The lost savannah, p.1
The Lost Savannah, page 1
The Lost Savannah
A Lost and Found Pets Mystery
By B. L. Blair
Copyright © 2017 Brenda Blair
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Cover art by Nicole Spence at Cover Shot Creations
http://www.covershotcreations.com
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Titles by B. L. Blair
Chapter 1
The woman who opened the front door of our office was immaculate. She was perfectly dressed in a custom made suit. The handbag she held in one hand had a designer label, and the matching shoes were spotless. Her jewelry consisted of a diamond watch, diamond earrings, and a large diamond on her ring finger. Her hair and makeup were flawless and her creamy skin, smooth and wrinkle free. Everything about her screamed money.
In contrast, I was dressed in my usual uniform of blue jeans, black t-shirt, and black tennis shoes. The tennis shoes had a designer label but only because I needed shoes that provided exceptional support and held up under unusual conditions. My jewelry consisted of only a watch with a simple black band. I wore little makeup over my lightly tanned skin, and my dark auburn hair was a short pixie cut that took little or no grooming.
The woman closed the door behind her, looked around a little disdainfully, and took a step forward. Claire and I exchanged a look. We didn’t have any appointments scheduled. Occasionally we get walk-ins, but they are rare. My agency, Lost and Found Pets, is housed in the two front rooms of my home. You have to know where we are to find us.
The office is actually one large area that was formally the living and dining rooms. I had the place converted to house my agency. Claire and I both have a desk and two chairs for clients. On Claire’s side, there is a small play area for children while my side has a small sofa near the front window.
Our guest turned to Claire whose desk is a little closer to the door than mine. Claire is my complete opposite. She is short and just a little chubby. She has long blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, and a sweet smile. Her bubbly personality comes through with every word she speaks. She is friendly, kind, and supportive. I am none of those things.
Claire glanced at me briefly but gave the woman a professional smile. She is much better with people than I am.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Are you Alexandra Prescott?” the woman asked. Her voice sounded exactly as I expected. The words were spoken in a snotty, condescending tone. Her attitude was starting to piss me off.
“Nope, that’s me,” I said in a careless tone. My social skills are not the best. I don’t like small talk and pointless conversation. Usually I simply state the facts and move on. I can follow the social norms if needed. I just seldom see the need.
Claire cocked her head and discreetly made a face. My childhood had been rough. I met Claire the year I came to live with my aunt after the death of my drug-addicted mother. Nora and Claire helped me heal and deal with the aftereffects of my mother’s treatment. They also tried to get me to be more sociable. Nora passed away five years ago, but Claire continues the quest. Laughing silently, I managed a polite smile for the woman.
“How may I help you?”
“I’m Grace Carmichael. Micah Parks referred me to you. I need you to find my son’s cat.”
A shot of adrenaline rushed through me. Micah Parks is a conceited, arrogant, asshole. He also runs one of the most successful private investigation agencies in town. His clients are the wealthiest in the area, and his cases typically involve large dollar, white collar crimes.
I had met Micah back when I had been working as a private investigator for another agency. My boss at the time, Eddie Hill, owned a small firm. He had hired me as an intern, which allowed me to get my private investigator’s license. Eddie is soft-spoken, quiet, and one of the best people I know. I learned more from Eddie than I did from anyone else. He retired a few years ago, but we keep in touch.
The case I had been working on for Eddie conflicted with one The Parks Agency was conducting. When Micah had insisted on a meeting with my boss, Eddie had taken me with him. Micah had attempted to scare Eddie off the case, and when intimidation didn’t work, he had attempted to bribe him. Eddie was small time, but he had no intention of bowing down to the big man. We solved the case, and Micah had taken notice. After I left Eddie to start my own specialty agency, Micah had offered me a job. I had turned it down but gave him one of my cards. That had been over five years ago.
A referral from Micah Parks was gold. Lost and Found Pets is a small agency. I’m not looking to grow bigger, but expanding my clientele to a new group of people is always important. I don’t often get repeat customers. We do have one or two clients whose pets are escape artists, but most of the people who come to us only need to use us once. We get a lot of referrals from our clients but always need new customers. Especially ones with money.
Most of my clients are well off but not considered wealthy. They have money to spend but not the kind of money that flowed in the circles Micah Parks inhabited. The fact he had sent Grace Carmichael to me was a surprise. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and I thought he had forgotten all about me.
Pointing to the chairs in front of my desk, I studied Grace as she settled in her seat. The woman had to be in her forties but looked ten years younger. Her blonde hair was expertly groomed, her lips full and discreetly colored, and her body thin and toned. But I’m an expert at reading people. The hair was dyed, the eyes tucked, and the lips injected. Grace Carmichael paid a good deal of money to look the way she did.
“You said you needed us to find a cat?” I asked.
