Pride, page 1
PRIDE
P A WILSON
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-990509-16-2
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990509-17-9
Audio book ISBN:978-1-990509-18-6
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by P A Wilson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
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Also by P A Wilson
About the Author
Acknowledgments
1
I grabbed the coffee David handed me like it would save my life. After two months, I was still waiting for him to become tired of my nonsense and leave. Instead, he was half moved in, was friends with my friends, and fed me breakfast. Why couldn’t I trust he’d keep doing it? Or that I wouldn’t do something to make him run?
“Are you ready to talk yet, Charity?” he asked.
I hoped he’d just forget the conversation. Granted, he had a point about me going behind his back to meet a source on my last case. But nothing happened. The guy was an accountant; what was he going to do? Audit me to death? Okay, I didn’t relish the idea of any kind of audit, but it wouldn’t put me in the hospital, either.
“Aren’t you on your way to work?” If I delayed enough maybe he’d forget about it. “I mean we can’t stop in the middle so you can run off to keep our streets safe from criminals.”
He picked up his phone and showed me the text he’d sent to his boss. Running late.
“Fine, how about I say sorry, and we just move on?” We’d been down this path before, and nothing changed. He wanted me safe; I needed to take risks to do my job. Just because I wasn’t a cop with a gun and a badge like him didn’t mean I couldn’t work my cases.
“We keep getting stuck.” He topped up his coffee. “You think I’m trying to get in your way. I’m not. You do what you want and then say sorry. Then you do it all again.”
I couldn’t look him in the eyes, and the only other view was the finger dock outside my front door. Even I couldn’t pretend to be fascinated by the concrete and floats for more than a few seconds. I didn’t deliberately go out of my way to annoy him. I needed to be free to act on tips and to do my job.
“So, what do you want to do? If you can’t deal with me as I am, you don’t have to be here.” Why did I say stuff like that? I’m not a kid. And I didn’t want him to go. I might love him... but saying the words was a step too far.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Unless you’re done with me, I’m here for good.”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say?
“I took risks before,” I said. If we were going to have this conversation, I could try to be honest about my feelings. “It feels like you don’t believe I can do my job.”
“I’m not trying to stop you,” David said. He reached out and touched my hand. “When you disappear, I’m afraid you aren’t simply following a clue, but that someone has beaten you, again.”
It hadn’t been that often. Although, his definition of too often probably differs from mine. “I’m not eager to end up in the hospital again either. I am careful.” Ugh, now I sounded whiney. If this is what love does to me, I’m out. “Most of my cases are administrative stuff. I don’t run after murderers every time. I don’t expect you to call me every time you go out to catch a criminal.”
He raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook with that. If he had a real reason for the difference between us, he needed to say so. I wasn’t a regular civilian. I was a successful private investigator.
“I’m part of a team,” he said. “If I go missing, someone will come looking. If you go missing, no one knows. I don’t want to read your name on a list in the morgue.”
“Drama Queen. The last time my life was in danger you were right there. In fact, I was only involved because the cops needed my help.”
“Yes, but you didn’t do as we asked. You went in after her, you pushed until she started to fight.” He emptied his mug and shoved it to the center of the table. “We’re off topic. I’m aware you have to follow the case. I don’t want you to stop being you. I want to know when I need to send in the cavalry.”
It doesn’t feel like that. “You help me with information, why isn’t that enough?” My head didn’t want to fight on this but every instinct kept me from agreeing. I wouldn’t promise anything I couldn’t guarantee.
“Think of this as more assistance. I swear I won’t try to stop you. I think you are very capable. You’ve solved some pretty dangerous cases.”
“So, what do you want? This argument needs to end. It’s going to get in the way all the time.”
He leaned back in his chair like I’d said something profound that he had to think over. Hadn’t I asked him this before? Or had the words only happened in my head?
“If you got into trouble, or thought you might be getting into trouble, would you call Val? Or Matthieu? Or any friend?” He asked.
Light started to dawn. “I’ve done it before.” Let him say it.
