Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I. (P.I. Tracy Hayes 1) Read online

  I opened the box that contained the new phone and pulled it out. To my immense relief, it was intact, the Styrofoam packaging having protected it.

  “This one made it.”

  “Next time, don’t try to stand in the way of a running fugitive.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, miffed. “I was trying to help.”

  “You could’ve hurt yourself! Did you?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him about my tailbone, thank you very much. Some things weren’t done, and inviting my boss to gaze at my ass was one of them, no matter how fine it looked in the tight pants.

  Really fine, FYI.

  “No.” And since I couldn’t leave well and truly alone, I continued: “You didn’t get the guy, then?”

  “No. But don’t worry, I will. This is personal now.”

  When Jackson calmed down, he showed me the basics of skip tracing. He pulled out an incredible amount of information on Tito Costa, including his address and those of his family and associates.

  “Let’s go check these out,” Jackson said. “It’s more bounty hunter work than P.I.’s, but the basics are the same.”

  Costa lived in East New York, the easternmost neighborhood of Brooklyn before Queens. It had a bad reputation, but it looked like a small town, because the houses were low and quite a few of them had false façades like in old Western towns.

  Costa had an apartment above a phone repair shop in a two-story building on a stretch of hole-in-the-wall businesses. The entrance was towards the sidewalk, between the phone repair shop and a drycleaner, and it had iron bars on it. The door was locked, which didn’t surprise either of us.

  “Let’s ask here,” Jackson said, heading to the drycleaner. “Everyone needs clean clothes.”

  An old woman was sitting on a tall stool behind the service counter. She had graying black hair in a tight bun, a round figure in a formless dress, and a permanent scowl on her wrinkled face. She had trouble understanding what Jackson wanted to know, and when she spoke her accent was heavy.

  “I know not him,” she said when he showed her Costa’s photo. “I ask son.”

  She turned to yell to the backroom in a foreign language—Polish, I’d guess, because I’d heard Mrs. Pasternak use similar language, with a similar tone, I might add, with Olek. A moment later a man emerged. He was only in his early twenties, and I couldn’t believe he was the old lady’s son and not her grandson. Maybe she was younger than she looked, or she didn’t know the correct word.

  “That guy? I haven’t seen him in ages,” he said when Jackson showed him the photo and a ten dollar bill. “I’d remember. Difficult to forget a face like that.”

  We didn’t have any better luck in the phone repair shop, or the other addresses Jackson had, all of them in the same area. But it was a good introduction to what the work entailed: lots of driving around and asking questions from people who didn’t want to answer.

  It was closing time by the time we returned to the office, and Cheryl was already packing her things for the night. “I didn’t expect to see you back today.”

  “We’re fetching a camera for me,” I told her, excited. “I get to do a stakeout on my own tonight.”

  “Great! Where is it?”

  “Near my parents’ house. It’s a nice residential area so I’ll be all right on my own.” It wasn’t so much my concern as it was Jackson’s. I leaned over to scratch Pippin goodbye and a thought occurred to me: “Would you mind terribly letting Pippin come with me tonight?”

  She looked disappointed. “Why?”

  “Old ladies in the neighborhood tend to become suspicious of people loitering outside their houses. A dog would give me a plausible reason to be there.”

  “All right,” she sighed. “Make sure he doesn’t eat anything he shouldn’t, and gets plenty of exercise. Otherwise he becomes excitable in the middle of the night.” She handed the leash to me and left after one final scratch between Pippin’s ears. He stared forlornly after her and I hoped I hadn’t bitten off more than I could chew.

  Jackson emerged from his office with a small camera and proceeded to show me how it worked. To my relief it wasn’t terribly complicated. I took the camera and Pippin and we were off to my parents’.

  The subway ride was faster during the evening rush than the car, but not much more comfortable. It was hot and a horrible crush. I had to hold Pippin so he wouldn’t be trampled over, which made me even more sweaty and uncomfortable. I wasn’t in the best of moods when I reached my parents’ house, and matters didn’t improve with the surprise that waited for me when I led Pippin in.

  Travis.

  My parents were gathered in the living room with him and they all turned to face me when we entered, indicating they’d been waiting for me. “Is that a dog?” Mother asked when she spotted Pippin, who instantly decided she was his new best friend.

  “Yes, the one I found.”

  “I’m allergic to those things,” Travis said, coming to give me a hug. “Why did you bring him here?”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here, did I.” Although I should’ve guessed. He liked to meddle in my life. “I need him as a ruse on my stakeout.”

  “Trevor is allergic to them too.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not a fuss.”

  Travis frowned. He was the spitting image of Dad, with the same handsome face and dark Irish coloring. He had put himself through college with a varsity scholarship, and his six-foot frame was still lean and muscled. He was smart enough to get into Harvard Law, which he’d paid for with scholarships and part-time jobs. He could’ve chosen any field of law, and was courted to high-end businesses, but he chose criminal law and Brooklyn Defender Services instead.

  And he was a good defense attorney. He would go to places—political places—which I think was the reason he’d become a public defender. And it wouldn’t hurt his chances in the political arena that his father-in-law was the DA for Queens County.

