Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 6

  Maggie clapped her hands, and Jarrod looked somewhat relieved.

  “Me and Max are going to brush our teeth,” Maggie said, wriggling out of Linda’s lap. She dashed out the door toward the bathroom, and Max loped after her, ribbons bouncing.

  From the open door to the hallway, blessed silence sounded. She mentally thanked Oakley for getting rid of everyone, then pushed to her feet. “It’s been a long, difficult day,” she said to Jarrod. “Thank you for being so grown up and well-behaved.”

  He grunted and let her hug him, a rarity these days. He even hugged back for a few desperate seconds, then reeled away and went to pick up his basketball. Thump, thump, thump.

  So much like his father—she would have to let him process everything in his own timeframe. “Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll be back to say goodnight.”

  When she got to the door, he said, “Mom?”

  She turned back. “Yes, sweetie?”

  He chewed his lower lip. “What are we going to do for money?”

  Hearing her son’s anguish knocked the wind from her lungs.

  “I have almost thirty-two dollars in my bank,” he offered, “and I can get a job after school.”

  Her heart swelled with pride. Fighting tears, she reached over to squeeze his shoulders. “Thank you, sweetheart. I know I can count on you.” Then she ruffled his fair hair. “You concentrate on getting your math grade pulled up. Everything else will work out...you’ll see.”

  But the smile fell from her face when she closed his door behind her. Even Jarrod sensed their financial situation was dire.

  She peeked in on Maggie and Max and found both of them asleep on Maggie’s bed, the thrill of sleeping with Mommy already forgotten.

  She closed the bedroom door and looked in the direction of the garage, wondering if Octavia was still there. God forgive her—she hoped not. She wouldn’t be surprised if Richard had covertly swung by to pick up Octavia and they were already back in Louisville. In fact, by the time Linda reached the garage, she was convinced her sister was long gone, returned to her perfect little world.

  Linda opened the door and at the sight of Octavia reclining in the passenger seat of the minivan, her high heeled feet propped on the dashboard, her heart sank. She simply couldn’t handle anything else right now.

  She walked over to the window and rapped on it. Octavia started, then took her sweet time to buzz down the window, releasing a cloud of thin, white cigarette smoke. Classic rock crackled from the stereo speakers. The smell of beer permeated the interior of the van—and Octavia. She’d obviously found Sullivan’s mini-fridge in the corner.

  Linda coughed and waved her arms. “What are you doing, besides running down my battery?”

  “Smoking,” Octavia said with a loose smile, holding up a long cigarette with two limp fingers. She was drunk, and her words were runny. “I quit two years ago, but I always keep a pack with me, for emergencies. I figure this qualifies.”

  “Did you hear from Richard?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you call him?”

  Octavia took a long drag, then exhaled on a smile. “Eighty-three times. No answer, and his voice mailbox is full. Apparently, I filled it.”

  “Oh. Do you have any idea where Richard might be?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m sure everything will look better in the morning—when you’re sober. Why don’t you come inside?”

  “Is everybody gone?”

  “Yes. The children and I are getting ready to go to bed. You can sleep here tonight.”

  Octavia took another drag and exhaled. “Where? This place is so junked up, I don’t know how anyone can live here.”

  Linda flinched. She’d never been invited to Octavia’s home in Louisville, but she was sure it was magnificent. “We manage.”

  “Besides,” Octavia said with a flick of ashes, “you don’t want me here.”

  Linda was caught off guard, and hesitated too long.

  “Loud and clear,” Octavia said, snubbing out her cigarette on the top of a beer can. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

  “Wait—Octavia, of course I want you here...you’re family.”

  Her sister gave a dry laugh. “Family? That’s the lowest insult of all.”

  “Not for me,” Linda said in a choked voice. “I’ve lost too much family.”

  Octavia scoffed. “You’re lucky your husband died, Linda. It’s the lesser of two evils.”

  The cruel remark took Linda’s breath away, but she was too exhausted to react. “I’m going to bed now,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re welcome to stay, Octavia. Or not.”