“Yes,” Grace replied. “Sammie. She is a Savannah that belongs to my son. I need you to find her.”
There was an edge to her tone that hadn’t been there earlier. A Savannah is a fairly rare cat. It is a cross between a domestic cat and a serval, which is a medium-sized wild African cat. I’ve only seen one, but he had been beautiful. They have been gaining in popularity, but they are extremely expensive. They are also very large for a cat. Somehow it didn’t surprise me that the Carmichaels had one.
“We can certainly try to find Sammie, Mrs. Carmichael.”
“Micah said his firm did not conduct searches for pets,” she said haughtily, “but he assured me you were the best. Otherwise, I would not be here.”
For a moment, I wanted to slap her down. I forced myself to think about the consequences of turning away a referral from Micah Parks. He wouldn’t be pleased, and he could certainly make my life difficult. If I accepted and did a good job, more referrals could come my way. Not accepting wouldn’t be a smart move.
“You can leave,” I said nonchalantly. So much for being smart. Claire made a slight sound. I ignored her and watched Grace.
She looked out the side window. There wasn’t anything to see. It faced the driveway, but I don’t think she was really looking for anything anyway. A slight frown appeared on her otherwise perfect face.
“My son…he is…Brian is very attached to her.” When she turned back to me, she appeared troubled. “Sammie is important to him. To all of us.”
For the first time, she appeared approachable, human. Maybe she wasn’t the cold-hearted bitch she appeared to be. Just a bit of a snob. I could work with that. It wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t like one of my clients. I turned to my computer and pulled up a form.
When I first opened Lost and Found Pets, it was a one-person shop, but I quickly found I needed help. I ran through a couple of part-timers who didn’t work out. Thankfully, Claire joined the agency about a year later. One of the things she suggested was a program that would allow us to track all of our hours as well as use pre-formatted documents for consistency. We had hired a firm to design everything. It made my job much easier and less time-consuming.
“I’ll need to gather a little information,” I told Grace.
She nodded. I walked her through the form. She answered all my questions, produced a picture and medical records, and informed me when Sammie had last been seen. I explained our rates and her choices.
We offer two search options. The basic search is the most common. It is when we canvass the neighborhood, call vets, shelters, and rescue groups, search and post on social media, and supply a flyer and ad campaign, if needed. All the things anyone could do themselves but don’t have the time or inclination. The advanced search is when we do all of that and bring in Hero. Hero is my specialty trained search-and-rescue dog.
Our fee is one hundred dollars an hour with a two hundred dollar non-refundable deposit. If the client wants to have Hero involved, the rate triples. The client has to be serious about finding their pet and have money to spend to request the advanced search.
“I want the advanced search,” Grace said. “That’s why
I had added the advanced search option a little over three years ago. After a couple of years of hitting dead ends when searching for a pet, I decided I needed something more. A friend had casually mentioned that it was too bad I didn’t have one of those rescue dogs. I did some research, found three-month-old Hero at a local shelter, and headed for search-and-rescue training. It was almost six months before I began to see results, but our success rate for finding pets almost doubles when Hero is involved.
“Okay, I think that’s everything I need at the moment,” I said handing Mrs. Carmichael her credit card. “I’ll need to come to your home for Hero to pick up Sammie’s scent.”
“Can you come now?” she asked anxiously. “I would like to…it’s important to find Sammie as soon as possible.”
I turned to Claire. We didn’t have any appointments, but we did have another case.
“I’ll start the search for the Martin’s dog,” Claire told me.
“Give me some time to get Hero ready,” I told Grace. “I’ll meet you at your house in about thirty minutes.”
Claire and I watched her leave. We were both silent a moment before Claire finally said, “Her shoes cost more than my entire outfit.”
I barked out a laugh. “Her shoes cost more than my car.”
“She certainly does dress nice.” Claire paused and then said, “I thought for a minute there you were going to turn her down.”
“I did consider it.”
“What changed your mind?” she asked. When I looked at her, she started laughing. “You felt sorry for her.”
“She softened up when she talked about Sammie.”
“It also didn’t hurt that Micah Parks referred her,” Claire said knowingly.
“You’re right,” I said with a grin. “That didn’t hurt at all.”
Chapter 2
The Carmichael house was located in a private, gated community called The Highlands. I had recently been in a similar community. A couple of weeks before, I had visited the home of Warren Caldwell who had wanted me to find his missing Great Dane. It turned out Caldwell didn’t own a dog at all. He had just been searching for this particular animal because the dog could lead him to evidence that would prove he had hired someone to kill his wife. The Great Dane is now living with my next door neighbor while Caldwell and the hitman he hired to kill me were awaiting trial.
