Erica Jensen, a retired Marine with PTSD, struggles with making a living as an unlicensed private eye and overcoming her opioid addiction. When she's hired by a rich business man to find his missing daughter and recover embezzled money, things go so...
The door eased open and young Kandinsky peered through the gap.
"Who are you?" he said.
"I'm Erica Jensen. I was working for Melissa's father, but I have nothing to do with him anymore."
He squinted. "Why should I believe you?"
"Believe this," I said, holding up the death record with Melissa's name on it. "I was hired for two reasons: to find Melissa and some money your father allegedly stole from the company he co-owned with Melissa's father. At least that's what Stuart Blaine told me.
"But what really happened was your father was stealing from the Mob. And you told him you wanted no part of that. Am I right?"
As I spoke, the squinty eyes suddenly opened wide. He glanced over my shoulder. "Maybe you'd better come in."
With that, he turned and walked inside, leaving the door ajar. I pushed through and closed it behind me. Before me was a small, but comfortably furnished living area. Across the room, I spied a closed door that could have led to a bedroom or bathroom. A kitchenette was tucked into a far corner. Nice digs for a hideout.
Kandinsky slunk toward a cushiony sofa and dropped onto it. From his look, you'd have thought I'd come from the IRS to audit him.
I took a seat in a comfy-looking chair. "Before we go any further, what is your first name?"
He looked at me with suspicion all over his face.
"Come on," I said. "It's not a trick question."
The look softened. "David," he answered. The challenging edge had left his voice.
"Take my advice, David," I said. "Don't take up poker. And consider leaving the country."
He scowled. "I have nothing to worry about."
"Is that because you made a deal to split the money your dad stole? With the people he stole it from?"
"That's ridiculous." David shifted in his seat so much, he could have been doing the hula.
"Who arranged for that sniper to take a shot at me?" I asked.
"I have no idea."
Not even a hint of surprise or shock in his expression.
I rose and stood over him. "Were you trying to kill me, David? Or was it the Mob?"
He refused to look me in the eye.
"Must I kick your ass for answers?" I pressed on. A total bluff, but enough to make David squirm even more.
"No one wanted to kill anyone," he said. "But when my father was murdered, I knew he'd done something to piss off his so-called business associates. They let me keep some of the stolen money, in exchange for keeping clear of them. The sniper and the photo of your friend . . . they were warnings. They wanted you to stop looking into everything. I wanted you to stop."
"And that's it, huh?" I said. "No hard feelings? No more attempts on my life—fake or otherwise?"
"Right." David looked contrite. "Just leave us alone."
There it was again. Us. "Where's Melissa?"
David gawked at me. "She's dead. You have her death record."
I leaned toward him. "Bought and paid for with mob money. I checked with the Broward County morgue. Their records show a Jane Doe processed around this date, but nothing about Melissa. I assume it didn't take much to buy this forgery."
David sat up. He went round-eyed on me again.
"The feds aren't going to stop looking for that money," I continued. "The money you and Melissa took, because she wasn't willing to wait for her trust fund. Right?"
He slumped and rubbed his face.
I heard a door open and turned toward the sound. Melissa stood in the entrance to the other room. She looked neither surprised nor angry, just tired.
*****
Sorry about the lapse posting these chapters. However, we're almost near the end! :)
And here's an amazing thing that happened!
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