I fidgeted with the brim of my hat and the strap of my purse as the server led Jack and I back to the kitchens. Every step brought us closer to the scent of seafood and fresh herbs. Black frock coats and checkered pants zipped about the kitchen: sautéing, mixing, and chopping.
On one hand, I had never been more excited. On the other, I felt like such a fake. What if I messed the case up for Jack by saying the wrong thing or asking the wrong question? I decided the best thing to do was follow his confident lead and learn as much as I could from the private detective.
"What's good, Chuck? Who are they?" asked the nearest chef wearing a sauce-splattered white apron.
The sever clenched his jaw. "I've told you countless times to call me Charles, not Chuck. And these two would like to pass their compliments on to Red."
I swallowed my laughter and turned my head to avoid looking like an asshole, and Charles departed in a hurry.
"Bye, Chuck!" the chef called out.
A burly man with a wiry red arm hair and a potbelly approached Jack and I with a wide grin. "Leave poor Chuck alone, you pups. We have compliments to receive!" The man shuffled forward, removing his apron as stowing it on a hook. "I'm Red, the head chef."
Jack glanced my way, and I took that as his cue for me to say something. I put on my most charming smile and tipped my head to the side, extending my hand for Red to shake. "The meal was delicious. The scallops decadent while still being light. I haven't had something so delicious in years. Thank you."
Red gave me a broad smile. "I'm glad to hear it. But," he said quickly, "I need to get back to it."
Now what? Red was turning around, and we still hadn't asked him our questions. I gave Jack a frantic look, but he merely smiled coolly back at me.
"My colleague and I wanted to ask a few questions while we're back here. It won't take too long."
Jack slipped Red his business card, and the man's jovial expression fell. "I'll be in the office!" he shouted out to his staff before turning to march off over slick burgundy tile towards the back of the kitchen, where it was quieter, and the smell of fish was stronger.
Red opened a metal door for Jack and I, and the three of us squeezed inside a closet of an office. Stacks of paper and old coffee cups cluttering every flat surface. I leaned against the door while Red plopped down in an old office chair and folded his hands over his impressive belly.
"What's this all about? And be quick about it. I'm busy."
"I understand you are a very busy man around here, so I won't waste too much of your time with pleasantries. We are working on a case and heard you might have some information about," Jack dropped his voice, "Les Tenney."
Red let out a raspy chuckle. "No more than anyone else around here does."
"And what do they know?" I asked, suddenly curious. Red's watery eyes snapped to me.
"That he's an asshole."
Jack let out a bark of laughter that seemed to please the chef. "We heard there's more that he gets up to than just being an asshole and that maybe you'd be able to give us some insight?"
Red shook his head and made to get up. "I don't have time for this."
My hand went to his forearm. "Please," I said gently. "We wouldn't be bothering you but, Stella told me you know something important about the admiral but seemed hesitant to tell me herself. We only want the truth."
Red's face softened. "Did his wife hire you?"
"My employer's identity is confidential at the current moment," Jack replied.
There was a moment when I could feel the energy in the room begin to shift—when I knew Red was going to tell us his secret. All of us were quiet before Red let out a sigh.
"Room 123." The chef was staring down at his hands. "Every Friday night he's in town. Don't knock. Just leave the tray of baked oysters outside the door."
I didn't know what exactly that meant, but Jack seemed to understand.
"What time?" he asked.
"Between seven and eight."
There was another breath of silence, and I tried to piece Red's statement together.
"I'm not gonna have to go to court, am I?" Red asked hesitantly. "I understand Mrs. Tenney wanting her due after having a husband like him who brings girls up here every week, but I don't want to be on Les Tenney's bad side."
Oh.
Oh. It all made sense now.
Jack shook his head. "Of course not. What is said here stays between us. This conversation is for... information collecting purposes."
I eyed Jack. That seemed like a bold statement to make, or even a flat-out lie, but it seemed to put Red at ease. The chef wiped his damp brow with a black cloth napkin before stuffing it back inside his pocket.
"Good. Because the Tenney's are influencers around this town, and I don't want to lose my job." He let out a snort. "Well, maybe the Tenney well isn't as deep as it once was, but still."
That statement surprised me, considering the size and state of their downtown mansion home.
"What do you mean by the Tenney well isn't as deep as it once was?" Jack asked, leaning back against the wall.
Red licked his lips and shifted uncontrollably in his creaky leather chair. "I've heard rumors."
"What kind of rumors?"
Another breath of silence flooded the small office, and I felt it again, that shift in energy. There was more, and he was going to tell us.
"This is just between us, right?" Red turned to me for reassurances, and I wrung my hands together.
Jack cleared his throat then said, "We're just having a friendly conversation—off the record. No names involved."
My stomach clenched. How could Jack guarantee that? Was this the difference between being a police detective and a private eye?
"One of my buddies was yapping about it just last night when we were playing cards. He cuts the grass over at the Tenney place, and apparently, the last check they wrote him bounced."
