“Paperwork?”
“I assume you have a contract for me to sign.”
I hated appearing unprepared, but I shook my head as the words “I’ll prepare one for you” tumbled out of my mouth.
Mrs. Avery raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Leave me your card.”
Oh God! I was going to lose my first client before I even landed her.
“My card. Yes. . uh. . I came straight from the hospital. .”
Mrs. Avery stood and handed Laurie to me. “I understand. Marta will provide you with my card. In the meantime, I’ll presume the same terms as with Galigani.”
I headed home for lunch, my head spinning. Mrs. Avery wanted to hire me. I’d done it. My first client. Now I had to zip home, draw up a contract, feed and change Laurie, and make dinner.
When would I sleep?
I had been hoping for a nap with Laurie this afternoon, but now, on the verge of my new career, that seemed indulgent, if not impossible.
I glanced at my to-do list. “Find George” stood out like a beacon. Galigani had found him. Why couldn’t I?
Pier 23, where his bags had been found, was not exactly on my way home, but one glance in the rearview mirror told me Laurie was sacked out. I’d drive by the pier and take a peek. The rest of the to-do list could wait until tomorrow.
I stopped at a red light in front of the pier. The water that had been so blue outside Mrs. Avery’s doorstep now appeared gray. Of course, Mrs. Avery had a clear view of the ocean; this water was in the bay. The bay always looked gray to me.
The pier seemed quiet. A few barrels against a restaurant wall and a homeless woman camped out with a blanket. Two joggers ran by. Then a hooded figure carrying a black bag made his way up the hill. I watched as he walked toward the pier. Something about his gait was familiar.
The car behind me blasted its horn. The light had changed.
I pulled my car forward, trying to keep one eye on the road and the other on the man, who’d stopped in front of a lamppost. His back was to me.
Could it be George?
I strained to see him, but was forced to pick up speed through the intersection.
Damn.
Probably nothing, but I wanted to make a U-turn and get a closer look. I changed lanes. A huge NO U-TURN sign stared down at me.
I’d need to change lanes again and go around the block. It took me nearly ten minutes in traffic to do that. I thought for sure by the time I circled around, the man would be gone.
I was finally in the right lane and able to drive directly past the lamppost. The man was still there. He had pulled off his hood and was straightening his hair.
Hair that looked distinctly familiar.
Hair that was just like Laurie’s.
A heavy pit formed in my stomach. I watched as he fumbled inside the bag for a cigarette. He lit it, then looked around impatiently while tapping his foot against the lamppost.
I slowed, rolled down my window, and called to him. “George!”
At the same time, a gold hard-top Mercedes cut into my lane, maneuvering around my car. The driver, a whirl of red hair, shouted something.
I guess I was going too slow for some city people.
George never even looked in my direction. He dropped the black bag and took off running. Why was he running from me?
I watched him in my rearview mirror as he ran in the opposite direction my car was headed. He turned into an alley.
The only way in there was by foot. Laurie was sleeping in the back. There was no way I’d leave her in the car or take her into the alley.
Nice, Kate, you make a great PI. You lose your suspect as soon as you find him.
•CHAPTER FOURTEEN•
Safe at home, I typed up a contract based on a template I found online and laid it out for Jim to review. Then I did a bit of research on PI licensing. Turned out I was highly unqualified for the job.
I needed to have three years or 6,000 hours of compensated experience in investigative work, or a law or police science degree plus 4,000 hours of experience.
Of course I had zero hours of experience and a bachelor’s in theater arts.
The requirements went on to state that the experience needed to be certified by the employer, who could be a sworn law enforcement officer, a military police officer, or a licensed PI.
Great! So launching a business as a PI was going to be more complicated than I’d thought. It wasn’t just landing the client, you had to be licensed! Although, I rationalized, Mrs. Avery hadn’t actually asked me for a license. Could I do this without one?
Why can’t things ever be easy?
Laurie began to fuss. Was it her mealtime already?
The month had flown by in three-hour increments. From one feeding to the next.
I brought Laurie over to our favorite section on the couch and began to nurse her. By now, I had the area all set up: telephone, remote control, an extra pillow, and a big glass of water, all accessible on the side table.
I drank my water and reflected on Galigani. How did he normally get his cases? How regular was the work? Could I land enough clients to justify quitting my job? I visualized calling my office and saying I’d launched a successful private investigation firm during my leave.
The idea seemed so far-fetched, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
After burping Laurie, I placed her facedown on her play mat, affectionately termed the “baby gym.” She let out an enormous wail. I picked her up, soothed her, and tried again. She cried even harder than the first time. I picked her up.
Tummy time was for the birds. No wonder the manufacturers called it a gym. For a baby, holding your head up is a workout.
Now I knew why we hadn’t done much of it in the last month. I immediately felt guilty.
Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not worth the effort.
I placed her on her tummy again, leaning over her to sing and try to soothe her. She was crying so loudly, I didn’t hear Jim come in. I jumped when I saw wingtips under my nose.
“Hi, honey, why are you torturing the baby?”
“It’s good for her.”
He smiled as he knelt down next to us. “Crying is good for her?”
“Tummy time.”
He rescued Laurie. She curled into his shoulder like a little bug, legs protectively drawn up.
“I saw George today,” I said.
Jim’s eyebrows rose. “Where?”
“At the pier where they found his bags.” I crossed my legs under me and leaned back on my hands.
Jim sat back on his heels and squinted at me. “So he’s alive, not decomposing at the bottom of the bay?”
I reached out and gently pushed on his knee. “Why do you talk like that? We knew it wasn’t him.”
“I have a hard time keeping up with the drama that’s George.” Jim sighed. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. When I called his name, he dropped his bag and ran.”
Jim scowled. “Why would he do that?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. What do you think he’s doing down there? And why leave his bag?”
“Well, he’s always been scattered. Did he just run off and leave it or what?”
“No! I called his name and he dropped the bag like it was on fire.”
Jim and I studied each other in silence. Finally he said, “I don’t know, Kate, if I stopped and tried to answer every George question I had. . what can I say, the guy’s a piece of work.” He absently stroked Laurie’s back. “What you were doing at the pier?”
“Looking for him.” I wiggled my eyebrows up and down. “I’m replacing Galigani as the private investigator for Mrs. Avery.”