Stocks & Blondes
15
I’m a private eye
FORGIVE ME if I’m a little suspicious of private investigators. It’s what I do for a living. I’m not impressed.
I’m feeling better, though I’m still pretty fuzzy about what happened Saturday night. I don’t even remember who I met. If I hadn’t written down all that drivel in the middle of the night, I’d have no idea. I almost deleted it when I read it because it didn’t make sense. I’m glad I didn’t. I wrote down what I needed to know.
Quid pro quo
I woke up this morning in the little bed upstairs with Cinnamon cuddled up next to me. We were packed in with a pile of blankets on top of us. You’d think neither one of us generates any body heat. Well, I know for certain she does. She started out on the floor beside the bed, having refused to leave me alone last night. She fixed soup when we got home from the hospital, made me tea, sat with me, talked with me, and then dragged a bunch of blankets in and lay down on the floor. Sometime during the night, I had nightmares—screaming. I-don’t-know-who-I-am nightmares. Bald-fright wig nightmares. Please-don’t-hurt-me nightmares.
She soothed me, calmed me, and held me until I sobbed myself back to sleep. Then she stayed there in bed with me the rest of the night. So that was over. We both referred to it as the night we slept with each other. I needed to remember I’m her boss. Hell, maybe I’d make her my partner.
We had to come up with a cover story for why she was with me. We decided we needed something reliable, so I called up Simon. He’s still in town, still staying at the hotel. Cinnamon says he’s been talking to Jordan on a regular basis, but Jordan won’t tell her what’s up. So, Simon became an old friend. We met during a business deal in Cleveland years ago. I was working at a company he acquired and handled the transfer. When I called and told him I needed and assistant, he recommended Cinnamon, who he heard was recently out of work. Adequate cover. When the nosy neighbors came over and asked how I got an assistant—and told me all about how they would have helped me all I needed—I gave them a story with a reference to an exec who was way out of their class. That should shut them up.
Cinnamon and I did a walkthrough of the house and I noticed there were things subtly out of place. I hadn’t started packing the books in the living room yet but there were several moved from the shelf to the table. And the living room webcam was gone. I had to make sure of that one. It could have been moved or replaced and I wanted to be sure nothing was recording me. Cinnamon picked up a bug sweeper from the local I Spy store. We went over every room in the house to find out if anything other than the computers was running. Everything came out clean, so I guessed that guy—Devo??—wanted to remove something he considered incriminating. He became suspect number one. Rick and Susan were suspects two and three but not necessarily in that order. I had a feeling I met someone else at the bar who might be on my list if I could remember who I met.
I had papers to file with the state so I could get access to Georgia’s bank accounts and Lars recommended a probate lawyer who I called. Cinnamon started packing up the dining room and screeched when she opened the drawer of the sideboard. More stuff. I don’t even know what to call it, though Cinnamon gave me a pretty good catalog rundown of what was there. A full vinyl suit, complete with head mask, ball gag, talc, various bindings, half a dozen different kinds of whips, a breather tube, and a large vinyl bag. I couldn’t believe what I heard when Cinnamon explained what it was for. The submissive gets in the bag with her air tube sticking out a sealed opening. The bag is zipped shut and the air is pumped out of it. Cinnamon guessed the dining table was used as the display area where the dom could handle the sub, whip her or him through the suit, even pinch he air tubes closed to cause panic. From where the camera was located, voyeurs could watch everything without ever seeing the face of the dom. This was beginning to get to me.
“Cinnamon,” I said at last. “You know so much about this. You didn’t ever… I mean… How do you know?”
“Sugar, I was a bad girl before I found the Condo,” she said, “but I wasn’t that bad. Still, you’d hear things up there. Some of the girls were pros who sold any experience those guys wanted. Most of us were companions… a lot of flirting but not much action. A few were mistresses. But everybody talked. I heard you and Jordan came up with enough financial information on the directors to put them all away if you wanted to. I’ll tell you what you found was nothing compared to what the girls knew. Some of those guys were seriously nasty sons-of-bitches.”
