First Star I See Tonight

  She could have added that Deidre was the one who’d issued the order to stay close, but that would sound like an excuse.

  “I want you outside his home,” Deidre had said. “Trail him during the day, and get into the club at night. Find out how much he drinks. What kind of women he’s seeing, and how many there are. Before I consider a business partnership, I have to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

  Noah came over to stand beside Deidre’s chair. “I’m sure Graham demanded to know who hired you,” he said.

  “He did, but I didn’t tell him.”

  Noah didn’t hide his skepticism. “He’s an imposing guy. That’s hard to believe.”

  “Under Illinois law, the only way I’d be forced to reveal a client’s identity is with a subpoena.” Piper didn’t mention how likely that was to happen. She had enough real alligators to deal with before she started worrying about the ones still lurking in the swamp. At the same time, she wished Deidre would give her permission to volunteer the information. Since Deidre was considering going into partnership with him, he’d surely understand the wisdom of her having his personal and business life investigated beforehand.

  But Deidre wasn’t volunteering anything. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I’ll take your report.” Noah held out his hand, and since he’d moved to stand by the door, Piper had to get up to deliver it to him. She’d stayed awake most of the night checking every detail to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She’d also included a summary of the expenses she’d incurred, praying they wouldn’t try to back out of paying her because she hadn’t completed the job.

  Deidre touched the pearls at her throat. “I hired you because your father did business with mine, and I believe in helping women who are starting their own businesses. I’m sorry this hasn’t worked out.”

  She seemed genuinely regretful, and Piper’s disgust with her own incompetence made it impossible for her to fight back. “I only wish I’d been able to meet your expectations.”

  Noah gestured toward the door, less sympathetic than his employer. As Piper followed him down the hallway, she could feel the ruins of her career crumbling beneath her feet.

  ***

  For the next few days, she had to force herself to go to the office instead of staying home with the covers pulled over her head. It was mid-September, and unless something drastically changed, she’d barely make it to Halloween before she’d run out of money and have to close her doors. But not yet. One way or the other, she had to drum up some business.

  In her father’s time, Dove Investigations had occupied the entire one-story brick building Duke had purchased in the eighties. Now, her stepmother owned the whole thing, and all Piper could afford to rent for herself was the former bookkeeper’s office in the back.

  When she’d moved in, the office had been as dingy as a fictional detective’s office. She’d splurged on an olive-green rug with a black sunburst pattern to camouflage the vinyl floor tiles, then painted the walls off-white and hung some kitschy posters of old True Detective magazine covers. A secondhand store had yielded a library table she’d spruced up with flat black enamel paint to use as a desk. She’d added a good light and a pair of black steel-framed chairs for the clients she’d hoped she’d attract.

  Her voice mail included another message from Graham’s attorney demanding a meeting for the following week. She deleted it, as if that would make it go away forever, and switched on her computer. Out of habit, she did a quick search to see if there was anything new on Cooper Graham. Nothing.

  She made herself cold-call more law firms, then followed up by sending them a copy of her brochure.

  DOVE INVESTIGATIONS

  Est. 1958

  Truth Brings Peace

  Legal, Attorney, and Corporate Support

  Insurance and Domestic Investigations

  Hidden Assets Investigations

  Background Checks

  Missing Persons

  She’d considered getting rid of the firm’s old slogan, “Truth Brings Peace,” but it was part of her family history, starting with her grandfather, and changing it would feel like wiping out her heritage.

  A rap sounded on her office door. She jumped up. But instead of a new client coming in off the street, Berni barged in. She’d pulled herself together enough to tie a hippie headband around her Day-Glo-orange hair and wear a fringed vest over her sweatpants. “Now, Piper, before you say anything . . . I know you don’t believe I saw Howard in Lincoln Square. I hardly believed it myself. But I lived with that man for fifty-eight years, and I should know.” She brushed past Piper and settled in one of the chairs across from the desk. She opened her bag and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s a one-hundred-dollar retainer.” She slapped it on the desk.

  “Berni, I can’t take your money.”

  “This is business. I need an investigator, and you’re the best there is.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me, but . . .” She tried a new tack. “I’m too involved personally. It would keep me from being objective. Another investigator would—”

  “Another investigator would think I’m a crazy old woman.” Her fierce glare dared Piper to agree.

  Piper settled behind her desk, hoping she could use logic to persuade Berni to give up her delusions. “Let’s look at the facts . . . You were in your stateroom with Howard when he had his heart attack.”

  “But I wasn’t with him when he died. I told you. I’d slipped out of the ship’s infirmary to use the toilet, and then I fainted when that quack of a doctor told me he’d passed. Who knows what was in that casket they shipped back.”

  If bureaucracy hadn’t gotten in the way of Berni seeing Howard’s body before he was cremated, none of this would be happening. “All right, Berni.” Arguing with her was futile, and Piper reached for her yellow pad. “Let me ask you a few questions.”

  Berni gave her a smug smile. “You look very nice today, by the way. You should wear lipstick more often. And it almost looks like you combed your hair. You have beautiful, shiny hair, Piper. I know that eggbeater haircuts are fashionable now, but a nice pageboy would be more feminine.”

