Chapter One
Gracie hoistedthe strap of her heavy bag further up her shoulder and glared down the dirty street.
She was standing outside a small take-out restaurant. The unappetizing smell of burnt fat wafted out of the door which was being held open with a brick. It was a greasy looking place with white plastic lawn furniture for those adventurous customers who chose to stay and eat at the restaurant. A little way along the street was a payday loan store. The sign above the door had been smashed a few months back and Gracie was unsurprised to see that it still hadn't been fixed.
In between the two businesses, there was a small, dark entranceway. A stranger, passing through the neighborhood, would assume that it was a blocked up alleyway or the side entrance to one of the neighboring stores. No-one would imagine that it was an actual place of business.
Just inside the entryway, there was a small rectangular metal sign. Maybe once, when it had first been screwed into the brickwork, the sign looked good. It certainly didn't anymore. Green and blue corrosion blossomed across the surface, completely obliterating the name of the agency.
In the two years that Gracie had been working here, no-one had ever bothered to clean that damn sign. It was the only outward indication that behind the front door was a private investigators agency eager for clients. The front door was painted black and, when Gracie pushed it open, there was still no sign that she was entering a business. The steep staircase loomed uninvitingly in front of her.
Gracie had forgotten what a nightmare these stairs were whenever she wore heels. Her last assignment had taken months. Coming back to the office made her see the agency through a fresh pair of eyes, and she did not like what she was seeing.
At the top of the stairs was, finally, a door with the name of the agency: Klarov Investigators.
How many times had she told Klarov that there should be more of a description on that door or a light in the entranceway, or even just cleaning the rust off that metal sign? It was a miracle they ever got any clients at all.
The small waiting room was empty, as was the reception desk. Ginger, the little old lady who’d been working there for decades, didn’t work on Saturdays. The waiting room chairs were upholstered in thick material, in a garish shade of orange. They were probably really stylish in the 1970s.
The boss had his own office, his name painted on the frosted glass of the door just off the waiting area: Peter Klarov, P.I. It was lunchtime and light was coming through the boss’ office door. None of the rooms had any windows, so if the light was on then Klarov was inside.
Damn it! Gracie grimaced, tiptoeing so that Klarov wouldn’t hear her. She hadn’t written up her last assignment yet and she didn’t need another lecture from Klarov about getting on top of her paperwork.
There was another door just off the reception, a small door that looked like it would open to reveal a supply closet. But no, that was Gracie’s office, which she shared with another detective. From the look of the place, it seemed like the agency was one unpaid bill away from bankruptcy. They weren’t, but Klarov was too set in his ways to get an office in a nicer part of town.
Crystal was slumped over her laptop, typing dully. Gracie clicked the office door closed behind her.
“G! You’re back!” Crystal said, looking up and grinning widely.
“Yep, just got into -”
Crystal shot out of her seat and bounded across the office. She was bubbly and perky in a way that made her damn good at her job. No-one ever suspected the blonde of being a private investigator.
“Oh, my god, you look so healthy! I’m sooo jealous. You got paid to go on a cruise, Gracie. I wish I could get jobs like that!”
“Eh, I still had to work the whole time, Crystal.”
“So?? A cruise!” Crystal argued, “So what if you had to follow a cheating husband around the whole time!”
Gracie shrugged. She hated working assignments when one spouse was looking for proof that the other was being unfaithful. They made her sick to her stomach.
Most of the time these couples needed to sit down and talk to each other; they needed to actually put effort into their relationship. Instead, they'd hire a private detective and that never ended well. It could only ever go one of two ways. Either they'd find out, definitively, that they were being cheated on. Or there would be no proof and then the client would get angry, assuming the PI hadn't done a good enough job tracking the suspected spouse.
Whatever the result, it still meant that trust was dead in their relationship. Working for Klarov had given Gracie a dim view of relationships. It was the reason why she’d been single for the last two years.
“The sad thing was, the husband was clearly in love with his wife. She didn’t need me there. The two of them need couples therapy!”
Crystal’s smile dropped a little. She’d heard Gracie say all this before. Many times.
“But…” Crystal cocked her head to one side, “Then we’d all be out of a job.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gracie sighed, “Listen, are you working tonight? Want to grab a drink and catch up properly?”
“Uh, sorry -”
BANG!
It was the sound of someone in the next room, banging his hand against the wall. It was also a sound that Gracie knew well. She rolled her eyes. This was another part of being back at the agency that she hadn’t missed at all. Rather than actually get up from his desk and walk a few feet, Klarov would summon his employees by banging on his office wall.