Chapter 5
AS THE phone rang in Linda’s ear, Max whined from beneath Sullivan’s desk.
“Hold on, buddy, I’ll take you out as soon as I finish this call.”
“Merriman Insurance, how can I direct your call?”
“Hello,” Linda said, “may I speak with the person who assigns your surveillance work?”
“That’s Chad Lee. Please hold.”
In the subsequent silence, Linda scanned the bleak contents of Sullivan’s office—scarred desk and wobbly chair, dented file cabinet, limp curtains, dead ficus tree. Her heart squeezed. He must’ve hated coming to work every day.
After a couple of rings, a man’s voice came on the line. “Chad Lee.”
She smiled into the phone. “Hello, Mr. Lee. I’m Linda Guy, calling on behalf of Two Guys Detective Agency, formerly Sullivan Smith’s agency, now under new management.”
“Yes, I heard about Sullivan, so tragic.”
Linda inhaled. “Yes, thank you. I understand you were a client of Mr. Smith’s and I wanted to offer our investigative services.”
“We typically use in-house investigators. And when we hire outside investigators, we prefer to work with agencies we’ve used before. Sorry, babe.”
She bit down on her tongue. “I understand. Please keep us in mind. You can reach us at the same number.” She rattled it off just to make sure he had it.
“Okay, sure,” the guy said in a voice that made her think he’d already forgotten their conversation.
“Thank you for your time,” she said. “Have a good day.” She ended the call with a stab of her finger. “Babe.”
She drew a line through the company’s name. Forty-three customers, none of whom seemed keen on continuing the relationship they’d begun with Sullivan, which seemed unusual.
Her curiosity piqued, she used the dated desktop computer to check the two biggest opinion sites for reviews of Sullivan’s agency. When she saw the average rating, she grimaced—as an aggregate, they were below average. When she drilled down into the individual reviews, she noticed the feedback he’d received in the beginning had been glowing, but recent reviews were not only unfavorable, but they questioned his professional ethics. Her stomach clenched as she read the criticisms that would dissuade others from engaging his services.
“Would not recommend…”
“…very disappointing…”
“…doubt investigator’s integrity…”
Had Sullivan seen them? It seemed likely.
Max whined and lumbered to his feet.
She smiled at the patient bloodhound. “Okay, let’s go, boy.” She stood and reached for his leash. Max had moved toward the door, stopping at the dead tree for a sniff. The hound whimpered, backed up and sat down abruptly.
“Ugh, it’s starting to smell bad, isn’t it?” She attached the leash to his collar, then found a plastic bag to cover the cheap pot and tied the handles around the base of the tree to keep the dirt from spilling. With the handle of the leash in one hand and the expired plant in the other hand, she exited to the small lobby of the space they leased.
Klo Calvert, Sullivan’s street smart secretary, was knitting something blue while monitoring a computer screen with information slowly scrolling past. The woman’s taste in hair and clothing were a tad young, but Linda appreciated her flair and good-natured personality. The kids adored her and Klo was kind to offer to watch them while Linda and Octavia were in their Saturday classes. Klo looked up. “Any luck?”
“Not really. I’m almost to the end of the client list, but no one seems open to doing business with us.”
“It’ll pick up,” Klo said with a reassuring smile. She nodded toward the computer on her desk. “The contracts we have for employee background checks will keep the lights on.”
“Good. Do you think Sullivan’s clients have already found another investigator?”
“Maybe. Most companies draw from a stable of investigators they trust.”
“About that… did you know the agency has some poor online reviews?”
Klo winced, then nodded. “Sullivan took them hard. He drove himself crazy trying to figure out who’d left them.”
“He didn’t know?”
“No. All our clients seemed satisfied with his work. I guess it’s possible they later changed their minds, but I always suspected a competitor had posted them.”
Linda frowned. “That happens?”
“Sure. What better way to throw shade on someone you think is horning in on your customers?”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Klo wet her lips. “I shouldn’t say.”
“I’m asking.”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Dunk Duncan. There was no love lost between him and Sullivan.”
