Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel (22 page)

“Andy?”

“This guy I hung out with a while back.” Clerk Monica smiled. “My very short walk on the wild side. He was kind of fun, but I backed off when we went in a store and he shoplifted a can of bean dip to go with the tortilla chips I bought.”

“This Andy,” Cate said. She felt an odd little tightening
across her midsection. Maybe anticipation. Maybe dread. “Andy who?”

“Andy Timmons.”

“Could you describe him?”

Monica described exactly the guy with the motorcycle whom Cate had tracked down for Halliday.

“Do you know anything about his relationship with Mace Jackson?”

“Not a thing. I’m sure I’d never met the Jackson guy before they came in here that day. Andy didn’t even introduce us then. I know he had some friends who were pretty sleazy. Andy himself was on the sleazy side.” She lifted both her hands and shoulders and smiled, as if her relationship with him was a puzzle to her too. “That was my rebellious stage, when I was practically
looking
for someone my folks would disapprove of.”

“Where was Andy living then?”

“No idea. Just kind of hanging out here and there, I guess.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him? Was he into gambling?”

“Gambling? You mean like buying lottery tickets or playing slots at a casino?”

“Maybe something less legal. Like betting with a bookie, something like that.”

“Bookie
?
I thought the only place guys like that existed was in bad movies. There really
are
bookies right here in Eugene?”

“I don’t know,” Cate admitted.

“If Andy was into anything like that, I never knew it. He was definitely into buying and selling a little pot, but it’s scary to think he had friends like this—what was his name again?”

“Mace Jackson.”

“I’m just glad I dumped Andy when I did. It feels creepy even now, thinking I was standing right next to a
killer
.”

Cate asked her to call if she thought of anything else, and the woman nodded. Cate went back to the car, undecided what to do next. Talk to Andy? That night at his and Lily’s apartment, he’d made some comment about the shootings at H&B, but he hadn’t indicated he knew the dead man. Why had he omitted that information? What would he do if Cate confronted him with it? Would Lily know anything? Even if she didn’t know Mace Jackson by name, she might recognize the description. But Cate needed to talk to Lily without Andy present to monitor every word.

Cate glanced at her watch: 3:15. Lily would still be at the housecleaning job she worked on weekdays. But if Cate went to the apartment in the evening, Andy would probably be there.

New and disturbing thought. Had Andy Timmons sent that threatening letter? And Halliday had said the vehicle that ran him down in the parking lot was a light-colored pickup. Lily’s pickup was light-colored, and Andy often drove it. Had Andy been good enough friends with Mace Jackson to be into payback for Halliday killing him?

Cate went home to find Octavia on her desk looking at the phone. About five seconds later, it rang. “So sometimes you’re right,” she grumbled. She glanced at the caller ID. “Hi, Uncle Joe.”

“Hey, Becca and I were thinking maybe you and Mitch would like to come over for a celebration dinner tonight.”

“You have something to celebrate?”

“Not me, you. Something came for you today.”

“In the mail?”

“Yes indeed. First class, definitely not junk mail.”

“From?”

“Well, let’s see . . .”

Uncle Joe was enjoying stretching this out, Cate could tell. Her own heart did a little salsa dance. There was only one thing that could have come in the mail worthy of celebration.

“Department of Public Safety Standards, it looks like,” he said.

“Did you open it?”

“Of course not. It’s addressed to you. So you two be here for dinner at 6:30 and we’ll see what’s in it then. Becca says she’s making your favorite carrot cake.”

“We’ll be there.”

Cate’s call to Mitch caught him helping the people at the bakery, where he’d set up a new computer system, so she just gave him a quick message about dinner. A half-second later, she gave herself a mental slap. She’d told Uncle Joe they’d come to dinner, but she should have checked with Mitch first. She and Mitch were together several evenings a week, but their relationship had subtly altered since the future of Computer Dudes was up in the air. Because that uncertain future meant the future of
their
relationship was drifting in the unknown too.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked first,” she said hastily. “If you have something else planned—”

“Cate, I’m not about to miss your celebration dinner. It isn’t every day you become a fully licensed private investigator. That is what this is about, isn’t it?”

“That’s obviously what Uncle Joe thinks. But who knows? Maybe the letter is a rejection notice. Maybe I’m disqualified because I capitalized something I shouldn’t have on the application. Maybe they investigated my past and discovered that one time I copied answers off the test paper of the guy sitting next to me in US history class.”

Not one of her more noble moments in education. Al
though she’d not escaped the strong hand of justice. The answers had been wrong and they’d both flunked the test. Lesson learned.

“Okay, then, if it’s a rejection, I’m not going to miss commiserating with you about it.” Something crashed in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go. I never thought someone could actually kill a computer, but I’m not so sure about this guy. I’ll see you about 6:15.”

