Chapter 3LinkCassie
Chapter 3
Link
I set my coffee mug on the desk and wince. My ribs still hurt from the house call I received from Phin’s men. It’s been two days, and I still have to be careful how much I breathe.
“What’s taking so long?” I call out to Quinn through the open office door.
“Use the intercom!”
“What’s the point if you leave my door open?”
“I only hear what you’re saying if you say it through the intercom!”
“Then why are you answering me?”
Of course, this time she doesn’t.
I pick up the receiver and smash the red button. “I hate this thing,” I say in a low voice, gruff enough that she can’t call it whining.
“Quit whining. I got you an old-timey phone just for this purpose. Do you know how long it took to find it? And my ads have been so messed up ever since. I’ll never recover.”
“Really? Like what? ‘Cause I wanted this cool calculator watch, but I never got one.”
“No. Way worse. The internet gods must think I’m a hundred years old because all I see are walkers and Life Alert necklaces!” Quinn’s laugh echoes through the receiver and the door.
While I wait for her to stop giving me a hard time, I fiddle with the things on my desk. I don’t know where anything is anymore, not that I ever did. I don’t really know what I’m looking for, either. I move a stack of papers from one side to the other. Pick up a pen to check if it still writes. Notice that the calendar mat hasn’t been changed in two months, and I wonder if that’s my problem or Quinn’s or if I need one at all now that I have her.
“Stop that!” Quinn’s voice is shrill through the phone.
“What?”
“Clicking your pen. I thought we fixed you of that habit?”
My thumb hovers over the clicker. I hadn’t realized I was doing it. “Helps me think,” I say back.
“Mmhmm. What did you want, anyway?”
“You know, one day, you’re gonna get the pink slip for your insubordination.” I click the pen near the phone just to annoy her.
She laughs again. “I’d worry about that if my boss knew where I keep the pink slips.”
“That’s what I have you for.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Quinn clears her throat. “How may I be of assistance, Mr. Suco, sir?”
My nose scrunches. “Ew.” I sigh loud enough for her to hear. “What’s taking so long on the Wilco bounty? Are they fixing it or not?”
There’s a banging sound, a beep, and a click on her end of the line. “Great! I spent fifteen minutes waiting for this thing to boot up this morning, and it just died on me again. These working conditions are impossible!”
I hang up and walk out to her front office to find her banging on the side of the computer. “I wouldn’t work if you hit me like that either.”
“Remember that time you tripped over your own two feet chasing that perp downtown on Cleveland? Said it was ‘cause your leg didn’t land just right, and it triggered your old football knee?” Quinn smacked the computer again.
“I do not recall.”
“Well, this is the same thing. You gotta hit it just right, or the fan doesn’t kick on, and it overheats. It dies on me whenever I try to get onto the county site to check the docket.” Quinn leans back in her chair and pushes her mouse in irritation.
I pull out my wallet and hope a puff of dust doesn’t fly out. “Here,” I say, handing her my card. “I guess it’s your lucky day. You get to work down at that hippie coffee shop you like. Just find out whether we’re getting paid for Wilco. And don’t go over ten bucks.” I waggle the card at her.
She doesn’t take it. Instead, she chews the inside of her cheek and pushes the button on the computer again. “I’ll figure it out.”
I stand there with the card still in the air between us for a moment. That’s how long it takes me to notice the red creeping up her neck and the way she won’t look at me. “What’s the matter? You don’t like coffee anymore?”
It’s leading, I know, but it has the desired effect.
“Don’t detective me.”
I scoff. “I only use like one percent of my detective powers. That was ninety-nine percent friend.”
“Ew,” she says, repeating my sentiment from earlier.
“Fine. Ninety percent friend, nine percent boss who doesn’t want to see his equipment abused, and one percent World’s Okayest Detective… per the mug you got me for Christmas.” I try to give her the card again. “Take a break. I’ll have this fixed before you get back. Go on. You know caffeine makes everything better.”
“Not from Humble Grounds… at least not anymore.”
“You don’t say?” I can’t stop myself from rising on my toes and dropping back down in triumph. Another case cracked.
