Sarah's Private Dick Read online

  “Seriously?” Patricia asked. “Lloyd said that he never seems like he cares that much about the place.

  “Well that’s weird,” said Sarah, struggling to get a piece of chicken and lettuce onto her fork. Damn salads anyway. Other women made it seem so effortless to pick up lettuce, chicken, tomato, bacon and a whole plethora of tasty things all at once and she couldn’t even manage two. “He seemed really intent on it this morning. I was thinking maybe I should have someone check him out though. I never knew why Martin had the controlling share rather than splitting it fifty-fifty. Or why Martin left his share to me.”

  “Maybe Vincent thinks he could sell the whole kit and caboodle?”

  Sarah watched with envy as Patricia took a bite of her cheeseburger. She should have just ordered one of those too. Comfort food. But she’d wanted something light for lunch, something healthy. All of her meals lately had consisted of the macaroni and cheese and casseroles that people had brought over for her. She really appreciated that they had done so, but none of the dishes were particularly healthy and she was worried that she was already packing on a few pounds.

  “I hope not,” she replied, pursing her lips. That did seem like something Vincent would do. Buy the entire operation and then sell it off for a profit. She was sure that he could get a major profit off of it, Martin had told her about offers he’d received before, from larger companies. One of the things that Sarah had always loved about Polenta was that it was a family operation, not corporate, which kept it warm and personal for the staff. “I wouldn’t sell to him if that’s what he wanted to do.”

  “But it’s not like he has to tell you,” Patricia pointed out. “He just has to buy your share and then do what he wants.”

  “Well I won’t sell until I’m sure. I’ll have to do an internet search and see if there are still any private investigators out there.”

  “Doesn’t Q know someone that’s a private investigator? I’m sure Lloyd mentioned that at some point. They were making jokes about private dicks.” She winked at Sarah across the table and Sarah laughed.

  “I made the same joke in my head earlier today. Seems kind of wrong, hiring a private dick right after my husband has died,” Sarah joked. And then immediately felt bad. She shouldn’t make jokes about Martin’s passing like that.

  Patricia reached across the table and patted her hand soothingly, intuitively knowing what had caused the change in Sarah’s demeanor. “It’s okay honey, a little black humor helps us get past the rough spots in life. You need it. And to tell the truth, maybe you could use a little private dicking too.”

  “Patricia!” Sarah was shocked at her friend’s blunt comment, although maybe she shouldn’t have been that surprised. She and Patricia had always shared all their secrets and Patricia had made no bones about the fact that she thought Sarah should date more guys than Martin before settling down with him. But she’d always respected Sarah’s choices and hadn’t said a word about it since Martin had asked her to marry him and she’d said yes. Now Patricia just shrugged her shoulders unapologetically for her statement.

  “I know you cared about him, loved him even, but honey… there were no signs that either of you were ever in love with each other. And I know you’ll miss him, but you’re not shattered without him.” Sarah blinked and looked away, feeling tears of shame spark in her eyes, knowing that her friend was right. She wanted to protest and say that of course she’d been in love, but was that really true? She wasn’t even sure what it would feel like. “You two had a great friendship. And it made for a decent marriage. But I know you, you’re ready to just go back into your shell, working on making jewelry and letting life slip past you. You’ll feel guilty for not feeling more grief and that’ll keep you all bottled up, but no one’s going to judge you for not grieving more. It’s not like we haven’t known this could have been coming. We could all see Martin’s health getting worse and it’s awful that he passed so young, but no one was really shocked by it either.”

  Harsh but true. That was Patricia. No beating around the bush from this friend. And at the same time it was like a balm for Sarah to hear it, to have someone reassure here that she wasn’t a heartless bitch because she didn’t feel like the world was ending just because her husband had died. It felt like… there was a loss. A hole inside of her. But she was still going, except for when she shut herself down out of guilt.

  “I’m not going to let you sell the restaurant and just disappear into your house,” Patricia promised. “I’ll come drag you out, kicking and screaming if I have to. You know I will.”