“But not me? You don’t ask me for advice, and I’ve heard you ask Rory about a client.”
“Because you are a cop.” I shook my head when he tried to speak. “You have to uphold the law. How can I ask you for advice on nosing around if what I’m doing might be a little shady? How can I ask you about a source when they might be a criminal?”
“I thought this was all about controlling you,” he said. “So, you are protecting me? You don’t need to do that.”
I wasn’t going to tell him he also tried to protect me way too much. Maybe because it was all in my head. “How do I know where the lines are?”
“We can figure the details out,” he said. “As long as you don’t ask me to look away while you kill someone, we should be fine. Keep the details vague. I promise I won’t bring you into protective custody for taking a risk.”
“I can try that.” I didn’t have a case even close to risky right now, so it was an easy thing to say.
My phone rang before he could do anything more than nod.
2
I looked at the caller ID, expecting it to be unknown. So many spam calls came in at this time in the morning that I started ignoring them ages ago. If I didn’t need to be available for clients, I’d turn the phone off until noon.
Blackhouse? So, someone in my contacts. I couldn’t remember anyone with that name, but I’d developed the habit of entering everyone I encountered in the list. You never knew when a casual contact could end up as a client. Or a source.
I accepted the call but didn’t say anything.
“Ms. Deacon?” A woman’s voice.
“Speaking.”
“Oh. I’m not sure if you remember me.” She paused like she was sure I’d seen her name and hoped I would tell her where we met.
I recognized the voice, but still couldn’t come up with the connection.
“We talked when your friend went missing,” she said.
“You had a child with a temper.” Glenda, that was the name. And she’d lied about seeing Val. I almost ended the call.
“Oh, yes. Nora has calmed down a lot over the last year. I wonder if you would meet me for coffee? I might need to hire you.”
I could use a new case. My active ones were all winding down and I got antsy when I had free time. I couldn’t let go of the thought that if she hadn’t lied, Val might not have endured a beating. I prefer to work with people I can trust. Or I work with clients who haven’t yet given me a reason to distrust them. The last time I ignored that rule, I’d almost been killed.
“My schedule is quite full,” I said. David gave me a questioning look. He knew I was free. I waved at him to wait. “When did you want to meet?”
She hesitated long enough that I thought about hanging up. “Can you come to my home, after lunch? Say one-thirty?”
“Can I call you back on this number?” I wanted to do a little research before I agreed. Or at least test out David’s commitment to helping rather than interfering. “I need to check my availability.”
Another pause. Everything she’d said or done up to this point made my gut yell at me to say no.
“Yes. This number is fine. I hope you can be free.”
I ended the call.
“Since when are you overloaded with cases?” David asked. He was pulling on his jacket, ready to head to work.
“I’m not sure I should go,” I said. “I met her during an old case. Before we met. She lied and it was about something important. And she said she might need to hire me but not why and then didn’t call.”
“Is it likely to be dangerous?” He didn’t look at me when he asked.
I considered. Yes, she bent the truth, but Val survived, and I remember thinking there must be a problem when I talked to her the first time. That kid was in full-on tantrum, and we only exchanged a few words. “I don’t think so. I don’t like the idea of working with someone who started the relationship with a lie. It left Val in a bad position. But she’s likely looking for background checks or maybe proof of whether her husband is cheating or not.”
“It can’t be the first time a client lied to you,” he said. “Do you want my advice?”
He was trying. Time for me to meet him halfway and not assume he wanted to keep me from doing my job because it might be risky. “Yeah.”
He sat and reached for my hand. “Do you know why she lied?”
“About seeing Val? No. You think she had a good reason? Someone beat Val half to death while we ran around searching for her.”
“People lie all the time,” he said. “You know that. If she’d told the truth, would it have made any difference? Would you have found Val sooner?”
No. But it didn’t make it okay for her to lie. “Maybe. I have no idea what she was hiding. I doubt it’s the same thing after this much time.”
He squeezed my hand. “You should meet her. You can turn down the job, but you might find out why she didn’t remember seeing Val. And maybe she needs your help more than you need to find out the truth.”
