Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(56)

Twenty minutes later, Susannah had an appointment with a woman named Shirl Remington for three o’clock that same afternoon. This woman, too, required a retainer—in fact, every one of them did. From the detective novels Susannah had read, she should’ve expected that.

Even with the appointment scheduled, she had some doubts, but she refused to let this go. Making an inquiry didn’t cost a dime, so she could at least look into the possibility, see what she’d get for her money.

At ten to three, Susannah located the Spokane address and discovered the agency was in a residential neighborhood. She parked at the curb, rechecked the address, then strode up to the house.

A woman answered. She was tall, willowy and very young. Susannah suspected she wasn’t a day over thirty. “You must be Susannah,” she said, stepping aside to invite her in.

“Yes.” Susannah nodded for emphasis, nervous and unable to hide it.

“Sit down.” The woman gestured toward the French doors leading to an office off the living room.

Susannah sat on the edge of a chair and fidgeted with the zipper on her purse as she waited for the other woman to walk behind the desk, sit down and reach for a pad and pen.

“How exactly can I help you?” Shirl asked.

Heaving a giant sigh to ease her nervousness, Susannah explained the situation as straightforwardly and honestly as she could. As she spoke, the private detective took notes. Her long brown hair repeatedly fell forward and she repeatedly pushed it back, looping it around her ear. Susannah tried not to be irritated by that. Why didn’t the woman just wear it in a ponytail?

“You wouldn’t happen to know Jake’s social security number, would you?” Shirl asked hopefully, flinging back her hair as she looked up.

“No.” Unzipping her purse, Susannah withdrew two sheets of paper. She unfolded them and slid them across the desk. “These are all the Jake Presleys my friend and I found on the Internet. I’ve talked to each one personally and can verify they aren’t the Jake I knew.”

Shirl nodded. “Good. No need to go over ground that’s already been covered.”

Susannah began to relax. Despite Shirl’s distracting gestures with her hair, she liked the no-nonsense manner in which the woman conducted business. After a few more questions, Shirl laid down her pen.

“Is there anything else you can tell me that might help me locate your friend?”

Susannah couldn’t think of a single thing. Then she remembered something she hadn’t thought about in years. “Yes,” she cried. “Jake had a benign tumor as a kid. He had to have it surgically removed and has a thin scar on his left side about two inches below his waist. In front,” she added.

Her face turned twenty shades of red as she realized the other woman would guess how and when Susannah had viewed Jake’s scar.

Thankfully the private detective didn’t comment but merely noted this latest bit of information. Then she looked up again. “As I said over the phone, I’ll need a thousand-dollar retainer.”

Susannah swallowed and opened her purse. No one would consider the job for anything less than a thousand up front. If she was going to get the answers she needed, she had no choice but to spend the money.

“You take credit cards, don’t you?” she asked in a suddenly hoarse voice.

“Yes, I do,” Shirl said, smiling across the desk at her.

With shaking fingers, Susannah withdrew her credit card and handed it to the private investigator.

Now all she had to do was find a way to tell her husband.

CHAPTER 22

Carolyn stayed late at the mill. Production had closed down for the day and the crew had left the yard. The work site was uncharacteristically quiet. During the day, the office, too, was filled with constant activity; everything changed the minute the whistle blew, signalling the end of the working day.

By late afternoon, she was alone with her thoughts. Alone, period, and that was how it would stay.

Coward that she was, Carolyn had contacted Kettle Falls Landscaping and left a message canceling the additional work she’d ordered for her front yard. She’d be foolish to pursue a relationship with Dave Langevin. This attraction she felt unnerved her. She wasn’t good at relationships; her failed marriage proved it. Her father hadn’t done well in choosing his life partner and she hadn’t, either. But unlike him, she wasn’t willing to have an affair. Besides, how would it look for the owner of the mill to be seen with a yard man? That was a snobbish reaction, she knew, but it was what many townspeople would say and she couldn’t ignore that. She had a duty to her family name. A duty to the community. Getting involved with Dave would only lead to unnecessary complications. Complications she could live without.

Carolyn had accepted this responsibility long ago. Rather than dwell on how structured her life was, she tackled the paperwork piled on her desk. Because she was constantly interrupted during the day, she generally stayed late two or three nights a week to deal with memos, requests and other paperwork that demanded concentrated effort. Some of this she could have handed off to her personal assistant, but she didn’t and wouldn’t. Here, in these quiet moments, she gained needed perspective on the business. She tracked orders, kept an eye on inventory, became aware of any staff problems and more.

The still of the late afternoon slipped away. She worked steadily until eight. Then, sitting back in her chair, she turned off her computer and collected her purse, ready to call it a day.