  Sarah laughed; she could see her friend doing just that.

  “I won’t,” she said, making the promise to both Patricia and herself. “I don’t want to be completely shut off from everyone. I actually had fun at the meeting this morning, finding out more about how the restaurant runs on a first hand basis.”

  It had been a pleasant surprise actually. Martin had talked so often about the restaurant with her that she was on the same page as every else, for the most part. She knew what the problems were and even what some of the solutions he’d wanted to suggest were. Mostly because he usually talked issues out with her, taking her advice on a lot of the suggestions she made. Even though Sarah had been a housewife, spending most of her time cooking cleaning, in the garden or indulging her passion for making jewelry which she sold online, she’d realized this morning how invested she felt in the restaurant and making sure that everything was running smoothly.

  Everyone in the meeting had been so welcoming to her, which was wonderful. Vincent had seemed rather surprised at her knowledge; he’d started the meeting treating her very patronizingly until he’d realized how informed she was. That had been a good moment, being able to knock him back because she’d known exactly the problem they’d been having with their seafood supplier recently and what Martin had wanted to do about.

  “Good,” said Patricia, pleased by Sarah’s statement. “Lloyd texted me afterwards, said that you did as good a job as Martin with running the meeting.”

  Sarah flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “That’s nice of him.”

  “No, it’s true. Lloyd doesn’t say anything that he doesn’t mean 100%. That’s why I married him.”

  Well that was also very true. They both laughed. Sarah truly relaxed for the first time in ages. It was so easy being around Patricia. She was the most loyal, unjudgmental and caring friend Sarah had ever had.

  ******

  When his phone rang and Derrick saw the caller ID he picked up immediately.

  “Hello Quintin.”

  “Don’t start that,” his cousin drawled, with his best Southern flare. “My parents are the only people who call me that.”

  “Q,” Derrick amended agreeably. “What’s up?”

  “Are you still doing the investigating thing?”

  “Sort of. I’m trying to get out of it,” he said. The private investigating “thing,” as Q liked to call it, wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Mostly spying on trophy wives or their lecherous husbands, occasionally getting to do something satisfying like hunting down an abuser or someone who had unlawfully taken their kid during a divorce proceeding. Of course, not all those cases were satisfying; satisfaction depended on it being a successful hunt, but he usually was. For the most part though, Derrick was tired of spying on people and tired of all the cruelty he saw in his life of work. He’d been searching for awhile for something different, but so far hadn’t succeeded in finding anything that interested him. He’d tried a year of college, but unlike Q he hated academic settings. The basic classes bored him to tears and he considered it a waste of time and money to be sitting in a classroom.

  Now he kind of wished he’d taken more of them, just because maybe then he’d have an idea of what the hell he wanted to do with his life. He had no idea what his talents were, other than being able to charm information out of people.

  “Can you take a case? As a favor for a family member?”

>   Derrick groaned. The last time he’d taken a case for a family member he’d ended up with a broken arm, a broken nose and a nice who previously had no idea that her boyfriend was a crack dealer, but was now more terrified of him than of her ex. He rubbed the ridge on his nose where the break had been. If he crossed his eyes he could just barely see it. At least the crack dealer had come out of that one looking a hell of a lot worse than he had. But he still wished he’d been able to take the asshole out somewhere other than right in front of his nineteen year old niece Caroline. Watching her Uncle beat her boyfriend into submission had given the poor girl nightmares for weeks. And despite the fact that his sister had asked him to intervene and that he’d had to beat up the guy in self-defense (okay, and maybe a little bit of righteous outrage about a thirty two year old being with a nineteen year old and messing up her life) they hadn’t talked much since the incident, other than at the holidays.

  “No drug dealers or violence, I promise.”

  The overly cheerful sincerity in Q’s voice grated on his nerves.

  “What’s the case? And I’m not saying yes until I hear it.”

