“Okay. I’ll have someone go over to her place and dust it for fingerprints.”
“’Kay. I’m going home to bed.” I walk past him, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Hey,” he calls when I’m by the door. “What did you say her connection to the other victims is?”
I pause, glancing at him over my shoulder. “I didn’t.”
“What is it?” His eyes narrow into suspicious slits, and his usually plump lips thin.
After swallowing hard, I reply simply, “Me.”
“You have got to be freakin’ kiddin’ me.”
Bek winces. “No.”
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and take a deep breath. “A lost cat? Who they’re not even sure belongs to them?”
She shrugs and puts the file down. “They said the cat has been coming around for six months. Their daughter started feeding it, so it kept coming back. Even named it Tabby.”
“Original,” I mutter, opening the file and flicking through it.
“They haven’t seen it for a little over a week and she’s worried.”
I run my eyes down the first page. “They seriously hired us to find a cat based on a seven-year-old’s worries? Why can’t they just buy her a goddamned kitten? Or get one from the rescue center in Austin?”
Bek shrugs. “Apparently, the mom hates cats.”
“Yet here I am, holding a check signed by her, to find a fucking cat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am me again and I’ll break your nose,” I say automatically, slipping the check into the file and holding it out. “No. This is utterly ridiculous. I did not start this agency to find a cat that doesn’t even belong to the owners.”
“You didn’t start it to find a murderer, either.”
“And your point is?” Very good—that’s what.
“You’re currently looking for a murderer.”
I stare at her flatly and wave the folder. “My answer is still no.”
She takes it and holds it to her chest. “So, you’re going to crush a poor little girl’s heart because this wasn’t the investigation included in ‘Bond. P.I.’? What if the cat was homeless and they became his new family? What if he’s stuck somewhere, injured? Or run over?”
“Or back with his real owner,” I add drily.
“She still deserves to know.” She sniffs, turning away. “Remember when Coffee ran away? Your cocker spaniel? You enlisted everyone in town to find the dog that had crept beneath your mom’s new deck.”
She moves toward the door. One step, two, three…
“Aw, screw you, you ho.” I sigh. “Fine. Take the damn case. Look for the damn cat. On the side. Do you understand? A missing cat is not our flippin’ priority!”
Bek turns, grins, and flounces over to deposit the check on my desk. I snatch it up the second it hits the wood and stuff it in my drawer with the two checks Mike brought to me this morning. My best friend opens my office door and shoots me the kind of smile that reeks with smugness over her successful manipulation of my emotions.
Bitch.
“You’re the best boss ever.”
“Yeah, whatever. Get out.” I wave my hand at her, but I’m grinning.
She responds by blowing me a kiss, and I just about manage to hold my laughter in until she’s shut my door. Damn her. I can’t seem to say no to her.
Besides, she’s right. I tantrummed the mother of all tantrums when Coffee went missing and enlisted the help of everyone from Rosie at the café to the mayor. Luckily, I was a pretty cute kid, so no one was mad when we found her beneath the deck.
That and everyone’s scared as heck of Nonna.
Wise people.
I get up and grab the sheets for my new file from the printer. When Mike brought me a new infidelity case this morning with the offer to handle it, I all but snatched it out of his hand and set Marsh to finding me all the information I need.
It’s dangerous. I know. I shouldn’t be taking any cases right now, but once Dean reminded me that he was the lead guy on Portia’s case, my brain justified it as okay. Justified it as I’m not fully connected to her case and her attempted murder in a bullshit form of denial. I’m going with it though. Because, if I don’t, I might crawl under my covers and never come out again.
So here I am, slipping my new Louboutins on—it was a freak yet calming purchase at full price. Don’t judge me—ready to go find me a cheating bastard husband.
Sounds like a damn good day to me.
Ignore that the Louboutin website is still an open tab on my phone browser. And so is Neimans. And possibly Victoria’s Secret.
Evidently, I shop when I’m stressed.
With my mind on that cute, lacy, pink underwear set I saw on the VS homepage this morning before I left my house, I grab my keys, purse, and phone and make my way out to the parking lot.
“Shall I hold your messages?” Grecia asks, glancing up from her romance novel.
Do my staff members actually work around here? “Please. And if you have nothing to do, the basement could use some organizing.” I smile sweetly.
She closes her phone. “Okay, but you bring back cupcakes.”
“Like that was ever in question,” I reply, walking out the door and wistfully wondering whether or not this case will take me into Austin so I have a legit excuse to drive to Gigi’s. Although, given the fact that I had to suck it in to button my favorite light-blue jeans this morning, I should probably use that as the reason not to.
I sigh and get in my car, double-checking that my little, blue gun is tucked into its hiding place in my purse. A feeling of safety washes over me when I see the Tiffany-blue handle peeking out at me.
The fact that I could kill someone in a second is oddly comforting. And slightly disturbing. Both that I could kill someone and find it comforting.
Perhaps I should close down the VS tab and open up a Google search for “psychologists in Holly Woods.” You know, after I’ve purchased the cute underwear.
My priorities are pretty fucked.
I can’t help but think that my priorities fit in real well with the rest of my life right about now.
“Hello,” I say, catching my phone on the first ring.
“Noella!” Nonna’s voice booms around my tiny TT, and I wince. “I have-a you a date!”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t hide my groans.
“No! Listen, bella,” she implores. “He is-a cop in Austin! He no-a scared of your gun!”
“Hmm,” I reply. “You realize it’s not my gun he should be scared of, but me?”
She laughs. “You no-a scary! His name is-a Giorgio. He take-a you for dinner tonight!”
“Wait, what?” I break a little too hard at the intersection. “Are you being serious?”
“Si! He take-a you to Giovanni’s! The real-a Italiano restaurant!”
“Nonna, what if I had plans for tonight? You know I’m busy with work right now.” I pull away and take a right. “I don’t have time for your crazy dates.”
“He is-a very nice! Respectable. You will go!”
I clench my jaw. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go. I’m not promising that I’ll be nice!”
She mumbles something in Italian before sighing dramatically. “Is-a best I get,” she finishes. “Seven! You be there!” Then she hangs up on me.
“Cazzo,” I mutter, pulling up across the street from my guy’s office building. Which just so happens to be next to Melanie Lyons’s little bookstore and coffee shop. Damn, she makes the best carrot cake in town. And sitting here in my car would be suspicious, right?
Oy vey. Looks like I’m going to have go in. What a darn shame.
“Noelle!” Behind the counter, Melanie looks up from her book and shoots me a dazzling smile. God only knows how she’s never married. With her long, Barbie-blond hair and the closest-proportioned body you’ll get to the doll, she’s more worthy of a Hollywood movie than a Holly Woods coffee and bookshop. “How are you, honey?”
Did I mention she’s also illegally sweet? Yeah.
“I’m good. How are you?” I smile. “Ohh.” I pause, sniffing. “Is that—?”