“Hello, Ronnie, this is Dave Crocker.”

  Ronnie didn’t miss a beat. “Hope you picked up the package all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. Can we meet?”

  “Two o’clock tomorrow at my office?”

  “Can we do it earlier?”

  “No.”

  Didn’t expect that.

  “All right, see you at two.”

  Next, I called the phone number for Art Jefferey.

  “Hello, Art speaking.”

  “Dave Crockett here, Art. I take it you’ve heard of me and know why I’m calling?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve a job for you and your tradies. You’ll be working on Trojan Horse . I’ll text the address and the name of the homeowner. Sounds like they’re getting a bit desperate.”

  “You want us to install the usual gear?”

  “Please. One more thing. If you can get away without using Dink, that’d be great.”

  Silence.

  “Mate, we’re installing a fuck-ton of surveillance gear, we need our sparky.”

  Now that I did expect. “All right. Just keep an eye on him. No day drinking.”

  “Sure. Cheers, mate.”

  I placed the phone on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch. It took no effort to smile. I was back and life felt almost normal. It hands down beat running background checks for security clearances day in and day out.

  Chapter 2

  [Ronnie: Two jobs in one day.]

  “ Donald Henere-Tracey, you utterly magnificent moron,” I muttered to the world beyond the windscreen of my Mustang. It felt like I was staring into the abyss that was about to become my so-called life. Donald’s stupidity ripped tattered holes in my future. “ I can ’ t believe he ’ d do something so stupid.” Idiot.

  I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and imagined it was Donald ’ s neck as my knuckles blanched. So much stupid. Angry didn ’ t begin to describe how I felt after the phone call from our Nana.

  Life was about to become insufferable. I screeched to a halt outside our house and jumped out of the car. I tried counting to ten but gave up at two. I’m pretty sure I was not overreacting.

  “ Donald! Y ou plonker! ” I yelled, as I stormed through the unlocked front door. “ How bloody could you?”

  A door closed ahead of me.

  Oh no, you don’t.

  There’ll be no sneaking away, you little shit.

  I crept out the front door and waited by the corner of the house, out of sight. Huffing, puffing, and heeled boots on concrete drew closer. As tempting as it was to trip him, I resisted. He might royally piss me off at times, but he is my cousin, and we share a house, and, like it or not, we also share a grandmother. Nana would not be impressed if I tripped Donald no matter how much he deserved it. Probably shouldn’t punch him either. Instead of tripping him, I grabbed his arm as he levelled with my hiding place.

  A high-pitched shriek filled the air. He batted wildly with his left hand, trying to either dislodge or kill my hand.

  “ Settle, petal,” I said, as I tightened my grip on his forearm through the silky fabric of his shirt sleeve.

  “ Oh, it ’ s you,” Donald replied, dropping his left hand to his side. “I thought it was a spider.” With a flick of his dark eyelashes, and an attempt at composure, he asked, “ Did you want me for something?”

  “ You can drop the innocent act. You knew it was me. You know why I ’ m here.” I squeezed and twisted his arm, digging my fingers into his flesh. I could probably get away with giving him a Chinese burn.

  “ Ronnie! You ’ re pinching,” he squeaked.

  “ Let ’ s go back inside for a little chat about Nana, shall we?”

  “ I ’ m late … for … for an appointment,” Donald said. “I’m late!”

  He didn’t look anything like a white rabbit but he was beginning to sound like one. I think Nana fancies herself the Queen of Hearts, so maybe Donald the plonker is the aforementioned vermin.

  “ Really? Late?”

  He nodded. The wide blond streak in his dark brown hair flopped up and down.

  “I have a new client at the salon. Don’t want to make a bad impression.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Nice try, fool.

  “ You don ’ t have your purse,” I said, after a brief pause.

  “ It ’ s not a purse. It’s a man bag,” Donald replied, with exaggerated patience and a head toss.

  “ You say man bag, I say purse. Wonder what Nana will call it.” Donald flinched. “ Shall we go ask her?”

