to follow. That way you don't have to worry about getting made."

"Technology isn't the end-all and be-all of life. There was a time we made do without it."

"Yeah, but why would you want to if you had another option?" Mac shuddered and her phone barked.

"Who's the dog?" I asked as I turned toward home.

"My lab partner," she grumbled, ignoring the bark. "Five minutes into our review he asked if I wanted to make out. When I told him no, he asked if I was a lesbian."

"Not short on confidence, is he?"

"I think the only thing he's short on is brains. He couldn't even handle the gene diagraming when I asked him to do that. It's, like, so simple."

"Awe, babe, sorry it didn't work out."

Mac snorted. "You're such a bad liar."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an excellent liar, but I only use my superpowers for good, not evil."

"Mom," she said.

"Okay fine. Sorry, not sorry. You happy now?"

"Might as well throw an I-told-you-so on for good measure."

What the kid didn't understand is that I hadn't wanted to be right. Pete the Pervert worshiped the ground Mac walked on, but my daughter looked at him like he was a brother. And meatheads like Todd would never see her worth until they were old and paunchy and the shine was completely off their jockstrap.

"Mom?" Mac asked as I pulled Fillmore into his customary place in the street in front of Uncle Al's. "What are you thinking about?"

"Shiny jock straps."

"Ew! Sorry I asked. Seriously though, what are we going to do about this dinner thing?" Now that the danger of running into her bio dad had passed, Mac had reverted back to her normal quippy self.

We both climbed from Fillmore, and I turned to face her. "Mac, relax, I have this. Just work on your project and text me if you need anything."

"Therapy," she said. "Massive doses of therapy."

"Noted." I headed over to Helga.

"Hey, no fair. You're taking the good car now?"

"It's a mom perk. To compensate for the stretch marks. Wanna see?"

She held up her hands quickly. "I'm good."

I watched her dart inside, smiling to myself. Just as she reached the door, Hunter stepped out and waved to me.

I flashed hot and then cold as he trotted down the steps, moving like a great big predator. "Where are you headed?"

"Um, errands?" Shoot, could that have sounded less convincing?

"Nona told me about your party tonight."

Shoot. "Um, it's not a party so much as a set-up for my parents and a social outing for my elderly strays."

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "I'm sure it'll prove eventful."

I shifted from one foot to the other. He still hadn't said whether he was coming or not. Or mentioned that bone-melting kiss from the night before. "So, where are you off to?"

"My sister's place. My family takes turns hosting Sunday dinner."

I glanced at my phone. It was barely afternoon. "It's a little early for dinner."

"I'm on duty tonight. So they're eating at two."

So I guessed that answered my question about him dropping by later. "Have fun."

"I was going to ask you to come with me," he said. "You and Mac."

My eyebrows went up so high I swore I felt them hit my hairline. "You want to introduce us to your family?" One kiss, no matter how fantastic, didn't equate to meet-the-parents time.

Hunter didn't bat an eyelash. "Yes, Mary Alice leaves her kids here sometimes, and I thought it would be a good idea if I introduced everyone."

Oh, that made more sense, the stranger danger factor. "Well, we already have plans. Maybe another time?"

He nodded and headed toward the shed. I watched as he situated his helmet, started the thing up, and guided it backwards. My inner wild child wanted to leap onto the back of that thing, wrap my arms around his broad form, and ask him to drive me off into the sunset.

He lifted the visor. "Do me a favor. If you get into any trouble, call me."

"I don't have your number." I had to shout to be heard over the thunderous engine.

"Check your phone," he mouthed then flipped his visor down.

I did as he rode off. Sure enough, Hunter Black was programmed into my contacts list. He must have done that when he'd taken my phone the other night. The man thought of every eventuality.

It felt amazingly good to get behind Helga's wheel again, and I had to retrain my brain for her power. She really wasn't meant to be a city car. If I was a responsible adult, I'd sell her and buy something fuel efficient that was better suited to surveillance. Good thing I'd never mastered the adulting shtick.

And my current missions didn't require discretion.

The location of Right Touch Pharmaceuticals was common knowledge. After being stonewalled every time I'd tried to call the drug manufacturer, I'd decided to show up in person on a Sunday. Because while they were open, I was betting that the pit bull they had manning the phones would be off for the weekend.

The large, modern, steel-and-glass industrial building was located in Brighton, a few blocks from the New Balance headquarters. There was no sign, but I double-checked the address on the corporate website. It was the place.