  The two of us were polar opposites when it came to ambition and we didn’t really understand each other. The age difference didn’t help either.

  “What’s this about becoming a P.I.?” he asked after Pippin was banished to the back porch when Travis’s eyes started to water—I guess he really was allergic—and we had sat to dinner.

  “I lost my job and the opportunity was there.”

  “Couldn’t you finally finish college?”

  “With what money?”

  He frowned. “What about community college?”

  “I’d still need a job to pay the rent.”

  “You could move in with me and Melissa and give up your apartment.”

  “And become a free nanny to your brats? I don’t think so.” Travis’s four-year-old twins, Brandon and Chad—or, as I liked to call them, Damien 1 and Damien 2—were spawns of hell as far as I was concerned.

  “My children aren’t brats,” Travis said offended. Mom inhaled sharply too. She adored her grandsons.

  “Meanwhile, you work late every night, and sometimes on Saturdays too, just to avoid going home.”

  “That’s because we’re overworked.”

  I smiled. “Well, if you’re so overworked and you don’t like my new job, why don’t you offer me a job instead?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t like your new job.”

  “What’s this about, then?”

  “Jackson Dean isn’t exactly the kind of man I want around my baby sister.”

  I snorted in surprise. “He used to be here all the time.”

  “I didn’t care back then.”

  “Well, here and now he’s a different person who’s made something of himself. If he’s good enough to work for the DA’s office and yours, he’s good enough to be my boss.”

  The good thing about Travis was that he could be won over by a reasonable argument. “Fine. Just be careful.”

  “Always.”

  Travis took his leave right after dinner and I got up too to fetch Pippin from the back porch. When we reached
the street, Travis was standing by his car, a new and sleek Mercedes he couldn’t possibly afford with a civil servant’s salary. But his wife was rich and he wasn’t above taking advantage of it. He was finishing a smoke, clearly waiting for me.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right? I didn’t want to say anything with Mom around, but I know the kinds of jobs Jackson gets.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. His concern was genuine, so I should be grateful. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  I hesitated. “Well, I guess I could use a twenty until my last paycheck from the café clears.”

  What? He offered.

  He instantly took out his wallet and gave me a fifty. “Ask for more if you need.”

  Brothers. You had to love them.

  Chapter Nine

  Ten minutes later, Pippin and I made our first pass by Mrs. Jenkins’ house. I was armed with the camera and a bunch of small plastic bags Mom had said were absolutely necessary when walking a dog.

  “You will not leave his droppings behind.”

  I hadn’t quite imagined scooping poop from the sidewalk when I took this job, but I didn’t argue. The last thing I needed was the neighborhood watch descending on me while I tried to be unnoticed. I didn’t want Mrs. Bradshaw, who was the president of the neighborhood watch, to descend on me even when I wasn’t trying to be unnoticed. So I picked diligently after Pippin.

  The woman from the previous night hadn’t arrived yet—or at least her car wasn’t there—so Pippin and I walked to the next crossing, pausing whenever he wanted, and then made our way slowly back again. To slow our progress further, I practiced using the camera by taking tons of photos of Pippin, who posed gracefully when I asked him to. Whoever he belonged to had clearly liked to photograph him a lot.

  I’d managed to choose the appointed dog-walking time of the neighborhood, so my presence wasn’t marked. I got unexpected help from the other dog- walkers too, because they wanted to stop and chat with me, which gave me perfect opportunities to keep an eye on the house.

  When dusk began to fall, we’d spent almost an hour traipsing the same stretch of street. Pippin didn’t mind, but I was contemplating calling Dad to bring the car.

  I decided to make one more round, but didn’t get far when we were stopped again, this time by a man who came down the driveway of a house we were passing. I knew the house; it belonged to the family of the girl Trevor had taken to the senior prom. Suzy Carter. She had consequently broken his heart when she cheated on him with his best friend. Not at the prom though.

  I didn’t know this man, but that wasn’t a wonder. The houses here had changed owners since I’d moved away. He wasn’t interested in me anyway, but leaned over to make Pippin’s acquaintance. Theme of the evening, but I wasn’t offended. It rendered me kind of invisible, which was what I needed.

  When he straightened up he positively loomed over me, making me take an involuntary step back. He was in his early thirties, well over six-feet tall, six-three at least, and too muscled for his suit jacket, even though it looked tailor-made. The collar of his dark silk shirt was unbuttoned; his thick black hair was combed backwards; his black brows were straight, and his dark brown eyes were deep set. I guess I would’ve considered him handsome if I hadn’t been so intimidated by him. He looked like a mafia enforcer, more than anything. Pippin seemed perfectly happy with him, but he liked everyone.

  “What’s his name?” the man asked. He had a cultured, baritone voice, which threw me a little. I’d expected something harsh.

  “Pippin.” I was amazed how calm I sounded. As luck would have it, the street had become deserted and I couldn’t call anyone to help me if it came to that. He wasn’t even threatening me, yet I was extremely nervous.

  “Cute name.”

  “Cute dog,” I answered.

  “What breed is he?”

  “I haven’t got a clue.”

