Free Dusted by Holly Jacobs Page A

day, it wasn’t just organizing information for Mickey was it?”
    “Now, Cal, I.…”
    I was talking to dead air because he was heading toward Hunter’s room.
    “Cal,” I called as I followed him but he didn’t break stride. He reached Hunter’s room, through open the door and shouted, “Aha. There’s more up there.”
    “Aha yourself, Caleb Parker. What makes you think you have the right to burst into my bedroom uninvited? I think your mother would be horrified. I bet she thinks she raised you better than that.”
    “Don’t try to change the subject—” he started.
    “And speaking of your mother, do you realize I’ve never met any of your family? And the only friend I’ve met is Big G. You’ve met my entire family and Tiny, Sal, and even Dick. Do I embarrass you, Cal? Do you want to hide me away from everyone you know? I mean, I’m only a maid after all. And I’m the mother of three teens. Yes, you’re dating a woman who has teenaged sons. That might be embarrassing for a super-cop who has a reputation with the ladies.”
    “I do not have a reputation with the ladies,” he said loudly.
    “Big G says you do. He says you date them then dump them. Is that where this is leading? You’re planning on dumping me and making out that my looking for information to help your friend’s investigation is more than it is so you have an excuse?”
    “Quincy, last time you tried your hand at investigating, you almost got yourself killed. I just want you to be safe.”
    “Yeah, well, I almost got killed crossing Ventura Boulevard the other day. When I was eight, I almost got killed trying to climb the mulberry tree in the yard. Right after I moved to LA I almost got killed trying to surf in order to impress a man…well, then I thought he was a man, but he was a boy, a man-child at best. There are any number of other ways I’ve almost gotten myself killed over the years. If you’re going to try and forbid me crossing streets, swimming, or climbing the occasional tree, well, this isn’t going to work.”
    “Quincy, how did you turn this around on me? This is about you. It’s about your investigation. You. Are. Not. A. Private. Detective.” He annunciated each word, as if he were afraid I wouldn’t understand otherwise. “There are all kinds of hoops to jump through here in California before you can be a private investigator. I doubt you even know what they are.”
    “I don’t want to be a detective. I just want to find out who stole the paintings so Tiny and I don’t lose our business.”
    “We’ll find out without your help.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, I did find out who killed Mr. Banning. And I will find out who stole these paintings. If we’re going to continue dating, you’d better be clear on one thing…I don’t need some man to ride in and save the day for me. I’ll save it on my own, thank you very much. I divorced Jerome before I’d hit my mid-twenties. I managed to raise three of the most fantastic boys ever—and I call them that with no bias whatsoever—I’ve also built a successful business with Tiny. I’ve supported myself. For a long time I wondered what I was going to do when I grew up, but I think I’ve found it with this writing thing. I love working on the script, though I don’t have nearly as much time as I’d like.”
    “Quincy—”
    “Notice I said writing, not detecting. I am looking at the case, but simply so my business doesn’t suffer. No one’s mentioned Mac’Cleaners and the thefts in the media yet, but they could. There’s no murderer this time. There’s just someone who is stealing and forging artwork. I don’t know about you, but most of the artists I’ve met don’t seem very murderous to me.” I’d never really met an artist but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any who were overly violent. “Oh, they might cut off an ear now and again but generally it’s their own ear. They don’t do murder.”
    “Quincy—”
    I interrupted him again. “So