  “The restaurant I’ve been at-“

  “I thought you quit that.”

  “No, I still work there a couple of times a week, just to get some extra spending money. They’re good people. Anyway, Martin, our owner, died two weeks ago and left his share of the restaurant to his widow. The other owner wants to buy her portion, but she’s feeling weird about selling it to him. Wants a background check, see if there’s any dirt, or maybe if his intentions aren’t honorable if you can find that out. She doesn’t want to sell it to him and have him turn around and sell it to someone else. I’d mentioned you before and she asked me about you. I was wondering if I could have her call you.”

  Vulnerable grieving widow trying to make the best of her loss while also taking care of the people she cared about. Making sure that her husband’s work wasn’t for nothing and that his employees were looked after. One of whom was his cousin. Damn. Q knew him too well. People never thought it when they looked at him, but under all the muscle he was big sucker for the heartwarming cases like this. But he didn’t want to get pulled into something that looked easy on the surface but was complicated underneath.

  “What’s the buyer like?”

  Q hesitated. Ah ha. Here was the catch.

  “Vincent. He’s… okay. I don’t know that much about him. Didn’t have much to do with running the restaurant. He was more like a silent backer, except that he was always around. Martin was definitely the one in charge though, always. He drinks a lot. No one really knows him well, other than Martin. They were best friends. Really into clear lines and boundaries between owners and staff.”

  Well that didn’t sound so bad. Didn’t sound like a great guy, but at least he wasn’t dealing drugs or beating women. Derrick could deal with that.

  “Yeah, alright. Have her call me.”

  “Thanks man. So how’ve you been?”

  As the conversation devolved into small talk and ribbing, Derrick was able to relax and enjoy just chatting with his cousin. They’d always gotten along well, although they hadn’t had much time together when they were growing up since Q’s family lived in Alabama and Derrick’s family was in New York. Even after Q had moved up here they hadn’t spent a lot of time together. They were just both always busy. And Derrick’s job didn’t exactly allow for regular hours. He was glad to be able to do Q a favor.

  Just, hopefully, unlike the last time he did a favor for a family member, he wouldn’t end up regretting it.

  ******

  Sarah wandered through her house, alone, feeling both sad and unexpectedly free. She couldn’t help it, even though it made her feel guilty. When Martin was alive he’d expected her to keep the house exactly to his standards, snapping at her for dust – anywhere – or a smudge on a window or if dinner was five minutes late to the table. Those days he’d been home for dinner anyway. The restaurant life was so busy that she was used to being home alone, but she’d always been anxious about hi coming home to join her. Worrying that something was wrong with the house. He was supportive of her making jewelry, a creative activity that took a lot of her focus and helped her to relax, but he hadn’t considered that a real job, so he’d expected her to take care of all the household stuff.

  Now he’d been gone for two and a half weeks and the house felt a little empty, and yet she didn’t feel lonely. Part of her wished that she had some children to fill that emptiness, but she wouldn’t wish losing a father on any children of hers. If she and Martin had had children when they’d first gotten married, they would be in high school now. For a moment she flushed, thinking how wonderful that would be, to have children… and then the image faded. She was too old, surely, to find someone new and have kids. Maybe she’d look into fostering or something.

  Heading into the television room, Sarah kicked off her slippers. Her feet were starting to get too warm and she’d always liked the thick cream carpet in this room anyway, feeling it squish pleasantly between her feet. Snuggling up in her favorite chair she turned on the television. She’d spent a lot of nights like this, in her pajama pants and tank top, hugging a pillow and watching TV. Martin was always busy at work and she appreciated how hard he worked. The best thing about it, in retrospect, was that she was used to being at home alone all evening. Going to sleep alone. Waking up alone was still strange but after the first few days she’d gotten used to it.

