Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

"Are you keeping track of your expenses? Hanging on to your receipts?"

I offered her an exaggerated eye roll as I headed into the kitchen. "Yes, Mother. This isn't my first rodeo."

"What about your tax situation?" She folded her arms over her
Girl on Fire
logo. "Did you fill out paperwork for a W2, or is the lawyer cutting you a 1099?"

Our cupboards were sad, only the expired Pop Tarts and a bag of marshmallows the consistency of granite. Not wanting to chip a tooth, I left both selections there. "I should go to the store."

"What about health insurance?" Mac was like a dog with a bone. No wonder Snickers had taken to her. "Do you have eye care? Dental?"

"For the love of grief, kid. Would you let me worry about all this crap? Who's the adult here?"

"That's what I was wondering," my mother said from the doorway.

"Here we go," I muttered.

Agnes turned to her granddaughter. "Mac, would you please give the two of us a moment of privacy?"

Mac opened her mouth, took one look at her grandmother's stern expression, and then snapped it shut. "I'll be in my room."

As irritated as I'd been about the conversation we'd been having, I was sorry to see her go. Mac I could put off, distract, and redirect. I'd have to trap my mother in a closet somewhere to get her to leave off.

"Look, I know what you're going to say."

She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and lifted her chin. "I'll bet you don't."

I cleared my throat and then raised the pitch of my voice to match her normal alto, and spoke in rapid succession. "You're always so concerned with how that girl perceives you. You have to be the cool mom, the anti-me. Well, it's time to grow up, Mackenzie."

She blinked and wouldn't hold my gaze. "You always have to think the worst of me. What I was going to say was that I can help you, if you won't be so proud."

I put my hands on my hips "I don't need a handout, Mom. I've been supporting Mac since before she was born. And besides, you have enough to worry about. What happened with you and The Captain?"

"Nothing," She broke eye contact, obviously lying.

We were on shaky ground. How closely did I want to look at my parents' marriage? As close as I needed to if I couldn't get her to relent. "Mom, go home. You don't belong here."

A flash of hurt crossed her face. It was gone so fast I wasn't even sure I'd seen it to begin with, especially when she straightened up to her full five-foot-two and somehow managed to stare down at my seven inches taller self. "Well, my furniture will be here tomorrow. I'll be out of your hair then."

"What furniture? When did you get it, how did you pay for it, and when exactly did you leave The Captain?"

She crossed her thin arms over her sweater set. "That's nothing for you to worry about. Now, did you say something about groceries? I'll give you a little money if you pick up the few things I need. The small refrigerator upstairs doesn't work so I'll have to store my things in yours. There's certainly plenty of room. You really should eat better. You're setting a bad example for Mac."

"Make me a list," I said, my smile tight. If she didn't want to tell me what the deal was with her and The Captain, I'd have to ferret out the information on my own. Good thing I knew a PI who worked on the cheap.

My mother pulled a silver pen from her wallet and looked around for a piece of paper. The small spiral bound notepad was still in my jacket, and I retrieved it for her. I checked the fridge again just to make sure—yup, we needed everything.

"What on earth are swingers?" Agnes Taylor asked. "Like trapeze artists or something?

Oops. I whirled around and grabbed for the notebook. "It's just a case I'm working on."

My mother held it aloft, a frown creasing her brow. "Rose and Robert Fox are not circus people."

My grabbing hand fell to my side as I stared at her. "You know them?"

"Only in passing. But they're a very elegant couple, not the trapeze artist sort. Your information must be wrong."

I looked at her in a new light. Of course she would be connected with a large part of Boston's elite. She'd always encouraged The Captain to pursue politics, though he'd never seemed interested. But that didn't stop her from hobnobbing with potential political supporters. "If you say so. Any idea where they live?"

"Beacon Hill area. Hold on, I have their address here somewhere." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her phone. She handed it to me and then, almost as an afterthought, asked, "Why do you need it?"

I memorized the number and then offered her a wan smile and handed the phone back. "No reason. I have to go out now. To the store."

"But my list," she said.

"Text it to me," I called over my shoulder and shut the door in her startled face.

"When opportunity knocks, answer the door. But don't let it in until you see some ID."

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

I'd turned around in my seat, ready to back Helga out of the driveway, when a blue sedan pulled to the curb behind me. The passenger door opened, and Hunter Black stepped out onto the curb. It was too dark to see who was driving the sedan, but he bent at the waist and spoke to the driver before slamming the door. The sedan pulled out, pausing at a streetlight, and I got the brief impression of a young blonde woman before the car merged into traffic. Hunter watched it go and then turned and headed for the front door.

Too late I realized he was going to walk straight past me. I'm not sure where the impulse came from, but I slithered down in the seat so he wouldn't see me. I waited, counting to twenty in my head and feeling like a jackass. Helga had tinted windows, and it was night. Why was I hiding from him? Because I was investigating the Granger case when he'd made it clear I shouldn't? Or because of the way he'd smoldered at me in the stairwell and then had been out with another woman?

