Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

“I DON’T understand why we have to take this dumb class,” Octavia groused from the passenger seat of the minivan. “It’s bullsh—” She stopped and glanced in the backseat to Linda’s two kids, Jarrod and Maggie, whose ears were always piqued for naughty language. “Bull manure,” Octavia corrected. “We solved three of Sullivan’s leftover cases without any P.I. education.”

Linda gave her sister points for the verbal filter and squashed the pang of sorrow that barbed through her chest every time her late husband’s name was mentioned. “Those surveillance cases were simple. If we’re going to run a legitimate agency, we need to know what we’re doing. I remember Sullivan thought the exam was tough, and didn’t Dunk say the same thing?”

Octavia gave a dismissive wave. “Dunk’s upset I turned down his offer to work for his agency. He wants to scare me off from getting my license.”

“Dunk gave me his autograph at the party,” Jarrod said, his voice awestruck for the former University of Kentucky basketball star.

Octavia harrumphed. “He’s a bigshot now but I remember when he cried on my shoulder after missing a free throw against Duke.”

“Did he get your pom poms wet, Aunt Tavey?” Maggie asked.

“Something like that,” Octavia said wryly.

Linda bit back a smile. Her little girl had scarcely let Octavia’s pom poms out of sight since her sister had given them to the budding beauty queen.

From the seat between the kids, Max the bloodhound gave a woof.

“He smells the food,” Jarrod said, jerking his thumb toward the cardboard boxes crammed into the third row. “Can I get a bag of chips?”

“I want a candy bar!” Maggie shouted.

Octavia raised her hand. “Almonds for me.”

“You two may each choose one thing,” Linda said into the rearview mirror. “Those are supplies for the vending machines your aunt and I have to fill.” She frowned at her sister. “All of you are eating into our profits.”

“What profits?” Octavia muttered.

“If you’d get a car we could expand into home delivery of snacks—Jim at Mellon told me there’s a lot of markup in that segment.”

“Because delivering Fritos and Mountain Dew door to door is my dream job.”

“Here we are,” Linda sang, wheeling into the parking lot in front of the obnoxiously large Two Guys Detective Agency sign that contradicted the state of their fledgling business. “Be good for Klo. We’ll be back to pick you up when our class is over.”

Maggie stuck her head around the seat for a kiss. A glittery tiara sat askew on her dark curls. “Have fun in detective school, Mommy.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Take care of Max.”

“What am I supposed to do all day?” Jarrod demanded, his expression sullen. He nodded to the agency’s small windowfront in the somewhat shabby strip mall that included a dry cleaner, gym, pawn shop, Waffle House, and more than one boarded up retail space. Even on a Saturday, foot traffic was decidedly slow. “This place is dead.”

Linda rummaged in her bag, then pulled out a sheet of paper. “The TV station is running a contest for solving this riddle. I haven’t been able to crack it. Want to give it a try?”

His mouth tightened but interest flared in his eyes. The gangly nine-year-old looked like his father, but he had her penchant for puzzles. “What’s the prize?”

“A drone.”

That got his attention. “Yeah, maybe.” He took the paper and stuffed it into his backpack, then bounced out of the van and slammed the door before she could kiss him.

“Bye,” Linda said to the air.

“Give him time,” Octavia said. “He’s still hurting.”

“Aren’t we all?” Linda murmured, watching until the kids and Max were inside. Klo Calvert, Sullivan’s former secretary and now theirs, waved through the window.

“Maggie seems to be adjusting okay,” Octavia offered.

“She’s like you—she buries her emotions until something small triggers an all-out meltdown.”

“I’m not… she’s not…” Octavia’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “We’d better get going if you expect to snag a front seat in class.”

Linda put the minivan in reverse. “Are you calling me a Goody Two-Shoes?”

“I was thinking tightass, but whatever.”

“If you have a better idea how to prepare for the state licensing exam, I’d like to hear it.”

Octavia sighed. “Sitting in class makes me think of college, and college makes me think of Richard.”

Linda pressed her lips together as she eased into traffic and headed toward New Circle Road. Octavia’s attorney husband hadn’t died suddenly like Sullivan, but his impromptu disappearance, discovery, and arrest for conspiracy to commit murder had been death to life as her sister had known it. “Have you heard from him?”

“He’s called twice but I refused to accept the call.”

“Good for you.”

“But if I had talked to him, I would’ve told him to hang up and call his ugly girlfriend.”

“Appropriate.”

“Although I’ve heard Patsy’s idiot husband took her back. Allegedly he pulled some strings to get the aiding and abetting charges against her dropped.”

“In return for her testifying against Richard?”

“That’s the popular theory circulating the club, according to my so-called friends in Louisville.”

Linda made a rueful noise. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Sis.”

Octavia inhaled deeply, then exhaled cheerfully. “We’ve both had a run of bad luck, but that’s all about to change now that we have our own business.”

Linda managed a stiff smile. She wished she had the same level of optimism for resurrecting the private investigation agency Sullivan had started, but if he, a former policeman, had struggled, she wasn’t sure how two women with no training were going to make a go of it. “We don’t have a business… yet.”

“Which is why instead of sitting in a dull classroom, we should be signing up clients!”

Linda drew on patience honed from motherhood. “Except we can’t take on new cases until we get our licenses. And we can’t get our licenses until we pass the state exam. And Oakley said this class is the best way—”

Octavia cut in with a harsh laugh. “Oakley Hall is trying to stall you. Like Dunk, he’s hoping you’ll lose interest in the agency.”

“Oakley’s been supportive,” Linda said of her husband’s former partner in the Lexington Police Department. “Mostly.”

“Only to keep his big foot in your door,” Octavia said in a sing-song voice.