24

Mitch brought Clancy inside with him when he arrived at the house. Octavia’s fur electrified. Clancy’s legs stiffened. Hiss . . . bark. Octavia surprised Cate by then tentatively touching noses with the dog, but she followed the touch with a “gotcha!” swipe of paw. Clancy’s heavy shoulders stiffened, and he looked ready to retaliate with a snap of his big jaws, but he apparently decided a better payback was beating her to that window-seat spot they both favored.

“Have you called Kane’s son yet?” Cate asked.

“I tried about an hour ago, but he didn’t answer. I’ll try again.”

Cate thought he meant later, but he immediately grabbed the phone clipped to his belt. He lifted a finger to indicate to Cate that the phone was ringing this time.

Mitch identified himself and explained why he was calling. “I’m willing to pay—”

The response from Warren Blakely was brief. He broke in and ended the call before Mitch even had a chance to finish the sentence.

“He hardly listened to you! He wants Clancy himself?”

“He said he didn’t even know his father had a dog. I was trying to tell him I’d pay for Clancy, but he didn’t give me a chance. He just said, do whatever you want. He doesn’t want a dog.”

“Clancy could wind up in the dog pound, for all he knows!”

“Right.”

“What a hard-hearted attitude.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Mitch’s eyebrows momentarily scrunched, but then he grinned. “But who cares? I get to keep Clancy. Hey, Clance, c’mon over here.”

Clancy deserted that favored spot on the window seat and ran to Mitch for a roughhousing on the carpet. Cate grabbed a lamp before it went down in the mêlée. Octavia climbed up to her walkway and stared down with cat horror on such immature behavior. Man and dog both got up looking considerably rumpled and rather embarrassed.

With somewhat more dignity, Mitch said, “Okay, you’re my dog and I’m your person now. Want to shake on it?” He held out his hand.

Clancy offered him a big paw, and they shook.

“Now we have two things to celebrate,” Mitch said to Cate. He offered her more than a handshake. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the nose. He grinned again.

“You look awfully happy for a guy who started out making the big sacrifice of keeping a dog for a night and is now stuck with him permanently.”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind of worked his big, hairy, slobbery way into my heart.”

“I’m glad. For both of you.”

And she was. But where, she wondered when he looked
back at the dog with fond pride, did a certain redhead fit into his heart?

Uncle Joe didn’t make Cate wait when they reached the house. He handed her the envelope as soon as they walked in. She ripped it open and stared at the contents. Name spelled right? Yes. Address correct? Yes. Correct type of license, not one that gave her the right to spray for termites or sell insurance? Yes.

Cate Kinkaid was now a fully licensed private investigator in the State of Oregon! She also had an official identification card, with the reasonably flattering photo she’d sent them. She passed both around for everyone to see.

Uncle Joe and Rebecca both hugged her. Mitch kissed her cheek. Clancy stuck his nose into her armpit.

“Take a bow,” Uncle Joe said. “You did it!”

Cate dipped into a little curtsy. She held up the newly minted license as if it were an Oscar award. Breathlessly she said, “I want to thank all of you for making this possible. I couldn’t have done it without you! Thank you, Uncle Joe, for giving me this opportunity. Thank you, Rebecca, for putting up with me while I lived here. Thank you, Mitch, for your help when I needed you. Clancy, thank you for—whatever. And, of course, I want to thank my cat and my parents and my third grade teacher—”

“We get the picture,” Mitch said.

Cate smiled at her own giddiness. “But I really do thank all of you.”

Uncle Joe, as if he suspected this could get maudlin, headed for the dining room. “Okay, let’s eat.”

Cate stared at the license once more before following, and
this time she offered a special private thanks.
Hey, Lord,
I didn’t know I wanted to be a private
investigator when you stuck me in this job. But you
had plans, didn’t you? Thank you. Help me to
be what you want me to be and to do
my very best for you.

Dinner was Rebecca’s special chicken and rice casserole, followed by the carrot cake. She’d decorated it especially for the occasion, with a detective figure bent over, peering through a magnifying glass, the red-icing hair unmistakably Cate’s. Uncle Joe took photos of her, the cake, and Mitch in all possible combinations. Mitch grabbed the camera and got more combinations of people, dog, and cake. Then they ate the cake, with even Clancy getting his sliver to celebrate with them.

It wasn’t until the meal was over and they were back in the living room that Uncle Joe got down to the more serious aspect of Cate’s new status. First he told her the identification card should be carried with her at all times, and the PI license should be displayed on the wall of her office.

Cate said she’d do that but added, “Although I’ve never actually had a client in my office, so probably no one will ever see it anyway.”

“But
you
are Belmont Investigations now, at least you will be as soon as we get the transfer made, so you may have an occasional client in your office. Actually, I think you should consider getting a professional office outside your home as soon as possible, because you never know what kind of clients may show up. You’ll want to change the business name, of course.”