  She’d reached the door leading into the house when she heard the door to the van open and Octavia emerge with a clatter of empty beer cans falling on the concrete floor.

  “Okay,” Octavia slurred, “but just for tonight...to make sure you’re okay.” She wobbled on her high heels for a few steps, then stumbled and fell to her hands and knees.

  Linda closed her eyes briefly, then walked back to help Octavia to her feet. Why couldn’t she hate her sister? “You’re bleeding,” Linda chided, wiping at Octavia’s knees.

  “Funny...I don’t feel anything.”

  Linda looked into her sister’s vacant blue eyes and realized for once in their lives, they were occupying the same space on the emotional scale. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

  Octavia allowed Linda to lead her to the master bathroom. Linda turned on the water and looked longingly at the shower, but pushed Octavia in the direction of the spray, then backtracked to Jarrod’s room. He was burrowed under the covers, but roused long enough to endure a goodnight kiss.

  “I know it feels like a tornado has torn through our lives,” she whispered. “But tomorrow we’ll start putting the pieces back together.”

  Jarrod just nodded and rolled over. He obviously wanted to close his eyes and put this horrible day behind him—she knew how he felt.

  She checked on Maggie. Neither the little cherub nor Max stirred as Linda removed Maggie’s shoes. Linda pressed a kiss to her fragrant curls, then retreated to the hallway and headed back to her bedroom. She toed off her low-heeled pumps and acknowledged a full-body ache she suspected might never leave. From the bathroom, the shower was still going.

  Linda knocked on the bathroom door, and when she didn’t get an answer, cracked it open. A trail of designer shoes and a balled up black dress led to Octavia sitting against the wall in her black underwear, snoring, oblivious to the running shower steaming up the room. Her stunning pieces of formal jewelry were incongruous next to her near nudity—a thick rope of gold fell past her collarbone, a chunky ruby and diamond tennis bracelet, and several rings on both hands. Her scraped knees were raw and red, her face was blurry, and she stank of cheap beer and cigarettes. Octavia had maintained her lean-limbed cheerleader body, but at the moment she looked decidedly less than pert.

  Linda stepped over her to turn off the shower. Octavia roused with a little snort. “Where am I?”

  “In my junked up house,” Linda said, leaning down to help her to her feet. “Come on, to bed with you.” She stopped in her bedroom long enough to force a T-shirt over Octavia’s head, then led her to the futon in the den, the unofficial “guest room.” Octavia slumped in a chair while Linda wrestled to unfold the narrow, lumpy mattress. She retrieved a pillow and a sheet from a closet, and before she could tuck in the edges, Octavia had climbed onto the horizontal surface and collapsed.

  Linda stared at her alien sister’s sleeping figure, both comforted by and resentful of her presence. Octavia had a way of cutting people both ways. Hopefully, the impromptu visit would be of short duration.

  She made her way back through the shambolic house that was deathly quiet and dark in the corners, reeking of potato salad and carnations.

  It had been the most bizarrely horrific day of her life...and she had somehow lived through it.

  That had to count for something.

&
nbsp; When she crossed the threshold of her and Sullivan’s bedroom, she stopped and stared at the big empty bed, still clad in the sheets he’d slept on mere days ago. Her throat closed as dread washed over her. But sleeping alone was only one of many aspects of her new reality, and the sooner she accepted it, the better. She switched off the overhead light, but quickly changed her mind and turned it back on.

  Then Linda crawled into bed fully dressed, and pulled the covers over her head.

  Chapter Seven

  OCTAVIA JERKED AWAKE and instantly tensed. Something was very wrong. Was that...a baying dog?

  She shifted, and a headache hit her like an ax to the frontal lobe. She gasped, then tried to blink the room into focus. She shifted her weight gingerly and pain knifed through her lower back. What on earth was this dilapidated piece of furniture she was lying on?

  Fuzzy daylight streaming through windows indicated it was morning. The events of the previous day came flooding back to her. Linda’s house...Sullivan’s funeral...Richard leaving her...their money gone. Good God—it hadn’t been a bad dream after all.

