It was eleven a.m. when Dayzee sauntered into the office. She wasn’t really thinking about work. She’d just finished a super tough case yesterday involving, a shiver ran across her shoulders at the thought, ghosts. She needed a break. Then…well this happened.
Dayzee had installed herself at the weather-beaten desk that sat in the middle of the sparse and utilitarian office space. In what seemed like an afterthought there was a small potted plant, with drooping petals, adorning the corner of the desk. The pitiful thing looked in need of water. The author would point out here that Dayzee was a horrible plant custodian. This was the sixth plant to fill that pot on the corner of the desk. The walls of the office were a drab grey color and held no pictures or paintings. Nothing to indicate personality. Just a room.
The knock at the door caught her mid reach for the bottle of Drunken Dwarf Rum. It was good rum. A local distillery, Glass Spirits, produced the firewater. And those were the only spirits Dayzee enjoyed being around. She was speaking from personal experience about that spirit thing. Really.
The hand holding the glass reversed and with a hint of sadness, she deposited the tumbler back into the drawer it came from. A drawer that quite often contained not only rum but the occasional pint of Firey Shot. Today, rum was the only occupant. For now, the rum would stay in the drawer. Pushing her chair back she walked to the door.
The skirt sitting across from her had just shown up on her office doorstep. She did not have an appointment. The dame was smokin’. Dayzee reminded herself to be careful not to fall for those silky, long legs and the mane of red hair.
“How can Dayzee help you? You’re lucky. Dayzee was just getting ready to call it a day. It’s Dayzee time. But go-ahead sister, tell me your story. No cheating significant other please. Dayzee hates divorce cases. Dayzee’s specialty is finding lost wills and treasure.” She hoped to Judas Priest! it wasn’t a divorce case.
The fem in the client chair shifted crossed legs. The languid one leg over the other was a studied move on the vamp’s part. Her voice held a smokey tone that was pitched low and rumbly smooth. Much like a happy kitten.
“Oh no. No significant other but I’m open to one if you’re offering?” The relaxed smile that accompanied that statement was coupled with veiled sapphire eyes behind dark lashes and a flip of the hair. “My name is Crimson Le Rouge.” The name got a raised eyebrow from Dayzee. And not just from the curious name. “No, I need someone to help me locate something that was stolen from me.” Perfect teeth peeked out from behind ruby red lips.
Dayzee caught herself staring into depths of sapphire. The eyes were just one element of the bewitching face. Painted lips, matching the lustrous hair, twitched faintly at the corners when Dayzee darted a glance toward the other woman. In the sudden silence, the drip-drip of the water clock counted time passing. The cool set to Dayzee’s face disguised the inner uneasiness that was growing over the woman posed prettily across from her. Dayzee was drawn deeper into those eyes like Ulysess to the island of sirens.
From somewhere deep in her subconcious—fight or flight?—Dayzee realized the beauty was too perfect. Nothing marred the unblemished face. Dayzee was forthright enough to admit the woman’s body was also perfect, which she accepted as a purely jealous observation on her part. Tearing her gaze away, Dayzee sat back into her chair and crossed her arms. A subtle but classic aspect to reasserting control over the conversation.
She hissed out a breath, “Okay princess. Tell me your troubles.” Her flat tone negated the spell Dayzee had fallen under. The sardonic cast to her face would have cautioned all within its reach to be careful of what they said. Very careful.
And yet the woman sitting across from her demurely shifted in her chair and sat up taller. Confident. “Beyond doubt I need your help. The man who stole this object from me is my stepfather. He’s a monster in disguise. I’m afraid of him. You’ve got to help me. You’re my only hope.” A few tears glistened the pale cheeks. The voice hitched slightly when the vixen had said, “You’re my only hope”.
The tears were a nice touch, Dayzee thought, but now she was a cynical body in a half empty glass. “Sounds like you need an adventurer. Dayzee isn’t an adventurer any longer. Monsters aren’t her stock in trade these days. But you’re not telling Dayzee the whole truth. No promises though. If the story isn’t better than a night out with my favorite pastime than it’s out the door with you.”