Either way, cowering in the dark seemed like the way to go.

A knock sounded on the window, and I jumped, and then peeked up.

He stood there, a massive dark shape, foreboding in the streetlight.

Sighing, I straightened up and then rolled down the window. "How's it going?"

"Were you hiding from me, Red?" He tilted his head, his long dark hair falling over his shoulder like a river of night.

"No," I fibbed, hoping the low lighting would hide the flush on my cheeks. "I was looking for my earring."

"You aren't wearing earrings," he pointed out.

"Because I lost one." Was I a stellar liar or what?

Those lips twitched. "But you're heading out."

"Just to the store. My mother stopped by, and we're out of people food. I hear Snickers is all set, thanks to you."

"She's a sweetheart," he murmured. "I miss having someone waiting for me to get home."

"You want her back?" The words popped out automatically. I hoped he'd say no, as Mac seemed attached to the mutt.

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not home enough to spend time with her."

"Because of your job?" I probed, wondering at the identity of the dark sedan driver. Nona had said he was something of a serial dater.

He wore that pre-smile, almost-amused look again. "If you want to know who dropped me off, you can just ask."

"Not my business," I choked out. The man read me like a sports column, with very little effort on his part. It was unnerving, especially because I knew diddly-freaking-squat about him.

The light caught in his dark eyes, reflecting back at me hypnotically. "Are you willing to make it your business?"

"Yes. No. I mean, that is…" I stumbled, my usual confidence heading for parts unknown. I took a deep breath and tried again. "I really don't think it's a good idea. What with us being neighbors, and then there's Mac and my mother, and I can't really afford a distraction right now."

"I understand." He held up a hand and my lips clamped together as if superglued, the heinous stream of babble locked safely in.

"For the record, that was my youngest sister, Kate. She's got some news and wanted my advice on how best to break it to our parents."

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid. "You didn't have to tell me all that."

He tipped his head to the side. "I wanted to. I want to make sure you know I'm a man who makes time for his family. Does that change your mind about going out with me?"

"No, but it certainly doesn't hurt your case." I grinned at him. It was sort of sweet the way he kept trying to convince me. I'd never really been pursued by a man before. "Look, can I be honest?"

He crouched beside the car so he could look me in the eye. "By all means, I prefer to date an honest woman."

"You scare me to death."

He blinked. It was as significant as another person gasping in astonishment. My bluntness had taken him off guard.

"I'm not my normal self around you, and I don't know why that is. All things being equal, you're tempting enough to make me want to figure out why, but you live right next door. If things didn't work out, it's not like we could avoid each other. Mac's already worried about weirdness. Add to that you're a cop, and you hate my job, and I'm sure it's not smart."

"I don't," he said then added, "I don't hate the job, though I'm not crazy about you doing it. Even after you're trained. But it's not because I'm some kind of misogynistic jerk. I don't want to see you get hurt, Red."

His brows drew together, and before I realized it, he was leaning into the car, cupping my cheek. It seemed only natural to tilt my chin, for my eyelids to lower, to part my lips in eager anticipation of his searing kiss. I knew down to the marrow of my bones it would be hot, too. Altering even.

"Ahem," a female voice said from behind Hunter.

I swore, lurching back into the steering column. Helga's horn blasted out. Meanwhile, Hunter smacked his head against the door as he struggled to stand and turn as quickly as possible.

"I finished the list," my mother said from behind him. "I was going to text you and saw that your car was still here. Who are you?"

"Mom," I said, still reeling at her sudden appearance.

"Hunter Black, ma'am." My neighbor was rubbing what had to be a rising lump on the back of his head, but he offered the other hand to Agnes.

She didn't take it.

"Mom," I said again, this time with censure in my voice. It wasn't like her to be rude to anyone, other than me of course. "He's—"

"I thought you rushed out of there in a hurry. Of course it was to meet some man."

"Mrs. Taylor," Hunter began, but she rolled right over the top of him.

"Honestly Mackenzie, will you never learn? Sneaking out to meet some lowlife under my nose, same as when you were a willful teenager. I would have thought one unplanned pregnancy was enough for one lifetime for any woman."

"Mom!" I shouted. "He lives here."

She had built up a solid head of steam because it took her another seven seconds of ranting about my poor judgment and taste in men before the diatribe abruptly shut off. "What do you mean he lives here?"

Hunter pointed at the darkened windows of his own apartment. "That's my place right there. Albert rented to me a few months before his passing."

My mother blinked up at him, opened her mouth, but then closed it again without speaking.

"We just met the other day," I added before turning back toward Hunter. "My mother plans on moving into the upstairs apartment. She's a better watchdog than Snickers. I just thought I should let you know, so you don't try anything."

"I wouldn't dare," the detective muttered. "Mrs. Taylor, it was…memorable."

Just like his first encounter with me. He must have thought my entire family tree was certifiable. I wasn't sure he'd be wrong in such an assessment.