“Were you pressured to have sex with those old men?”
“Everybody got hit on a few times—at least a dozen.” There were twelve members of the board. “But if you handled the question the same way every time, it ended. I was there as a companion, arm-candy, maybe even a little cuddle and kiss goodnight. But there was only one man who ever came up to the condo that I threw myself at and he turned me down flat.” I looked at Cinnamon and she looked at me. We burst out giggling. We sputtered out in unison, “Until last night.”
“And then he turned out to be a middle-aged lady!” Cinnamon cried. “I can’t win!”
“I think you’re doing pretty well with Jordan,” I said.
“You’re not mad are you, Sugar?” she asked. Cinnamon was genuinely worried.
“No,” I said resolutely. “I was a little jealous at first, but it was of the idea, not the reality. Jordan and I are good friends, but we weren’t cut out to be anything else. Besides, I’ve kind of found someone new.”
“Tom? How delish. Is he as good as he looks?”
“We’re taking it slow and carefully,” I said. “We’ve only been out twice, and once was with you and Jordan.”
“Believe it or not, we’re taking it slow, too. Sugar, I’ve gotten so good at flirting without intending to go any further that I’m still working at figuring out the right signals to say I’m interested in more.”
“He’ll figure it out,” I said. “Let’s have another cup of tea and pack this kinky crap into a box. I don’t even think Goodwill will take it. Then I need to start tearing down those computers. My next clue is there. That I’m sure of.”
The damages
The best laid plans… you know. Cinnamon and I worked for about an hour when the phone rang. Deon had the gall to call me. He must be pretty damned confident that I wouldn’t remember anything. He called on Georgia’s landline number. Something I couldn’t believe she still had.
“Hey, Peg. I just wanted to check to see if you were okay. You were pretty messed up Saturday night when I dropped you off,” he said. He started in so casual and friendly that I suddenly doubted I was remembering anything correctly. This guy was nice and concerned.
“I hardly remember anything from the night,” I said. “Uh… thanks for dropping me off. How’d you get me out of lockup anyway?”
“Oh, I know a couple of the guys down at the station. I’m a private detective. I explained the whole thing about Georgia’s death and you coming to town. I took the blame and kept saying I never should have let you drive. No one knows how many of those vodka-tonics you had and you seemed all right.” Vodka-tonics? He was back at the top of my list. I decided to play along.
“I don’t usually drink,” I said. “Obviously, I shouldn’t.”
“Well, it was a sad occasion. The guys might not even write the ticket. I don’t think they processed the blood test. They were sympathetic.” I remembered a flash of the arresting officer making me stand in the cold for half an hour and couldn’t apply the word sympathetic to him.
“I’m doing okay now. Thank you for calling and for giving me a lift.” And what did you do with the webcam from the living room, you asshole! I screamed inside my head.
“Oh, hey, nothing to it. Do you need help getting your car out of impound? I can swing by and pick you up.”
My car! My rental car! I forgot all about the fact that the police had impounded it. The rental company would have my ass. Or at least my checkbook. And unless I can get my name cleared, I’ll never be able to rent a car as Peg Chester again. I had to tough it out.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it taken care of. I do appreciate the help, though. If I need a detective, I’ll give you a call.”
“No problem. Here’s my number,” he said rattling it off. I wrote it down. I might actually have a use for him. “We’ll get together this weekend. Call me if you need anything.” He hung up. Now that was a smooth close. We’ll get together this weekend? Did I say I wanted to see him again? Ever in my life?
A quick call to the rental company got me patched through to a coldly polite ‘service rep’ who informed me they had already retrieved the car from the impound lot and had moved it to SeaTac. The impound cost, two tows, damages to the car, and loss of service were going to cost $1,737.46. The charges had already been made to my credit card. They were sorry to lose me as a customer, but of course, I would understand that they could not rent to me again. Ever.
Damages to the car? What damages? The car was in perfect condition when I was stopped. Scratches and a dent from the towing that needed to be repaired, he told me. And then he had the audacity to wish me a happy day before he hung up.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
