Last Shot (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator, Book 6) (31 page)

“How about the
St. Paul Grill? Could you maybe do tomorrow, say about sixish?”

“I could. I’ll plan to see you tomorrow about six. I’ll be seated at the bar.”

“How will I know you?”

“I’ll be wearing a brown bomber jacket, I’ve got dark hair combed back and right now I’ve got a black eye.”

“A black eye,” she said, but didn’t comment further. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, about six, at the bar.”

“Right,” I said, but she’d already hung up.

Chapter Four

It was way past
six and getting closer to seven. I was headed toward the bottom of my second beer. It was standing room only at the bar and I must have been the only person in the place not attending a Christmas party. Everyone was dressed to the nines in silk Christmas ties or long fur coats and talking about five octaves too loud. Between my blue jeans, bomber jacket and the black eye I stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” She was an attractive brunette, with a chest fighting to escape the confines of her dress. I had to concentrate to focus on her face.

“No, sorry, I’m actually waiting to meet someone. She’s running a little late.” I didn’t see any point in mentioning the close to an hour part.

“Are you Dev?”

I think I blinked or half jumped. “Danielle?”

She nodded and held out her hand. “Danielle Roxbury, nice to meet you.” The extended hand gave me the opportunity to glance down her dress. Yeah, they were really trying to jump out and get some air.

“Sorry I’m so late, my car wouldn’t start. I think it’s that stupid battery again and I...excuse me, Dev, up here. Hello.”

“What? Oh sorry, I have a hearing impairment. Service related.” I took a sip of my beer and let that seep in.

She looked like she wasn’t buying it and had probably heard something along that line a few thousand times. She studied me a long moment before she spoke. “Actually, I’m really running late. I’m on my way to somewhere else, another get together, you know the Holidays. I had to taxi down here. God, I feel like I’ve been running late all day.”

“Look, we’re not going to be able to talk, let alone hear one another in this place. I could give you a ride and we can talk on the way. It’ll save you a taxi fare.”

She seemed to consider my offer for a moment before she finally nodded. “Okay, I guess.” She sounded less than enthusiastic.

Some fat guy with a red face and an empty martini glass began to ooze onto my bar stool before I was even off the thing. We made our way through the crowd and were almost out the door when she stopped.

“Hold on, I just want to make a call and let them know I’m on the way,” she said. Her cell was already up against her ear. “Hey, Karen. Yeah, I know stupid battery again. Anyway, a guy is giving me a lift.” She looked at me and nodded. “I’ll be there in fifteen. Dev Haskell. Yeah, I tell you later. Can’t wait, see you shortly. Okay, yeah, bye.”

I wasn’t sure there had even been someone on the other end of the line, but I couldn’t blame her for playing it safe. “I’m parked just around the corner. You want to wait here and I’ll pick you up? It’s pretty cold.”

“Oh that’s sweet,” she said and looked surprised.

I didn’t waste any time walking to my car. It was damn cold and I hoped the heat would begin to kick in by the time I drove around the block. There was a parking ticket frozen onto the windshield of my Lincoln Continental. Merry Christmas from the city of
St. Paul and the parking Gestapo. I fired up the engine, tossed the box holding Eddie’s files into the back seat, then made a half hearted attempt to scrape the frost off the inside of the windshield. I had the heater set on defrost and blowing cold air full blast. It didn’t seem to be helping. I thought of running the wipers until I remembered I was out of washer fluid. By the time I drove around the block I think it had actually gotten colder in the car.

I pulled into the circular entry and stopped opposite the door. A valet with a questioning look on his face bounced out the door. I lowered the passenger window. “Just picking up.”

“Good luck, man.” He gave my car a quick once-over, chuckled and bounced back inside.

I think he said something to Danielle standing there with her hands in her coat pocket because she gave a sort of disgusted grimace when she looked out the window. She took her time then seemed to grit her teeth and stepped out into the cold, taking quick, tiny steps toward my car. I had to reach over and open the passenger door because the handle was broken on that side. The door was frozen closed and I had to pound on it a few times before it creaked open.

“Hop in.”

