Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) Page 4

  I scrolled back through the photos, checking to see which were the best. A light off to the side caught my attention, and I expanded the picture on the screen to see it better. I'd been taking high quality resolution, and though the large image was slightly distorted, it was still clear enough. A man sitting in a black Escalade was taking a photo at the same time I was, and the light that had distorted my image was from his flash.

  I checked the street again, feeling a weird case of the heebie-jeebies. The Escalade was still there, parked in the driveway alongside Paul's parents' place. The windows were rolled up now. There wasn't much going on worth photographing on the street. I checked my photo again. Yeah, the guy had totally been taking a picture and not with his phone, either. The flash was much brighter than anything my little Droid produced, and though it was distorted, I could see a lens, one of those large detachable ones.

  Snagging the file free from the graveyard of snack cake wrappers, I called Len's office. He picked up on the first ring. "Lennard Copeland's office. This is Lennard."

  "Hi, Len, it's Mackenzie. Did you hire another PI for the Granger case?"

  "No, sugar, I sure didn't. Why do you ask?"

  I explained to him what I'd seen and checked the street again. "Is it possible that Mrs. Granger might have hired someone else on her own and not told you?"

  He chuckled dryly. "When it comes to divorce and custody cases, I've learned that anything is possible. I can call her and ask if that would make you feel better."

  "If you would. You can call me back at this number. I was going to wait and make sure Paul doesn't come right back."

  "Very thorough. Color me impressed. I'll call you back in a spell," Len assured me and hung up.

  Though my window was partly rolled down for picture taking purposes, I figured turning to stare directly at the black SUV with the tinted windows would give the game away. I played with Helga's rearview mirror until I had almost a complete view of the vehicle. If the driver was a PI, it stood to reason he might have spied me too and had the same questions about me that I had about him.

  My phone rang and I picked up without checking the screen. "Len?"

  "Mom? Who's Len?"

  "My new boss. What's up, hon?" From my vantage point I could see little Mary on a swing in the back yard. The teenager, if he was anything like my teenager, was probably hunkered down in front of one screen or another. Still no sight of Paul.

  "Mrs. Burkowitz wanted us to come up to her place for dinner," Mac said, giving away no indication of whether she wanted to go or not.

  Being the super mom I was, I read between the lines. "She's listening on your end, right?"

  "Mmm, hmmm." Mac made an affirmative noise.

  "And I'm guessing since you didn't say you would like to go that you'd rather skip it this time?"

  "Yeah, I have a history test tomorrow, plus a ton of Spanish verbs to conjugate."

  "Rough first day then?" I felt a little guilty for not being there for her, but I had to earn a paycheck.

  "You have no idea." She sounded aggrieved. Mac didn't like being behind at school. It stressed her out big time.

  And it was probably a good idea to set boundaries with the neighborhood Yenta early on. I already had one woman trying to marry me off to any guy who happened across my path. I didn't want to give Nona encouragement in that department. "Tell Nona thanks, but I have big unpacking plans when I get home." Translation: pizza, television, and Mommy-daughter time. "Ask if maybe we can do it this weekend."

  "Oh, okay. I'll let her know. Have you cracked the case yet?"

  "I'm chipping away at it. Be home soon." I hung up just as the car I was watching pulled out of the driveway and passed me.

  I looked from the house across the street to the brake lights at the stop sign by the corner, torn in three directions at once. I could stay and let the pins and needles take over my whole body and see if deadbeat Paul showed up to spend a little quality time with his kids. I could go pick up that pizza and spend some quality time with my own offspring. Or I could follow the SUV and find out where it went, maybe get a better idea why the driver was taking pictures of the same family I was tailing.

  I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel. Len might call me back with answers. Then again, he might not. And pizza could wait.

  Decided, I pulled out just as the SUV turned the corner.

  Tailing a car wasn't as easy as one might think. In fact, if it hadn't been a supersized gas-guzzler that I was following, I wouldn't have managed it. The driver was aggressive, beating yellow lights that I got stuck at, and as the city traffic slowed to a crawl in the evening commute, I lost sight of my quarry more than once.