  Her eyes welled with angry tears and she rolled to bury her face back into the pillow.

  And stopped.

  A small pink stuffed bear sat looking at her with big button eyes and an embroidered smile.

  What the hell?

  The baying had stopped, but slowly she registered sounds coming from the kitchen and little people voices—namely, the unmistakable voice of that sassy little Maggie.

  Did the pint-sized princess ever shut up?

  Desperate for aspirin and caffeine, Octavia pushed herself upright, snatched the stuffed animal and made her way toward the kitchen, stubbing her toe twice in the process. Every room was lined wall to wall with furniture and building supplies—the place was a tetanus shot waiting to happen.

  She walked into the kitchen and blinked against the harsh overhead light. Damn, the injection sites in her face were sore. Jarrod and Maggie were sitting at the table, eating from mismatched plates. Their jowly dog stood with its paws on the window sill, staring out.

  “What’s his problem?” Octavia snapped.

  “A squirrel keeps stealing the birdseed,” Jarrod said.

  “Wow, crime is rampant around here,” Octavia said dryly. She found a drinking glass rather quickly since the cabinets didn’t have doors on them. The cold water faucet was more tricky—there was some kind of tool attached to it.

  “You have to turn the wrench,” Jarrod supplied.

  She pulled the tool toward her and filled her glass. “Where does your mother keep the aspirin?”

  “In the cabinet over the refrigerator.”

  She rummaged through bottles of cough syrup and chewable vitamins until she found the aspirin, shook out a few into her hand, then tossed them back. She emptied the water glass with a long gulp, then turned around to find the kids staring at her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You look funny,” Jarrod said.

  Maggie wrinkled her pug nose. “And you smell yucky.”

  “Too bad,” Octavia said, then held up the pink bear. “I guess this is yours?”

  Maggie nodded exuberantly. “I thought you might want a friend.”

  Dammit, she was a sly little chubby thing. Octavia narrowed her eyes. “I have plenty of friends, thanks. Where’s your mother?”

  “We’re letting her sleep in,” Jarrod said. “We got ourselves ready for school.”

  “Interesting outfit,” she said to Maggie, who looked like an acid trip.

  Maggie dimpled. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t guess you made coffee?” Octavia asked.

  They shook their heads no.

  “There’s the coffeemaker,” Jarrod said, pointing to a dated contraption sitting on the counter.

  Fine, except she didn’t feel like figuring out how to work it. Her stomach growled. She walked over to the table and eyed the greenish patties on their plates. “What are you eating?”

  “Veggie sausage,” Jarrod said with a frown. “Want some?”

  “You can have mine,” Maggie offered.

  “No, thanks. Don’t you have any cereal or something?”

  “We’re only allowed to eat it on special ’casions.”

  Octavia angled her head. “I declare today a special occasion.”

  “There’s Captain Crunch on the top shelf behind the oatmeal,” Jarrod said, setting his plate on the floor for the dog. “I’ll get the bowls!”

  She reached high and moved four—no, five—enormous canisters of oatmeal. “What’s with all the oatmeal?”

  “Mom won a bunch of it in a contest,” Jarrod said. “She’s always winning something.”

  “But nothing that tastes good,” Maggie groused. “I’ll get the milk.” She set her plate on the floor next to Jarrod’s where the dog was already digging in.

  Jarrod set large mixing bowls on the table. Octavia filled them with cereal, and Maggie went behind her, pouring too much milk. The three of them sat down and dug in with giant spoons. Javier, her personal trainer, would have a heart attack if he saw the sugary meal, but right now, she needed an indulgence.

  A heavy, warm weight fell on her feet. Octavia jumped, then looked under the table to see the wrinkly reddish brown dog laying across her feet.

  “It means he likes you,” Jarrod said with a laugh.

  “I’m not a pet person,” Octavia said.

  “Max is more than a pet—he’s a retired police bloodhound. He has medals and stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, right now he’s just another male stepping on my toes,” she muttered.

