Caleb Joyner is a Silicon Valley Private Investigator. This is the first book. I published this book last June. I am currently working on a sequel. (www.calebjoyner.com) Your votes and comments are appreciated.
1 hot day, hotter woman
I was looking out of my Taylor Street office enjoying the women walking by in their summer apparel when I saw Ruth Park’s Lexus sedan pull up to the curb. My heart began to beat faster, part from joy and part from anxiety. It had been almost three years since she had walked out on me.
She sat in her car for a few long moments as if debating whether I’d be in or out detecting in one of the Valley’s rare 100-degree days. Apparently she chose the former as she opened her car door and stood up giving me a delightful view of her lithe dancer’s body along with the pretty face that I had fallen in love with. I watched her reach into her backseat pulling out her Louis Vuitton briefcase and then proceed to pay me a visit.
I went over to the hallway bathroom, quickly washed my perspiring face and checked myself in the sink mirror. “Dashing!” I thought, combing my fingers through my hair before rushing back to my overheated office. I left the hallway door open in hopes of gleaning some of my neighbor’s air conditioning when Ruth appeared. She was wearing a tight white cotton skirt and a button up pink sleeveless blouse complementing her trim body. Long black silky hair framed her porcelain doll face, my eyes drawn to her cherry red lips, and dark almond shaped eyes.
“Are you Caleb Joyner, the famous Private Investigator?” she asked smiling as she walked over and handed me one of my own business cards, the Louis Vuitton held close to her tight skirt.
I looked at the card then laid it on my teak desktop, careful not to let the fan blow it away, then took a breath and gave her my best smile taking part in her role-playing. “Joyner, Caleb Joyner.” I couldn’t tell if she noticed my tribute to James Bond, her face not breaking her practiced lawyer smile. I felt like I should add, “at your service”, or “service with a smile” or “gun for hire” but I settled for a, “Would you care for a cold drink?”
“Why yes thank you,” she answered, with white washed teeth glaring out at me, making me to want to kiss the red right off of her lips. Instead I said, “Have a seat,” pointing towards one of my two client chairs.
Reaching back I opened my mini fridge displaying bottles of Dasani water, Coca-Cola and Sierra Nevada Beer. “What will it be?”
“Do you have a diet coke in there?” Her face grew an apologetic frown as if afraid her question would bring tears to my eyes.
“Sorry, only diet water,” I replied, too tough for tears, but sad that I couldn’t satisfy her, something that I have had a history of being unable to do.
“I’ll take the water then,” she laughed with her wispy voice, her face easing out of her lawyer mask. I grabbed two mugs from a rack on top of the fridge and put them before us.
We sat there pouring water into our mugs, taking sips. She smiled at me and I smiled back. If we were at a party I would have asked her where she was from, what she did for a living or what was her favorite Beatles Song. But here in my office with the tropic heat, ice-cold water and a hot client, I was all business.
“So where did you get my card?”
Looking down at my desktop, she took a moment to run her hands down her painted on skirt before saying, “A handsome man gave it to me and said that if I were to have any trouble that I should come see you. For trouble is your specialty.”
She looked up from her skirt, staring at me with a shy smile. Managing to tear myself from her dancer legs I stared back into the eyes that plagued my dreams and said, “So, how have you been?”
She dropped her act and flopped back in the chair like an over used rag doll. Her red lips, just a moment before begging to be kissed, were now listless and ready to drool. Where once stood the image of coolness, now sat a heat beaten, worn out woman in her late twenties.
I watched as she took up the icy mug of Dasani while undoing the top two buttons of her blouse and turning on my imagination. I couldn’t help but stare as she pulled the mug from her mouth and let out a loud gasp like one makes after downing a shot of hard liquor.
“Have you ever had a case that turns from good to bad in a day?”
I smiled, thinking that all my cases are like that. But to her I answered, “Occasionally.” She looked up at me groggily, as if the Dasani was gin instead of water.
“Well my cases are never like that. I take on only those that look nice and easy. It makes me look good to the partners, like a Prima Dona deserving of a partnership.” She paused to take another sip of the water, as the fan blew back a loose strand of hair from her now sticky forehead.
“I take it that this case has not gone the way it should have?” I inquired, trying to help Ruth out of her drunken act, hoping that we could get out of my hot office to some place air-conditioned. Perhaps over a lengthy dinner, followed by an intense dessert.
“You could say that again,” she began, staring over at me with her eyes raised and mouth formed into a small ‘O’ like one of those anorexic magazine models. I suppose that it was to entice me but it was having the opposite affect. One of the many reasons that I love Ruth the way I do is that she doesn’t act like all the other women I meet.
“Have you been drinking?” I asked, only half joking as I noticed a red flush painted across her face.
“Just a small glass of wine,” she whispered. Then adding with raised eyebrows, “Or maybe two.”
We sat staring at each other for a few silent moments before I suggested, “Why don’t you tell me about it. What happened?”
She shifted her skirt in the padded chair, grasping at the diminutive electric breeze before telling me the story. “I’ve got a client whose husband has skipped town and I want you to find him.”
I noticed that her lawyer mask was slowly being pulled back on. She put her water mug on the desk then leaned over towards me as if I were one of the twelve jurors she had to convince to help her free an innocent man.
“When did he skip town?” I asked.
“I don’t know exactly. Sometime in the past month. He was supposed to have shown up in court this morning but he didn’t.”
“Getting a divorce? This client of yours?”
“Yes,” she answered, reaching down to the Louis Vuitton. She pulled out a thick manila folder and laid it in front of me. “You see he was supposed to sign this settlement that his lawyer and I were hashing out. That was this morning.”
“When things were good?” I asked.
“Yeah, when things were good.” She slumped back in the chair again, picking up the water bottle.
“I take it that he didn’t show and that’s when things went bad?” She nodded.
“Not only did he not show, but the bank called my client and informed her that the mortgage to her house is in arrears.”
“I see,” I said, flipping open the manila folder.
“Not only did he not pay the mortgage for several months but he took out a second mortgage and hasn’t paid that either.” She poured the remains of the Dasani into her mug and asked, “Why don’t you get some air conditioning in here? I don’t know how you can stand it.”
“How much?” I asked, ignoring her question for I too wish I had some air conditioning.
“How much what? Air conditioning?”
“Money! How much money did he take out on the second?”
“Oh that. Four hundred thousand dollars.” I let out a stream of air between my teeth.
“That’s a lot of glasses of wine,” I uttered. She looked over at me with a frown on her red face.
“So will you take the case? Will you find Jason Toler for me?”
I looked down at the photo of an over weight middle-aged man standing next to a young blonde trophy wife. I wasn’t one for divorce cases for they left me with a bad taste in my mouth. But if I rationalized it enough I could look at this as a ‘missing person’ adventure.
“Let me read this over and I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I told her, looking up from the folder.
“How about tonight? At the Giant’s game?” She reached down to her brief case and tossed out two baseball tickets. “My boss is letting me use the limo.”
I smiled, and then questioned her. “Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Park?”
She paused for a moment then answered. “Well, yeah. I guess I am.” I watched her lick her cherry lips and open her eyes wide with conspiracy, then whispered. “Plus we can talk about the case.”
“Okay, I’m game,” I whispered back.
“Great! I’ll have the limousine pick you up here at 5:30! We’ll have fun! And we’ll have air conditioning!”
“Make it my place instead of here,” I said staring at her, wondering if she’d really be fun or just another round of heartache.