Which made her extra glad they hadn’t sold Sullivan’s library of reference books to Dunk. “Sullivan never told me.”
“I think he didn’t want to worry you,” Klo offered gently. “He was so desperate to make the agency a success.”
Linda hoped so, but she had mixed feelings about Sullivan’s objectives. “Did the Foxtrot file turn up?”
Klo shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll go through everything with a fine-tooth comb again on Saturday.”
“Sounds good. Oh, and I need Sullivan’s phone.”
Klo looked confused. “I don’t have it. I assumed you did.”
“No.” Linda put her hand to her forehead. “I’ll bet the funeral home still has it. The hospital sent his personal effects there. It’s my fault for not tying up loose ends after the service.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind. Want me to call?”
“Thanks, but I need to stop by there some time to get… paperwork.” And to pay a tiny amount on the funeral bill.
Klo nodded to the dried-up plant. “You’re getting rid of Sullivan’s tree?”
“It’s beyond saving, and it’s starting to smell.” She looked down at Max who’d sat down again. “Okay, boy, I’m sorry. Let’s go.”
Max stood and happily loped toward the door. Linda led him outside onto the sidewalk and drew warm air into her lungs. It was a beautiful summer day, and she was suddenly struck with abject sorrow that Sullivan would never get to enjoy a day like this again. His sudden absence was still so stunning, she could scarcely grasp it. As she stood there, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. With a start she realized it was the same feeling as when her father had announced to her and her sister that their mother had decided to leave and start her life over, away from them. She’d been thirteen and she’d spent weeks in denial. The day she’d come to grips with the fact that her mother was gone for good had been a gorgeous day like this one, a day when nothing should’ve been wrong with the world, but nothing would ever be quite right again.
“Hi, there.”
Linda turned her head to see Stone Calvert walking toward her, offering a smile. He was a mountain of a man with a shaved head, tall and solidly built, dressed in workout pants and a T-shirt stamped with the name of the gym where he worked. Klo’s nephew had occasionally worked for Sullivan. In fact, Stone had found him the morning he’d collapsed in his office.
She smiled. “Hi, Stone. Max needed a walk. We’re heading to the dumpster.”
“Me, too,” he said, hoisting a bulging garbage bag. “Want me to take that?”
She glanced down at the tree. “Thanks, but it weighs next to nothing.” They fell in step and Max ran ahead on his lead to find a patch of grass. “How’s the gym business?” she asked as they rounded the corner and headed toward the rear of the strip mall.
“Never busy enough. How about the agency?”
“Same. Klo keeps saying things will pick up.”
“They will. Give it time.”
She swallowed the words that they didn’t have much time—Stone didn’t need to hear her problems. “I’m trying to be optimistic about… everything.”
“For what it’s worth, Linda, I think you’re doing amazingly well.”
Linda looked into his kind gray eyes and registered that Stone was a handsome man and she shouldn’t be having these flutterings in her stomach, not when Sullivan was barely in his grave. But why hadn’t she taken the time to put on a little mascara?
“I’ll come over in a couple of days to mow your lawn,” he said, “and trim your bushes.”
Panic set in. The last thing she needed was an attraction to spring up between them… and for Nan Boyd to confront him about the pine straw. “Actually, Stone, I was thinking I’d let Jarrod try mowing the grass. He’s been asking to help out more.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he nodded. “Of course. I was about his age when I started mowing grass for extra money. But let me know if you want me to supervise, or if it turns out to be too much for him.”
“I will,” she promised.
His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “I’m sorry—I have to take this. See you soon?”
She nodded, then watched as he tossed the bag of trash into the dumpster as if it were full of cotton. He flashed a smile, then turned and retraced his steps, speaking into his phone.
Linda watched his retreating figure. His every movement displaced yards of muscle. When her cheeks grew warm she purposely looked away. She had no time for… that.
Linda walked to the dumpster and lifted the dead tree up and over the side. The metal container was empty except for Stone’s trash bag. The shriveled tree looked sad and unwanted, and completely devoid of life. Mere weeks ago, Sullivan and the plant had both been alive. Now…
She choked back a sob and turned away, calling for Max.