The P.I. Contest. C.J. Carmichael
THE NEXT MORNING Kate arrived at the agency bright and early. She forced herself to get out of bed, even though she’d had a restless night, thanks to that tickle at the back of her throat. No matter how many vitamins she popped or how much orange juice she drank, it would not go away.
She bumped into Nadine, who was unlocking the main door. The young receptionist gave her a welcoming smile. “Lindsay and Nathan don’t usually come in until nine. You must be an early bird.”
“When I need to be.” Kate didn’t care when Lindsay and Nathan arrived for work, but she sure hoped that Jay wouldn’t be in for a while.
Nadine gave her a closer look. “Do you have a cold? There’s a mean one going around. I had it last week and it was terrible.”
“Just a tickle in my throat.” She had no time to get sick, and so she wouldn’t. Mind over matter. “Did Lindsay leave anything for me?”
“Yes. She asked me to prepare two files—one for you and one for Jay.” Nadine unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a folder which she handed to Kate. “I’m guessing you’d like to get straight to work. The office you’re sharing with Jay is opposite the conference room. Call me if you need anything. And if you’re a coffee drinker, I’ll have a fresh pot ready in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Nadine.” This receptionist of Lindsay’s was so pleasant and helpful, especially when compared with some of the dispatchers Kate had worked with over the years.
With her leather bag slung on one shoulder, Kate’s hands were free to open the folder as she walked. Inside she found a summary of the information Hannah had given them yesterday and copies of forms she must have filled out with Nadine.
Kate paused to open the door to her new office, then assessed the layout. A second desk had been squeezed next to a file cabinet. The original desk, in front of a window that looked out at—surprise!—a brick wall, was larger and also had the computer on it. She sat there.
She’d done a lot of thinking last night and already knew where she wanted to start: with Hannah’s birth mother. Thankfully her name, phone number and address were included in the file. Rebecca Trotter lived in Brooklyn with her husband and two school-aged children.
It would be best to arrange a face-to-face meeting. There was a chance Hannah’s mother would tell her things she wouldn’t have felt comfortable sharing with her daughter. At any rate, Kate wanted to verify the list of father candidates before she went to the work of tracking them down.
Hoping to catch the woman before she left for work, or to take the kids to school, depending on her routine, Kate dialed the home number provided in the file. A woman answered, sounding harried.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Kate Cooper from The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency. Your birth daughter—”
“Fox & Fisher? Again? Look, I want to help, but I’m busy. I have two kids to get ready for school, breakfast to cook, lunches to make. I don’t have time for this. I already told that nice man last night, afternoons are more convenient for me.”
Oh my God. That nice man had to be Jay. And he’d already talked to Hannah’s mother last night. Kate couldn’t believe she had been scooped so quickly.
“I apologize. I didn’t realize Jay had already set up a time for us to talk.”
“He didn’t mention anything about you coming along. Kate, was it?”
“Yes. Kate Cooper. It is actually important that we both speak with you, so to waste the least amount of your time, we should probably combine the interviews.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Jay’s coming here this afternoon at one. Does that work for you?”
“It sure does, Mrs. Trotter. Thank you very much.”
AFTER A MORNING spent surfing for information on the alumni of New England College, Jay called for a cab to take him to Brooklyn. This morning he’d decided not to accompany Eric on the subway. Not that Eric seemed to care, one way or the other.
Jay was worried about all the emotions Eric must be bottling inside. One of the doctors who had been on duty the night Tracy died had suggested counseling for the boy, but Eric had walked out of the session Jay had arranged with a grief therapist. Jay didn’t have any other ideas on how to handle the situation.
The poor kid had walked in on his unconscious mother. He’d called 9-1-1 and had waited alone in the hospital until he’d been told that his mother was dead.
It was more than most adults could bear, and Eric was just a kid.
Jay had been flying the night Tracy died, on the last leg of a transoceanic trip to Europe. He hadn’t received the frightened message his nephew had left on his cell phone until the next day.
He wondered if Eric blamed him for not making it to the hospital in time. If so, he wouldn’t be surprised. He certainly blamed himself. Too late he realized he’d pursued his dream of flying at the expense of his family’s best interests. He should have kept closer tabs on his sister and her son. No doubt about that.
Still, the mistakes he’d made in the past didn’t change the reality of his problems with Eric. This past month he’d let a lot of things slide. Not just rudeness, but a general sloppiness around the apartment. He had to start laying down some ground rules with the boy, which he knew wouldn’t go over well.
Tracy had never been one for rules, or discipline of any type.
Jay sighed at the prospect of what lay ahead. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe Eric was the same child that he had watched grow up from infancy. He’d done a lot of babysitting for Tracy over the years, and Eric had always loved spending time with him.
They’d done stuff like feed the ducks at Central Park and ride the ferry on the Hudson. He’d taught Eric to skate and to ride a bike. And yet, at some point Eric had stopped seeing him as his favorite person in the world.
He’d heard his colleagues at work, the ones with families, complain about what happened when kids became teenagers. He supposed it was the same with Eric. After all, Tracy had changed a lot when she’d hit adolescence, too.
For now he’d just keep doing his best to make his nephew comfortable in his new home. He’d already converted the office in his apartment into a second bedroom, he’d bought a Wii and set up a computer for the boy to use in the family room.
Still, nothing he’d done seemed to have softened Eric’s attitude toward him. He had a meeting scheduled with his homeroom teacher this afternoon. Maybe she would have some useful advice.
“What’s the address again?” the driver asked him. They were crossing the bridge into Brooklyn, the Statue of Liberty dimly visible to the south.
Jay answered, then told himself to stop thinking about his nephew and start focusing on the job. He needed to be sharp if he wanted to best Kate Cooper, and so far he liked to think he was off to a fast start.
Ten minutes later the driver pulled up in front of the Trotters’ address. The home Rebecca shared with her husband and two kids was one in a long line of attached houses, with a garage out front and a tiny lawn.
Jay paid the driver, arranged a pick-up time, then made his way to the front door. It was exactly one o’clock when he rang the bell.
The woman who came to the door had to be Rebecca Trotter, since she looked like an older, fifteen-pound-heavier version of Hannah. Amazing the power of genetics. He smiled and said hello. “Jay Savage. We spoke on the phone last night.”
“You’re finally here. Come on in. We’re in the kitchen.”
Finally? We? He checked his watch and wondered if it was running slow. They passed through a small living room, with toys and books strewn on the carpet, to a kitchen crammed with more toys and a large pine table.
Sitting in