“You sure?” she said then cautiously climbed in. She stayed as close to the passenger door as possible. She thrust her hands deeper into her pockets, then pulled her coat around her like it was a hazmat suit and she might contract some incurable disease from the interior of my car. Her chin was buried about four inches beneath the collar. Just her eyes peeked out.

“Heat’s just about to kick in,” I lied. “Where to?”

“Up the hill to
Summit Ave., about two blocks this side of Dale. Do you know how to get there?”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling onto the street. “I live up there.”

“You live on Summit?” she asked, sounding incredulous. It was the toniest street in St. Paul and she didn’t bother to hide her surprise.

“No, but close, just a couple of blocks away.”

“Oh,” she said then followed up with, “Brrr-rrrr.”

I drove down West Seventh to
Grand Ave and turned right. Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait at the stop light.

“Oh, God, how old is this thing? Is your heat on?”

“It’s a classic and I think the heat’s getting ready to start. So, you said you needed some investigative work done?”

“Mmm-mmm, God. It’s so cold.” Her shoulders looked to be up around the top of her ears and her voice came out muffled from somewhere deep within her heavy coat.

“Would you care to expand on that?”

“God, I’m freezing to death. Are you sure the heat is on? I can’t feel my toes.”

“Almost. What did you want me to look into?”

“Oh, God, I can’t stop shivering.”

“We’ll be at your party in about three minutes. I think you’ll survive.” I felt the vague hint of warm air beginning to bounce off the windshield. As we approached Ramsey Hill the light turned yellow and I stepped on the gas. It turned red about the time I reached the intersection, then sailed through. The hill was extremely steep, so I gave the accelerator another push about halfway up the hill. The Lincoln sputtered then coughed a couple of times before it sprang back to life.

“Oh, God no, please,” Danielle whined to herself from somewhere deep down in her coat.

“We were discussing your investigation.”

“Huh? I was thinking of having you check out a guy who owes me a lot of money.”

“The guy who left you stranded the other night?”

She grunted a noncommittal response.

“Why does he owe you money? I mean, did he just take it, drain your bank account or use your credit cards?”

“No, nothing like that. Matter a fact he’s a banker, or at least he was. He’s a lawyer too now that I think about it. I lent him some money for his business.”

“Which is?”

“His business? He’s into all sorts of rubs and barbecue sauces and things. He went commercial last spring. He has an industrial kitchen, somewhere. He’s developed packaging, that sort of thing. He’s moving the stuff into stores, the farmer’s market, some trade shows.”

“Is it any good?”

“I don’t know. To tell you the truth I never tasted it. I’m a vegan.”

“A vegan who invested in barbecue sauce…interesting.”

“That’s it, up there on the left. The brick house with the white trim and dark shutters. See, where all the candles are. Oh, God, brrr-rrrr.”

The place was a large, three-story, brick colonial with a double front door centered on a long porch with lots of pillars. There were maybe a dozen large, round ice globes on either side of the front sidewalk with candles burning inside that illuminated the way. It looked pretty upscale and although I’d been past the house a million times I’d never been inside.

“Let me just turn around here so you don’t have to cross the street. It’s slippery and you’re in heels.”

“That would be nice,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said thinking I could at least scam some free drinks and who knew where that might lead.

“No thanks,” she replied in a tone that suggested no further discussion.

“Look, Danielle, I might be interested in the investigation. Why don’t you call me and we can chat some more.” Then I made the u-turn and pulled ahead so she could exit the
Lincoln, step out onto the candle lit sidewalk and another world.

“Here’s my card,” I said and handed it to her.

She kept her hands buried in her pockets and her shoulders raised close to the top of her head. I held my card out there for a very long moment before she reluctantly snatched it and thrust her hand back into her coat pocket.

“Give me a call if I can help,” I said.

“Yeah, look, thanks for the ride. I’d ask you in, but well, you probably wouldn’t know anyone. Better get that heater looked at,” she said then shouldered the door open. She quickly got out, turned and ran as fast as she could in heels toward the front door.

Nothing like a first impression. I leaned over and pulled the door closed then headed down to The Spot for my own brand of Christmas cheer.

You can download
Ting-A-Ling
and all my books on Amazon, right now.

Many thanks and enjoy your next read!