  “ No need to trouble Nana, Ronnie.” He squeezed out a smile. “It’s a purse.”

  “ I ’ m sure she ’ d be delighted to see us with or without your purse.”

  His smile changed. I sensed a creeping manifestation of bravery taking hold of dear Donald. I’d be putting an end to that.

  “ Are you sure you want to go there ? ” He flapped his free hand in the general direction of the retirement home. “ Visit the Old One, I mean.”

  “ Of course. I love to spend as much time with Nana and the Cronies of Doom as I can squeeze into my day.”

  Donald and I were the same age. Our fathers were brothers and raised us together from the age of ten. I knew every trick in Donald’s dog-eared play book and wasn’t in the mood for his games.

  “ Why don ’ t we have a cuppa?” Donald said, trying to turn back to the house. “You look like you need a cuppa. You work too hard, Ronnie.”

  “ With Nana?” I countered, ushering him toward the car. “It’ll be fun.”

  His shoulders drooped. A long sigh escaped, and somewhere in the midst of the sigh, quiet words formed and fell over his pouty lips. “ It was an accident.”

  “ What was, Donald? ” I squeezed his arm a little tighter and gave him a good pinch.

  “ Ouch!” Donald squawked.

  Served him right. “What was an accident?”

  “The bridal magazines. They were an accident.”

  He tugged his arm up and my fingers slipped off the silky fabric.

  “ What about bridal magazines, you great big idiot?” I slapped his arm.

  “ I picked up a pile of mags from the salon for Nana and the Cronies to read. I didn ’ t know there were bridal magazines in the mix until she rang me.” He paled.

  I glared at him.

  “ She rang you? You knew what would happen and you didn ’ t warn me? ”

  “ How was I to know she ’ d make something of it?”

  Credit where credit’s due, he attempted to sound innocent, and it was a good attempt.

  “ Have you met our Nana? Because it ’ s sounding like you haven ’ t.” I smacked his arm a mite harder. “ For future reference, she ’ s that little old lady who thinks you ’ re straight and keeps trying to fix you up with nice young women.” Granddaughters of her thinning elderly friend circle, and daughters of caregivers at her retirement village. Nana was a woman on a mission and Donald was firmly in her sights, until now, until he did a stupid thing with bridal magazines and the crosshairs landed on me. I was not having it. Nope. I was not.

  He cringed. “Stop being so mean, Ronnie.”

  “I haven’t even started!”

  “ What do you want me to do?”

  “ Fix it! Explain to Nana there is no wedding and there will not be any wedding.”

  Not the easiest task in the world. Which is why it was unwise to give Nana ammunition. She had firm ideas on how people should live their lives and didn’t mind a jot letting everyone know what they were. It was worse now that Nana liked my on-again, off-again man-friend, Ben. She repeatedly told me that Ben wouldn’t buy the cow if I kept giving the milk away for free. I was pretty sure I was the cow in that scenario, and I didn’t like the analogy much.

  I puffed air through my closed lips.

  Donald ’ s right eyebrow rose, his piercing twinkled in the sun. “ Ronnie? ”

  “ Just fix it, Donald. I have to go back to work.” I shot out a further comment, “Why is it that you get away with being a charming bachelor, but in Nana’s eyes I’m a shrivelling spinster who can’t find a man to put a ring on my unworthy finger? And clearly need someone to plan my life for me?”

  I’m over this double-standard old-world rubbish. It’s not as if I’m five years older than Donald. The family was thoroughly delighted by our arrival within hours of each other. One little seven-pound nine-ounce baby Māori boy and one seven-pound Pākehā baby girl. Yin and yang. We went to the same kindy, primary school, intermediate, and college. We were in the same classes most of the time.

  “Life in Nana’s day was all about double standards,” Donald replied, with his trademark wide grin.

  “It sucks.” I glared at him. “Fix the Nana problem or there’ll be dire consequences for you.”

  He grumbled under his breath, but I chose not to hear his words of derision. My eyes landed on the greyhound patiently waiting in the back of the car. It was time to go. “Romeo is waiting. I’m off and you … you, Donald. You will fix this situation!”