With a downcast look the beauty took a deep breath, “You’re right. I need to be honest with you.” The breath snagged in her throat, and what Dayzee now considered a charade continued, “My mother was a good woman, but she recently passed away. She wasn’t wealthy but did have a piece of jewelry that was to be left to me. My stepfather stole it before I could acquire it. It’s the only memory I have of my mother.” The effort of revealing her dilemma tore the breath from her lungs and she sank back against the chair. A practiced move that Dayzee was now immune to.
Dayzee barely hid the smirk that had threatened when, Wow she’s quite the actor, popped into her head.
“Of course, my dear lady and Dayzee is sorry for your loss. But tell her more. Was this piece of jewelry left to you in your mother’s will? Can you just go to the authorities?”
“No, my mother died without a will, but she expressed many times before she passed that she wanted me to have the ring. The ring was passed down over the ages from one member of her family to the next and I was to receive it when I turned twenty-five. My birthday was last week.” This admission brought a tiny smirk to the vixen’s lips.
“Fine but wouldn’t the authorities be a better choice than Dayzee? Your stepfather would probably be more receptive to a sher,iff or police detective asking about the ring.”
“Yes well,” she hesitated here and Dayzee thought, okay here it comes, the truth of the matter, “I may have hired a less scrupulous person to attempt to retrieve the ring. They unfortunately bungled the situation and now my step-father knows it was me who was behind the break-in. He’s threatening to go to the police.” The pale face was now a bright red.
“All right. You should have led with that bit of information. We may still be able to resolve this. Tell Dayzee where she can find your stepfather. She will talk to him. It may be that we can forego any issues simply by talking. Dayzee’s guessing you didn’t try asking for the ring back.”
“Oh no, I tried, but he just walked away from me. I don’t know if you can get an audience with him, but he’s at our family home. I don’t live there anymore, but he never left after my mother died. It’s the big house in northern part of the city. You can’t miss it. The big mansion.”
“Right. Dayzee knows the one. Quick question does it have ghosts because it looks like it would from the outside.” There were those spirits again.
“Oh yes, but you can’t be afraid of ghosts? I have never seen any, but my mother talked about her great aunt walking the corridors.” Dayzee caught the single tear squeeze from the corner of one eye. She hid her smile at the acting.
But then the mention of ghosts had Dayzee gulping. “Fine but it’ll cost you extra. Dayzee hates spirits. Not the liquid kind mind you, but the insubstantial ones are the worst.”
There was more talk of spirits and evil stepfathers before Dayzee was able to usher the vixen out the door.
***
She questioned the woman’s story. It was an entertaining story. If it was on the up and up. But there was just something about the aforesaid tale that didn’t sit right. The main question was why the stepfather was being such a dick about the ring. Why was the ring so important to two people who should be commiserating together. Not be at odds during a time of mourning. She would need her wits if the meeting with the stepdad was going to go the way she wanted.
A headache had been hovering in the dark regions of Dayzee’s distracted mood. The subtle pound-pound-pound had begun to thrust its way forward during the interview. Dagnabbit! A reminder of a certain witching hour drink for the road last night. Should have stopped at four. Overindulgence was the bane of her existence. But when has that ever stopped her?
She opened the bottom right drawer of the desk, reached in, and removed the Drunken Dwarf Rum. “Hair of the dog, that’s what Dayzee needs.” No grace or glass this time. She wiggled the stopper from the neck and chugged a healthy slug of indulgence. Straight from the bottle.
“Ah. Much better. Dayzee is ready for the day.” She slid the rum back into its resting place. Where it would silently wait for the next time Dayzee needed a pick-her-up.
Will Dayzee get over her fear of ghostly spirits? Will she let herself be drawn in by those sapphire eyes? Maybe but that’s a story for another day.
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