  “Seriously, Berni, have you ever known me to give a crap about being feminine?”

  “Well, no. But men seem to like you anyway. Not that you pay much attention. I still can’t believe you’re thirty-three years old and you’ve never been in love.”

  “Freak of nature and waste of time.”

  “Love is never a waste of time,” Berni asserted. “I’ve been wanting to ask . . . Are you a lesbian?”

  “I wish.”

  “I understand. Women can be so much more interesting than men.”

  Piper nodded in agreement. She trusted her girlfriends a lot more than she’d ever trusted a boyfriend in the days when she’d still been interested in having a boyfriend. But this conversation wasn’t helping Berni get past her delusion. “Exactly when did you see the cheesehead guy?”

  “Howard! And it was September fourth. Exactly sixteen days ago. It was game day for the Packers. I’d come out of the bookstore, and there he was. Sitting on a bench in the plaza watching the pigeons.”

  “And wearing a foam cheesehead . . .”

  Berni’s smugness vanished. “That’s what I can’t understand. Why would a Bears fan like Howard wear a cheesehead? I could have understood if he was wearing a Stars hat. He liked the Stars almost as much as the Bears.”

  Considering the fact that Berni believed her husband had come back from the dead, his choice of headgear didn’t seem as though it should be the primary question. “Did he see you?”

  “He sure did. I called out his name. ‘Howard!’ He turned, and all the blood drained right from his face.”

  Piper clicked her pen. “You were close enough to see that?”

  “Maybe it only seemed that way. But one thing I do know . . . He recognized me, because he got up right away and ran off. I tried to follow him, but with my hip, I couldn??
?t catch up.” Her face crumpled. “Why would he do that? Why would he run away from me like that?”

  Piper dodged that question and posed another instead, one she would ask if this were a legitimate case. “Were you and Howard having any marital troubles while you were on the cruise?”

  “We bickered. What couple doesn’t? That man refused to take care of himself, and you should have seen him on the ship, loading up on bacon and bakery. He knew exactly how I felt about that. But we loved each other. That’s why losing him has been so terrible.”

  Even though Piper wasn’t a romantic herself, she didn’t doubt the love Berni and Howard had. She also didn’t envy it. Men were a lot of work, and when Piper’s past relationships had burned out, she hadn’t been all that bummed. Then her father had gotten sick, and she’d lost interest in everything but work. She had more than enough complications in her life without adding a man to it.

  She asked Berni a few more questions and promised she’d investigate. Berni’s gratitude made her feel like a fraud, and to ease her conscience, she took a detour past Lincoln Square on her way home.

  The brick plaza held its customary assortment of kids, couples, young mothers pushing Maclaren strollers, and a few oldsters, none of them wearing a foam cheesehead and none of them bearing the slightest resemblance to Howard Berkovitz. She felt ridiculous even looking, but she wanted to face Berni with a clear conscience. As for Berni’s one hundred dollars . . . She’d take her out for a great dinner.

  ***

  The next day, a friend of a friend of Jen’s called. She thought her boyfriend might be cheating. Piper was glad to have a new client, but unfortunately, the boyfriend was stupid, and that same night Piper snapped a photo of him going into a motel with his other girlfriend. Case solved in less than twenty-four hours. Heartbroken client. Minimal money.

  As she was locking up her office on Wednesday evening, six days after Graham had busted her, his legal eagles left another message for her to ignore. Who said denial was a bad thing?

  She’d parked her car near the modest green-and-black sign for Dove Investigations that hung over her office door. A Dodge Challenger pulled into the space next to her. The door opened and a man got out. A very good-looking man wearing jeans and a T-shirt over a torso of rippling muscles. She didn’t recognize him until he pulled off his sunglasses. Mirrored, naturally. “Hi, Piper.”

  It was Hottie. She eyed him warily. “Officer.”

  “Eric.”

  “Okay.”

  He rested his hips against the fender and crossed his arms over his too-sculpted chest. “Want to get some coffee or something?”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? I like you. You’re interesting.”

  At least he didn’t say she was cute. She hated that. “Nice to hear,” she told him, “but I’m not too crazy about you.”

  “Hey. I was just doing my job.”

  “Sucking up to Cooper Graham?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty cool. Come on. Twenty minutes.”

  She thought about it. Unlike her father, she didn’t have any close contacts in the police department, and if by some miracle she could stay in business, she’d need a few. She nodded abruptly. “Okay. Let’s go. I’ll follow in my car.”

  As it turned out, their coffee date lasted nearly an hour. She wasn’t completely surprised by his interest. Good-looking guys had started coming on to her when she’d been a freshman in college. At first, she’d been confused by their attention, but she’d eventually figured out her lack of interest was what attracted them. One of her short-term boyfriends had told her that hanging with her was like hanging with the guys.

  “You like sports, and you don’t care if a dude brings you flowers and shit. Plus, you’re a babe.”

  She wasn’t a babe, and she hadn’t come close to falling in love with any of them, maybe because every relationship she’d been in had eventually made her feel . . . almost empty, as if a hole she didn’t understand had opened inside her. Right now, her aversion to relationships was a benefit. One less complication in a life that was complicated enough.