  Truth was, my spid ey sense was tingling and it wasn’t about Nana’s delight in planning a non-existent wedding. It had a lot to do with the phone call from Dave Crocker. I was interested to see what he knew about Witcher and was absolutely sure that was what he wanted to talk about.

  In case you were wondering, I’m Veronica Tracey and I own an investigation firm with my two best friends. We mostly deal with wayward spouses and theft-as-a-servant jobs. Mostly, but not always. Every now and then an interesting job was flicked my way from former colleagues at NZSIS, and sometimes an old friend reached out with something fun for me to do which enables me to keep one hand in my former life. This time an old friend from another agency reached out. William MacKinnon. We go back quite a number of years.

  My specialty is finding people. I have a knack. Last time a big job came my way I had to find garden gnomes for the Yanks. Turned out to be scarier than it sounded and more world shattering than anyone could ’ ve imagined. It also brought an actor into my life, and he had floated in and out on a regular basis ever since. Nana likes him, but that is not the reason he’s still in my life.

  I drove back to the office, less annoyed with Donald, but still harbouring the feeling that something was about to happen. I unlocked the door and climbed the stairs with Romeo next to me. I liked his presence. He gave off a deceptive softy vibe and that was handy. He was getting on and, for a retired racer, was doing pretty well. Romeo is the best dog in the world and the older he grew the harder I knew his eventual death would hit me. I settled at my desk and flipped through a case report that needed emailing to a client. My cell phone rang. The name on the screen caused a smile. ‘Ben the actor’.

  “Morning, Ronnie.”

  “Morning, Ben.”

  “How goes the Nana situation?” Wherever Ben was, it was noisy. A loudspeaker announced a Hutt Valley train leaving from platform six. Wellington Railway station.

  “Told Donald to sort it. Might’ve involved a threat.”

  Ben laughed. “I’ve been called back to set. Won’t make it for dinner tonight.”

  “Damn.”

  “ It happens.”

  “ It’s been happening a lot lately, Ben.”

  “Almost sounds like you miss me.”

  “Almost.” I let a smile fill my voice. “The new job; any idea when more information will come to light?”

  “I’m coming out to the Hutt. I have a gift for you from MacKinnon.”

  “Okay, but you’re back on set?”

  “I’m on the train now. Meet me, then I’ll go back to town.”

  “Okay, if you insist,” I replied, smiling.

  “Hey, don’t be too hard on Donald. Tell Nana I’ll visit later in the week.”

  “I won’t and I won’t. I’ll be keeping your name out of all conversations until she drops this wedding march.” Romeo stood, stretched, and elegantly padded over to the desk. He nudged me. “Bye Ben.”

  I hung up and walked over to the window. People scurried across the road from the railway station, then disappeared from view. Romeo stretched once more, then lay down on his bed at the back of the office near my desk. He couldn’t see outside unless he climbed on the sofa under the window.

  I went back to my desk and finished the reports and then emailed them to respective clients. Just as I started to enjoy the peace and quiet, and give some thought to Dave Crockett and our afternoon meeting, Nana rang.

  “ Veronica dear, the girls and I were wondering ...”

  I steeled myself. It’s never good when Nana wonders anything.

  “ Yes, Nana?”

  “ You see dear, it ’ s like this ...” Nana paused. I detected mutterings of discontent in the background. The Cronies of Doom . “ We think there was a prowler in the garden during the night.”

  “ Was it an inmate?”

  “ That ’ s not nice, Veronica. We ’ re not prisoners.”

  “ Was it a res- i - dent? ” I laboured the word with a smile on my face.

  “ No. It was a youngish woman.”

  To be fair, I had heard her call seventy-year-olds young. Young was a relative term and included most people under ninety.

  “ Define youngish.”

  “ A bit older than you I suppose.”

  I am nowhere near seventy and found that almost reassuring. Almost.

  “ And define prowling, because walking through instead of going around isn’t technically prowling.”

  Nana huffed. “ She prowled. She walked all around and seemed interested in several of the apartments that open onto the back garden. She was almost in the bushes at the far end, and then she left, in a hurry.”

