Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Read online

  “No,” Octavia said, but she was smiling woodenly as she pointed to her forehead. “I spent eight hundred dollars last week to get this wrinkle filled and it’s not working because I’m not supposed to frown and that’s all I’ve been doing! Dammit, Richard has the most lousy sense of timing.”

  Linda smothered a smile. There was the Octavia she knew.

  They stopped at the intersection of Man o’ War in the right hand turn lane behind a compact car. Linda pulled out the reports she wanted to finish before they got home so she could make dinner and help the kids with their homework. Suddenly, Octavia’s head jutted forward.

  “That’s Richard!”

  “Where?”

  “In that Mercedes that just drove by!” She lay on the horn. The car in front of her edged forward, trying to make a safe right turn on red to get out of her way.

  Octavia rolled down the window and stuck out her head. “Move it!” she yelled, still punching the horn. The car darted out in traffic and Octavia gunned the gas without looking. Screeching brakes and more horns sounded.

  Linda’s paperwork went flying. “Jesus, sis, you’re going to get us killed.”

  Octavia zoomed around cars, then pointed. “There it is! The black one.”

  Linda squinted to see a vehicle about a quarter of a mile in front of them on the busy two-lane road. “Are you sure it’s Richard? Did you see him?”

  Octavia floored the pedal and ran through a yellow-turning-red light. “No, but that’s his car.”

  “Slow down—it could be anyone.”

  “But it could be him.”

  She was right. Linda glanced in the side mirror to see what kind of carnage Octavia had left in her wake and at the sight of flashing blue lights, her stomach dropped to her thighs. “Pull over, sis. You’ve got a cop behind you.”

  “I can’t stop—I’ll lose him!”

  “You have to stop—it’s the law.”

  Octavia cursed, but backed off the gas pedal. She migrated into the right lane, then eased onto the shoulder. The dark police car pulled in behind her. Linda said a quick prayer that her car insurance was paid up. This could be bad.

  Octavia had rolled down the window and was fluffing her hair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting out of a ticket,” she said, then unfastened the top two buttons on her blouse.

  The cop’s face appeared in the window. “What the hell—” He broke off. “Octavia?”

  Linda gasped. “Oakley?”

  He frowned. “Well, at least you’re not driving.” Then he scowled at Octavia. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

  “You were driving just as fast to catch up with me.”

  Linda closed her eyes briefly.

  “The difference is I’m allowed to! What were you thinking? The children just lost their father—are you trying to kill their mother, too?”

  “Oakley—” Linda began.

  “License and registration,” he said.

  Octavia gaped at him. “You’re giving me a ticket?”

  “You better believe it. You broke about a half dozen traffic rules.”

  Octavia’s mouth screwed up, but she reached for her purse.

  Linda rummaged in the van glove compartment around toys and crayons for the registration, which she passed over. “Since when do detectives work the traffic beat?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Since maniac drivers threaten the safety of people I care about.”

  She pursed her mouth. “Can we talk?”

  “You’re welcome to come back to the car while I write up this ticket.”

  She climbed out into deep grass, then waded back to his unmarked sedan and slid inside, feeling like a naughty child.

  He swung into the driver’s seat, his body language vibrating with anger.

  “Oakley, let me explain. Octavia’s husband left her here the day of the funeral. He just up and disappeared, and since then she’s found out they’re deeply in debt and he was doing things she didn’t know about. She thought she saw him drive by and was following him. I know it’s not a good excuse for speeding, but there it is.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “No, it’s not a good excuse. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Richard Habersham. He’s an attorney in Jefferson County. Is there anything you can do?”

  “It’s not illegal to disappear....but I’ll keep my eyes open in case anything about him comes over the wire.”

  “So can you cut her some slack?”

  “No—she’s getting a ticket. She’s very lucky no one was hurt.” His shoulders softened a millimeter. “How are you doing?”

  I have a stone where my heart used to be. “Some days are better than others.”

  “Did you get my messages?”

  She nodded. “I’ve just been so busy with the kids and Octavia...and closing down the agency.”

  He reached forward to lift the ugly Mellon Vending lanyard she wore around her neck. “What’s this?”

  “I...got a part-time job.”

  His face clouded.

  “I’d planned to...even before.” Although Sullivan had never known.

  “Surely there’s something else...”

  “It’s not a bad job. The hours are flexible enough for me to work around the kids’ school schedule.”

  He reached into his inside coat pocket and removed his wallet. “Take this—” He pulled out several hundreds and extended them to her.

  Her mouth watered, thinking of the bills she could pay, but she didn’t want to take money from Oakley, didn’t want things to get...sticky. “I can’t.”

  “I insist.”

  She put her hands in her pockets.

  Finally he put the money back. “How are the kids?”

  “They miss their dad. And so do I.”

  He nodded. “Me, too.”

  When the silence became uncomfortable, he cleared his throat, then continued writing the ticket. “Don’t let your sister be a bad influence on you.”