On-street parking was practically nonexistent, but I managed to squeeze Helga in behind a snack cake truck.

I was sizing up the building when I spotted a black Escalade.

Oh, no. No way. What were the odds that I'd lost Brett back at his place only to stumble across him here?

As casually as I could, I strode over to his car, and rested a hand on the hood. The engine was cool, meaning that barring a coffee run, Brett had most likely been here awhile.

I cracked my knuckles, considering my options. Going into the office building meant risking running into him, something I wanted to avoid. And not just because of our personal drama. No, Brett knew I was a PI, knew I was investigating Paul Granger's murder—information I didn't want to share with any of the Right Touch people.

Wait a second
.

I frowned at the Escalade. Why was Brett here? If he'd been investigating a workers' comp claim for Right Touch, he wouldn't still be meeting with them. I thought his story about checking up on Mrs. Fox sounded a little too altruistic for him.

People lie for all sorts of reasons.
Hunter's warning from the night before haunted me.

Brett had lied to me. To my face. And I was going to find out why.

*   *   *

"Hello?" Mac said.

"I need your help," I told her as I slid into a booth in the coffee shop across the street from Brett's Escalade.

"Mom?" Mac asked. "What number are you calling from?"

"It's a burner phone." I smiled at the bored-looking waitress who offered me coffee and waited until she filled the heavy-duty ceramic cup then hissed, "I planted mine on someone I want to follow, and I want you to track it. You have that finding app on your phone, right?"

"Yeah." The sound of clicking keys came over the line. "Looks like he's standing still."

"Yup. I have eyes on it right now."

"Then why am I tracking it?" Mac sounded put out.

"Because, I want to know where he goes."

"He?" Mac inquired.

"The guy I'm following. Plus, I kinda want my phone back."

"Where is it?"

"His sunroof was cracked, so I tossed it in the back seat."

"What if he finds it first?" my little naysayer inquired.

"Come on, Mac. Just track the stupid thing for me."

"Okay, okay," Mac grumbled. "I'll call you if the signal moves."

"Awesome. Gotta go." I closed the phone and slipped it into my shirt pocket.

"Can I getcha anything else?" the waitress asked on a long-suffering sigh.

I wanted pie. Or maybe a burger and fries. Sadly, I'd blown what was left of my petty cash on the burner phone and had barely had enough to cover the much-needed java and a meager tip. "I'm good, thanks."

She skulked off to a corner, and I sipped the burnt-tasting coffee while keeping my gaze locked on the Escalade and trying to come up with a plan of action.

Mac tracking my phone was the plan of last resort. I'd also considered waiting for Brett and calling him out on his lie. In some ways it was like we were back in high school again, when some random girl, out of sheer bitchiness, told me she'd seen my then boyfriend making out with someone else. I'd confronted him about it, and he'd told me that no, of course it wasn't true. And he'd done so ever so smoothly. The strip had turned pink on my pregnancy test before I'd discovered that he had been screwing around. In my more honest moments I admitted to myself that was part of what made me hold my tongue about the baby.

The sour-faced waitress refilled my coffee twice more before Brett emerged from the building, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. I breathed a sigh of relief. The thought had occurred to me that it hadn't been his Escalade and I'd have to think quickly if I ever wanted to see my cell again.

After dropping the scant amount of money on the table, I waited until Brett was secured in his car before exiting the diner and heading to Helga. I was still ninety-nine point nine percent sure that Brett wasn't a sociopathic murderer. I reminded myself of this nonstop as I tailed him into the Jamaica Plain neighborhood. Just because he'd lied to me about what Right Touch had hired him for didn't mean my character assessment was totally off base.

Maybe it was because I had the tech backing me up, but I didn't have a problem keeping the Escalade in sight. I drove in a relaxed manner, listening to classic rock, just another urbanite out doing Sunday errands. I didn't run any lights and kept at least two vehicles between us the whole time.

Of course I wanted him to be a good guy, for Mac's sake if nothing else. But the personal connection had nothing to do with the job. If I found out he had anything to do with either Paul Granger's or Kimmy's murder, I'd turn his homicidal hide in so fast his head would spin.

He pulled to a stop on Child Street, across from several triple-decker houses, and parked. I kept going, taking the next side street turn, and zipped around the corners to come up behind him. My heart thundered in my chest. Had he recognized Helga? There was no way to tell, so I had to proceed under the assumption that I hadn't been made.