Dan Crowley reached the top of the stairs and paused. He sniffed the air like a hound, the hustle and bustle of Ellerslie’s main drag fading into the background as he inhaled an expensive scent. He didn’t know what it was but he was certain he couldn’t afford it.
He followed the trail and opened the door to his office. The plaque on the door said Chase Investigations.
He stepped in and saw three people. At his 3 o’clock behind her desk was his beautiful wife, Molly. She gave him a girlish smile, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. He glanced from her to his twelve o’clock, where a couple of small but comfortable sofas were arranged in an L-shape around a coffee table.
Two people sat there, on a sofa each. One he recognised. Mike Manning, his partner in the private investigation firm. Junior partner, Dan liked to remind him. He had a clipboard on his knee and was taking notes. He managed to look attentive and goofy at the same time. That’s right, goofy. Like a sixteen year old boy with a hot nineteen year old girl.
Mind you, Dan could see why.
The woman sitting at right angles to him was not nineteen, but she had sex appeal in spades. The controlled, confident sex appeal of a mature woman who knew herself and knew what she wanted. Her wavy black hair was thick and long and immaculate. Her makeup was flawless and her skirt suit was navy. French manicured nails rested lightly on a crossed knee, the leg seeming to go on forever.
They both looked up at him. The lady looked at him with curiosity but didn’t smile.
Dan glanced back at Molly. Molly’s smile got wider.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I’m Dan.’
He crossed the floor and shook hands with the lady, who stayed seated. Her hand was soft and firm. The expensive scent was stronger close up. He guessed Mike was drowning in it. Maybe that’s why he looked like a tom who’d been chewing catnip. He was about ready to roll over and show his belly.
‘Stacey Burns,’ she said, a hint of a smile showing now. ‘Nice to meet you.’
He glanced down at the coffee table, noting that the two coffee mugs were empty and the plate of biscuits had been untouched. He helped himself to one of Molly’s Anzac biscuits. He nodded to Mike, who had remained silent.
‘Carry on as you were,’ he said, gesturing vaguely towards his own desk. ‘I’ll be over here detecting stuff if you need me.’
He ambled to his desk and plonked down, giving his wife a sly grin as he did so.
Mike and Stacey Burns picked up their conversation again while Dan logged on to his desktop, Mike getting some contact details from the lady and taking the time to check whether she was okay for a ride home.
Dan grinned to himself, and an email popped up as soon as his PC came to life. It was Molly, who was clearly having the time of her life.
You missed the best bits!
Dan grinned and replied. I feel like I interrupted something special.
She replied within seconds. I thought it was too obvious to offer him a cold flannel. He needs something to put out the flames though! :).
Dan was typing a response when Stacey Burns stood and Mike escorted her to the door. She paused and dug in her purse. Dan couldn’t see what she was doing but heard the rustle of banknotes. It was a sound that soothed his tired ears.
The lady left and Mike closed the door behind her. He turned and handed a wad of cash to Molly.
‘Fifteen hundy,’ he said. He slapped the clipboard against his thigh and headed for his desk near the window.
The Crowleys looked at each other and then at him. He sat down and started to read through his notes, finally feeling the weight of eyes on him. He glanced up and looked from one to the other.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Well?’ Dan asked.
‘Well what?’
Dan looked at his wife. ‘Is he serious? We’ve just witnessed one of the greatest private eye cliché’s in history and he’s giving me incredulous?’
‘The beautiful but troubled wife with legs that go all the way up, with a problem only the big tough private eye can fix for her,’ Molly agreed with a grin, clasping a hand to her heart and fluttering her eyelashes. ‘She swooned…he was rugged and strong.’
Dan laughed and Mike blushed despite his best efforts.
‘Okay, save the theatrics-she’s a paying client.’
‘We like them,’ Dan approved. ‘What’s she paying for?’
‘Blackmail, son.’ Mike sat up and drummed his fingers on the desktop. ‘Dirty old blackmail.’
Dan let out a low whistle and Molly gave a questioning look.
‘Isn’t that kind of a job for the cops?’ she asked.
‘Not if she doesn’t want to take it to them,’ Mike replied confidently, ‘and not when she’s paying one-fifty an hour plus expenses.’ He pointed towards the sheaf of hundreds on Molly’s desk. ‘Ten hours down payment right there.’
Dan leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head and his feet on his desk.
‘Spill,’ he said.
‘She’s Stacey Burns, forty three years old, lives in Devonport. Self-employed interior designer. Independently wealthy, she says-seems to be, given her address and what she drives.’
‘What’s she drive?’
‘This year’s Jag.’
Dan nodded approvingly. ‘Gunmetal grey?’
Mike frowned.
‘British racing green?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Then stop flapping your gums and open your ears.’
Dan glanced over to his wife. ‘Teen angst,’ he said. ‘They get moody.’
Mike frowned harder, verging on a scowl.
‘I heard from Sharon, who said Deena told her, that Becky said Stacey had broken up with Tim,’ Molly said. ‘And Tim’s all like “Na” and Stacey’s like “Yuh-huh” and Sharon reckons this is it. Like, for good.’ She swished her finger in front of her for emphasis. ‘Oooohh-vah!’