  I must have told myself to give up and head home half a dozen times. And each time I decided I'd go on just a little bit longer. It made no sense, but life making sense was something my mother worried about. I just wanted one good look at the man driving that car.

  When he broke away from traffic heading across Summer Street and went east on East First Street, I fell back a few blocks. This was Boston, and we were nearing the harbor. There wasn't too much farther east he could go.

  The light faded as we headed farther into the Southie neighborhood. Would he turn into one of the houses up ahead, just head home for the day? If so, I'd have to think fast and find a place to park or, worst-case scenario, keep driving past. He seemed unaware of my presence so far, and I didn't want to clue him in now.

  But the SUV didn't turn down one of the streets or find a driveway. Instead, it headed to the Conley Terminal. That eerie feeling in my stomach was growing, or maybe it was too many snack cakes. Either way, I was determined to ignore it and see this through.

  The SUV stopped in front of a row of large shipping containers. When I saw his brake lights go on, I backed into the first turnoff I could and shut the engine off to kill my headlights. The sun was sinking fast behind me, and I was pretty sure I'd reacted quickly enough to keep the driver of the Escalade from noticing me.

  Unfortunately, for discretion's sake, I had parked so far away that I couldn't see much of anything. And when I rolled the window down to hear, there wasn't much to hear, at least nothing out of the norm for a major seaport—just the thunks of cargo containers being loaded and unloaded, the shouting voices of workers, and the steady drone of equipment, occasionally pierced by the backing up of big machinery. A few crying gulls. Nothing unusual at all.

  Until the gunshot.

  I flinched in my seat, instinctively ducking down. For one wild moment I thought that the SUV driver had spotted me and was unhinged enough to fire at me. But there was no sound of breaking glass, no further noise other than the thundering rush of my heartbeat. I looked up just in time to see the Escalade reverse sharply and then speed from the terminal at a million miles per hour. Even if I'd wanted to follow him after that, I couldn't have.

  I shook for a moment, full body tremors that had nowhere to go. Night had officially fallen, and I wondered if maybe my overactive imagination had made up the whole scene. What were some of the things that sounded similar to gunfire? Fireworks and old cars backfiring. One didn't usually see too many fireworks in October. And as for cars, it had been me and the Escalade. Everyone else was working far away.

  No, there had been a gunshot, I was sure of it. But no one had gotten out of the SUV. I'd been watching it the whole time. Had someone been shooting at the driver? Was that why he sped off like a bat outta hell?

  It was time for me to go home and maybe rethink this whole PI gig. I was a single parent. My job description shouldn't include dodging bullets. For Mac's sake as well as my own. I took one last look around and then turned the engine over. The headlights came on, illuminating a body lying face down in the weeds. And behind it, a silver Lexus was almost hidden from view.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A client will tell you only what he or she wants you to know. A good PI will ask the right questions and get the whole picture. From the Working Man's Guide to Sleuth
ing for a Living by Albert Taylor, PI

  I stared for a stunned moment at the Lexus, squinting at the Massachusetts license plate. That couldn't be Paul Granger's car. It couldn't. My hand shook as I held my phone up and dialed 9-1-1.

  "What's the nature of your emergency?" a gruff male operator asked me.

  "There's been a shooting at…" I looked around, swallowed and then gave the nearest intersection.

  "The police are en route now. Is anyone hurt?" the operator asked.

  Mighty fine question, one I should have looked into instead of sitting around like a big old moron. But I couldn't help it. "I'm not sure. There was a man, Paul Granger. He drove a silver Lexus, and I was following this Escalade, and maybe I should go check—"

  "Ma'am." The guy cut me off. "Are you in any immediate danger?"

  Now that the Escalade was gone, I doubted it. So why wouldn't my hands quit shaking? "I don't…no."

