I opened it up. Olivia Cook was concerned by her husband Trey’s recent behavior. She wanted to get to the bottom of it, as painful as the truth may be. I scanned the pictures. Olivia looked like something out of Town & Country magazine. Blonde hair, big smile, floral dress, cute kid clinging to her hand.
Trey also looked the part. Handsome face and a build that suggested he had been an athlete in high school but was just starting to go to seed a bit. Guys like that gained a few pounds, got a few gray hairs, and their fragile masculinity exploded. They had to go out and shower some dumb young bimbo with gifts to get their self-esteem back on track.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Another thrilling chapter in the book of matrimonial bliss.”
Veronica stifled a giggle, but Daniel frowned.
“Let’s 86 the sarcasm, Brennan,” Daniel said.
I flashed him my most charming smile. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on this tonight.”
Daniel gave a brisk nod and headed into his office. He gave off a stern exterior, but he was a good guy overall.
I settled into my desk and pulled out my notebook. My desk was a mess of papers, photos, and pens, but I thrived in that kind of disarray. Veronica, on the other hand, kept her desk immaculate.
Two hours later, I had finished putting together my final report. I sent it to Daniel and then grabbed the next file. As tired as I was with the cheating husbands, I always got a little thrill of anticipation with a new case. It was like a wrapped present where youthoughtyou knew what it was, but you couldn’t be sure.
Anything could lurk beneath the shining veneer of Trey and Olivia Cook. It could be scandal, intrigue, a web of deceit that stretched back years. He could be the head of a coke ring or the leader of some crazy cult. No matter what it was. I, Claire Brennan, would crack the case.
It was probably just a mistress with big tits. But it could be something else, and that’s what gave me the little flutter of butterflies in my stomach.
I read over the info about Trey’s office and license plate number. I checked my watch. If I hustled, I might be able to trail him as he left his work. It was Friday night, so if he was meeting his side chick, it would be about now while his wife was at home making mac and cheese for the kid.
I shoved the file into my bag and stood up.
“Heading out already?” Veronica asked.
“Might as well,” I said. “Who knows? This one could be different.”
Veronica smirked. “Maybe.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was parked outside his office in the heart of La Playa near the boardwalk. He had a nice cushy position in a consulting firm; probably had a corner office too.
I rolled down my window and kept my eye on his car. When I first started the whole PI thing, my instinct was to do it like the movies. Big sunglasses, a hat, maybe even a scarf. But the secret to not being seen is to not try and hide. Just dawdle about in plain sight. Look like you’re up to absolutely nothing.
It doesn’t hurt that no one suspects foul play from the petite girl with a blonde ponytail.
Veronica does it a little differently. She wants to be seen. She wants the guy to notice her so much that he can’t resist. Not me. I stick to my corners where I can watch undetected.
At six on the dot, Trey Cook strolled out of his office and hopped into his car. In the distance, the sun was setting over the water. He was working late for a Friday, but maybe he did that to cover his bases if his wife ever asked a coworker.
If I were a betting woman, I would have put my money on Trey heading straight to one of the bougie cocktail bars or steakhouses in downtown La Playa. Mistresses loved that kind of thing while men like Trey loved to impress.
It’s a good thing I didn’t gamble, because Trey surprised me by driving all the way out to East La Playa.
“Ok, Trey,” I muttered. “We’re roughing it tonight.”
He finally pulled up to a bar I had never been to calledBlue Dog Saloon. It didn’t look dangerous, per se, but it was decidedly shabby. Not without charm, though.
I cast a wary eye towards the bikes parked outside. There were biker clubs all around LA, but I had never had any trouble with them. Then again, I had never really gone near bikers.
Overall, it was not the type of bar I expected Trey to frequent. This case was looking more interesting by the second.
I looked down at myself. I was wearing worn black jeans with frayed hems, sturdy boots, and my reliable jean jacket. Not exactly a Friday Night Out Look, but any PI worth her salt is always prepared for wardrobe adjustments.
I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and ran my hands through it until it settled in soft waves down to my shoulders. Then I dug around in my bag and yanked out some dark red lipstick and mascara.
After hastily applying the makeup, I shoved my wallet and my phone into my smaller handbag. It looked weird to walk into a bar with a huge tote bag. Getting pictures would be tricky, even if I used my phone instead of my nicer camera.
