Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 3

“It’s going to be okay,” Oakley repeated over and over in that blanket-like voice of his. “Sully is strong and he has so much to live for.”

  Klo and Stone added comforting sentiments of their own.

  She nodded and wiped, nodded and dabbed, until the tissue she held was shredded. In the melee of exiting Sullivan’s room, she’d lost the stupid box of Kleenex. Oakley removed a snowy handkerchief from his back pocket and pushed it into her hand.

  She blew her nose, feeling self-conscious about abusing such a personal item. “Don’t you have to work today?”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Klo and Stone, too, stayed close. Linda made a mental note to tell Sullivan how supportive his friend and coworkers had been during the crisis.

  There was so much she wanted to tell him, she realized, so many things she’d left unsaid recently because of trivial resentments. Her behavior now seemed so petty, she was ashamed. She would fix things between them, fix their family. They would be happy again.

  They would.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Kozac appeared at the doorway, looking weary—and holding the missing box of tissue. Linda surged to her feet and strode toward her, the others following behind.

  “How is he?”

  The doctor maintained a poker face. “Your husband suffered a massive heart attack and his heart stopped beating. We tried to revive him, but despite our best attempts…”

  Everything shifted into slow motion as Linda recognized the “death talk” that was obviously required training for every physician. She braced for emotional Armageddon.

  “…we couldn’t save him. I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith.” The doctor floundered, then handed Linda the dented box of Kleenex.

  Chapter Three

  “POOR LINDA.” Octavia Guy Habersham flipped down the visor mirror and smoothed her finger over the crease between her eyebrows she’d had filled yesterday with an injectable…again. It was the one area of her face that refused to respond to treatment. She checked her dark hair and her teeth, then flipped up the mirror and sat back. “What will she do now?”

  From the driver seat of the Mercedes, her husband was quiet.

  “Richard?”

  He looked over. “Hm? Oh…she’ll figure out something. Linda’s a smart girl.”

  Octavia scoffed. “You couldn’t prove it by her life choices. I’ll never know why she married that clodhopper in the first place.”

  “I thought you said she was pregnant.”

  “She was, but she didn’t have to marry the man. Now she has two rugrats, and no husband. And I doubt if Sullivan made any provisions for his death.”

  “Surely he had life insurance.”

  “When he was a police officer, maybe, but remember, he quit to become a private dick. What a joke. They’re probably flat broke.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Would you look at this?” She held up her right hand. “The polish on my pinkie nail is positively lumpy. It’s impossible to find a good manicurist these days.”

  “It’s like living in a third world country,” he agreed.

  “We have to help Linda out, you know. I’m all the family she has. Mother’s gone and Father’s…useless.” She swallowed the bad taste in her mouth.

  Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has it occurred to you that you might offend her if you offer her money?”

  Octavia gave a dismissive wave. “She’ll have to swallow her pride. I won’t let my nephew and niece grow up in squalor. Jarrod and Mary deserve better.”

  “I thought the little girl’s name was Maggie.”

  “Maggie—right.”

  “Linda will be fine. She’ll probably get a job.” He arched an eyebrow. “Some women do that, you know.”

  Octavia sniffed. “You would hate it if I worked—who would take care of everything?”

  “Gee, I don’t know—maybe the maid or the cook or the gardener?”

  “Very funny. I meant who would take care of our social life? Your firm has prospered because of all the contacts I’ve put in your path over the last few years.”

  “Yes, that’s the only reason.”

  “You know what I mean.” She pulled a checkbook out of her Gucci bag. “I’m going to offer her twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty thousand?”

  “More?”

  “I was thinking less…if you want her to actually take it.”

  “Hm, maybe you’re right. I can always give her more later, send her cash for the kids’ birthdays, that kind of thing.”

  Richard loosened his tie, then leaned forward to turn up the air conditioner. “I was thinking we’d head back this afternoon after the funeral.”

  “No! I told you, I booked a room at the Marmot for the weekend. We’re having massages tomorrow.”

  He pulled his hand down his face. “I really need to get back to the office, Octavia.”

  She leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. “Please? We’re both so stressed out, it’ll be good for us to get away for a couple of days. We can shop for a new watch for me.” She glared, pressing down on her brow wrinkle. “I know Carla stole my watch.”

  “You made her take a polygraph, and she passed.”

  “You always take up for her.” Octavia slid a suspicious look in his direction. Powerful men seemed to find that whole boss-servant thing pathetically irresistible.

  “Carla is the most trustworthy person I know.”

  Hm. “How else could my watch have disappeared from my jewelry box?”

  “You probably misplaced it, left it at the gym or something.”

  “I didn’t, but regardless, I need a new watch and I don’t want to wait for the insurance claim.”

  He sighed. “You can shop for a watch when you get back home.”

  Except she’d already talked to a jeweler on Nicholasville Road in Lexington who had the model of diamond Rolex she wanted—the only one of its kind in the state. “But I really should stick around Lexington for a couple of days to check on poor Linda.”

  He was quiet, but gave a curt nod.

  She cooed and patted him on the thigh—a sign that if he got into a better humor over the weekend, he might get lucky…or a blow job, depending on how the syringe sites in her face felt tomorrow.