  "All right. As long as you're somewhere safe, just hang on the line with me until the police arrive. Tell me your name." His voice was calm and efficient as he talked me out of what I was starting to realize was profound shock.

  I had no idea what I said, but within moments sirens could be heard growing closer, and I saw the telltale flashing blue and red lights.

  "Get out of the car and keep your hands up so the officers can see them," 9-1-1 Guy advised me.

  "They won't shoot me will they?" I was pretty sure the answer was no but wanted to make sure before giving up the safety of being cocooned in Helga's relative safety.

  "Not unless you give them a reason to," 9-1-1 Guy said.

  Taking a deep breath, I popped the car door just as the first police vehicle roared into the terminal. I held my hands up as high as they would go, clutching desperately to the phone and the lifeline 9-1-1 Guy provided.

  Two uniformed officers were out of the car in a nanosecond and had their side arms drawn, although thankfully not pointed at me. "Are you the woman who phoned in the shooting?"

  "Yes," I said, afraid to put my hands down.

  The woman who'd been driving approached. "Hands on the vehicle."

  "Okay," I said, and turned and put my hands on Helga's shiny black roof. "I'm not armed or anything." Probably should have led with that.

  She patted me down anyway, and I couldn't blame her. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm a PI," I said. "I was following someone."

  "Licensed?"

  "Not yet. I work for Lennard Copeland. It's my first day," I babbled.

  9-1-1 Guy was saying something, but since I'd put my phone on the roof of the car, I couldn't hear him.

  "Hey, Denton, you better come take a look at this" the male officer called from somewhere beside the Lexus.

  "Stay here," Officer Denton instructed me. She had just finished checking Helga's interiors for weapons, and I noticed that she kept my little key chain of pepper spray. After last night, she was welcome to it.

  Suddenly I thought about Hunter Black. He was a police detective, wasn't he? Why hadn't I thought to call him instead of 9-1-1? Probably because when I heard gunshots, all the adrenaline had made me sort of stupid. And just because he was a detective didn't mean he actually investigated random shootings. Or murder.

  I shivered as the wind gusted in off the harbor. Had I really just witnessed a murder? I'd have to tell the police about the man in the Escalade and why I'd been following Paul Granger.

  Or did I? Did Len's attorney-client privilege extend to me and my investigation? I didn't know.

  Two more cop cars pulled up in front of the storage container and though all the uniforms looked over at me, none approached. But eventually a detective would ask me questions, and I needed to know what to say.

  9-1-1 Guy was still on the line. I disconnected and then dialed Len's number.

  "I think our client's husband was just shot," I said sans preamble. "At least I'm guessing it's him. How much do I need to tell the cops about our case?"

  "Who is this?" Len asked.

  I pulled the phone away, made sure I'd dialed the correct number. "It's Mackenzie Taylor."

  "And you say someone was shot?"

  "Yes," I told him. "Paul Granger."

  "Did you shoot him?" Len's tone was mild as if he only had vague interest in the answer.

  "No!" I said. "Of course not. I don't even have a gun. So, how much should I tell the police?"

  "If you were a witness to a crime, you need to tell them everything you saw." Len sounded sharper this time around. More focused. "Tell them what you saw, and call me if they arrest you."

  "Arrest?" I sputtered. "Why would they arrest me?"

  "Oh, all sorts of reasons," he drawled, his tone cheery. "I'll be in the office late if you want to reach me."

  "Len, wait!" I said, but he'd already hung up.

  I blew out a puff of air and pocketed my phone. One of the uniformed officers headed my way. He watched me for a minute, probably having been told to keep an eye on the suspicious character by the hawt car. It didn't seem appropriate to smile, so I gave him a nod of acknowledgment. He scowled then turned to the side, his attention fixated across the lot. So, he was my babysitter.

  I sent a quick text to Mac. Something came up, eat dinner without me.

  Thirty seconds later there was a reply. What did U do?

  Nothing!!! I typed back furiously.

  A full minute of tech silence and then, Need bail $?!?!