  Hottie was a decent guy. His stories about life on the force were interesting, and his attention wandered only once, when a super-hot brunette in a tight sweater walked past their table, but since even Piper had noticed her, she couldn’t fault him. He asked her out to dinner for the following weekend. Amber had given her a ticket to the Lyric for that night, and she told him she already had plans.

  Being turned down for a night at the opera seemed to surprise him. “You’re an unusual person,” he said.

  “And you’re a nice guy, but it’s really not a good time for me to date.”

  “All right. We won’t date. We’ll just hang out sometimes, okay?”

  He had good stories, and she really did need a contact in the police department. “Okay. Pals. No dating.” She paused. “And I’m not hooking up with you.”

  She could see he didn’t believe her.

  ***

  By the next night, Piper was doing the ultra-depressing job of trying to figure out what to pack and what to get rid of. Subleasing her apartment was no longer up for debate, and Amber’s professor friend was moving in tomorrow. His rent would cover her mortgage and condo dues, temporarily postponing her need to sell. She kept telling herself she wouldn’t have to live in her cousin Diane’s tiny basement apartment forever—an apartment with no separate entrance, a moldy bathroom, and worst of all, her cousin Diane, who was a nonstop complainer. As for Diane’s two bratty kids . . . Piper suspected her cousin was keeping the rent ridiculously cheap so she could be guaranteed a built-in babysitter, a prospect even more depressing than living in a basement.

  Piper was leaving most of her things behind for Amber’s professor, but she had a couple of boxes of personal items to pack up, including a grubby stuffed pink pig she’d rediscovered in her bottom drawer. Oinky. His seams were frayed, his plush fur bedraggled. He’d been her childhood lovey, a baby shower present to her mother.

  When Piper had turned five, Duke had announced that Oinky had to go. “Only babies carry around crap like that. You want everybody to think you’re a baby?” She’d told him she didn’t care what people thought and that Oinky wasn’t going anywhere.

  Despite considerable pressure, she’d held her ground until she was seven. That’s when the neighborhood bully had knocked her down and made her cry. Duke had been furious, not at the bully, but at her for crying. “We don’t have sissies in this family. You get back out there and kick that kid’s ass and don’t let me goddam see you cry again.”

  She could no longer remember exactly what she’d done to Justin Termini, who’d later become her first boyfriend, but she did remember the awful knowledge that she’d failed Duke. That same night, she’d grabbed Oinky, thrust him in Duke’s face, and then stomped outside to fling her pig in the trash. She’d been amply rewarded with a big hug, a trip to get ice cream, and praise for being tough as any boy in town. Duke had never discovered that she’d climbed out on the roof that night, shimmied down the porch post, and retrieved Oinky from the garbage can. She’d hidden her pig away for the rest of her childhood.

  Oinky had long since outlived his usefulness, but she couldn’t get rid of him, and she tucked him in the box with her sweatshirts. She took a break to make herself a sandwich and carried it to the bay window. As she looked down on the twilit street, she saw a metallic-blue Tesla pull into a parking space. Her sandwich stalled on its way to her mouth as the driver’s door swung open and Cooper Graham got out. Her appetite vanished. She hadn’t returned his attorney’s calls, and he’d come after her himself.

  The downstairs newlyweds were heading up the sidewalk. She’d seen one of the men in a Stars sweatshirt, so Graham wouldn’t have any trouble getting them to let him in the building. In less than a minute, he’d be pounding on her door. She could either refuse to answer or meet the beast head on.

  A no-brainer. She’d been through enough lately. Sh
e wasn’t answering.

  But cowering inside her apartment proved too much for her, and by his third knock, she’d stalked across the room and jerked open the door. “What do you want?”

  4

  He pushed into her living room, bringing a megablast of hostile energy right along with him. “Keith has been skimming me.”

  “Your red-haired bartender? Yeah, I know.”

  Six feet three inches of angry male entitlement planted himself in the middle of her carpet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her chin shot up. “What the hell? I did tell you!”

  “Not in a way I could believe!”

  She stared at him, exchanging glare for glare.

  He looked away first, raking his fingers through his hair only to have it spring back into rumpled position. “So maybe I wasn’t in the mood to listen.”

  She shoved the door closed before all her neighbors came running out to investigate. “I doubt you’re ever in the mood to listen.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Her frustration got the best of her. “You’re so used to feeling superior that you’ve forgotten there are people who might know something you don’t.”

  One of his big, competent hands landed on the blade of his hip. “What’s your deal anyway? Do you feel like such a failure that you need to attack anybody who’s successful?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Fuck you.”

  He laughed. A genuine jolt of amusement that seemed to shock him as much as her and quickly faded. “How did you figure it out?”

  “Never let any guy believe he’s superior to you,” Duke used to say. “Except your old man.”

  “Simple powers of observation.” She purposely reclaimed the sandwich she could no longer imagine eating. “Something I’m good at.”

  He cocked his head at her. “Educate me.”

  “Pay me,” she retorted.