Quinn cuts me a deadly look out of the corner of her eye. “You can be a real jerk sometimes. You know that?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I flash her a smile. It's not the same one I used on Darla that definitely almost worked. This is more my ‘you know you can’t stay mad at me’ boyish charm that still gets me out of sticky situations.
She doesn’t take the card, but her resolve falters. “If you must know, I can’t show my face there for a while. Not until the embarrassment wears off.”
“What’s the embarrassment’s name?”
“Zeb.”
I make an involuntary retching sound.
“This is why I don’t tell you things.”
I drop the card on the table in front of her. “As previously discussed, you telling me is not necessary.”
“I’m throwing that mug in the trash.”
“Only if you can find it. Now tell me what…” deep breath, “Zeb did.”
Quinn’s neck and cheeks redden further. “I don’t know if it’s something he did. Maybe I got mixed signals. Or mixed them up myself. I don’t know. You know how my luck is with men.”
I hold my breath to stop myself from reminding her she’s dating a hipster named Zeb. What kind of luck does she expect? Instead, I say, “Want me to tail him?”
She stands and puts her hand firmly on the desk, which I notice is conveniently on my card. “Absolutely not! Remember what happened the last time you tailed a guy for me?”
I follow her toward the door. “It’s not my fault the guy was married. That’s why you hire a P.I. in the first place! To find that stuff out ahead of time.”
“It’s your fault his wife slashed my tires.”
“I paid for your tires to be replaced.” Didn’t I?
“No! No, you didn’t! You said you would, but somehow forgot all about it until after my insurance covered it. I still owed a $250 deductible!”
“That’s a good deductible. What insurance—” The look on her face tells me now’s not the time for rate shopping. “Fine, you can go up to fifteen on the card. But that’s my final offer.”
I throw my hands up in surrender.
Quinn narrows her eyes at me. As she’s grabbing the door handle and gearing up for her parting shot, there’s a knock.
Cassie
When a cute woman about my age, maybe a couple of years older, opens the door, I step back. Then I look at the door for a name or logo. After getting off the plane, I drove to this building, parked the rental car, and knocked, all on autopilot. Maybe I should have actually read all the letters those lawyers kept sending.
Just like Lincoln Suco to abandon the company and leave me to pick up the pieces. No wonder the lawyers were so desperate.
The woman gasps upon seeing me.
It’s a reaction I’m used to, so I reach into my purse for a pen.
“Come in! I can’t believe I finally get to meet you.” The woman grabs my arm and pulls me into the office. The door shuts behind me before I can protest or even speak.
I’m about to tell her there’s been a huge mistake when I glance up. Lincoln Suco himself is grinning lecherously at me. Seeing that smirk on his face, the look I’d dreamed of since I was a girl, has me rushing toward him.
Fists clenched.
“Hello,” he croons, oblivious to the danger he’s about to be in.
Then I see it. Watch the recognition dawning on him just in time to deflect my angry shove.
The woman, I assume his latest conquest, moves to get between us. I don’t lash out at her. She isn’t to blame here. Who knows what lies he’s told her?
“You sellout! How could you, Lincoln?”
He flinches and blinks. “Cassie!” Lincoln pushes his new friend aside and reaches for me like we’re best friends. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Wow.” He grabs my arms and looks me over. I suddenly feel way overdressed and exposed at the same time. “Hollywood’s been good to you.”
No, it hasn’t.
“So,” he says, giving me a brief hug and then stepping back. A look of professionalism comes over him. It’s so out of place that I also step back. “You come to answer the letters finally?”
I’m too stunned to speak.
What’s going on here?
“Ooh, do you need a case solved?” His face lights up, and the Lincoln I’ve always known and loved shines through.
My thoughts immediately go to Gary and my replacement, how I’m being blacklisted by the very people I trusted to guide me through my first years in the business.
I shake my head.
“I’m here because you had the nerve to exploit my father’s accomplishments for your own gain. Have you no decency?” I poke him in the chest, and it feels so good to have an outlet for all my rage. I do it again, harder.
His face is a mask of shock, but he stands firm and lets me take my anger out on his chest. When I see him exchange a look with his friend, telling her not to intervene, I finally stop.
“I’m not exploiting anything,” he says through gritted teeth.
“So, the article was a lie, then? You’re not writing a book? Selling my father’s story to the highest bidder?” I can hardly contain the heat rising up my neck. All I want to do is wrap my hands around his.
