Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jennifer L. Hart
drive it," Mac teased.
I frowned even as I caressed the buttery steering wheel. "Where do you suppose Uncle Al got the money for this car? He wasn't exactly living the life of Riley in his apartment."
Mac shrugged. "Maybe he won the lotto or something. Come on, I'm going to be late for first period."
"Not if Helga and I have anything to say about it." I revved the engine once then shifted out of neutral, and the car shot forward. Panicked by the sheer responsiveness, I did a both feet on the brake thing and narrowly missed careening through the rickety garage wall.
"Maybe she doesn't like being called Helga," Mac suggested.
I was too busy catching my breath to respond. This car was certainly not Fillmore, and there could be no showboating with my offspring in the car. "No, she does, she's just flexing her muscles, letting us know what she's made of. But we can stand up to a little Hellcat guff, right?"
"Right." Mac nodded crisply, grin firmly in place. "Let's do this."
* * *
A few hours later, I parked in front of the third law office of the morning. The first two had been a bust, one claiming they didn't retain investigators. The second refused to see me because I didn't have a scheduled appointment. In layman's terms, I was SOL.
I figured I had time for one more before my lunch date with my mother. Though job hunting should under normal circumstances trump a ham and cheese, I knew better than to blow off this particular meeting.
Because Uncle Al had left the building to the two of us, we were co-owners, and as my mother succinctly put it, matters needed to be discussed. And meeting her at a restaurant was a hell of a lot easier than having her come to inspect the building firsthand. We'd had an unspoken truce ever since I'd left home at sixteen. We always met on neutral territory. That way neither of us had home field advantage.
But one thing at a time. It would be so much more satisfying to stroll into the café with a case file under one arm, knowing that whatever shenanigans Agnes Taylor decided to pull, I had the beginnings of a new career waiting for me. And in order to get that first case as an unlicensed PI, I needed to convince a lawyer to hire me.
At first glance, the law firm of Lennard Copeland & Associates wasn't all that impressive. It wasn't situated in one of the high-rise buildings overlooking Boston harbor. No, it was a small office with peeling lettering on the door sandwiched between a delicatessen and a rundown-looking bar. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel for a minute, trying to decide if it was worth going inside. If worse came to worst, Lennard would tell me no, and I could brace myself with a drink before meeting with Mom.
With a plan in place, I exited Helga and made sure to lock the doors before pushing my way through the glass doors and into the law office.
A stoop-shouldered man sat at the reception desk. He had a coffee stain on his tie and liver spots on his expanding forehead, but he smiled brightly when I made my way inside. "May I help you, my dear?" His voice was accented with the honey of the Deep South.
"Yes, hi, I'm Mackenzie Taylor. I was hoping for a few minutes of Mr. Copeland's time. Do you know if he's available?"
The smile stayed in place and bright blue eyes twinkled merrily behind horn-rimmed glasses. "Why yes, I believe he does have an opening. If you'd follow me, please." He rose, the motion appearing painful, and my back spasmed in sympathy. It took a great deal of effort not to tap my foot in impatience as he shuffled around the desk and toward the door to the left of the water cooler. Then an arthritic hand reached for the doorknob, pushing the thing open a few inches. More shuffling, more pushing, shuffle, push, shuffle. And being a true gentleman, he held the door for me, which required still more shuffling.
Glancing around, I was surprised to see the room was empty, except for the two of us. Where were all the associates? Well, it
I frowned even as I caressed the buttery steering wheel. "Where do you suppose Uncle Al got the money for this car? He wasn't exactly living the life of Riley in his apartment."
Mac shrugged. "Maybe he won the lotto or something. Come on, I'm going to be late for first period."
"Not if Helga and I have anything to say about it." I revved the engine once then shifted out of neutral, and the car shot forward. Panicked by the sheer responsiveness, I did a both feet on the brake thing and narrowly missed careening through the rickety garage wall.
"Maybe she doesn't like being called Helga," Mac suggested.
I was too busy catching my breath to respond. This car was certainly not Fillmore, and there could be no showboating with my offspring in the car. "No, she does, she's just flexing her muscles, letting us know what she's made of. But we can stand up to a little Hellcat guff, right?"
"Right." Mac nodded crisply, grin firmly in place. "Let's do this."
* * *
A few hours later, I parked in front of the third law office of the morning. The first two had been a bust, one claiming they didn't retain investigators. The second refused to see me because I didn't have a scheduled appointment. In layman's terms, I was SOL.
I figured I had time for one more before my lunch date with my mother. Though job hunting should under normal circumstances trump a ham and cheese, I knew better than to blow off this particular meeting.
Because Uncle Al had left the building to the two of us, we were co-owners, and as my mother succinctly put it, matters needed to be discussed. And meeting her at a restaurant was a hell of a lot easier than having her come to inspect the building firsthand. We'd had an unspoken truce ever since I'd left home at sixteen. We always met on neutral territory. That way neither of us had home field advantage.
But one thing at a time. It would be so much more satisfying to stroll into the café with a case file under one arm, knowing that whatever shenanigans Agnes Taylor decided to pull, I had the beginnings of a new career waiting for me. And in order to get that first case as an unlicensed PI, I needed to convince a lawyer to hire me.
At first glance, the law firm of Lennard Copeland & Associates wasn't all that impressive. It wasn't situated in one of the high-rise buildings overlooking Boston harbor. No, it was a small office with peeling lettering on the door sandwiched between a delicatessen and a rundown-looking bar. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel for a minute, trying to decide if it was worth going inside. If worse came to worst, Lennard would tell me no, and I could brace myself with a drink before meeting with Mom.
With a plan in place, I exited Helga and made sure to lock the doors before pushing my way through the glass doors and into the law office.
A stoop-shouldered man sat at the reception desk. He had a coffee stain on his tie and liver spots on his expanding forehead, but he smiled brightly when I made my way inside. "May I help you, my dear?" His voice was accented with the honey of the Deep South.
"Yes, hi, I'm Mackenzie Taylor. I was hoping for a few minutes of Mr. Copeland's time. Do you know if he's available?"
The smile stayed in place and bright blue eyes twinkled merrily behind horn-rimmed glasses. "Why yes, I believe he does have an opening. If you'd follow me, please." He rose, the motion appearing painful, and my back spasmed in sympathy. It took a great deal of effort not to tap my foot in impatience as he shuffled around the desk and toward the door to the left of the water cooler. Then an arthritic hand reached for the doorknob, pushing the thing open a few inches. More shuffling, more pushing, shuffle, push, shuffle. And being a true gentleman, he held the door for me, which required still more shuffling.
Glancing around, I was surprised to see the room was empty, except for the two of us. Where were all the associates? Well, it
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