A Vonnie Vines Mystery

Chapter 8

"Vonnie, this is serious. The wiring in the building is old. Best case you blow the breaker. Worst case you start an electrical fire. It's bad enough you have those hooligans down the hall with all their instruments. Do you know the wattage of an electrical guitar and amp?"

I figured it was a rhetorical question but decided it was best to answer when he continued to stare at me and waited. "Um... no."

My father, Keith Vines, bristled while tugging on a strand of his short blond hair. "Neither do I, but it can't be good."

"Okay, I won't buy an extender." If he planned to get so worked up about it, I'd deal with the poor lighting.

However, my reassurance wasn't enough for him because, rather than sitting down, he paced around the edges of the room looking at the beige walls as if he could see through them to the wires hidden underneath.

"The next time I stop by, I'll bring my tools and have a look around. Make sure things are up to code."

"I don't really think that's necessary, Dad." And no way was the old building up to code, but I didn't mention that part to him. No sense in worrying him more.

He spun on me while knocking on the window molding for whatever reason. I didn't think they'd invented electrical window sills, but I didn't ask. "It absolutely is, Vonnie. You don't know what's in these old buildings."

Probably mice, but I left the comment to myself. No sense in upsetting him more. He'd run to the hardware store and buy me a few hundred rat traps. Plus, if mice were wandering in my walls, I didn't want to know about them. Gross.

As he made his way around the room, stopping every so often to knock on a wall or run his finger over the drywall, I pulled out the box from Mr. Jones and sorted through cards.

Five generic Christmas cards in I stopped after realizing my father had too. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, finding his intense stare unnerving.

Did I have a rat sitting on my shoulder?

Dad smiled. "I'm proud of you, pumpkin."

"Oh... well... thanks." We weren't an emotional family besides a few platitudes here and there, so it took me a while to form a proper response. Loving family? Yes. Emotionally available with the words to express said love? No.

I grabbed another card off the top of the pile, hoping we'd go back to ignoring each other. The newest card wasn't a holiday greeting like the rest, but a small business card.

Janet Day, Esq.

With an address in Clearwater.

Interesting

Why would Jalinda or Jimmy need a lawyer?

I stared at the front of the card, about to flip it over, when my cell rang. If I answered the phone, my father might see the scorch mark on the desk. If I didn't answer it, I might miss a case. Damn it. Did I risk it?

Yes.

It was a chance I had to take. I used my free hand to scribble a reminder to buy new stain on a Post-it note and stuck it over the singed spot before he noticed.

"Vonnie Vines, PI extraordinaire."

My dad zipped up his coat and sent me a quick wave as he left the room with a finger to his ear, promising to call me later.

"Ms. Vines, how many times have I said you're not allowed to call yourself a PI yet?" Mick, my mentor, said rather than hello.

"I know Mr. Darcy, I only say it to you," I lied.

The man did not understand my humor.

He clicked his pen twice in rapid succession. He didn't understand my humor and had a serious tick. "Would you like to explain why I have a Detective Shitballs Anderson calling me to speak about you?"

Ugh. Damn. Also, I highly doubted Anderson referred to himself as Detective Shitballs. That had to be a classic Mick add on.

"Not particularly," I lied again.

He clicked his pens three more times. "What's this I hear about you breaking into a crime scene?"

"I really wouldn't classify it as breaking into a crime scene. I was there before they classified it one." Did it even count as a crime scene if they didn't put out the yellow tape?

"I don't enjoy hearing from detectives. If you're going to visit a crime scene, do it after the cops leave and don't get caught."

"Right. In my defense, I was distracted."

"Distracted PIs get shot, Vines. Don't be so stupid you get shot."

Definitely didn't plan to get shot. I flipped the business card over while listening to Mick click his pen a hundred times while he decided how best to chew me out. He'd definitely send me a bill for the time.

Wait. I stared at the card and flipped it over.

The business card wasn't a business card at all, but an appointment card made out for Jalinda to meet her lawyer at an address written on the back portion of the card. The meeting was scheduled for today. I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the time.

In thirty minutes.

Mick Darcy worked out his frustrations against his pen and I plotted.

It was a twenty-minute drive to Clearwater... if I sped. But I owned a fast car.

"Listen, Mick, I completely agree," I said, forgetting myself and using his first name. "I totally agree with you. Getting shot is not something I'm planning to let happen. I have a great flashlight now, so I'm totally covered. Burned a spot on my desk and everything."

"What in the hell are you talking about, Vines?"

"I've got to go, but we'll catch up later this week. I'm working on a big case."

"You better solve a big case then or else," he said, but I didn't sit around waiting for what came next. I had a lawyer to intercept.

**

I cleared the address from my GPS and parked Rachel in front of the Clearwater diner. Somewhere, someone made a rule that every small town had to have their token diner. Apparently, Janet Day, lawyer, liked to use Clearwater's for lunch meetings. I wondered if she knew Frankie Zanetti, a local mafia boss, owned the place.

With my phone in front of my face scanning her website-the place I learned Janet was actually a divorce lawyer-I walked into the diner comparing the faces of each patron. It's possible Janet already knew of Jalinda's passing and wouldn't be in attendance, but as the only lead, I needed to follow it.

The online picture matched up with a woman sitting at a back table facing the side wall. I slipped my phone in my pocket and made my way across the black-and-white tiles of the diner.

Janet wore a crisp navy business suit with the jacket open. She lifted a white coffee mug to her lips and blew a breath against the steaming liquid. A sign she'd just arrived at the diner, too. Her gray hair bordered on white, and she had it cut short, but in a stylish way.

She certainly looked more put together than my pizza cat t-shirt. I zipped my coat up, hiding my poor wardrobe choices and then slid into the booth across from her, placing my hands on the tabletop.

"Hi."

Janet stared at me, her eyes narrowed, and she placed her still-full mug back on the table. "Who are you?"

The diner smelled like fresh eggs and bacon, making my stomach growl. One of these days, I'd learn how to eat breakfast.

"I'm Vonnie Vines, a private investigator in Pelican Bay." I leaned across the table and shook her hand. Janet had a firm grip, but she held my hand a second too long, ratcheting up my nerves.

When she slipped her hand from mine, she wiped it on the paper napkin next to her.

Rude.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Vines, but I'm waiting for my client to arrive for an important meeting. If you have something to discuss, you are free to call my secretary and schedule an appointment."

"Can I get you something, sweetie?" An older woman wearing a black shirt with an apron covering her jeans approached our table with a pen already against her order pad.

Janet scowled, but right then, my stomach grumbled. I hadn't had time to look at a menu, but every diner had the staples. "Can I get a strawberry milkshake and a turkey sandwich, please?"

Ellie Mae, from the words on her name badge, nodded along as I spoke, but it didn't help. I still saw Janet's deep frown from beside me. "Sure thing."

"To go, please?" I asked, holding up one finger before she returned to the kitchen. No point in upsetting the lawyer. I didn't want to be sued for lunch infringement or something.

"Please, I really must insist you make an appointment," Janet said as soon as Ellie Mae left the area.

I started on my zipper, remembered the pizza cat shirt, and stopped. "I'm here about your client. Jalinda Jones."

Janet sighed heavily. "What about her?"

"She's dead."