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Point now validated without him having to open his mouth.
Smart man.
She can hardly argue with herself.
Her choice. Her epic failure.
I’m going to make myself scarce. I hold my hand up. “I know you’ve got it from here, big guy. I’m just gonna go call Doc Fernando and tell him Phoenix has been a naughty girl, and she’s not to get a lollipop this time.”
“Tuucker!” they both growl in unison.
I love it when they both agree on the same thing.
Sixty-Three
MACK MUSINGS
Ophelia
Trinny goes barreling past my office door at Mack & Cooper Investigations, making a beeline for the toilet. She is thirty-three years old, thirty-four weeks pregnant, and the office’s ever-lovely receptionist, disguise wardrobe stylist, excellent with computers, and all-around gopher with a smile.
Every day, Trinny turns up for work in vintage, bright, flowing, floral, or patterned dresses teamed with her various toned-down Dame Edna-style glasses and white-blonde hair, always styled in that old Hollywood glamor. She’s one of the most positive people I’ve met.
The bub she is carrying will be her third child. Her twins are in their first year of high school, so she’s had a long break between bundles of joy.
I check my watch. Partly habit from noting how frequently Trinny goes running to the toilet.
Today I’m wrapping up a job for an anxious client, teaming up with Mack, and shortly we need to leave for Diamond Café in Solana Beach. He drops me off not far from the café, and I walk the rest of the way.
My fingers pause on the keyboard when I hear several manly grunts inside my office. I look upfrom the file I’m working on to find Jordan Mack, a forty-nine-year-old, tall, fit, handsome African American ex-detective—and my current boss—leaning a heavy broad shoulder into the doorjamb. He is completely absorbed in his phone.
Seven days ago, I got the call from Mack, my old boss, requesting assistance on a time-sensitive two-person job while Phoenix is busy on her private job.
“Is everything okay, Mack?” There is a sea of waves rolling over his forehead as he jabs away at his phone, pausing to shake his head, muttering to himself as messages come swiftly back in, with more grunting and shaking of his head and mutterings.
I lean my elbows on the desk and subtly fold my hands in front of my mouth to hide my amusement from one-half of Mack & Cooper Investigations here in Ocean Beach, San Diego. Phoenix, my good friend, would be the Cooper, and I am currently filling in for her as a favor.
I am glad I met with Holland Baxter back in December because it was smooth sailing fronting up on his doorstep at short notice to live with him while I was on this job. Truly the nicest guy.
Gwen has been managing the Fainting Goat Ranch with the help of Teagan, and no doubt some of the Mighty MacDougalls will be on hand since I left. Paisley took over goat yoga classes as she has been practicing for ten years, but not an instructor, but that got made clear to the guests, and classes for the paying locals got canceled until Gwen could resume. Three weeks ago, Alice started up a photography side hustle charging a small amount for photos taken during goat yoga that guests could purchase and the profits she donates to the local animal shelter. Guests have taken to supporting her idea. It fits in well with her part-time job at the doughnut shop.
I watch the frustration rolling over Mack’s face, his forehead creasing into deep valleys and peaks, but I stay silent.Hmm. It must be getting serious now.
He finally responds, mumbling to his phone, “This would be quicker if I just called the damn woman because I’m fielding messages from both her and Slade.”
That would betheSlade—theman-mountain—who Phoenix affectionately or possibly more to the point, in frustration, refers to as “damn behemoth.” She has a thing for him underneath all her posturing about the guy, but something holds her back.
“What’s up, Mack?” As if I can’t already guess, Phoenix and Slade had a message war with Mack smack in the middle.
My boss looks up slowly from his phone as though just realizing he has wedged his tall frame blocking my doorway, and then he grumbles some more under his breath and finishes off his message.
“I appreciate all you are doing.” He circles his hand about in front of him, referring to the fake baby bump I am wearing from the disguise closet. I’m prepared to leave for the café when Mack is ready. I just need to put the wig on.
“I know, Mack.” I’ll get to my disguise shortly because I’m concerned for him. He’s got a razor-sharp gut instinct, and something in the way he’s now tapping his phone on the top of one hand causes me to pry deeper.
“Are you okay, Mack? You got something you need to get off your chest?” I twirl my high ponytail around my finger. “Is Phoenix okay?”
He pushes off from the doorjamb, taking the necessary steps to place his phone on my desk, well, Phoenix’s desk.