"Bounced?" I asked, again surprised.
"Insufficient funds," Red explained as if I didn't understand what a bounced check meant. I was struggling to hold back my shock. "My buddy says the household manager gave him a stack of cash and an apology. Told him there must've been a mistake, that she'd given him a check from an old account, but Lou's been cashing those same checks for years."
Jack made a note in his small notebook. "That does seem strange."
"Real strange," Red added. Tiny droplets of sweat were beading on his forehead again. "This just stays between us, right?"
"Of course," Jack said reassuringly. "All we're doing is trying to understand the whole picture of what's going on."
"Chef!" came a shout from outside the door. "We just ran outta lobstah tail, and we got another four orders in!"
"Fuck me," Red grumbled. He gave me a meaningful glance. "I need to get back in there. These pups can't run the kitchen if I'm not there to clean up their piss stains."
I chuckled at that, which Red seemed to appreciate, before he stood up and lumbered out of his office and back into the fray.
Jack slid mirrored sunglasses out of his jacket and pushed them on his grinning face. "Bounced checks. Friday night hookups. I'd say this was a pretty good interview."
As we made our way out of the kitchen, Jack turned to me and said, "One question I keep asking myself is why the baked oysters? Seems so random. Why not chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne?"
"Les doesn't seem like the romantic type," I said flatly. We both laughed at that. "But I'm still wondering about the landscaper. Should we interview him?"
Jack slid his sunglasses down his nose. "We?"
"Yes," I said with more conviction than I felt. "We."
Jack pushed his sunglasses back up and held open the exit door for me, a coy smile playing on his lips as I strutted out.
"Alright. We can interview him next week. I'll set it up and get you the details."
I reached inside my purse and fished out a copy of Admiral Tenney's personal calendar, and handed it to Jack. "I also have something else for you."
Jack unfolded the paper and let out a low whistle. "Well, well, well. Look at this."
"Now we can do a stakeout on Friday night at the hotel. I thought maybe I could impersonate a room service employee—"
"Not so fast, Camilla," Jack interrupted. I was taken aback. So far, he'd been impressed and interested in my ideas. "This is good work. Getting the calendar and all. But, we aren't quite ready for a stakeout."
I struggled to keep my face from looking angry. Les Tenney deserved to get caught before he hurt someone else. "Well, should we go to the cops? Or NCIS? Can they tap his phone or something? Shouldn't they be the ones following him now that we have proof?"
Jack folded the paper back up and tucked it inside his suit coat. "No, not yet. I need to speak with my employer about this new development and get the okay to widen the scope of the case."
"What about NCIS? Shouldn't they know?"
Jack and I continued walking towards my tiny Prius, his look of amusement causing more anger to flood my veins. He hadn't seen Les Tenney at his worst.
"You don't run to daddy to tattletale on your darling little brother without all the facts. I want greasy fingerprints on the cookie jar before I go to the police. We don't know for certain that he's committed a crime. We have hearsay. A private detective is only as reputable as the information they provide."
"But we know where he's gonna be," I said as I unlocked my car. "You and I can get the proof on Friday."
Jack folded his arms over his broad chest. "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I don't want to go undercover with some half-ass plan just for the admiral to see us and scare him off his routine."
"But—"
"But nothing, Camilla." I could hear irritation finally prick through his usually cool demeanor. "I appreciate what you've done so far, but you're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. A good PI knows when to be patient."
My inexperience was showing once again, and heat crept up my neck and sat in my cheeks.
"Why did you let me take the lead back there?"
"A good boss empowers and supports his employees then lets them surprise him with their ingenuity."
"Are you calling me an employee?"
"I don't know," Jack drawled. "Am I?"
I didn't know what to say to that, and I found meeting his eye through his mirrored sunglasses impossible. I had the strange sensation that I was having this conversation not with Jack, but with myself.
"I could take you on as a low-paid intern. You could work with me and the other PI's on staff. We'd put you through some training courses. Maybe get you a few more floppy hats."
"Seriously?"
Jack gripped the edge of my car door as I slid inside. "Take the week to think about it. Let me know what you decide."
Before I could say anything else, he slammed the door shut and sauntered off towards his shiny Volvo. I watched him walk away with a mixture of doubt and shock.
I took off the hat and tossed it on the passenger seat, then flipped down the visor to look at myself in the tiny mirror.
Who am I, Lydie? Is everything in my life fake? Or am I finally starting to figure out what I want?
No reply came. I was on my own this time.
I pulled out my cell phone and stared at the screen. I might not know who I wanted to be, but I knew who I wanted to be with.
"Camilla?" South's voice was like a sip of wine after a long day at work.
"My plans changed. I'm free on Friday."
A/N
A longer chapter here, but there was so much to unpack!
What do we think about Les's meetings and the bounced check?
And the job offer? Is Camilla going to tell South about this?
xx
AJ