“Don’t start,” Linda warned. “There was never anything romantic between me and Oakley. The thing we had in common was Sullivan.”

“Or maybe the thing Oakley and Sullivan had in common was you.”

Linda frowned. “Will you put the address of the community college in your phone? I know it’s off this exit, but I can’t remember which way to turn.”

“Sure. Way to change the subject.”

“Pest.”

“Fishwife. Turn left.”

Linda turned the big steering wheel and blew her overlong bangs out of her eyes. Traffic was congested on a muggy Saturday in Lexington with everyone presumably headed for outdoor fun the well-situated city in north-central Kentucky provided. Once their lives stabilized, she promised herself, she’d take the kids to all the parks and lakes she and Sullivan had talked about visiting but never seemed to get around to.

If their lives stabilized. She privately conceded Octavia’s jab that Oakley had suggested the P.I. class to scare her off the idea of continuing Sullivan’s agency. But he’d only been voicing the doubts in her own mind.

“Can we get some A/C?” Octavia asked, fanning her neck.

“I don’t want to waste gas. Roll down your window.”

“How much gas could it take to run the A/C?”

“Okay, but next time you fill up the tank.” She flipped the A/C to low.

Octavia turned it to high. “The agency should be paying for our gas.”

Linda flipped it back to low. “The agency could barely afford to pay for this class. For a while we’re going to have to pitch in to cover expenses.”

“I sank everything I had into the agency sign!”

“It’s impressive alright,” Linda agreed dryly.

Octavia huffed. “An expensive sign makes a statement. People should know right away that we’ll only take on the highest caliber clients.”

Linda gave a little laugh. “You might have to temper your expectations.”

“Never. Turn here.”

“I see the parking lot.” She slowed the van, turned in and scouted for an empty spot. “I wonder if this class will be crowded.”

Octavia scoffed. “How many people in Lexington could want to be a private investigator?”

“Didn’t you read the class description? It’s also for people who want to be bounty hunters.”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “After this we could also be bounty hunters?”

“Easy, Stephanie Plum… let’s focus on becoming licensed P.I.’s before we go bananas.” She parked the minivan, then glanced at the time and grabbed her tote bag from the back seat. “Come on, we’re late.”

“Wait.” Octavia ran around to the rear hatch and popped it open. “I got us outfits.”

Linda blinked. “Outfits?”

From a big shopping bag, Octavia withdrew two black trench coats. “Aren’t they great? And fedoras, too.” She plopped a jaunty grey hat on her head. “We’ll look like real P.I.’s!”

Linda gaped. “I’m not wearing that getup.”

Octavia frowned and shrugged into one of the long coats. “Suit yourself. But no one’s going to take you seriously in your Mommy uniform of capris and T-shirt.”

“It’s interesting you don’t have money for gas, but you have money for designer P.I. costumes.”

“I can’t put gas on my Macy’s card.” In defiance, her sister pulled the belt of the ridiculous coat tight around her waist, then shoved dark sunglasses on her face and strode away. “We’ll see who makes an impression in class,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“No contest there,” Linda murmured to herself, then jogged to catch up.

Inside the building they took the elevator, then hurried down a hallway looking for the correct room. Bulletin boards covered with colorful flyers and announcements lined the walls. Several college-aged students walked by, talking and laughing. They looked frightfully young.

Anxiety churned in Linda’s stomach. The last time she’d been in a classroom, she’d been pregnant, scared, and still debating her options. Ultimately she’d told Sullivan and they’d decided to get married. She’d wanted to stay in school to get another semester under her expanding belt, but Sullivan had convinced her dropping out would help them save money. In hindsight, it was a foreshadowing of the financial struggle that would define their marriage. Even after Oakley had secured Sullivan a position on the police force, they’d constantly played catchup on mortgage payments, credit cards, and medical bills that had come later with Maggie’s complicated birth and infancy.

Add to the heap Sullivan’s hospital and burial bills that were still rolling in and…

Linda choked back a sob.

“You okay?” Octavia asked, sounding concerned. “It’s no big deal if we’re late, Sis.”

“It’s not that,” Linda said, then swallowed hard. “Never mind—there’s the room.”

Linda reached for the handle and opened the door. They walked into the surprisingly full classroom of about thirty and heads turned. Titters sounded in reaction to Octavia’s spy outfit, but her sister either didn’t notice or ignored them. The instructor, a nondescript man with a friendly face stopped.

“Are you looking for the private investigator class?”

“Yes,” Linda said.

“We’re from the Two Guys Detective Agency,” Octavia offered in a sultry voice. “We’re new in town.”

More titters sounded, but the instructor simply pointed. “There are two empty seats up front.”

Linda sidled between two rows of desks, feeling self-conscious in her Mom garb as her sandals slapped her heels. Most of the people in the room wore business casual clothing or smart street clothes. At a glance the makeup of the room was mostly male, and mostly law enforcement and former military if she had to guess, probably there for the bounty hunter part of the curriculum. She felt eyes bore into her, sizing her up and dismissing her. In hindsight she would’ve been better off to wear the trench coat Octavia had offered.

Oh, well. Too late now.

Too late for a lot of things, her mind whispered.

She settled into one of the two empty desks and removed the notebook she’d scavenged from a cabinet of school supplies. She looked down and winced—Barbie… of course.

She glanced up to see the man sitting next to her had noticed it. He averted his gaze and gave a slight shake of his head. Linda’s cheeks burned as she opened the notebook. On the other side of her, Octavia sat casually slouched in her desk, still wearing the dark glasses, as if she were on a studio set.

The instructor—the name written on the white board behind him read “Chuck Mayhew”— had resumed speaking, but Linda couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact the Guy sisters had already cemented a reputation for themselves among their potential peers.

And not in a good way.