Quintic (39 page)

The helper
was a lot easier.
A single man probably.
Maybe she should suggest he asked the waitress out; he didn’t look
much older than she was. His story was short. Left early, no
theories. Boring.

The cook
also volunteered information on other staff members. The
neighbourhood. The clientele. The store owner. Patricia left with
two new ‘threads’, namely the next door’s store owner and an
ex-waitress’s new place of work; both looked promising for her
storyline.

Since the
shop was closed on Monday, and the ex-waitress worked the early
morning shift, four to eleven, Patricia decided she had done enough
for the day. She left around four but didn’t get back to her place
until six. The walk back wasn’t all that fun.

At
first, she strolled the diner’s neighbourhood,
reflecting on what she had learned over her work lunch, but as she
walked, the pain in her shoulder returned. When she marched
briskly, her arm swayed, worsening the pain. Midway, she took the
bus, but since by now, the city was in the throes of rush hour, the
bus was packed. People pushed, people squeezed, and her shoulder
worsened. Wincing in pain, she got out after only five blocks to
sit on a bench, alone, until the pain lessened, telling herself it
was only a bruise, no big deal. She walked two more blocks and gave
up. It took another fifteen minutes to flag a cab and with all the
traffic, it took the cab a good half hour to get to the hotel. When
she arrived, she had a throbbing headache to go with the pain, and
a very lousy mood to enhance the two.

Christopher
was having a drink with Luis, the barman. He had taken the stool at
the farthest end of the counter, his usual observation post, so he
could watch the entrance in case some maniac ran in guns blazing or
something. Or maybe he just wanted to see her arrive through the
door, that stool being the only one where he could study the bar
door and the cars turning in front of the hotel
simultaneously.

She had seen
him sitting there
inside the cab had
turned in front of the hotel. And yes, she was tempted, for a mere
nanosecond mind you, to go hide under her bed covers, but,
unfortunately, she remembered she was a mature adult. Besides, it
could be he was here to plead her to take the job back. Or
not.

She clearly
saw his mouth twitch as she entered the bar. How could he know she
was in a bad mood just by looking at her? Truly infuriating. She
was in not in the proper frame of mind to tolerate his
perceptiveness. She needed alcohol to numb the pain and gallons of
it to kill it.

“
Hi, Big
guy. What are you having?” Dumb question. He already had a glass of
scotch in front of him.

He
smiled back at her, that infuriatingly sexy
crooked grin of his. She was in no mood for
that
either. “Hi to
you too, Princess. Good day? How’s your shoulder?”

He knew how
her damn shoulder was! Hadn’t he been in enou
gh fights to know how it was?! He was just rubbing it in,
damn him. And why didn’t he look tired? He should, he had barely
slept last night. As she just now recalled that she too had barely
slept last night, she suddenly felt exhausted. “Day was OK.
Shoulder was OK.” Past tense, hence no lies there. “How about
having another scotch while I have a glass of wine?”

“
I don’t
think wine’s a good idea. Ice would be better.” Overprotective
again. She was in no mood for
that
either.

She
smiled at Luis sweetly. “Could you put an ice
cube in my glass, please?” She heard Christopher sigh. She didn’t
have to look at him to know that he was still smiling.

“
That bad is
it, Pussycat?”

Don’t push it, Big guy, remember your damn pussycat is not
declawed
. “Hmmm.” The moan escaped her;
the wine tasted
sooo
good. She had not realised how thirsty she was.
She pretended the ice cube helped with the thirst. She drained her
glass rapidly, maybe a little too fast, and had to order another
(no ice, the thirst had gone now) while she waited as Christopher
emptied his.

He
frowned, but if he had comments, he wisely kept
them to himself.

“
And how was
your day?” S
he asked belatedly, and with
some irritation. For sure his day had been fine; he, for one, had a
real job.

“
Hell.
” Nice to know. Perhaps the
filing was getting out of hand. “I had a talk with Charles,” Oh no.
She held her breath. “We agreed he would finish the investigation
before we make a final decision.” She let out a relieved sigh as
Christopher put his hand to her cheek and traced her lips with his
thumb. “Darling Angel,” he said very softly. “I told Charles that
if he ever goes anywhere with you without telling me, I’m going to
make sure he’s back doing traffic. Permanently.”

“
You
didn’t!” Christopher had s
uch a devious
attitude yet such a sexy smile.

“My exact words.”

Damn.
Charles wouldn’t take her anywhere now, no matter how depressed he
was.
In any case, she wouldn’t ask him;
she was not going to make him lose his dream job because of her.
She was damned both ways. And for sure Christopher had her figured
out. OK, she reminded herself, she was not going near Lemieux’s
case again. Never.
Jamais
. Besides, if need be, she
could ask someone else to take her to the store owner. Maybe. “OK,
Christopher.”

“
OK? Just
like that, Princess? No arguments, no grand declaration about how
it wasn’t the rookie’s fault, about how great he was? You must
truly be in pain.” The infuriating man’s widened through his
tirade.

The
guy
was a sadist, but she had no fight
left in her, the wine and the lack of sleep were getting to her.
Her headache had disappeared, though, chased by the dazing pain
probably. She would appreciate some of that overprotectiveness of
his right about now. “Perhaps we could go upstairs and have a long,
relaxing bath before dinner, how about that, Big guy?”

“
You lead
the way, Pussycat.”

Up in her
suite, h
e helped her strip to her
underwear in the bathroom. Her contusion was now a dark
blue.

“
Impressive
, Angel. The colour’s
almost as deep as your eyes. You know. When I turn you
on.”