Who was this guy? It kind of bothered me he knew me so well. It also bugged me that he sounded reasonable, and I sounded petulant. The incident with Val was in the past. She was alive and happy with Rory, and her business was thriving. If Glenda had told me the truth, maybe none of the good things would have come to Val either. “I would like to hear why she thought I could help that long ago.” I reached for the phone.
“Just be careful,” David said.
“I am always careful.” He laughed at me, which made me smile. “Okay, I’m mostly careful.”
“And your instincts are solid,” he said. “Leigh told me about a lot of your previous cases when we first met. If you think there’s something wrong, there probably is.”
That didn’t mean I’d refuse the job. Sometimes a little something not quite right is interesting. “I might need you to do a bit of research.”
“You want me to check if she’s got a record?”
“I can do that.” I had access to most of the official records through various channels, authorized and not totally legal. “I’ll let you know.”
“Whatever you need.” He kissed me. “I’ll try not to get fired for helping you.”
Was this the way it should work? A cop and a private investigator giving each other some support? We’d see when things got sticky in an investigation. He was right; my instincts were good. I just didn’t always pay attention in the way I should.
I called Mrs. Blackhouse back and confirmed our appointment. Then I printed out a blank engagement form. If I agreed to take the case, I needed her signature. And a substantial upfront payment.
I spent the next hour researching her.
She didn’t post much on social media, so nothing to support my gut feelings. I didn’t know what I expected. People who committed crimes were like everyone else online — only posting things that made them look good. But my feelings didn’t go away.
3
The street looked exactly the same as I remembered. Mature neighborhoods with houses protected by Heritage status, making them safe from redevelopment. Also, the lack of profit from pulling down a couple of multi-million-dollar single family homes to fight for permission to build condos at a low density and not turn enough profit might be a good reason.
The sidewalks were bumpy from tree roots. The same trees provided shade and a slippery carpet of leaves. When I arrived at the Blackhouse address, I took a moment to check it out. The yard was finished unlike the last time; it was neat, contained landscaping that needed a professional to keep up. The entrance was up a flight of steps to a wide porch and a bright blue door. There was another door on the ground floor, tucked in beside the stairs. Most of these designed for rentals, legal or not, to help with the mortgage. Here, clearly not a living space. No path, no welcome light above the door.
I didn’t see any other access points. Or exits, which were what I’d been hoping to identify. Despite my assurances to David that this was going to be easy, I still had an uneasy feeling in my gut.
The gate opened smoothly, no creak on the stairs to give Mrs. B warning. I knocked, and she answered immediately. Either she’d been looking out or there was a security system hidden in the azaleas.
“Come in. I have coffee ready.” She looked less frazzled than that last time. Dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, makeup perfect, dark skirt and perfect cashmere sweater.
“It shouldn’t take long,” I said. “I need a few details about the case so I can figure out where to slot it in my calendar.”
“I hoped you could start today,” she said, leading me through a hall to the kitchen at the back of the house.
The decor inside the house was clean and modern. Outside, if you ignored the cars, it could be a century ago. In here, white and grey cabinets lined the walls. High-end appliances gleamed in their built-in nooks. An espresso machine lurked on the counter, and black stools stood in a row on the far side of an island. Apparently, heritage restrictions only applied outside.
Nora sat at a child’s table drawing.
“Is the issue urgent?” I asked. My plan to pretend I couldn’t take the case for a month or two so I wouldn’t need to say no, was already sidelined. I’m not good at that kind of thing. Spinning a lie in the moment, not a problem. Lying long term became too complicated and difficult pretty fast. And I tried to make sure I only really lied to bad guys.
“I think it might be,” she said.
“Tell me what you need, and we’ll see,” I said. “Is there a problem with your daughter?”
“Nora?” she looked confused.
“When I met you earlier, you had some concerns. I thought it was about the adoption.”
She pulled coffee cups out and placed them on the counter. “She did have some trouble adjusting. But no, not Nora. Espresso?”
“Mrs. Blackhouse, I am busy, can we get down to business?”
