Free Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) by Nancy Skopin Page B

invited to participate. I resented Aaron for this, but on some level I thought it was my fault, that because I was a girl I was unworthy.
    Mom had been playing the piano since childhood, so when she was excommunicated and married my dad, she hung out her shingle and started taking in students. This allowed her to be at home so she could care for me while earning an income. Both of Aaron’s parents worked, so Mom allowed her brother and his wife to park their devil child at our house.
    I now understand that children are slaves to their survival instincts. When we feel threatened, we do whatever we think is necessary to protect ourselves. For Aaron, that meant blaming me for anything he’d done that turned out to be a punishable offense. At the age of four I received a particularly severe beating for one of Aaron’s peccadilloes. I remember thinking at the time that I would never forgive him, or my parents.
    Because of this ongoing torment, I developed a profound need to see that justice is done – a hunger for the bad guys to get what they have coming to them. On the other hand, as a distorted consequence of my obsession with justice, I began shoplifting when I was six. If my parents thought I was bad, I might as well be bad. My life is full of this kind of paradox.
    Later, when I sold cosmetics, I graduated to stealing from my employer, till-tapping and taking merchandise home that I hadn’t paid for. After a few years, my retail career segued into security. I was surprisingly good at spotting shoplifters and till tappers, and management decided that talent was more valuable to them than making a sales quota. Eventually I was promoted to a security management position for the chain of department stores.
    When I accepted the management position I decided it was time to turn my life around. The fact that I’d had a miserable childhood didn’t mean the world owed me anything. I mailed in anonymous cashier’s checks until everything I’d stolen was paid for, or paid back. This took a while. I liked the security job, but I didn’t find my true calling until I became a PI.
    I believe the larcenous phase of my life contributes substantially to my ability to identify dishonest individuals today. It really does take a thief to catch a thief. In spite of the fact that I no longer rob anyone to satisfy my inner child, I have continued to live my life as though there is always something wrong and it’s my job to fix it. Knowing this allows me to use the compulsion rather than allowing it to use me, most of the time, and it makes me very good at what I do.
    Aaron became a criminal defense attorney. No doubt his childhood experiences also contribute to his success. We have an ambivalent relationship at best. I can’t forget what a little shit he was as a child, and all he can remember of our time together is that when I was old enough to defend myself I started kicking his ass.
    Almost three hours after leaving Redwood City I was on a dirt road leading to a vast field encircling two hangers and a number of small airplanes. I pulled into the unpaved parking area and looked around for signs of life. There were a few people smoking outside the hanger on my left, so I headed in that direction.
    Inside, the hanger was partitioned into room-sized spaces. To the left of the entrance was an open dressing area where jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles were hung. Beyond this was a counter with a cash register and a few skydiving brochures scattered in asymmetrical piles. To the right was a seating area where several young people had gathered on hassocks and couches.
    Behind the seating area was a small retail shop that appeared to stock all the paraphernalia associated with skydiving, and an office.
    I spoke to a young woman positioned behind the cash register and she pointed out Big Al, who was giving a class to beginners. He was indeed big. I’d say about six-five and three hundred pounds, in his early thirties, Caucasian, brown hair,