How delicate
of him, the jerk! She almost frowned at him, but the walk back had
drained her. “Just start the water running.”

“
Hot water
won’t do any good. The bruise might swell.” No way was she having a
cold bath. “Come on, Dollface, from the looks of you, it’s past
your bedtime.”

He pushed
her gently toward the bedroom. A bucket of half-melted ice sat on
the nightstand. She wanted to shrug but had no energy left. After
she had slid under the covers, he wrapped ice in a towel and gently
fastened the bundle to her shoulder.

“
We still
need to talk.” Funny how he always wanted to talk about police
stuff. “We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re in a better
shape.”

She might
have missed that last part because
she
was already asleep.

He
got a sandwich from downstairs and watched the
game until eleven before joining her. His face buried in her hair,
he had a dreamless night. She did not.

PI Unlimited: Sunday
Night

H
e studied her. She
glared back. He was searching; where had he seen her before? She
knew but could not move. No, of course not.
He
was looking
at
her
while
she
was staring at
him
. The rain fell on
his face, but he took no notice. The rain ran down her face, in her
eyes; she pushed her hair back.

He remembered her. So young. He
remembered making her sleep, making her dream of him. How could
that be that she was here? He would make her sleep again, keep her
to himself.

She too was looking at him. She, the
third side of the triangle unnoticed by the two. Rain on her head,
in her eyes. Or was it tears? Could it be that she had it? Could it
be that she had
him
?

Her lover had talked of the triangle.
Means. Motives. Opportunities.

“
Look for common links,” he had
said.

She had very few threads. The diners.
The rain. The girls. She wanted to write the scene, set it up.
Dozens of small restaurants. Hundreds of girls. Had there been only
half as many restaurants, only fifty, it would still have been too
much. She narrowed it down. The diners were near, no more than
seven blocks apart. She sliced up the city and circled the ten or
so that were closer to the two crime scenes.

She surveyed the sites, made contacts
and listed all personnel. She drew up maps. Visited neighbourhoods
and back alleys. Then, she installed surveillance systems and
waited. She was ready.

She took other cases. Helped other
people. One year. She moved in with Jeremy, her lover of a cop. Two
years. She was now more specialised now. Yes, even female PI
specialised. The word got out she was patient. Three years.

It started to rain. The alarm she had
linked to her cellular phone blared. She turned the ringing off
right away. Of the ten original diners, two were now closed.
Another three she had taken off the list for no young college girls
worked there these days. And she added one restaurant that had
opened earlier in the year. Hence, the total of diners under the
Sunday night rain came to six.

But, of those six, only two had a
college girl waitressing tonight.
Only
two. She could have let the surveillance cameras do their work.
She could have remained in front of her screens and waited. Three
years she had been waiting. This evening was not the first time in
those years she had sat in front of her screens, holding her phone
as she awaited the alarm. Each rainy Sunday night she had.

She could have flipped a coin. She
could have flipped with one of the girls. She did not. She went and
hid in the back alley, concealed behind the bulky trash container
since two, three hours before closing. She had asked he did the
same. She would have pleaded but did not have to. Tonight was one
of the reasons they liked each other so; Jeremy was a good man. He
was most definitely
not
an
ape.

Jeremy too stood in the rain. Hidden
by the waste container, concealed just as his Princess Jane was. He
hoped it would not happen yet hoped it would so she could rest. He
hoped it would be
his
restaurant.

The girl came out. She carried two
trash bags. Heavy. They were pulling at her arms. She half-carried,
half-dragged the bags toward the container. Toward her. Toward
him
.

He had walked so silently; she had not
heard him approach, focused as she was on the college girl. This
one was a brunette. Not that it would make a difference. She was
young. She was in college.

She watched the man approached. She was
not afraid. Neither was the girl. Did she know the man?

She had a thousand pictures of
customers, all for future reference in case the killer was amongst
them. She had looked at them all. Was
he
one of them?

She could not see him properly. She
could not make up his face. A lanky man like her lover. Same
height. The girl had seen the man’s face; she had not. She could
not move, not yet. Not too late she hoped.

Excerpt
from
PI
Unlimited
, by Trica C.
Line

Chris at Work as
Usual

C
hris left for work early while
Patricia slept on. He had watched her sleep again. Fuck, he liked
watching her sleep. Her limbs stretched loosely, and dark waves
framed her face. She smiled in her sleep. Was she dreaming of him?
He smiled back even if she wouldn’t see him.

Once his way
through the hotel lobby, he handed the bellboy a twenty to go to
the bakery two blocks down and bring croissants back for
her.

“
Leave them
on her coffee table next to her orange juice.”

A small
example of a hotel life’s
many
advantages. At rare times, like this morning, he understood why she
lived here. But every other day, he didn’t have a clue why she
stayed here. Who lived in a hotel nowadays? Most peculiar, as a lot
of things she did. Thinking about her made him smile. Damndest
woman. Loving her was an extraordinary gift, but not a simple one,
and he loved every minute of it. His smile widened. She was up to
something.

The library
thing hadn’t worked out; she was so obviously becoming restless,
Knot had taken a permanent residence. Although, thankfuckinggod,
for now, she remained spooked by her latest body find. Hence, she
shouldn’t go back to the diner for a while. He aimed for never if
they found the killer before, but without any fucking leads on
either the diner and Lemieux’s case, he had had better days. He’d
never admit it to her, but in his opinion, those two investigations
turning cold was a thousand times better than the team solving them
if it meant her getting involved.