  She wrote the check to her sister and tucked it back into her purse. “I just hope Linda takes this money in the spirit it’s given.”

  Richard’s phone rang. He cursed, then glanced at the screen and his mouth tightened.

  “Ignore it,” she said.

  “I can’t,” he said in a weary voice. He put the phone to his ear. “This is Habersham…I can’t really talk right now.” He shifted in his seat. “That’s not a good idea…no—” He looked at the phone.

  “What happened? Who was that?”

  “A client,” he muttered. “The call dropped.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking while you’re driving anyway—what could be so important?”

  “Will you be quiet!”

  Octavia flinched—Richard had been in a snit for days, but he rarely raised his voice. “Excuse me?”

  He sighed, then cracked his neck. “Sorry.”

  She angled her head. “You look a little gray—are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said with a chopping motion. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Actually, she’d noticed he’d left their bed in the wee hours to work in his office every night this week. “All the more reason to stay in Lexington this weekend,” she sang. “We’ll sleep in and have room service, those enormous strawberries—”

  “I’m allergic to strawberries.”

  “—and maybe I’ll splurge and have cream and real sugar in my coffee.” She patted her flat stomach. “Javier has been putting me through extra cardio this month, so I can afford it.”

  “Speaking of, how much is the hotel room going to set us back?”

  “Oh, we
’ll use points,” she said with a wave. “We have a kajillion after we bought the Picasso on the credit card.”

  “Is this the exit?” he asked, pointing.

  She looked up. “Yes.”

  When he slowed the car to pull onto the ramp leading into Lexington, it seemed to her as if everything else braked as well—life moved at a more leisurely pace in Lexington than in its more cosmopolitan sister, Louisville.

  Octavia wrinkled her nose. She hated coming home.

  Not that she’d visited Lexington lately. The last time she was in town for a Junior League event, Mary—er, make that Maggie—had been in diapers. And Sullivan and Linda had been doing renovations on their tiny little home in their shabby little neighborhood. A few minutes later when the Mercedes pulled up to the house, she realized nothing had changed—the neighborhood was still shabby, and the renovations were still underway.

  “Is this it?” Richard asked.

  “Unfortunately.” She flashed back to the dilapidated little house she and Linda had grown up in. Hadn’t her sister gotten a belly full of that life?

  Since the driveway was jammed with minivans, Richard pulled into a spot on the curb.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going to let you go in alone. I need to return that phone call.”

  “Okay,” she said, opening the door to climb out next to a storage drain, then moved toward the driveway, her feet heavy in her black Christian Louboutin pumps.

  Because of her background in cheerleading and beauty pageants, she shined at life’s celebrations—birthday parties, weddings, anniversaries. Funerals, though, were sad, boring affairs where everyone’s makeup ran. And she never knew the right thing to say.

  But she lifted her chin and walked up to the front door of Linda’s house. She would be there for her baby sister. She rang the doorbell and waited, hoping the inside of the house looked better than the outside. Just when she was about to ring the bell again, the door opened.

  Octavia looked down to see a chubby little dark-haired girl wearing a tight pink flowered dress over a pair of red pants. The outfit was atrocious, but the tiara was a nice touch. The lipstick, however, was a little over the top.

  “Who are you?” the little girl demanded.

  Octavia frowned, holding her brow wrinkle. “I might be your Aunt Octavia. Who are you?”

  “I’m Maggie. My daddy died.”

  Octavia’s heart pinched. She didn’t really connect with kids, but she crouched to look into blue eyes identical to her own. “I know. I’m sorry. I like your tiara.”

  Maggie dimpled. “I have more. Do you want to see them?”

  Octavia nodded, and followed the little girl inside.

  Sadly, the interior of the house was in worse disarray than the exterior. Tools and building supplies were stacked around the perimeter of the entryway and every room she could see into. People milled around, holding plates of food and talking in low voices. Rowdy kids chased each other. In the corner sat a mountain of Kleenex boxes—good God, had her sister become a hoarder?

  She kept an eye out for Linda as she followed Maggie down a dim hallway into a tiny room that had exploded with stuffed animals and dolls, many of which were dressed in psychedelic clothing.

  “Here they are,” Maggie said, opening the middle drawer to a tiny white vanity with a perfectly proportioned mirror for a budding beauty queen. Her little round face glowed with awe as she looked over her sparkling toy crowns sitting on a green felt background.

  Octavia knew just how she felt. “They’re so pretty.”

  “I know,” Maggie breathed. Then she looked up at Octavia. “My mommy won’t stop crying.”

  Her heart twisted—and she had the urge to run. She hadn’t told Linda she was coming…she could drop the check in the mail.

  “Maggie, who are you talking to?”

  Octavia looked up to see Linda standing in the doorway. She straightened. “Hi, sis.”

  Linda had sounded bleak on the phone, but Octavia was unprepared for how much her sister had changed since she’d last seen her. Linda had always been the prettier one, as fair as Octavia was dark, with a sweet disposition that lit her green eyes in a way no makeup could duplicate. But the woman standing before her was a faded flower, her bare face a study of devastation, wearing a too-long black dress and ugly flat shoes.