“I’ll be happy to leave it just as it is—”

“I don’t need a memorial,” Uncle Joe stated firmly. “Belmont Investigations is galloping off into the sunset. So
you can pick something entirely your own. Let’s see, what should it be? Hilltop Investigations, to suggest your location? Eugene Investigations? No, too generic. Cate and Cat Investigations?”

Cate laughed. Cate and Cat Investigations had a certain cachet. She was rather tempted by it. “I’m thinking along more traditional lines. Kinkaid Investigations.”

Uncle Joe nodded approvingly. “I’ve already talked to our lawyer friend Ledbetter, and he’ll draw up the papers transferring the business ownership to you. We’ll move the files and my research library over to your place. We also need to transfer all the information off my computer onto yours, although I’m not sure how to do that.”

“I can do it,” Mitch offered.

“Good.” Uncle Joe went on about getting a new business license in Cate’s name, arranging for insurance and bond, joining the state association of private investigators, and various other details involved in running an investigative business. “So you come over tomorrow and we’ll go through the files. Then, when we get back, we’ll sign whatever papers need to be signed and—”

That made a dent in Cate’s giddiness. “Back from where?”

“We’re leaving day after tomorrow to spend the next week over on the coast. Or maybe we’ll make it ten days—”

“Or two weeks,” Rebecca put in. “Maybe three.”

“Right,” Uncle Joe agreed. “That’s what retired people in a motor home do, you know. Free as birds with an open migration schedule.”

Rebecca produced an oak frame suitable for the license, and then they all admired the framed license. Cate tried to look and sound happy. Hey, she was happy! For Joe and Rebecca. For herself. But some dismay apparently leaked
through because Uncle Joe leaned over and picked up the license in its new frame.

He shook it at her. “That was the whole point of this, remember?” His voice gentled. “A business of your own for you, retirement for me.”

Well, yeah, but . . . um . . . uh . . .

Uncle Joe reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. You’ve already proved you can handle anything, up to and including killers.”

Not on her current case, she hadn’t. Somebody still had Halliday targeted, and she didn’t know who.

Mitch had his news about Clancy to share too, and then everyone had to shake the dog’s big paw in congratulations. It was close to 10:00 before the celebration broke up.

As Cate and Mitch headed to the door, Rebecca went to wrap up the cake leftovers to send home with Cate, and Uncle Joe said, “Oh, one more thing.”

He went into his office, and Cate heard him unlocking the one desk drawer that was always locked. He came back carrying a black leather holster. With gun inside, big and dark and dangerous.

“This is yours now. Part of what goes with Belmont Investigations.” He held the holster out to her, but she just eyed the gift warily.

“Uncle Joe, Dad let me shoot his .22 rifle a few times, but I don’t know a thing about handguns.”

“There are a couple of shooting ranges with instructors here in town. Take the gun there and learn.”

“Do I really need a gun?”

“I haven’t needed one often in my career as a PI. But when I did need it, it saved lives. Mine and several others.”

Cate nodded slowly. She tentatively unwound her fingers
and stuck her hand out. He draped the belt of the holster over it. Heavy. Deadly.
Hers.

Back in Mitch’s SUV, she set the remainder of the cake on the console between them and laid the holster carefully across her lap. At the house, she just as carefully hung it on a hook on the far wall opposite her desk. It definitely gave the office a different ambiance.

An ambiance that said, “I’m a tough PI and don’t you forget it.”

It issued a blatant warning, “Don’t mess with me. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Or maybe what it really said was, “This is just for show because this PI doesn’t even know how to put bullets in a gun.”

Octavia came and jumped on the file cabinet so she could inspect the gun. She backed off and hissed at it.

“Opinion duly noted,” Cate told her. “Although you may change your mind if we’re ever attacked by a herd of super-mice with an appetite for deaf cats and redheaded PIs.”

Mitch had come inside with her. He didn’t stay, but at the door he put his arms around her.

“I know I can be kind of a . . .” He paused, as if trying to think of a proper word, and Cate, even though some less-than-complimentary terms came to mind, didn’t try to fill in for him. “I can be narrow-minded about your being a PI, but I really am proud of you. Getting your own license is a great accomplishment.”

“Thank you.”

“May I offer a congratulatory kiss?”

Cate smiled at his formality. “You may.”

And he gave her that kiss. A kiss that was sweetly tender, a daisies and sunshine, violets and moonlight kind of kiss. But a kiss that deepened and went on until she felt it right
down to her toes. A lightning and fireworks, flash-bang and sizzle kiss.

If she’d been wearing socks, it would definitely have scorched them off her feet. She felt breathless and giddy, as if she’d had one too many spins on some upside-down carnival ride, and she had to wiggle her toes to be sure her feet were still on the floor. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“I-I feel well congratulated.”

He grinned. “That was my intention.”