Tracy Hayes, Apprentice PI

Chapter Thirteen

"I take it we're going to keep an eye on her apartment?" I said to Jackson when we returned to the car.

"So you heard the voices too?" When I nodded, he smiled. "Good. Always keep an eye and ear on details like that."

"Couldn't we just have gone in and checked?"

"Only if we had the visual of him. Without it we only have the right to enter the home of the fugitive, not other people, unless we have a warrant. Which you would know if you'd read the material I gave you." He shot me a meaningful look and I tried to look chastised.

We settled down to wait, mostly in silence. Jackson retreated into his zone and I continued my seething.

I had a lot to seethe about, like how dare Scott look better than when we were married. He was seven years older than me, he should show it. But men only improved as they aged, didn't they. Scott was more built now – he'd had lean, ropey muscles before – and his face had acquired rugged character, which was only emphasized by stubble on his cheeks and his mop of dark blond hair. He'd had long hair when we were married. I tried to find satisfaction in the fact that he wasn't a successful rock star, but even that didn't help.

"You don't have an ex-wife, do you, or you'd show more sympathy," I huffed when I couldn't keep it in anymore. "Or you have one, but you parted as friends. Maybe see each other from time to time for a cup of coffee." But Jackson only smiled, which aggravated me more. "And how dare Trevor keep this a secret from me?"

Come to think of it, that probably infuriated me the most.

"He didn't have a reason to believe you'd ever end up in that bar."

"That's not the point. He had news about my ex. He should've shared."

I wallowed in my misery and anger until a more pressing topic began to occupy my mind. "What if I need to use the bathroom?"

I probably shouldn't have had that ice tea with lunch, or I should've at least used the bathroom before leaving the bar. But that hadn't been an option, had it.

And whose fault was that? Scott's.

Jackson shrugged. "You suffer." Then a slow smile spread on his face. "Unless you're a guy. We can use empty bottles and cups."

Great.

An excruciatingly long half hour later I had to admit defeat. "I need to go." I was out of the car before he could say anything. I quick-marched to the only place nearby that I judged would have a toilet for customers, a hair salon.

"Can I please, please, please use your toilet?" I jumped on the balls of my feet to indicate the urgency.

The hairdresser, a large Jamaican woman in a colorful tie-dyed shirt and cornrows that reached to her buttocks gave me a long look.

"The toilet is for customers only. Are you a customer?" She had a heavy Jamaican accent too.

"I could be." I looked around. The posters on the walls showed elaborate styles for African hair that my thin hair simply wouldn't turn to. "I might look good in cornrows," I said hesitantly. "But I don't really have time for them now."

"Perhaps you could buy a nice hairclip, then," the woman suggested. She indicated a rack where all sorts of accessories were hanging.

"Yes, I would like one of those. But can I use the bathroom first?"

"Buy first."

My decision-making skills were at zero, all my brain-power focused on more pressing matters in my lower abdomen, but I went to the rack and scanned the wares as fast as I could.