The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 Nic Saint (kiss me liar novel english .TXT) 📖

Odelia smiled. “You want me to find out what your friend’s wife’s been up to.”

“I’ll pay you, of course,” said Joshua quickly, taking out his wallet.

Odelia held up her hand. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not a private detective, Joshua. I’m a reporter.”

“Oh, I know you’re a reporter. But my friend told me you’re also an ace detective—probably the only detective in town. So…”

Odelia settled back for a moment, and cast a glance in my direction. I gave her a thoughtful nod. She was, indeed, a grade-A sleuth, and why shouldn’t she earn an extra buck if people wanted to avail themselves of her obvious talents? Besides, now that she was married she probably could use the extra money. Contrary to what you might think reporters don’t exactly make the big bucks, and neither do small-town cops. And even if no stork flew in through the window and deposited a newborn on her couch, she still had four extra mouths to feed, so basically I was just looking out for yours truly!

“All right,” she said at length. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll talk it over with my boss. See if he thinks it’s a good idea. And I’ll let you know as soon as I decide. How does that sound?”

“That sounds excellent,” said Joshua, looking much relieved. “Though I have to tell you that this is a matter of some urgency, as my friend told me just this morning that Melanie told him she’s got another late night scheduled for tonight.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Odelia, continuing to be noncommittal, even though I could tell that she was intrigued, and eager to take the case and look into this matter.

Chapter 2

“Dan, I need to ask you something.”

Odelia’s boss Dan Goory, senior—and only—editor of the Hampton Cove Gazette, looked up from the perusal of his own newspaper, and gave his senior—and only—reporter a quick glance. “Don’t tell me you finally wrote that tell-all article about your Vegas wedding?”

Odelia grimaced. “I’ll never write that article, Dan. I told you that.”

“But people are waiting to read all about it, honey. Warts and all.” He grinned, his white beard waggling invitingly. “In fact the more warts the better, you know that.”

“There was nothing especially exciting about my wedding, Dan. We flew down there, got married, had dinner, and that’s it. Shortest and least glamorous wedding in history.”

“Come on,” he goaded her. “There must be something. Pictures of your grandmother completely drunk and dancing on top of the table? Or your dad hitting the slot machines and making a killing—or the slot machines killing him?”

“Nothing happened, Dan. Nothing worth reading about.”

Her editor shrugged his shoulders, and a frown slid across his aged features. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. What did you want to see me about?”

His tone had taken on a more official note, a note she didn’t like. She heaved a silent sigh. Ever since she’d returned from Vegas people had been acting a little weird, and she knew exactly why that was. The list of wedding guests had been extremely short: only Odelia’s and Chase’s immediate family and friends, and no one else. And quite a few people in her circle were still upset that they hadn’t been included in the festivities.

“I just had a guy come in who wants me to look into the alleged affair of his best friend’s wife,” she said, taking a seat in front of her boss’s desk. “Only problem is…”

“You’re not a private investigator,” he said tersely. “You’re a reporter and so you have no business taking on clients and investigating their cases.”

“Yeah, that’s about the gist of it,” she admitted. She’d hoped Dan would be encouraging. That he would say, ‘Of course, Odelia—go for it! Investigate away!’ Instead he regarded her a little coldly. “So look, I didn’t want to take the case without discussing it with you first. So this is me, discussing it with you.”

“Well, we’ve discussed it,” said Dan, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “And I have to tell you I don’t think this is a good idea, Odelia. You’re not a licensed investigator… What happens if you get hurt in the course of this investigation? You’re not insured. You’re not protected. There are reasons why private detectives have to get a license and have to take out insurance. You can’t just go around pretending to be a detective like some overage Nancy Drew.” He must have seen the dismay she clearly felt for being called an overage Nancy Drew, for he suddenly softened, those harsh lines in his face smoothing out. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that you’re an ace sleuth, licensed or not licensed, and I also know that your reputation is spreading through this community like wildfire, so more and more people will find their way to your doorstep—or your office door…” He paused, then seemed to relent. “Why is this guy—”

“Joshua Curtis,” she quickly supplied.

“Why is Joshua Curtis so eager to ascertain whether his friend’s wife is having an affair? What business is it to him? She’s not his wife.”

“He feels protective of his friend, I guess. He happened to find out that the guy’s wife is lying and now he wants to figure out what’s going on.”

“Why doesn’t he simply talk to her about it?”

“He’s afraid to. Afraid she’ll get upset. Also, he’s not sure.”

“I see.”

“So he figures if I dig around a little, and maybe snap a couple of shots, he’s got proof. And she won’t be able to dismiss him when he does finally confront her.”

“Okay, so suppose she is having an affair, and that you do get this… photographic evidence of these illicit fumblings behind her husband’s back. Then what?”

“Like I said, he’ll confront her with the evidence, and tell her that if she doesn’t stop the affair he’ll tell her husband.”

Dan thought about this for a moment. “Look,