I scowled as I read out loud, ‘‘Cynthia Frost, age forty-one. Divorced and living with her six-year-old daughter on the seventeen-hundred block of Fourteen Mile Road. Found dead from a broken neck in her home on September Twenty-second, nineteen seventy-eight.’’ I read on silently for a bit, then turned back to Dutch and asked, ‘‘What makes this a federal case?’’
‘‘Cynthia was CIA.’’
‘‘Get outta here!’’ I said as I glanced back to the photo of Cynthia, which was likely taken from her driver’s license. ‘‘But she looks so matronly.’’
Dutch nodded. ‘‘Which was why she was so good. She was an operative during the Cold War, and from what I’ve been able to ascertain, she was one of the best in the biz.’’
‘‘You think she was killed by another spy?’’
‘‘That was the prevailing theory for a while, but no leads ever developed. This was with the CIA until about ten years ago, and that’s when we got it.’’
‘‘Why’d it flip agencies?’’
‘‘Frost’s boss switched houses. He got out of the spy business and into more domestic interests. He’s now the SAC for all of Michigan.’’
‘‘SAC?’’ I asked.
‘‘Special agent in charge,’’ Dutch explained. ‘‘Anyway, he gave it to my boss, the ASAC.’’
‘‘Let me guess,’’ I said, interrupting him. ‘‘That would stand for assistant special agent in charge?’’
‘‘Bingo,’’ Dutch said with a wink. ‘‘So the ASAC has been giving it to every new agent for the last couple of years, thinking that a new set of eyes might help spot something someone else missed. The rookie who investigated it before me worked it hard, trying to impress the brass, but he got bubkes.’’
‘‘Ex-husband?’’ I asked going back to the word ‘‘divorced.’’
‘‘Was giving a speech at a convention in Hawaii. Had two hundred eyewitnesses to place him eight thousand miles away.’’
‘‘Ex-boyfriend?’’
‘‘Nope—looked into it and nothing.’’
‘‘Angry neighbor?’’
‘‘Double nope.’’
‘‘Did the daughter see anything?’’ I asked, noting that the report mentioned that the six-year-old daughter was at the house when the crime took place.
‘‘Asleep upstairs, and was grilled repeatedly by both the police and the federal agencies investigating. Doesn’t remember anything beyond coming downstairs in the morning and finding her mom dead in the kitchen.’’
‘‘Have you talked to her recently?’’
‘‘No. The last time an agent interviewed her was three years ago, and the interview was pretty thorough. The record shows she works for some attorney in Birmingham. I suppose I could track her down and do one more follow-up, but I really don’t think she’s got any more to give us, and I don’t see the point of having that girl relive the worst day of her life over and over.’’
‘‘Wow, this really is a stinker,’’ I said as I closed the file. ‘‘They either hate you down there, or they love you and think you can work miracles.’’
Dutch shrugged. ‘‘Maybe all I need is one good lead from my favorite little miracle worker.’’ And with that he reached forward and pulled me into his arms.
I allowed myself to be enveloped. God, I loved the feel of him. ‘‘You know,’’ I said softly, ‘‘if I weren’t so tired, I’d mount you right here and now.’’
Dutch wiggled his eyebrows and flashed me his gorgeous smile. ‘‘Giddyup,’’ he said and kissed me.
The next morning he was off early to shower and change at his place. I moved around slow and easy, since my entire body felt like it’d gone a few rounds with Evander Holyfield. Candice called while I waited for the coffee to drip in the coffeemaker. ‘‘How you feeling?’’ she asked.
‘‘Sore as hell.’’
‘‘I hear you. I think I’m going to see my chiropractor today. My neck is killing me.’’
‘‘At least you get to stay in bed if you want to. I’ve got to go to the mortgage company this morning.’’
‘‘You gonna make it?’’
‘‘I made the coffee extra strong. I’m hoping caffeine also works on pain.’’
‘‘Take it easy, kiddo. You’ve had a rough year of it.’’
‘‘Really?’’ I said. ‘‘What’s a few pints of blood between friends?’’
‘‘What we need is something solid,’’ said Candice, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘‘We need a lead to tie some of this stuff together.’’
‘‘Maybe we should start with the guy who rammed our car yesterday?’’ I said.
‘‘Great idea, Nancy Drew. I’m already working on that. But without a license plate and a good description of the driver, we’ll have to rely on forensics to find anything.’’
‘‘Which means it could take months.’’
