Coffee & Crime (20 page)

I shivered and hugged myself. "I'm going to make dinner." I slid off my stool. "You turn up the heat."

Zelda jacked up the heat and I pulled the chicken soup out of the fridge. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of chicken, garlic and onions. I put water on to boil for the noodles and popped biscuits in the oven. The rain started again and pattered against the windows.

"What are we going to do?" I asked Zelda.

Zelda focused on George's secret phone
—
still trying to figure out the password.

"About what?"

I stirred the soup and breathed in the comforting aroma. People say that food isn't love but I disagree. There've been times in my life when food was the only love I got. "Once Manny sells the diner?"

Zelda put the phone down and frowned at me. "Then you're going to run the diner. What else?"

I waved the soup ladle at her. "Sure, if I get the money. But what are the odds that we'll pull this off? Honestly?"

"Never say die," Zelda said gently.

I pulled the envelope I found in Manny's office out of my pocket and slapped it down on the counter. "Look familiar?"

Zelda picked up the envelope and examined it. "Why would Sessions send Manny a letter?"

"Because he represents our secret buyer, you doof."

"That s.o.b.!"

"Who? Sessions or Manny?" I went back to the soup and stirred. "Shouldn't we be pissed at the buyer?"

"Why would we be pissed at the buyer?"

"Because it's got to be someone in George's family."

Zelda shot out of her seat. "You think it's Maggie Manston?"

I pulled the biscuits out of the oven, dumped them into a breadbasket, and carried it to the butcher-block. I pushed my hair off my face and yawned. "Could this all a big fake out? Maggie dangles a reward but has no intention of paying it?"

Zelda grabbed biscuit and bit into it. "She went on TV and announced that damn reward so she's stuck. She'll look like a total ass if she doesn't pay up." She raised her arm in solidarity. "Don't give up before we've even started, sister friend."

I drained the pasta and spooned noodles into two white soup bowls. "I'm not giving up." I glanced at her. "But Manny's selling the diner to somebody. Me, Maggie Manston or somebody. He's going to Miami and won't stick around until we figure things out. Not his problem." I ladled soup over the noodles then carried the bowls to the butcher-block and set them down. "And if it's one of them who knows what they'll do?"

Zelda slathered a biscuit in butter. "Worst case scenario? The new owner would wouldn’t fire us. We're good waitresses."

I sat down and picked up my spoon. "What if this buyer doesn't want a diner? They might want to make it an art gallery or a salon. Or tear it down to the ground and turn it into an urban garden for the homeless?"

Zelda's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. "I never thought of that." She tapped her spoon against the bowl as she thought. "We need a partner. Somebody with investigative experience."

"Ted seems to have a superpower or two."

Zelda lifted a suspicious eyebrow. "Your new boyfriend, Ted? The one whose calls you're already avoiding because you're afraid you'll tell him what we're doing? Because he won't approve? That Ted? Mr. Straight Arrow?" Zelda chuckled. "So you're okay with spilling all of it because you think asking him for help will bring him on board with this?"

I twisted my lips and frowned. "He was in some special unit in the army." I whispered. "I bet he could get people to tell him things."

Zelda snorted. "I don't think water boarding is the skill we're looking for."

I shoved her playfully. "Smart-ass."

"Airhead." Zelda sighed. "Even if you had the balls to tell him, which you don't, how’s he's going to react?" She shook her head. “He'll either think you're nuts and split or try to talk you out of it. Then what?"

I frowned at her. "I'm going to have to tell him eventually."

She shook her head. "You don't even know yet if this is going work between you two. You really want to take that chance?"

I pouted. "No."

Zelda blew on her soup. "Good answer."

I held out my arms. "Fine. No Ted. Then who?"

Zelda tapped her spoon against the countertop. "A real professional."

We were shocked to learn that there were three private detectives within spitting distance of us. However, the one in Tujunga didn't answer his phone, and the one in La Crescenta thought we were punking him. The third one, Joe Enders, answered his phone personally and invited us to his office to discuss our situation. He was friendly but professional and his southern accent made him seem familiar.

Joe's office was on Commerce, just a few blocks from us. And the address took us to a three-plex apartment house, not an office building. The faded blue structure had two units on the bottom, front and back with the third unit straddling the lower units like a wedding cake tier. A four-slot parking pad served as the front yard and a long drive on the right led to a two-vehicle carport in the back. Under the carport was a beat-up Winnebago RV and a metallic jade Lincoln town car. To the left of the building was a narrow walkway that led to the unit entrances. Boxwood framed the property for privacy and were kept tall and clipped to perfection.

Zelda pulled into the lot and parked. We got out of the car and hesitated. "We could just turn around and go home."

Zelda sighed. "And then what? We still need help. Might as well see what he has to say."

I shrugged. "We're here. What do we have to lose?"

We took the walkway to the first unit where a sign mounted next to the door read: Enders Investigations. The front door was ajar which was odd considering the weather but I guessed Joe Enders liked fresh air. I sucked in a breath and knocked on the screen door. "Hello?"

"Come on in," a southern drawl answered from inside.

We stepped into a simple but smartly done office space. The combination living/dining room held a large desk, filing cabinets, built-in shelves, a couple of visitor chairs with a small sofa and coffee table placed near the front window. Cabinets and half the counter in the kitchen were replaced with a built-in banquette and served as a break room.

A man in his early sixties walked up the hall from the back. Short and stout, with a head of thick silver hair, Joe Enders looked more like a sweet old grandfather than a detective. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a loosened blue tie at his neck, and grey trousers that clashed with his sneakers. Joe grinned. "Scotti and Zelda?" He offered his chubby hand, "Joe Enders." We shook hands, then Joe motioned us to the visitor chairs in front of the desk. "Take a load off."

