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“You are literally saved by the bell, my friend,” Suzie says to Phoebe.
Phoebe doesn’t respond. She backs out of my office and rushes to the filing room as fast as her Louboutin-covered feet can take her, which is surprisingly fast by the way.
Suzie greets the client and ushers him into my office. “This is our private investigator, Hailey McGraw. Hailey, this is …”
The man steps forward and offers me his hand. “Benjamin.”
I shake his hand and try not to cringe when he squeezes my hand to the point of pain. “Benjamin …”
“Jones,” he fills in. If his last name is Jones, then I’m a green alien from Mars. Spoiler alert – Aliens don’t exist.
I indicate a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
I watch as he sits. The man is one scary looking dude. First of all, he’s big. He must be several inches over six-foot and he’s as broad as a house. And then there’s his face. There’s a permanent scowl etched into his forehead and a muscle in his jaw is ticking away. I’m nearly afraid to ask what he could possibly need an investigator for, but Pops didn’t raise no chicken.
“How can I help you?”
“I think my wife is cheating on me.”
“You’re married?” The man is scary as hell. Who would marry him?
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I quickly cover my tracks. “Sorry.” I point to his left hand. “But you’re not wearing a wedding ring.” Good save, Hailey.
He looks at his left hand and grunts. “Anyway, can you tell me how this works? You follow my wife and take pictures?”
“A bit simplistic, but basically, yes. If you suspect your wife is cheating on you, I will investigate her and determine whether she is indeed stepping out on you. There’s no need to take pictures if you don’t want to.” Some clients have no desire to see photographic evidence of their spouse’s infidelity. I can’t blame them.
“But you can take pictures?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What kind of assurance do I have the pictures won’t end up on the internet somewhere?”
I bristle. I don’t know who this dude is, but I don’t appreciate anyone questioning my integrity. I may be a lowly PI who gets paid for outing cheaters, but I do have some standards. “We don’t retain any pictures of our clients.”
He scowls. “But what do you do with the pictures?”
I force a smile on my face. This guy is rubbing me the wrong way, but I’m an actress. I can pretend I don’t want to run away screaming bloody murder from the scary, hand-crushing creepy dude. “Once the pictures have been taken, we make prints and give those to you. We do not keep any copies unless you specifically request we do.”
“But you do use a digital camera?”
Duh. It’s the twenty-first century. Is there any other type of camera available? Scratch that. There probably is, but I have no idea how to use any device but my trusty Canon EOS. I don’t tell him any of this. Instead, I smile and nod. “Yes, of course.”
“And what happens to the images on the SD-card? Do you erase those as well?”
“Yes,” I lie. Well, it’s not a total lie. I do erase the images on the SD-card, although I may not erase them as often as I should. It’s not because I’m unorganized like Suzie claims. I simply forget is all.
“And you erase them immediately?” When I hesitate, he explains, “I want to make one-hundred percent sure any indiscreet photographs of my wife do not reach the public sector.”
“I completely understand. The SD-card is wiped clean once the client’s invoice has been paid.”
He leans back in his chair. “And how does billing work? What are your prices?”
I explain how our prices are different based on our different services. Naturally, we don’t charge the same amount when the husband gives us detailed information concerning the person they suspect their wife is cheating with. “And invoices should be paid within thirty days,” I conclude.
“Then, it’s entirely possible pictures of my wife could be on your SD-card for thirty days while you wait for me to pay?”
Talk about getting into the nitty-gritty details. “Yes, but you can pay immediately ensuring the pictures are deleted sooner.”