  “ Did you alert security?”

  “ Yes, but she was gone before they arrived.”

  “ Staff see anything?”

  “ No. Just us three.”

  “ How late was this occurrence?”

  “ A little after midnight.”

  And yet she rang to discuss wedding ideas bright and early in the morning and never mentioned the prowler. I decided not to mention the earlier conversation. I also didn ’ t want to know why they were gathered at that time of night. Some sort of coven meeting perhaps. Whatever it was, it was best left alone. The prowler notion gave birth to a small mercy; at least Nana had moved on from planning my wedding.

  “ What would you like me to do, Nana?”

  “ Come and look for clues ...” The exasperation in Nana ’ s voice warned me not to fob her off. Much better to have her actively pursuing anything that wasn’t my love life, or in her opinion, the lack thereof.

  “ I’ll come over soon.”

  “ How long do you think you’ll be?”

  I looked at my watch. “ As long as nothing crops up, I’ll be there in an hour, tops.”

  “ We‘ll be waiting.”

  “ While you ’ re waiting, would you each write a description of the woman? No conferring, please.”

  “ Yes, dear.” The tiresome tone to her voice gave me pause. The Cronies of Doom were up to something. The creation of mountains out of molehills, and drama from thin air, was their usual modus operandi.

  “ Nana, try and keep out of trouble. Romeo and I will be there soon.”

  “ Will you stay for a cup of tea? ”

  “ I ’ m sure that will be fine. Is there cake?” I am, after all, a dutiful granddaughter and tried to spend as much time as sanity would allow with Nana. Time was precious, but so was the thin thread that tethered my sanity to my functioning brain. I did like cake though.

  “I think I have some of that light fruitcake you like.”

  Romeo whined. I said goodbye and hung up the phone. The big dog moved to the door at the top of the stairs, his head cocked to one side.

  “I can hear it too, bud,” I said, as I listened to slow footsteps climb the stairs.

  Eventually there was a knock on the door.

  I sent Romeo back to his bed with a quick flick of my wrist and moved towards the door. The solid core door opened to reveal an elderly lady. Not our typical client.

  I smiled, welcomingly, or at least that’s what I was going for. No telling what my face was really doing.

  “Hello. Come in.” The lady tentatively walked through the doorway. I closed the door after her. “How can I help?”

  The visitor was approximately eighty-five years old, with short straight silver hair and a fringe brushed across her forehead. She wore a light-weight tan coat over a pair of navy slacks and a white blouse. Her aged blue eyes were bright, and I bet they missed nothing despite her unsure countenance. She clutched a navy handbag under one arm.

  “ Are you Veronica Tracey?” she asked in a quiet voice rimmed with apprehension.

  “ Yes, I am.” I ushered her toward a chair in front of my desk. Romeo snuck up to greet the woman.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, and patted Romeo on the head. He went back to bed, satisfied with the attention.

  I sat behind my desk and pointed to the chair in front. “Have a seat.”

  The lady hesitated at first, then with gathered momentum and purpose, she perched on the edge of the seat, nestling her handbag on her knee.

  Romeo bumped my chair as he settled himself for a spot of grooming.

  “How can I help?”

  She licked her thin lips and sighed. The dog moved again and then changed position completely.

  I waited for the woman to speak.

  A train rumbled in the distance, almost lost under the traffic noise that rose from the busy road below. Old lady, dog getting fidgety, neither of those things were ideal. While the lady fished for coherent thoughts, I extracted my phone from my pocket. “ Bear with ... looks like I need reinforcements,” I said, and flicked off a text to one of my business partners.

  Ronnie: Steph, I need help in the office.

  My phone buzzed with a reply.

  Steph: Be there in ten.

  Pocketing my phone again, I turned my attention to the woman. Romeo paced. The tags on his collar jingling with every movement.

  “ Settle bud,” I murmured when he nudged me. “ Cross your legs or something.” He huffed and paced some more and then folded himself awkwardly into a corner of the couch.

 

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