  “This is better than veggie sausage,” Maggie said with milk running down her chin. “You can make breakfast every morning, Aunt Tavey.”

  “Oh, no.” Octavia wagged her spoon. “I’m not staying. I have my own home.”

  “Where?”

  “Louisville.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “About an hour’s drive in that direction.” She waved vaguely in the air.

  “Louisville Cardinals,” Jarrod added with a boo and a hiss.

  Octavia nodded to his shirt. “You’re a UK fan, I see.”

  He puffed up. “Yeah. I’m gonna play basketball for them someday.”

  “I was a UK cheerleader.”

  His eyes widened. “No kidding? Cool.”

  “Where are your pom poms?” Maggie asked suspiciously.

  “At my home,” Octavia returned.

  “Can I have them?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask for things,” Jarrod chided.

  “It’s okay,” Octavia said. “If you don’t ask, you never know. But no, you can’t have my pom poms. They’re mine.”

  Maggie seemed unfazed. “Did you lose your husband?”

  Touché. “No. He just...went on vacation.”

  “Without you?” Jarrod asked.

  She frowned. “Don’t you two have to finish getting ready for school?”

  “Can you fix our lunches?” Maggie asked.

  Octavia wiped the milk from her mouth with her hand. “That depends—what do you want?”

  “Marshmallows!”

  “I can do that.” She looked at Jarrod. “How about you?”

  He grinned. “Oreos.”

  “Coming right up.” She dislodged Max and pushed to her feet, retrieved two paper bags from the stack on the counter, then stuffed them full with the treats she found on the top shelf. This parenting thing wasn’t so hard.

  Jarrod looked out the window. “Here comes Mrs. Boyd, Maggie. Get your backpack.”

  The kids scrambled, then ran for the front door, grabbing their lunch bags on the way. Octavia followed them to the door, then walked out on the stoop, conceding she probably should know who her niece and nephew left with. A heavy, stiff-looking woman she recognized as one of the people she’d herded out of Linda’s house gaped up at her, then marched closer.

  “Don’t you think you’re dressed rather inappr
opriately to be outside?”

  Octavia looked down at the unfamiliar T-shirt sporting a smiley face and realized her La Perla underwear was on display. “Nice to see you, too, um—?”

  “Nan Boyd. I escort the neighborhood kids to the bus stop. But I must say, I think it’s too soon for Jarrod and Maggie to go back to school after what they’ve been through.”

  “Well,” Octavia said sweetly, “thank goodness it’s none of your ding dang business.” She waved to the kidlets, then went back into the house and slammed the door.

  Now officially in a sour mood, she picked up the cordless phone and dialed Richard’s cell phone, thinking if he didn’t recognize the number, he might answer.

  He didn’t.

  So she called their house.

  “Habersham residence,” their maid Carla said.

  Octavia frowned—she wasn’t as certain as Richard that Carla hadn’t stolen her watch. “Carla, it’s Mrs. Habersham. Is my husband there, by chance?”

  “Mr. Habersham? I thought he was with you in Lexington, ma’am.”

  “He...um, was. But a business matter came up and he had to leave. I thought I might catch him at home.”

  “No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him. And the master bed wasn’t slept in last night.”

  Octavia’s stomach tightened. “Oh...well, he must have pulled an all-nighter at the office, or been called out of town. When you see him, will you please ask him to call me on my cell phone?”

  “Of course, ma’am. Um...ma’am, when I got here this morning, there was a letter taped to the front door.”

  Octavia’s pulse picked up—had Richard left a note? “What kind of letter?”

  “The envelope says it’s from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office.”

  She exhaled. “It’s probably about one of Mr. Habersham’s cases. Just leave it on his desk.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Oh, and one more thing. The check you gave me this week...the bank wouldn’t cash it.”

  Octavia swallowed a curse and forced false cheer into her voice. “Mr. Habersham moved some of our bank accounts and forgot to tell me. He or I will pay you as soon as we see you.”