Even though Jacob Cornell was a solid detective, a vivid imagination wasn’t one of his qualities. But even Jake could picture what she might have in mind.
Chapter Five
“I ordered you a beer,” Jake said. He was a big guy, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He had sandy brown hair that was never perfect, but rarely messy. Jake stood when Mary approached the table and kissed her on the lips. She glanced at the table where two margaritas the size of punch bowls awaited them.
“Margaritas?” Mary licked her lips. “I thought you tasted a tad saltier than normal.”
“Hey, when in Juarez,” Jake said, sitting down and hoisting his enormous margarita. Mary sat opposite him and hoisted her own glass monstrosity.
“Cheers,” she said.
They had decided to meet at Mi Pueblo, a funky little Mexican restaurant halfway between Beverly Hills and Santa Monica. The food was fresh, cheap, and close enough to authentic for Mary.
She looked across the small table at Jake. He had on a light blue shirt with a new red tie. He looked so All-American.
“So what have you got for me?” Mary said. “Besides a wistfulness located in your pants.”
“Let’s order first,” he said. Jake loved food and worked out like a madman to stay trim. Mary waited patiently while the waitress took their orders. A big burrito for Jake, soup for Mary. With a chicken al fresco taco on the side.
“So here’s what I know,” Jake said. He took out his notebook and read to Mary. “Craig Locher. 46 years old. Worked at a marketing firm called IdeaGen, some kind of ad agency or something like that. Single, no kids, only thing on his record is a DUI about three years ago.”
Mary took a drink from her margarita, watched a waiter clear the table behind them.
“Get to the good stuff, Sugar Shorts,” she said.
“Died from blood loss. One stab wound accounted for most of the damage, a few other superficial cuts, including a pacifier stapled to his chest.”
“A pacifier? Like the things babies suck on?” Mary said.
“Some people call them binkys.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Who’s handling the case?” Mary said. “Where was he found?”
“A new team, but I know them well enough to get the information I need.”
Mary thought about that.
“Also, the vic had on a diaper,” Jake said.
“A real one? Like a Depends?”
“Don’t know,” Jake answered. “But his butt cheeks looked like someone had smacked the hell out of them, too. Maybe with a belt or a riding crop.”
“Maybe a little fetish play gone too far?” Mary said.
Jake looked at her.
“Maybe,” he finally said. “But to go from dressing up and spanking to stabbing with a knife is pretty rare. Plus, it looked like he was the one receiving the abuse. A lot of times in that kinky stuff it’s the submissive who blows a gasket and kills the person dominating them.”
The server appeared with their food and placed it on the table. She took away their empty margarita glasses, and Mary nodded for another one.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into that weird sex stuff,” Mary said to Jake. “Who knew you were so kinky?”
Jake blushed, and Mary loved him all the more for it.
“You’re so cute when your face turns red,” she said. “I can’t wait to get you home, take out my cattle whip, and do the same thing to your ass.”
Chapter Six
“You know, if we lived together, this would never have to happen,” Jake said, strolling into the kitchen in Mary’s condo wearing Mary’s pink bathrobe and a pair of gym shorts that were much too small and much too tight.
The outfit looked kind of hot, until he pulled the robe closed and cinched it tight, making the bulging shorts impossible to see.
“Not again,” Mary said and rolled her eyes. Jake brought up cohabitating every few weeks or so, but she wasn’t ready. She liked her own space too much. However, she was slowly warming to the idea but had no intention of sharing that sentiment with Jake just yet.
“Besides, wearing my clothes teaches you fashion flexibility,” she said. “It’s good for you. Breaks you out of your khakis-dress shirt-sportcoat rut.”
Jake poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table next to Mary. When his ass hit the chair, he grimaced.
“Was I too rough with you last night, big boy?” Mary said, a small smirk on her face.
“That’ll be the day.”
Mary loved it when Jake tried to be tough. The man was an overgrown kitten.
She stood, went to the sink, and rinsed out her cup, the one that read “Everglades State Park” on the side.
“I’m off to find out more about our big baby,” she said.
Jake furrowed his brow for a moment, and then got the reference.
“Oh,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to the address that my client gave me. It’s supposedly where Locher lived.”
“You’re not going to break in, are you?”
“What makes you think no one will be home?”
“The guy wasn’t married, was he?”
“No, but I’m not married, and I’ve got some freak in my home wearing a pink bathrobe and girl shorts.”
Jake sighed and drank from his coffee.
“Look, I’ve got to run; clearly you aren’t ready to start the day yet, Precious.”
“No, I have to shower.”
“Okay, remember to lock up, okay?” she said. Mary was already dressed and ready to go. She went back to the kitchen table and gave Jake a kiss.
“By the way, thanks for the information on my case last night,” she said. “Even if I had to spank it out of you.”
“Very funny.”
“Momma’s gotta go, baby,” she said.
“That sounds creepy, Mary.”
She shut the door.
Chapter Seven
Craig Locher’s address was an apartment building in a neighborhood on the bubble, as the newscasters liked to say. Not quite safe, not quite lethally dangerous.
Mary studied the building, a post Cold War structure that looked like it had been funkified in an attempt to attract the hip and cool.
She found a parking spot a block away, then walked back and rang the doorbell. Locher’s unit was on the first floor, facing the street.
Mary caught the flicker of light from the peephole as someone checked her out. Always a bad idea. Mary knew of a few cases where a bad guy had put his gun to the peephole and fired as soon as he sensed someone behind the door.
Finally, the door opened a crack behind a security chain. A woman’s face looked out.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“My name is Mary Cooper, I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of Craig Locher. I’d like to talk to you if you have time.”
The door remained partially opened.
“I’m getting ready for work.”
“It will only be a minute or two.”
“Do you have some identification?”
Mary whipped out her private investigator license and photo, stored in a handmade leather flip-out wallet.
The door shut, the chain slid, and the door opened again.
Mary stepped inside where the scent of fresh perfume was strong. The woman who faced her was short, powerful-looking with a thick neck and a chiseled jawline and thick brown hair. Maybe a bodybuilder.