The Highlands was a little larger than the community Caldwell had lived in and didn’t have a human guard at the gate, but it had the same feel. Large, expensive houses with immaculate landscaping and perfect yards. The difference between this community and Caldwell’s was the Highlands was new money while Caldwell’s was old. Each house was on an oversized lot, but there were no privacy fences in front or carefully placed hedges to keep others away. No, these people wanted to be seen.
The Carmichael’s home was on a back street. It wasn’t until I turned onto the long driveway leading up to the residence that I received the full effect of the house. I slammed on my brakes and gasped. The monstrosity in front of me took my breath away. The house appeared to be a mixture of styles—part colonial, part ranch, and part something else thrown in for good measure.
I eased the car forward staring at the house with wide eyes. It was the ugliest thing I have ever seen. Large windows, that should have been inviting, were surrounded by gaudy, sparkly, frames. The brick was an odd color of brownish-green, and the huge two-sided front door was a pale yellow.
Grace had been tastefully dressed. Her manner was formal and proper. She had seemed like the perfect society matron. What was she doing with an eyesore of a house? It had every excess that could have been added. Someone had horrible taste.
I was greeted at the door by a smiling housekeeper. After I introduced myself, she opened the door wider, and I stepped in. The inside was almost as bad as the outside. Gilded mirrors on the wall, along with paintings that had gold plated frames, competed with extravagant furniture and elaborate flooring.
The housekeeper led me through a formal living room into another room where Grace was waiting with a boy who appeared to be about twelve years old. This room was a family room and much more tastefully decorated. The furniture looked comfortable and went well with the dark, thick carpet. The only pictures on the walls were family portraits of a seemingly happy family of four.
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Prescott,” Grace said as Hero and I walked into the room. She turned to the boy who was sitting on a chair next to the couch. He didn’t look at Hero or me. He was swaying just a little, and tapping his right hand against his leg in a constant, repetitive motion. “This is my son, Brian. Brian, this is Ms. Prescott. She’s going to try to find Sammie.”
“Hi Brian,” I said. “This is Hero.”
Hero sat up straighter when I said his name. Brian didn’t seem to notice. Usually I get along pretty well with children. Unlike adults, they don’t feel the need to make small talk. My default communication style works just fine with them. But it was obvious to me that Brian wasn’t your average child. He showed no interest in Hero.
“Don’t like dogs,” Brian said, and the tapping on his leg increased.
“Brian…” Grace started.
“No problem,” I said, speaking over her. This was my area. Brian wasn’t the first client who had a negative reaction to Hero. “Lots of people don’t like dogs, but Hero knows how to search for other animals. He’s going to search for Sammie.”
“Sammie’s gone.” The anguish in his voice was palpable. It tore at my heart.
“Well,” I said sharply. “We’re going to try to find her.”
At that moment, we were interrupted by two teenaged girls. The first had Grace’s face and blonde hair but with a streak of purple running through it. She was dressed in a purple top and black shorts. She looked a lot like I imagine Grace had looked twenty-five years ago.
“Hey, Mom,” she said as she bounded into the room. “Is this the detective lady?”
Grace released a long-suffering sigh almost all mothers with teenaged daughters use. My own mother had died before we could get to that point, and I doubt she would have reacted that way even if she had lived. But I had heard that exact sound from Claire’s mother a time or two.
“Hannah, this is Ms. Prescott,” Grace said. Turning to me she continued, “This is my daughter, Hannah, and her friend, Natalie Bennett.”
I froze just a moment. My mother had been a rebellious child who had gotten pregnant with me at seventeen. No one seemed to know who my father was. My mother hadn’t told me, and my aunt hadn’t known, but just recently, I had learned it might be a man by the name of Nathaniel Bennett. I had been told I had his eyes. When I pulled up a picture Bennett, I discovered I do have his eyes, which are dark, emerald green. I also have his coloring—dark auburn hair. The girl with Hannah had the same hair, but her eyes were brown. She was pretty, and I recognized her from the picture I had seen of Bennett. It was quite possible I was standing in the same room with my half-sister.
I gave the teenagers a slight smile before turning back to Grace. “I need something that smells like Sammie. Does she have a cat bed or blanket? Anything she spends a lot of time on.”
“Sammie’s gone,” Brian said again a little softer this time. Grace put out a hand as if to touch her son, but Brian leaned away and continued his tapping.
“Everything’s in Brian’s room,” Grace said sounding unaffected by the rejection. I don’t know if it was faked or if she had just gotten so used to it, but it made me admire her just a little. “Sammie spends most of her time there with him.”
Hero and I followed her out of the room and through another door that opened back into another hallway. It was just as ostentatious as the one the housekeeper had led me down. We passed a bathroom. I only caught a glimpse, but the sink and toilet appeared to be gold-plated. I just shook my head.
Brian’s room was on the second floor. Like the family room, it was tastefully decorated. Thick dark carpet covered the floor, and the furniture was subdued and classy. Apparently, it was only the public rooms that had the awful décor.