Dan chuckled a good belly chuckle. Mike tipped over from a hard frown to a scowl. He waited until they had regained some control over their mirth before continuing.
‘If you chuckleheads are finished…she’s due to marry Liam Hepworth in a month’s time.’
Molly stopped laughing now and let out a low whistle of her own.
‘Wow, the Liam Hepworth?’
‘There’s more than one?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Then I guess it’s the Liam Hepworth.’
Dan looked confused. ‘Who in the Sam Hill is Liam Hepworth when he’s at home?’
‘When he’s at home he’s probably just Liam,’ Molly replied. ‘But in public he’s the Liam Hepworth, the biggest name in fashion design in the country.’
‘Like clothes and stuff? Women’s gear?’
‘Yes dear,’ she smiled, ‘clothes and stuff.’
‘Never heard of him,’ he sniffed dismissively.
‘I know,’ she said pointedly.
Mike checked that they’d finished, again, before continuing, again.
‘They’ve been together just over a year. He’s sixty eight.’
Dan cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
‘Been married twice before-he has. She’s had one before. Both divorced. He’s got adult kids, she hasn’t got any.’
‘So what’s the blackmail?’ Molly asked.
Mike finally cracked a smile. ‘She has a dark little secret from her past. Twenty five years ago she had a short time living in Sydney, with what was supposed to be a modelling job.’
Dan let out a groan. Molly rolled her eyes.
‘She’s a hooker,’ Dan said.
‘No no no, not at all,’ Mike said quickly. ‘She was a dancer.’
‘A stripper,’ Molly corrected him.
‘A dancer,’ he said, with more than a touch of defensiveness. ‘And only for a few months.’
‘You say tomato…’ Dan grinned easily. ‘So it was the type of dance club that only dudes really go to and the dancers don’t wear too much and the drinks are really expensive?’ He caught Molly’s questioning look and shrugged. ‘I’m a man of the world.’
‘Whatever,’ Mike said, ‘but yeah, that sort of a dance club.’
‘So what’s the dastardly blackmail?’
‘She’s received a text from an unknown number demanding that she pay up or her secret will be exposed.’ Mike checked his notes. ‘It came in last night to her cell, she doesn’t recognise the number and there was no name with it. Just pretty short and to the point.’
Dan looked at him. ‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Whaddaya want, a note signed in blood?’
Dan ignored the sarcasm. ‘How much?’
‘Twenty k.’
Dan’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Wowsers.’
‘She probably has that in her purse,’ Molly said. ‘Those shoes alone were about a grand. Her whole outfit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.’
She looked pointedly at her husband, who diplomatically pretended not to notice.
‘So she wants us to find out who’s blackmailing her,’ Dan said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. ‘And then what? Pay them off? Scare them off? What does she want?’
Mike looked undecided. ‘She doesn’t want to pay them. She wants them to go away.’
Dan snorted. ‘Blackmailers don’t go away; they just get greedier. Has she thought about just telling her husband she used to be a stripper?’
‘Dancer. And no, I don’t think so.’
‘If she told him then who cares? The blackmailer’s lost their hold over her.’
Mike shrugged. ‘Dunno. Maybe I need to sit down with her again.’ He tried but couldn’t hide the glint in his eye. ‘She said she’s off to the gym, so I’ll intercept her there. I’ve got an affidavit of service I can file at the North Shore court while I’m over there.’
‘Gosh, how convenient,’ Molly said with an impish smile.
Mike’s cheeks took on a pink tinge. ‘What’s with the comments, you two? Jeez…’
‘What was the name of the…ahh…dance club?’ Molly asked, keen to start an investigation file.
‘Dirty Deeds,’ Mike said.
‘Seriously?’ Dan’s eyebrows leaped up and punched his fringe. ‘As in AC/DC?’
Mike nodded. ‘I guess.’
‘Strewth, how Australian is that,’ Dan said in a nasal drawl. ‘Chuck another prawn on the barbie and sink a cold one, mate…’ They were both looking at him now and he held his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop.’
Mike rolled his eyes.
‘That’s not a knife,’ Dan drawled, pretending to pull a knife from behind his back, a la Crocodile Dundee, ‘this is a knife.’
This time Mike snorted. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he said. He stood and scooped up his phone, folder and keys. He slid Alkies up onto his head.
‘Away, Sir Galahad.’ Dan was pokerfaced. ‘Save that dusky maiden.’
Mike shot him a look and headed for the door. ‘I’ll be available on cell if you need me,’ he said to Molly as he exited.
‘Be safe out there,’ she replied then chuckled. ‘Watch out for highway robbers.’
Mike scowled and let the door bang behind him.
The Crowleys looked at each other and grinned.
‘Blackmail,’ Molly said, ‘and a dusky maiden.’
‘Mike likes them,’ Dan said,’ the maidens, I mean. Not so much the blackmail.’
‘Dirty Deeds,’ Molly said, giving a derisive snort.
‘Done dirt cheap,’ Dan agreed.