‘‘Right,’’ she said. ‘‘I still say there’s something going on at Universal. See if you can dig a little deeper into their files, Abs. I just know you’re going to find something we can use.’’
I didn’t share her enthusiasm, mostly because I dreaded going back to that place and its caustic atmosphere. Still, I managed to arrive on time, which was a good thing, because my walk had stiffened and it was slow going getting into the building. Darren was already at his desk when I entered the snake pit. ‘‘Hey,’’ I said to him as I gingerly took my seat. ‘‘You’re in early.’’
Darren gave me a quick glance. ‘‘Yeah, I had a deal blow up yesterday.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ I said. ‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘The Schalubes left me a message that they got a better quote from some local bank in town. I’m working up a new estimate to see if I can’t get them back.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ I said, working to look surprised at the news, ‘‘that’s too bad. Well, I’ll go sit with Bree again this morning and leave you to win your deal back.’’
Darren grunted as I got up and headed over to the processing area.
I met Bree at her cubicle. ‘‘Hey there,’’ I said happily as I sat down next to her.
‘‘Oh, hey!’’ she said, looking up. ‘‘I thought I’d lost you to the snake pit.’’
‘‘Nope. I’m back,’’ I said, holding in a sigh. ‘‘What’s on the agenda for today?’’
‘‘Well, I’d toss you over to Stacey to train with a closer today, but she’s out sick, so I’m covering for her, which means you can learn some of the closing stuff from me.’’
‘‘You’re a closer too?’’
‘‘Honey, I wear all the hats,’’ Bree said with a laugh. ‘‘Here,’’ she added, handing me a stack of files. ‘‘First, I need you to go through these and make sure the title work is in the file and that we’ve got the right mortgage amount and a clear title. While you’re doing that I can refill my coffee—you want some?’’
‘‘No,’’ I said, holding up my own cup, ‘‘I’m good.’’
Bree headed off and I glanced at the first file in my hand. Jacob was the name of the borrower on the file. Curious, I opened the folder and was surprised to find that the file was for Sheldon Jacob—that Good Humor bar in the snake pit. ‘‘Huh,’’ I said to myself as I dug through the file. ‘‘Looks like he’s buying a rental property.’’ I looked through the paperwork and was puzzled by how little of it there was. Sheldon wasn’t supplying much information on how much he earned or what his assets were. He did list about a dozen other rental properties, however. ‘‘I’d hate to have him as a landlord,’’ I muttered to myself.
Quickly, I went to the appraisal at the back of the file and glanced at the house Sheldon was purchasing. ‘‘Cute,’’ I whispered, then took a glance at the three houses called ‘‘comps’’ that were used to set the value of this house. My brow furrowed as I looked back to Sheldon’s house. The three up for comparison were clearly much worse than the one up for sale. ‘‘That’s weird,’’ I said.
‘‘What’s weird?’’ Bree asked as she took her seat.
‘‘Look at these comps,’’ I said, turning the folder toward her. ‘‘Tell me they’re not lower in value than the subject property.’’
Bree’s eyes got wide. ‘‘You weren’t supposed to see that!’’ she hissed. She yanked the file out of my hands with such force that it knocked over the coffee cup she’d just set down on her desk. Brown liquid went everywhere.
‘‘Yikes!’’ I squealed as some of the hot coffee spilled on my dress slacks.
‘‘Shit!’’ she said, frantically moving things out of the way, then dabbing at the coffee with the Kleenex from her desk.
‘‘Let me get some paper towels,’’ I said and jogged painfully to the kitchen. I was back a minute later and helped to wipe up the mess.
‘‘My pictures!’’ she said as she saw that a few of the framed photos on her desk had been splashed with coffee.
‘‘I got it,’’ I said and reached over to rescue them. As I was wiping off the third frame, my breath caught and I let out a gasp. ‘‘Oh, my God,’’ I said as I stared at the face in the photograph.
‘‘What?’’ Bree asked urgently. ‘‘Is it ruined?’’
‘‘No . . .’’ I said, still gaping at the photo. ‘‘It’s just . . .’’
‘‘What?’’ she said as she took the photo from my hands to examine it. ‘‘This is my mom. She died when I was little. I’d scream if anything happened to this photo.’’
I nodded dumbly at her. ‘‘She’s very pretty,’’ I said. It was the same face I’d seen stare out at me from the cold case file Dutch had given to me. ‘‘It must have been hard to lose a parent so young.’’ My radar was humming happily. No doubt my crew had set up this little coincidence. They’d done a wonderful job of catching me completely by surprise.