  That earned me a funny look. “You got him from a shelter?”

  “He belongs to a friend and I forgot to ask.” I hadn’t made a conscious decision to lie, it just came out.

  “I’ve been looking for a dog exactly like that,” he said. “He ran away from my boss’s daughter.”

  My heart stopped. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it around here?” I tightened my hold of Pippin’s leash.

  “No, yours just caught my attention, that’s all.”

  “Do you live here?” I nodded towards the house he’d come from.

  He smiled and didn’t look quite so intimidating, but I didn’t lower my guard. “No, but my girlfriend does.” I now detected a slight Jersey accent in his voice.

  “Suzy Carter?”

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “She broke my brother’s heart.”

  He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t about to attack me. “Well, I hope you find your boss’s dog.”

  “Thanks.”

  Suzy emerged from the house just then, looking much like she had back in high school, small and curvy, in tight clothes and with a lot of wavy red hair. She was dwarfed by her boyfriend when she reached us, even in her mile high heels. Then again, I was dwarfed by him, and I was three inches taller than her. I was momentarily distracted as I wondered about the bedroom logistics between the two.

  “Tracy? Tracy Hayes? I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. What are you doing here? Did you move back home? I hear Trevor still lives with your parents. Couldn’t find a job?”

  She’d fired the questions with an annoying nasal voice so fast I couldn’t get an answer in. So I answered them all at once. “Walking a dog, no, yes, he has a job—he’s a homicide detective.”

  She wasn’t impressed. “He can’t exactly afford this, then.” She made a sweeping gesture to a large black BMW SUV parked by the curb. The big man got into the driver’s seat with a friendly wave—he probably wouldn’t fit in a smaller car—and she took the passenger’s seat with a sneer. I found myself wishing the guy would dump her sorry ass, and I didn’t even know him.

  They drove away and Pippin and I continued down the street, but I couldn’t shake the sense of unease the encounter had caused. For all I knew, Pippin was the dog the man had been looking for, yet the decision to lie had been instinctive. I should’ve asked for details, but I simply hadn’t been able to make myself to.

  Perhaps Jackson’s notion that people were strange had echoed in the back of my mind. Maybe the man had been sincere—why would he have lied about his boss’s daughter’s dog—but he might just as well have wanted a cute dog for Suzy.

  Definitely a good reason to lie.

  Then I snorted a laugh. Only a day in this job and I was already paranoid.

  I got a new topic to think about when the car from the previous night pulled over outside Mrs. Jenkins’ house. I was too far from the house and dusk had come, but it was definitely the same woman who exited the car. I recognized the confident gait when she made her way to the front door in her high heels.

  It was too dark to take photos, but I clicked the camera a couple of times anyway, and then the woman was already inside the house. I checked the images but they were black. Disappointed, I pondered my options. I should probably leave, but Jackson had told me the husband would come home tomorrow and he expected results. I wasn’t allowed to take photos through the windows, so I had to think of something else.

  I needed a direct approach. I had to get inside the house.

  I devised a cunning plan.

  I hid the plastic bags Mom had given me under a shrub and crossed the street. I paused by a little bush in front of the red house, let Pippin sniff around it, and then made a show of looking for a poop bag from my pockets—as if anyone was watching, or able to see anything in the dark. Unsuccessful—duh—I assumed a look of acute embarrassment and went to the door.

  I had to knock twice before the door was opened by a woman a few years older than me. She was about my height, had
nice, strong Mediterranean features, and her long black hair fell down her back in heavy waves. She was wearing a red satin robe that showcased her curvy figure perfectly. I’d kill for cleavage like hers.

  Definitely a woman having an affair.

  “Yes?” She wasn’t happy for being interrupted, but I didn’t let that deter me.

  “I’m really sorry, but my dog did his business right on your driveway and I’m all out of plastic bags. I don’t know what happened. Maybe they’ve dropped from my pocket, because I could swear I took plenty. Anyway, I was wondering if you had something I could remove it with?” I gave her a hopeful and apologetic smile. She peered over my shoulder towards the alleged scene of the crime, but of course couldn’t see anything in the dark.

  “Don’t sweat it, I’ll remove it myself.” She went to close the door but Pippin had snuck in, which gave me an excuse to stop her while I ineffectively tugged the dog’s leash.

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly let you do that. What would the neighbors say? A little plastic bag will do, an old bread bag or something?”

  She sighed and retreated, allowing me into the hallway. “Don’t let the dog come in any further,” she said, heading to the kitchen.

  The moment she disappeared from sight, I peeked into the living room, which was set for a romantic encounter, with candles and red wine on the coffee table. Then someone started down the stairs and I retreated, picking up the dog, as if I’d been retrieving him all along.

  First I saw a pair of long, shapely legs I could only dream of having, then a short black silk negligee, as the woman was wearing nothing else. I’d say Mrs. Jenkins was absolutely having an affair. Then the woman’s face came into view, and we both startled when we recognized one another.

  “You!”

  My sister Tessa and I stared at each other, both utterly shocked.

  Chapter Ten

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Tessa demanded, descending the last steps to the hall.