  “Maybe I’ll be a good influence on her.”

  He laughed, the tension broken. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She climbed out and returned to the van.

  “Did you talk him out of it?” Octavia asked.

  “No.”

  “No? I thought he was a friend of yours.”

  Oakley appeared at the window. “But I’m not a friend of yours.” He tore off the ticket and handed it to her. “While you’re in Lexington, please obey the law.”

  Octavia snatched the ticket.

  “Goodbye, ladies. Be safe.”

  He disappeared and instantly, Linda missed him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “WELCOME TO Waffle House. What can I get you for?”

  Octavia looked up, straining not to roll her eyes. She had to consider her surroundings—she was, after all, sitting in a sticky booth with large containers of condiments right on the table, and the boy waiting on her wore an apron and a black bill cap with WH embroidered on the front.

  A bill cap.

  “Coffee, with half and half.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Octavia looked back to the file she was studying, the background report on Richard. She was systematically going through all the information and drawing a line through all the facts she’d known to highlight the facts she hadn’t known.

  So far, hadn’t was winning.

  The boy came back and set an enormous mug of coffee on the table. “Whoa, whatcha doing there? Studying for an exam?”

  “No." She took a sip of the coffee and conceded it wasn’t bad.

  “Nice phone,” the boy said, nodding to her smartphone lying on the table.

  She prided herself on having the latest model...even if she didn’t know how to use it fully. “Thanks.”

  “Do you have the Go Man app?”

  “No.” At least she didn’t think so. She had no idea what the boy was talking about.


  “I can show you sometime—it’s cool.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Are you going to order something to eat?”

  She was hungry, darn it. “What’s the safest thing on the menu?”

  “For lunch, a lot of people like you order the Chicken Apple Pecan Salad.”

  Octavia frowned. “People like me?”

  “Thin and pretty.”

  “Oh...thanks. Okay, I’ll try it.”

  “You got it.”

  She picked up her phone and went down a list of her and Richard’s friends, dialing...but most of them wouldn’t take her calls. She got lots of voice mailboxes, and secretaries and housekeepers and personal assistants whose bosses had “just stepped out.” Of the people who would take her calls, no one had heard from Richard in days. But the gossip had started to churn.

  “Is everything okay, Octavia?” Emily Devonshire asked. “Someone said Richard had closed his practice...”

  “...that your home had been foreclosed upon,” said Joan Berman.

  “...that your cars were repossessed,” said Katie Lender.

  “...that your housekeeper is looking for another job,” said Renee Masterson.

  “Everything is fine,” Octavia lied to each of them with a laugh. “I’m in Lexington with my sister—she lost her husband, you know, so sad—and Richard decided to take a break, too. But in all the flurry, I lost his itinerary, so I thought maybe one of our friends would know where he went. And the financial stuff—well, we rely on our CPA for everything, and obviously, something fell through the cracks. You just can’t get good help these days.”

  But each of her friends made lame excuses to get off the phone, leaving her stung. How quickly the sharks could turn on their own when they smelled blood in the water.

  She pulled from her purse the handful of mail she’d grabbed on her way out the door of her home, and the padded envelope Carla had given her fell into her lap. She picked it up and studied the flap—whatever was inside, Richard had gone to great lengths to document that he was the person who’d sealed the envelope. She knew an evidence envelope when she saw it, and knew if it was something damning, she didn’t want to be the one responsible for breaking the seal. Richard must be keeping it for a client.

  But why would he give it to Carla?

  The truth hit her between the eyes—because he’d been sleeping with her, of course.

  “Octavia, right?”

  She looked up to see Grim Hollister standing there, clad in black jeans, black T-shirt, and white snakeskin boots. She frowned and put a finger to the crease in her brow. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Having a bad day, huh?”

  “That’s so none of your business.”

  “There aren’t any free tables—mind if I join you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He slid into the booth seat opposite her. “Thank you kindly. You’re here alone?”

  She gritted her teeth. “My sister is taking care of some things at the agency.”

  The waiter arrived with her salad. Octavia moved her files and mail to make room for the bowl. Damn, it looked kind of good.

  “Hey, Grim,” the waiter said.

  “Hey, Brittany.”

  “Your usual?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Octavia turned to stare after the server. “That’s a girl?”

  “Yeah...kind of hard to tell, isn’t it? Smart as a whip, that one. But she doesn’t make a fuss like you do.”

  “You can leave now.”

  Instead, he leaned back in the seat and crossed his big tatted arms. “I like women who fuss.”

  “How charming.”

  “Dig in,” he said, nodding to her salad. “Don’t feel like you have to wait for me.”

  “I don’t.” She stabbed her fork into a chunk of chicken.

  “Come here often?”

  “Do I look like I belong in here?”

  He angled his head. “I can see it—you haven’t always been rich, have you?”

  Jackass. She stabbed another chunk and brought it to her mouth for a vicious tear.