"I'll see you ladies later." With a nod to my mother he headed up the steps and let himself in through the front door. A moment later a light came on in his apartment. I wondered what it was like in there. Hunter didn't strike me as a stereotypical bachelor, with pizza boxes and empty beer cans scattered around his space. I bet it smelled great, with that hint of wood smoke and fresh air and the male spice that was uniquely his.

I was so lost in daydreaming that I didn't pick up on my mother's intent until Helga's passenger's side door was yanked open. "What?"

"Honestly, Mackenzie," My mother sounded all put out, like her making a scene in front of our new neighbor was somehow my fault.

"Mom? What are you doing?"

"Going to the store with you." She twisted around to reach the seatbelt. The harness snapped into place with a dire sounding click.

"I had another errand to run."

"Oh?" She pulled down the vanity mirror and was fussing with her perfectly coiffed hair. "What sort of errand?"

"One for work," I stressed. "So you should probably go in and stay with Mac. Since it's getting so late and all."

"Mac's fine. That man's a cop, you said. A detective? And Nona's upstairs too, so it's not like she's in the house all alone. She'll call if she needs anything." She flipped the visor back into place.

I tried to think of any way out of dragging my mother on a surveillance run. Especially a surveillance run involving a couple she knew. Somehow I doubted she'd approve of my plan to stake out the Fox residence and see what was up. And the thought of being trapped in the car with her for however long was close to unbearable.

The memory of witnessing a homicide was still fresh. Did I really want my mother to witness the same sort of horror? "Mom, I'm not dropping off a check at the PTO. This is for a murder investigation."

Her green eyes narrowed to slits. "And what makes you any more qualified to investigate than I am? Besides, two sets of eyes are better than one." She spoke deliberately as if she'd somehow rehearsed this conversation ahead of time.

I wondered if Uncle Al had ever been bullied into an unwanted ride-along. Somehow, I doubted it.

"I'm not getting out of this car, so just forget it." Agnes Taylor squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

I never knew she had such a stubborn streak.
Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone here: find out what happened with her and The Captain and maybe even talk her into heading back home where she belongs. That would be worth a few hours of discomfort.

"You have to promise not to interfere with what I'm doing." I wagged my finger in her face as though lecturing a naughty child. I'd never been so stern with Mac—then again, my daughter was reasonable.

She looked so hopeful, even excited. "I promise. Are we going?"

"We're going." I let out a string of internal curses and shifted Helga into reverse. "Java help me, we're going."

*   *   *

"It's that one." My mother pointed at a large brick edifice on the opposite side of the street.

I parked along the curb in front of a darkened house and stared at the building. "You're sure?"

"I was here for a New Year's party a few years ago. It's a family home. They wouldn't have sold."

This was as close as I was going to get without using Mac for internet verification. That reminded me. I picked up my cell phone and texted her.
Do me a solid and look up Rose Fox on Facebook.

A second later.
A solid as opposed to a liquid.

Just look, smartass
, I typed and added a little emoticon with his tongue sticking out.

A pause. Then
, What specifically about her?

Pictures, relationship status. Stuff like that. She was having an affair, supposedly leaving her husband, but I'm wondering if that was public knowledge.

I'm on it.

An odd chill made me shiver.

"Something wrong?" Agnes asked.

I scanned the street before refocusing on the Fox house. Our position allowed me to see both the front and the side of the residence. There were at least two lights on upstairs, along with the flicker of what I assumed was a television on the main floor, and what looked to be a kitchen off to the side. No sign of a black Escalade, though there were several Cadillacs and a few Hummers along with a sprinkling of hybrids. Helga was the only muscle car in sight.

My mother shifted. "So what are you hoping to see?"

"Anything unusual." I kept my eyes trained on the front window.

"Define unusual," Agnes said tartly.

Binoculars. I needed to get binoculars. If it had been any other neighborhood, I would have gotten out and maybe walked the sidewalk in front of the property a few times to really get a feel for the place. But if anyone spotted me, I had no doubt the police would show up and arrest me for loitering in the prestigious neighborhood, and I had no money for bail. "I'll know it when I see it."

"How on earth were the Foxes involved in your murder investigation?"

I huffed out a breath. She wasn't going to stop until I gave her some information. Maybe I could use it to turn the tables. Deciding to leave the whole alternate lifestyle bit out, I summed up. "Rose Fox was having an affair with the victim."

"No." My mother breathed the word, her tone a mixture of appalled excitement and genuine curiosity.

"According to his ex-wife, yes." The hairs rose along the back of my neck, and I turned up the heat.

"Did Robert know?"

"Again, I only have her word for it, but yes, and he was devastated."

"You just never know what goes on inside a marriage." My mother refocused on the house. "They seemed like such a contented couple."

I guessed the swinging would do that for them. Keeping one eye on the house, I tossed out a line to see if it hooked anything. "So, do you know anyone else who cheated?" Dear old Dad, maybe?