  Flipping through the channels Sarah came across a re-run of Murder She Wrote, which reminded her that she needed to call the private investigator that Q had recommended. It just seemed weird to be hiring a person to nose around in someone else’s business, but she really shouldn’t put it off any longer. Vincent had taken her out to dinner over the weekend to discuss business. Although she’d tried to hint to him that it was too soon after Martin’s death to make any decisions, he’d made the very good point that life does go on, whether we want it to or not. He’d dropped a few other hints as well, that she had thought best to ignore completely.

  Well if he annoyed her that much then she needed to just go ahead and get him investigated. That way she hopefully wouldn’t have to have anything to do with him other then when she went to visit her friends at Polenta, and then only in passing. Hitting the mute button on the TV, Sarah pulled her cell phone out of her pajama pocket and pulled up the number that Q had given her. Derrick Blake. She gnawed on her lower lip a moment, indecisively. This was not the first time that she’d pulled up the number.

  Was it nerves over invading someone else’s privacy? Or was she starting to want to keep her portion of Polenta? Sarah shook her head. Even if she did want to keep her portion, she didn’t know enough about running a restaurant, not really. Just the things that she and Martin had talked about over breakfasts and his few days off. It was enough for her to get by for now, when her opinion was needed, but she thought it best for the restaurant and the staff if the owner was someone who actually knew what they were doing. Sarah had never actually worked in a restaurant. They deserved better than someone with no practical experience, which was something Vincent did have considering that he’d been part-owner for so long.

  And Q wouldn’t send her to someone untrustworthy. She felt much better about calling someone who was recommended than searching through internet pages.

  It was only 8:07 pm. Q had told her she could call Derrick anytime before 10 pm. Okay. She’d do it now.

  Steeling herself, Sarah punched the call button and put the phone to her hear. He’d obviously never changed his ringtone from the default setting that his phone company used. Boring elevator music. If she were a private investigator she’d have the theme music from Dick Tracey or something relevant. Maybe even James Bond; even though he was a spy he’d be more exciting than –

  “Hello, this is Derrick Blake.”

  Holy cripes… the richest, deepest, most velvety voice she’d ever heard was coming out of her cell ph
one. The kind of voice that made a person’s insides rumble and tighten, the way it would to a steady bass beat. It was like hearing a sexy version of James Earl Jones. Liquid, smooth… and, Sarah realized, still waiting for an answer from her.

  “Um, hello. Sorry. I’ve never… um, this is Sarah Brown. I’m a friend of Q’s. He told me I could call you.” Thank god they were on the phone and not in person. Sarah banged her head on the cushy armrest of her chair, wishing it was a brick wall. She had an urgent desire to hang up and never call again, but then she’d have to face Q and explain that she’d felt too idiotic to continue. That didn’t seem like a good enough reason.

  The deep chuckle that reverberated through the phone sent some kind electrical current zinging through her. Geezus, what was with this guy? Who had a voice that actually sounded like that? She wanted to wrap herself in it and roll around, like it was a fuzzy blanket.

  “Yeah, he mentioned you, but to be honest I was giving up hope of you calling. I thought you were going to a few days ago.”

  Sarah blushed. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Another laugh. She was okay with making him laugh, even though it was at her. Hell, hearing his laugh set off all sorts of tingles throughout her body and made her feel things she hadn’t felt in, well, years. In fact, feeling those tingles was the closet she’d gotten to feeling sexual in years. Suddenly reminded of Martin and the fact that she was supposed to be a grieving widow, Sarah clamped down on her body’s responses. How embarrassing. Not to mention demoralizing. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “I meant to call sooner,” she said, trying to get control back over the situation. Man she missed the days when phones had cords. She used to be able to twine the curling cord around her fingers when she got nervous. Now all she could do was smooth out the same spot on her fuzzy pajama pants, over and over again. “I’ve been a bit of a mess lately.”

  “Ah yes,” he replied, his voice suddenly turning more grave and serious. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Brown.” He sounded like he meant it too, there was a lot of compassion in his expressive voice and Sarah felt tears pricking at her eyes. “Q told me a little bit about your situation, you’d like me to look into buyer for the restaurant?”