Because our dynamic duo had been split the moment I heard “cherry lube” come out of his mouth. No doubt about that.
Now I just had to figure out how to finish it. And that concept was so overwhelming that I shut down every time I thought about attorneys, divorce, and Julia Kate in therapy blaming her parents for her drug addiction or failed relationships.
I knew my life was changing, but I couldn’t embrace it.
I wanted a do-over. On exactly what, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t want to be where I was now.
“I’m on the silent-auction planning committee, so I sort of have to go.” I conceded this with a beleaguered sigh. So she would know that’s what was bugging me. And not the fact that my whole world was upside-down.
“Guess you do.” Ling wrinkled her nose before casting another glance toward her only child.
“So, Ling, I need some advice. My grandmother gave me a classic car—a Spider Veloce—and I took it out last week to run the engine. Short story is I hit one of our infamous potholes and now I need a new tire. And a rim thingy. So do you know who works on older foreign cars?”
Ling stared out into the distance, her dark eyes unblinking. Like a prophet about to lay something down. “Take it to Roscoe’s Garage over on Seventieth. They’re the best. Tell them that Ling Stewart sent you.”
Ling’s husband owned the local BMW dealership, and the woman prided herself on knowing who to use for anything having to do with vehicles. In fact, Ling knew people who did all sorts of things—monograms, upholstery, and the best Botox for the cheapest price. The woman was a font of information times ten, which meant she would also know who might help me with my other problem.
“Cool. Oh, and, um, so while I’m getting recommendations, I have a friend—no one you know—who’s looking for a private investigator for some things that happened with her elderly parents. She wants someone discreet but someone who is very good at his or her job. Any clue? I mean, she asked me, and I really have no idea about that sort of thing.”
“A private investigator?”
Hearing Ling say that out loud sounded so tawdry. “Well, yeah, I guess. She doesn’t know if there’s something going on and doesn’t want to make waves in the extended family . . . at least not until she’s sure whatever’s happening is criminal.”
Ling handed bottles to the two kids who ran up, hands out. A chorus of thank-yous erupted before she turned to me. I folded the empty pizza box closed and set it under the table, hoping that she didn’t see through my lie. My scenario sounded legit. But maybe Ling knew about Scott. I hoped she didn’t. It would be disappointing if she did and hadn’t told me.
“I can ask Darren. He might know. Sometimes they have to repo cars and use private eyes.” Ling tilted her head and eyeballed me.
I tried not to squirm. “That would be awesome.”
She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “Let me text him. He’s probably playing online games in his office, anyway.”
“Thanks.” I started breaking down the pizza boxes, noting a few feral-looking boys lurking nearby. We were supposed to give them only two pieces, but we always had leftovers, and thirteen-year-old boys tended to be wolfish when it came to pizza. “Should I—”
“Open that gate? Um, no. If you give one an extra slice, you will have to give them all an extra slice. Plus, I told Mrs. Overstreet we’d put the leftovers in the teachers’ lounge. You know how teachers are about leftovers.”
I managed a hollow laugh. “Well, she better get there before Coach Fred.”
Ling flashed a grin because the portly gym coach was well known for wiping out treats before the other teachers were even aware there were goodies in the lounge. But then again, all is fair in love, war, and food in the teachers’ lounge.
I shot an apologetic look at the lingering boys and started stacking the boxes. They vamoosed away from the parents, scattering like wild birds to clump beneath the oak trees on the grounds. No junior high kids wanted to be around their parents. Case in point, Julia Kate stood chatting with her friends, sneakily pulling her phone out and checking God only knows what. My daughter flipped her hair over one shoulder and glanced in my direction. I gave her a half smile, and she quickly looked away.
“Okay, so Darren said there’s a guy who used to work for the sheriff’s department but now works repo and private investigations. He’s good. I’ll send you his contact information.”