  Linda opened her arms and Octavia went to her for a hug, but pulled back when the emotions started to overwhelm.

  “Thank you for coming,” Linda said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Richard is here, too. He’s parking the car.”

  Linda smiled through her tears. “There’s quite a crowd here. I need to get ready for the funeral soon, and I’m not sure how to ask everyone to leave. They mean well, but....”

  “Do what you need to do,” Octavia said. “I’ve got this.”

  She retraced her steps to the living room and kitchen, wrinkled her nose at the array of sloppy, smelly dishes of food sitting on every horizontal surface, and tried to get the crowd’s attention. When waving and pinging on a glass didn’t work, she put two fingers in her mouth and produced an ear-piercing whistle that silenced everyone.

  “Hello,” she said with her best pageant smile. “I’m Octavia, Linda’s sister, and we’d like to thank you for your support during this difficult time.” She reached out and snagged a toddler by his collar as he ran by. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask everyone to please collect their kidlets and their casseroles and leave.”

  They gawked at her, then at each other, then one by one, they began to move toward the door, gathering children and cake pans along the way. People talked behind their hands to each other, obviously put out with her eviction, but she didn’t give a good damn what these rubes thought.

  “Bye now…thank you…goodbye.”

  She stood at the door and ushered out the last guest, a chubby woman stuffed into a skirt, who seemed reluctant to leave. “I’m Linda’s good friend Nan Boyd.”

  “Good for you,” Octavia said. “Now, if you don’t mind, this family needs some privacy.”

  The woman put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “Apparently, I do. Goodbye.”

  Nan Boyd’s fat mouth twisted, but she turned and marched away. Octavia glanced to the curb where Richard was still in the car talking on his phone. She was shocked, though, to see his arms flailing and his face contorted. She’d never seen him behave that way when talking to a client.

  “I remember you.”

  She turned to see a boy standing nearby with a hound dog sitting next to him. The dog wore a UK visor.

  “I remember you, too, Jarrod.” She closed the door.

  “Where’d you learn to whistle like that?”

  “My dad taught me,” she said, then realized she’d said the exact wrong thing.

  His eyes clouded over and he turned to flee down the hallway, presumably in the direction of his bedroom.

  She closed her eyes briefly, then went in search of Linda, cringing over the disastrous state of the house. She sent a resentful barb to Sullivan that he would allow his wife to live like this. She wouldn’t be caught dead living in this dump, and her sister deserved better, too.

  Vaguely recalling the layout of the house, she walked to the end of the hallway past the kids’ rooms and knocked on the closed door of the master bedroom.

  “Come in,” Linda called in a weak voice.

  Octavia opened the door to find her sister sitting on an unmade bed. A pole had collapsed in the closet, whose door was off its hinges. Boxes of hardwood flooring were stacked against the wall.

  “Everyone’s gone,” she offered.

  “I heard,” Linda said wryly. “I’m going to have to publish a blanket apology in the neighborhood newsletter.”

  Octavia scoffed. “Screw those vultures.”

  “Easy for you to say. I have to live here.”

  Her sister’s resignati
on stoked her ire. “No, you chose to live here.” But as soon as the words were out, she wanted them back.

  Linda’s mouth tightened. “And you look down on me for that.”

  Octavia sighed. “That came out wrong.”

  Linda pushed to her feet shakily. “No, it didn’t. Why did you come, Octavia? To remind me I made all the wrong choices and look where it’s gotten me?” Her eyes glittered with new tears.

  “No,” Octavia said carefully. “I came because I thought I could help you.”

  “Really?” Linda practically shouted. “My husband is dead, Octavia, and I have two kids who haven’t shed a tear since I told them their dad isn’t coming home, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. How can you possibly help me?”

  Octavia ached over her sister’s palpable agony, while acknowledging her own inadequacy to offer comfort. She just wasn’t made that way. So she opened her purse and removed the check she’d written. “Here.”

  Chapter Four

  LINDA STARED at the check in her hand. “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “There’s more if you need it,” Octavia said, her voice smug.

  What she needed was to be able to tear the check into little pieces and toss them at her sister’s designer shoes. But she couldn’t…ten thousand dollars would catch her up on mortgage payments, utilities, insurance. Plus she’d yet to receive bills from the hospital and the funeral home. Still, her pride kicked in. “I can’t take this,” she said, extending the check.

  “Of course you can,” Octavia argued, folding her arms. “Don’t suddenly stop being the sensible one.”

  Octavia had a talent for wrapping censure around a compliment. Linda hesitated, loath to take money from her arrogant sister, but knowing what it would mean for her children in the short term. “I’ll pay you back,” she said finally.

  “Nonsense,” Octavia said with a wave. “Now…what can I do to help you get ready?” She removed another item from her purse and held it up. “I brought waterproof mascara.”

  Linda smiled. That was Octavia—every problem in the world could be solved with money and makeup. But she was happy to submit to her sister’s ministrations because she barely had the energy to dress herself, and she wanted to look nice for her husband’s funeral.