  He squinted at the paperwork she’d moved aside. “Background check, huh?”

  Rankled, she reached over to close the file that contained the report on Richard.

  “I do them all the time in my business,” he offered. “For gun purchases.”

  She took her time chewing and swallowing. “I don’t care.”

  “So, what do you do for a living, Octavia?”

  “I’m not employed.”

  “Not to be confused with being unemployed. Lucky you—hubby must make a boatload—you have some nice jewelry.”

  Her blood pressure bumped higher, but she realized if she continued to engage with him, he’d never go away. She kept eating.

  From her stack of mail, he picked up a Rolex brochure. “Are you in the market for a new watch?”

  She took another bite.

  “I can set you up, got a nice selection of ladies’ gold timepieces.”

  She swallowed, then took a long drink of coffee. Time to set the peddler straight. “I don’t buy my jewelry in pawn shops.”

  “Too bad—you could save a lot of money. Or buy twice as much.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, I get it—you’d rather pay for the privilege of going to a big jewelry store in the mall where your friends will see you.”

  “Here ya go, Grim,” Brittany said, setting a bulging brown paper bag on the table.

  “Thanks, doll.” He handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, man.” She crammed the money into her apron, then turned to Octavia. “How’s the salad?”

  “The salad’s fine,” Octavia said, then glared at Grim. “It’s the company that’s lacking.”

  He smiled up at Brittany. “She hasn’t warmed up to me yet. Hey, I got a vintage Atari game console in the shop yesterday. Want me to hold it so you can take a look?”

  Brittany’s eyes lit with interest, then she bit her lip with dainty white teeth. “Can I afford it?”

  “We’ll work out a trade...my desktop is running kind of slow, probably needs a tuneup.”

  She grinned. “Easy peasy.”

  “Stop by after work if you have time.”

  “Will do.” The girl scooted away.

  Octavia smirked. “Kind of young for you, don’t you think?”

  He sobered. “She’s sixteen, no mom, and her dad doesn’t know she exists.”

  She knew a little about that. “And you’re some kind of savior?”

  “Nope...just someone who gives a damn.”

  The man was infuriatingly self-righteous. “When you get down from your cross, feel free to go.”

  He picked up the bag and stood, then leaned down. “You’d be a knockout if not for that frown wrinkle between your pretty blue eyes.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Octavia picked up the giant container of ketchup from the table, turned it over, and squirted a big blob over his white snakeskin boots. She knew enough about exotic skins to know snake was absorbent.

  He looked down at his boots. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “I’m not a nice person.”

  “I’m beginning to notice.” He straightened, then turned and walked out of the restaurant.

  Ugh, galling man. But then, weren’t they all? She stared at the padded envelope and envisioned Richard slipping it to Carla when they were in bed...God, had they done it in her own house...in her own bed?

  Angry tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. It was difficult to picture Richard with another woman—his sex drive was not particularly high...a common phenomenon of successful men, she’d discovered as her friends from the club had lamented their husbands’ lackluster performance in the sack.

  But why else would he give the envelope to Carla?

  More humiliating than her husband humping the maid...did a
nyone else know about it?

  Of course they did...men couldn’t help themselves—they had to brag to their friends. And then the men told their wives...

  Which explained why everyone was avoiding her.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Carla’s phone number, but got her voicemail. “Carla, this is Mrs. Habersham. I know what’s going on between you and my husband, you little tramp! Call me back if you know what’s good for you.”

  She sat back, soaking in misery and sending laser beams of hate toward Richard wherever the fig he was. Then she turned back to the mail, hoping to find a stray stock dividend check or tax refund. But it was only bills, bills, bills, an invitation to a club dinner next Wednesday, notice of a charity fundraiser Botox party—how passé—wait....

  Octavia went back to the club dinner invitation and a plan oozed into her head. She smiled to herself. What an excellent opportunity to confront everyone at once to find out what they knew about her husband.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “DO YOU SEE him?” Octavia asked.

  “No,” Linda said, binoculars to her face. “Just like the last time you asked twenty seconds ago.”

  “Are you sure? Someone has to be home, there’s smoke coming out of the chimney.”

  “Um, I think that’s exhaust coming out of the dryer vent.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t see anything.”

  “Scan the top floor windows where the bedrooms are probably located—we might catch him in the act.”

  “In the act of what?”

  “Having sex.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “It’ll make our case,” Octavia insisted, reading from the file. “According to Mr. Wendt’s medical claim, the injury he sustained when he fell off a ladder and hurt his back makes it impossible for him to walk without aid, or get an erection.”

  Linda lowered the binoculars she had aimed at the blue house across the street. “It’s also illegal to photograph someone having sex in a private place. I thought you were going to do the legwork.”

  “This is my first case!”

  “This is my first case, too, but I know the Peeping Tom law.”

  “I forgot—you’re one of those by-the-book people.”

  Linda poked her tongue into her cheek. “Why does the insurance company think he’s lying?”