We sat in the visitor chairs and waited for Joe to waddle around his desk and plunk down into his seat.

"You gals thirsty? I got some sweet tea in the fridge."

"No, thanks," I said.

Joe smiled and tapped the desktop. "Well okay then, let's get down to business." His bright blue eyes were attentive and didn't miss a trick. "What can I do for you?"

We shrugged at each other, neither of us knowing where to start. Joe prompted us with shaggy eyebrows. I sighed. "It's a little hard to explain and kind of a long story..."

Joe leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his big belly. "I got all day."

I did my best to explain the situation with George
—
the investment, the death, and the diner. I presented the facts as we knew them in a logical manner but it sounded pathetic even to me. Joe listened patiently, made a couple of notes on a legal pad and ruminated for a few minutes. "And you want to hire me to do what, exactly?"

"Not exactly," Zelda said.

Joe frowned and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Not exactly, what?"

Zelda leaned her elbows on his desk. "Here's the thing
—
there's a reward
—
if we get the evidence that leads to the arrest of a suspect." Joe nodded but said nothing. "We thought, we were hoping, that if we found evidence and got the reward then we could share it. With you. Like a partnership? So not exactly hiring you is what I meant."

Joe cocked his head and puckered his lips. I rushed to fill in the silence. "We know it's a long shot. But we have some evidence, well maybe it's not evidence exactly but it's information. That's our advantage. And we would do all the running around and grunt work type stuff. Really it's your expertise, your guidance that we need." I smiled. "You'd be more like a supervisor or consultant. You see what I mean? Make sense?"

Joe sucked in his lips and shook his head. "No, ma'am that don't make no sense at all. I'm a P.I. not a guidance counselor. If we work together then we work together." His chair groaned when he leaned forward. "But what I'm hearing aside from that other nonsense is that you want to make a contingency agreement. You get the reward, then I get a cut. You don't get a reward, then we're all up the river with nothing but experience to pay our way." He squinted at us. "That pretty much cover it?"

I slumped in my chair. "Pretty much."

Joe's eyes caught a sparkle. "And since I seen the newscast, along with the rest of Los Angeles...I could go after the reward on my own."

I slumped further down in my chair. He was right and if he could do it, so could others. There could be plenty of competition. "We didn't think about that."

Joe nodded. "I expect you didn't."

Zelda looked hurt. "Every man for himself, then, huh?"

"A man's gotta look out for his own."

I raised a finger. "But we have information you don't have. Without us, you'd have to start from scratch."

Joe smiled slowly. "Information is nothing if you don't know what to do with it. And y'all have come here for those skills."

Zelda clapped me on the back like I was a prize bull and smiled. "If you work with us, Scotti will make you pies for the rest of your life. And confidentially, this girl makes the best pies you ever tasted."

Joe squinted at me. "Is she serious?"

I nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Joe busted out laughing. He laughed with his whole body
—
trembling from head to foot.

Zelda looked at me. "Why is he laughing? Is that funny?"

I smacked her on the back of the head. "Yeah it's funny. I couldn't make a $100,000 worth of pies in my lifetime, knucklehead."

Joe laughed harder still. He pounded the desk and tears rolled down his rosy cheeks.

I stood. "This was a stupid idea. Sorry we bothered you, Joe." I tugged on Zelda’s arm but she wouldn't budge. "Come on, Zee."

Joe got a hold of himself. "No, don't go. I ain't laughing at y'all." He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes.

I turned to him. "Look, I get it. Why split a reward when you can probably figure it out and collect the whole thing for yourself? We're out of our league." I yanked on Zelda's arm again but she hung onto the chair like it was her lifeline. "Zee, come on."

Joe pulled a hankie from his pocket and wiped his face. He pointed to the chair. "Sit down, missy."

"Why?"

He pointed again. I sighed and sat down. "What do you got?" he asked. I looked at Zelda, then back to him. Joe leaned forward as much as his belly would allow. "You say you got evidence, and I'm asking what is it? What's the evidence?"

I stared at him and I saw he wasn't kidding. "Personal files, phone numbers, a password protected phone, pictures..."

"And keys," Zelda added.

"And a flash-drive that's also password protected."

Joe nodded approvingly. "A boatload of possibilities, eh? What kind of split?"

"I'm thinking 80-20?" Zelda said.

"Bless your heart, Zelda. I'm thinking you got a little thievery in your soul. I'm thinking 50-50 is a whole lot better."

I cringed. "How about 60-40?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "Is that what you need? Sixty grand for your diner?" I nodded. He slapped the desktop and whistled. "Sold to the little lady with the golden curls." He opened a drawer and pulled out a form. "You bring this evidence with you?"

I jumped out of my chair. "No, but I can go get it." I didn't want to give him time to change his mind. "Right now, if you want."

"Let's get the paperwork out of the way first." Joe drew up a contingency agreement that took a while because he preferred the hunt and peck style of typing. He also hadn't mastered the art of printing documents. But eventually, we had signed copies and sealed the partnership. Before we left, Joe insisted we meet his computer expert, Eric. According to Joe, we'd be needing Eric's expertise
—
and I took that to mean that the guy was more a hacker than an IT man.

Eric shuffled out front from the back office and murmured a hello. His dark hair and pale skin gave him a gothy look and his slight build made him seem younger than he was
—
which I guessed to be late twenties.

"Ladies, meet Eric Fulton
—
the finest computer whiz in Southern California. Eric this here is Scotti Fitzgerald and Zelda Carter."