‘‘It was.’’ Bree sighed. ‘‘I’d give anything to talk to her just one more time,’’ she added sadly. The crew chimed in with a special request. The minute we finished cleaning up the mess, I excused myself to the restroom and then detoured to the parking garage and the privacy of my car. After locking myself in, I dialed a number and got a very groggy ‘‘Hello?’’ on the line.
‘‘Oh, man!’’ I said with a slap to my forehead. ‘‘Theresa, I am so sorry! I completely forgot the time difference. I’m so sorry I woke you!’’
‘‘No worries,’’ my best friend said from California. ‘‘The cat’s been doing circles on my stomach for the last ten minutes, so I suppose I should get up to feed her anyway.’’
‘‘Really sorry!’’ I said again, feeling bad.
‘‘Abs, don’t worry about it. Now, what’s so important that you have to call me at the crack of dawn?’’
‘‘I need a favor,’’ I said. ‘‘And it’s a doozy, but this one’s been set up by some folks on the other side, so I don’t really know that we have a choice in the matter . . .’’
Later, after I’d arranged things with Theresa, I headed back to Bree’s desk. She glanced up as I took my seat. ‘‘Man, I was about to check on you. You okay?’’
‘‘Huh?’’ I asked.
‘‘You went to the restroom like a half hour ago,’’ Bree reminded me.
‘‘Oh!’’ I said with a laugh. ‘‘Yeah, too much starch, not enough fiber,’’ I added with a pat to my abdomen.
‘‘I know how that goes,’’ she said, turning back to her computer.
‘‘Listen,’’ I began, trying to think of a way to broach the topic, ‘‘I have a thought about something you said earlier, and I’m not sure that you’d be open to the idea, but maybe I could run it past you and you could think about it?’’
Bree looked at me curiously. ‘‘Of course,’’ she said.
‘‘You see, this isn’t my only source of income.’’
‘‘Uh-huh?’’
‘‘I’m also a professional psychic.’’
‘‘Get out of here!’’ she said, giving me her full attention. ‘‘That is so cool!’’
I smiled, grateful that she seemed receptive. ‘‘Yes, well, it can be. But what I wanted to approach you about was what you said earlier, about wanting to talk to your mother one last time.’’
Bree gasped. ‘‘You can do that?’’
‘‘Uh, no,’’ I said. ‘‘But I have a best friend who can, and she’s willing to read you today after work if you’re up for it.’’
Bree’s eyes widened, but then I saw a little concern there. ‘‘How much is a reading?’’
‘‘Normally a little over two hundred dollars, but this time it’s free.’’
‘‘Why is it free?’’ she asked. ‘‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s awesome, but you barely know me.’’
‘‘Like I said, my best friend is really good at this, and because she’s my friend she’s willing to do me this favor. And I want to do it because when I saw that picture of your mother, I just knew I needed to help you get some closure.’’
Bree’s eyes welled up with emotion. ‘‘You are awesome,’’ she whispered to me as she looked around at the other girls, who were pointedly giving us looks for talking and not working. ‘‘Just tell me where to go and I will so be there!’’
At lunch I headed over to the title office for the closing on Fern. I had signing rights for both my sister and Dave, so neither of them needed to attend. The closing went smooth and easy, and I was given a big fat check for my trouble as I finally handed over the keys to what had been one nightmare of a real estate investment.
Back at Universal, Bree and I got through the rest of the day, preparing closing packages and doing a flurry of paperwork. With every large envelope I stuffed I became more and more grateful for the fact that this gig was temporary.
At quarter to five I headed to my office, intent on getting there before Bree did so I could prepare the room. I’d told Theresa that I wanted to assist with the reading, something she was excited about. We’d teamed up for a client once or twice before, and the energy was usually pretty amazing. It was like our abilities intensified when we joined them together, and I knew that if Bree’s mom was willing to talk, I might be able to get to the bottom of who murdered her.
Candice was just leaving the office when I came down the hallway. ‘‘Hey, there,’’ she said to me with a wave and a wince. ‘‘Are you as sore as I am?’’
‘‘Probably,’’ I said as I got close. ‘‘Any luck finding the Hummer-slash-battering ram?’’
‘‘Not yet,’’ she said. ‘‘But I’m working on it. You plugging away on your client list?’’
‘‘Nope. Something better. I’m working on a case for Dutch and Theresa’s helping me out.’’
‘‘How’s she doing in California?’’
‘‘Awesome,’’ I said brightly. ‘‘I hear one of the cable channels wants to do a documentary on her.’’