Detective Poltrone smiled. “This could take quite some time,” she said.
“Dead bodies usually do,” I muttered.
“Dead bodies?” Poltrone blurted. “What dead bodies?”
I stared at her. Surely the two men in the car had died, hadn’t they?
“Nothing. I thought you were talking about a burned-out car. I just figured…”
Poltrone was waiting for me to stick my foot all the way down my throat, and I had been about to oblige her.
“Nothing. Now about this shooting. You see, it was a simple repossession gone wrong…”
I started talking and Detective Poltrone began writing in her slow, laborious scrawl. I knew without a doubt we’d be stuck like this for another hour, and then what did I have to look forward to? Jake Carpenter would be asleep, most certainly given my bed in the guest room, and I’d be the one sleeping on Uncle Benny’s old couch in the basement.
In reality, it was worse. Not only did I return home at dawn to catch a few hours of shut-eye in the dank basement, but I was also the one who got elected to carry trays up to the wounded warrior all day and wait on him hand and foot while my aunt glowered at me for being “unappreciative.”
“There’s plenty of room, Stella,” Jake whispered, patting the vacant side of the bed. “You don’t have to sleep in that cold, drafty basement. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He patted his bandaged side gently and smiled up at me. “After all, you heard what the doc said, no strenuous physical activity.”
“Oh, yeah, like you would listen to someone else’s instructions,” I said. “I know you, Jake Carpenter. I wouldn’t be in this bed two seconds before you made a move.”
Jake smiled and gave me that look that made my stomach dive into a free fall. “Well,” he said, “it wouldn’t be strenuous physical activity if you were the one on top.”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer. I spun on my heel and tromped back down the stairs to the kitchen, planning my revenge on Jake Carpenter and then revising it to include more forms of slow torture.
My cousin, Nina, was waiting for me. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a deep frown furrowing lines across her forehead as she stared at a blank piece of white paper. When I slammed Jake’s tray down onto the countertop she jumped, her pen skidded and a long, jagged black line snaked its way across the clean, unblemished surface of the paper.
“See?” she cried. “That’s just what I was trying to tell you! If you don’t have a goal, your life lacks direction. You become just like the line on this paper.”
I looked around, thinking maybe she was talking to Spike and I hadn’t seen her.
“You talking to me?” I asked.
Nina looked around the empty kitchen. “You see anybody else standing here? Of course I’m talking to you! Who else would I be talking to?” She sighed, took up her pen again and frowned at me. “Jake got shot because you didn’t have a plan.”
Oh, right, another country heard from.
“Nina, Jake got shot because Joey Smack’s people had guns.”
Nina shook her head and smiled like I was stupid.
“No, he didn’t. He got shot because you thought we should pool our talents into an agency that helps people in trouble, only you wound up taking a repo job on account of you didn’t have a mission statement.”
“No, Jake got shot on account of they had guns and Jake wasn’t expecting them.”
Nina smiled as if I’d made her point for her. “Bingo!” she cried. “If we’d all planned what this agency was about and what kinds of jobs we wanted to take on, then we would’ve been prepared. You wouldn’t go fix a faucet without a wrench or something, would you?”
As she spoke, I saw Spike appear in the doorway, her head cocked to one side as she listened. I turned to appeal to her.
“So do you think it’s my fault Jake got shot, too?” I asked.
Spike shrugged and walked over to the table.
“I think Nina has a point.” She spoke slowly, as if weighing her words. “I mean, granted, we’ve all got skills in the same area. I’m a lawyer and you used to be a cop. Jake’s former Special Ops and Nina’s… Well, Nina’s…” She paused and smiled at her girlfriend. “Nina’s just Nina. Now, while it was a good idea to decide to go to work together, we haven’t really talked about it since then. All we did was rent office space. You and Jake started taking on freelance investigative work and repos, but Nina’s right, we do need to think about where we’re headed.”
“Yeah,” Nina said. “I answer the phone. I mean, that is so bogus! What a waste of my talent!”
Once again I had no idea what Nina meant. The only talent she had that I was aware of was mud wrestling, and where could you go with that?
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Nina continued. “I think I have a calling and I think I ought to follow it.”
The phone rang, startling us all. Spike and I stared at it, then looked at Nina, who sat smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“So are you people going to get that, or must I do everything?” Aunt Lucy came in from the back porch, followed by Lloyd, and grabbed the receiver off the hook.
“Hello?” There was a brief pause as Aunt Lucy listened. “Who? Private investigators? Hold on a minute.” She turned to glare at me. “So now you got clients calling the house?”
I was already halfway across the room, reaching my hand out for the phone, but she jerked it back, insisting on an answer.
“Actually,” I said, “I believe you can blame this one on old Jake. He had the calls forwarded to his apartment after business hours. I suppose he had them sent here after you insisted that he recover over here instead of in his own bed in his own apartment!”
I snatched the phone from her, listened to a muttered diatribe in Italian, and ducked into the kitchen pantry where I could attempt to hear.
“This is Stella Valocchi, may I help you?”
The answering voice on the other end of the line was female and muffled, intentionally muffled, I thought.
“Yes, I need to make an appointment, as soon as possible. Is Mr. Carpenter available?”
It was starting to steam me, the way everyone was assuming that Jake ran the business, rescued damsels in distress and took a bullet to save my hide, when in fact, the reverse was true. What had he been telling people?
“Actually,” I said, “he’s a little under the weather, so he’s not taking any appointments today. However, you’re in luck. I’m Stella Valocchi. I own the agency and Jake works for me. I’ve had a cancellation in today’s schedule and could work you in around four o’clock. Is that soon enough?”
There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line. “I suppose,” she said, sounding just like a whiny kid who had to settle for vegetables instead of candy. “But I really wanted Jake.”
I sighed. “Take a number,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘Do you know where the office is? Four Wallace Avenue, second floor?’”
“I’m sure I can find it,” she snapped.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle your case without any difficulty. Trust me.”
“Oh, all right!” she said, and hung up.
I looked over and saw the others hanging on my every word. “Of course, you do know that we charge a thousand dollars a day,