“First of all, your father and I were partners. We worked on all our cases together. And second…” Lincoln breaks into a laugh, making it impossible to keep speaking.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“And second,” he continues, “I’m not making any money. Period.” He waves his arms around as if the office is proof of that.
Whatever he’s saying goes in one ear and out the other. All I can think about is that stupid article. “Only way to solve is by solving?” I mimic his smug voice, and I can just picture him using my father’s line like it’s his own, trying to impress a hot young reporter.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s in the article!”
Lincoln has the decency to look hurt. “Well, I don’t remember saying it. I’m sorry. I would never… Harry said it so much, it’s like second nature to me.”
All the fight leaves me at the mention of my father’s name. My legs suddenly threaten to buckle under me. I look around and realize I’m here. I’m actually here.
I move away from Lincoln before he can put a hand on me in the name of comfort. I take a deep breath, sucking in the scent of my father’s things; of the office I’d grown to know so well. Because I miss him so deeply, I don’t think I can stand to be here one more second.
My fingers run the length of the bookshelf along the wall, and I smile. How many nights did I sit here as a kid, waiting for him to finish writing up his report on a case while Lincoln shot a foam basketball into the hoop on the back of the door? I can’t bring myself to look over at the now-closed door to see the hoop still hanging there as if everything is still the same.
Nothing is the same anymore.
“… can’t keep running from the truth.” Lincoln’s words break through my haze, and my blood sets to boiling all over again.
“You’re one to talk!” The woman says with a laugh. I look over and find her arms folded in front of her. A big, friendly smile greets me as if she’s in on the joke.
“Quinn, Cassie. Cassie, Quinn,” Lincoln says by way of introduction.
“Don’t call me that!” I snap at him.
Ignoring me, he gestures toward the woman. “Quinn’s been helping me keep this place afloat since…” He lets the gravity of the last words linger unsaid.
I can’t take the weight of them and glance away. But the only place left to look is my father’s desk.
How did I get all the way in here?
It’s like my feet are determined to stroll down this horrible memory lane against my will.
Everything is just as he left it, or just as I remember. It’s been so long, yet I can still smell his aftershave. I still see the ring from his coffee mug. How many times did I tell him to use a coaster? Several multi-colored folders are stacked on the side of the desk, each color representing a specific type of case. The one he had open on his last day in office is green: financial crimes. At the bottom of the stack is a yellow folder—undetermined mystery, our favorite. I try not to let my fingers creep toward it. I know if I indulge myself in being nosey, I won’t put the file down.
Luckily, I don’t get the chance to have that fight with myself as I see a thick stack of unpaid bills right beside the folders. I pick them up and wave them at Lincoln. “Is this why the lawyers keep hounding me? Because you refuse to act responsibly for once in your life?”
“It’s not my fault the bills are piling up. This is a partnership. The door doesn’t say Suco All-By-Himself Private Investigations!”
“Might as well say that from the way you were talking in that article!” I move closer to him and get back in his face. “Cracking cases and breaking hearts! Just like the good ol’ days!” I hate the way my voice breaks on the last words.
“The good ol’ days? You want to relive the good ol’ days? Fine!” Lincoln reaches over to his desk and picks up a phone message. “Sonny McCray’s bull got loose. Wanna go help me round him up? Get back in the game!”
“I was never in the game. And there’s no way in the world I’m chasing a bull all over a pasture.” I look down at my cream blouse, jeans, and strappy sandals.
“Quinn, which bills would the $500 recovery fee pay?”
The woman looks like she doesn’t want to answer or get in the middle of our catfight. But she gives me an apologetic sigh and says, “Mortgage was due on the eighth.”
“Mortgage? There’s no mortgage on this place! Lincoln, what have you done?” He’s lucky he’s almost across the room now, or I’d let him have it.
“Your father took out an equity loan to cover expenses while undergoing treatment. It wasn’t much, but it helped. And that $500 would catch us up.”
“There is no us ,” I say, snatching the message out of his hand and marching toward the door. I didn’t intend to come back and jump into solving cases, but from the looks of the place, they could use the money. Besides, perhaps an easy case could help get my mind off the situation back home. It couldn’t hurt. “You coming or what?