  No, I typed, then deleted it, wrote Maybe, but didn't press send. They couldn't arrest me. I hadn't done anything. I was a witness. And not even an eyewitness. I hadn't seen who pulled the trigger. I'd heard the shot and then seen the Escalade burn rubber. So I was an ear witness. Was that even a thing?'

  Another car pulled in, this one an unmarked sedan, followed by a large white van. Three people in heavy coats scrambled from the van. The two men who climbed from the sedan approached the area where the uniformed officers had been stringing yellow crime scene tape. No ambulance, so it really had been murder.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the ground. What had possessed me to follow the Escalade? I could be safe at home right now with a large slice of meatball and spinach pizza and watching something ridiculous with my kid instead of shivering in the frigid October night waiting for questioning.

  "Mackenzie?"

  My head snapped up at the sound of my name. "Hunter? What are you doing here?"

  He raised one jet eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question."

  "I can explain," I said and then winced. "Sorry. That didn't come out right. I mean…" I didn't even know what I meant.

  "You look cold." Without asking, he took off his own coat and put it over my shoulders.

  I sighed. The coat retained his body heat and the warmth slowly seeped into me. "Thanks."

  "You were the one to call 9-1-1."

  I nodded. "Yes. After I heard the gunshot and the Escalade took off."

  "Did you get the plate number?"

  "No, at least I don't think so. I might have caught it in one of the photos." I shifted to snag my cell from my back pocket.

  Hunter moved closer so he could see the phone display. "This was earlier today?"

  "Yes." I explained to him about Len hiring me and what had brought me to Conley Terminal. "See? Here's the Escalade. Shoot, you can't see the license plate though. Sorry." I made to stow my phone, but Hunter gripped my wrist.

  "I'm going to need to hang on to this for a while."

  "You're going to take my phone?" My tone sounded incredulous.

  "Just until we get any evidence off of it." He pocketed my Droid, much to my dismay.

  Damn it, my life was on that thing. Did I even have Len's number anywhere else? And how would Mac and I stay in contact throughout her school day? I didn't do well with separation from my offspring.

  "I'll get it back to you as soon as possible," Hunter promised. "Do you need someone to drive you home? I can have an officer take you."

  And
risk him confiscating Helga next? No flipping way. I shook my head. "No."

  "You'll be in for the rest of the night if we need to get in touch with you." It wasn't a question.

  "Sure." Numbly, I moved back toward the Hellcat. If anything could douse my infatuation over my new neighbor, it was the fact that he was sort of cold while at work. I'd been looking for a rescuer, and he'd just been doing his job. He hadn't even volunteered to drive me home himself. Of course he had a dead body to see to, but still. It would have been nice if he'd made the offer.

  Shucking his jacket, I lifted my chin and offered it back to him. "Here, you'll probably need this."

  He took the coat, his eyes watchful. "You sure you're okay to drive?"

  Not trusting my voice, I nodded briskly, then opened the car door and slid in before those watchful eyes could spot the mess of snack cake wrappers that had been my nourishment for the day.

  After securing my seatbelt, I placed my hands at ten and two on the wheel and maneuvered Helga carefully between two cargo containers and back toward the exit, chastising myself the entire way. Served me right for jumping to conclusions. What had I thought, he'd heard my name over the police radio and had leapt at the chance to ride to my rescue? He was a cop—I was a witness who also happened to be his neighbor, end of story.

  It was better this way. I had Mac, an apartment building to run, and a job that already had cost me half a tank of gas and my cell. I didn't have room in my life for a man anyway, no matter how delicious his leather coat had smelled or how squishy my insides went every time he locked those knowing midnight eyes on me.

  Nope, from here on out, Detective Hunter Black and I were all about business. In fact, I should be grateful to him for reminding me that I was supposed to be a professional investigator, not some damsel in distress.

  Well, maybe not grateful, I thought as I sat at a traffic light. But still, I needed the reminder. If I wanted to be taken seriously as a private investigator, I had to behave like I knew what the hell I was doing.

  * * *