“You hired a private investigator?” My gaze returned to the stacks of cards in the box. “And they gave you this many business cards?” Something wasn’t adding up.
“It’s not a real agency,” Jemma said. “I made it up. Did you notice the name?”
“You used my favorite hot cowboy name.” I had, on more than one occasion, described my dream man as a hot cowboy named Wyatt. I could picture him as clear as day. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, washboard abs, a killer smile, and calloused hands that—
“Do I need to douse you with ice water?” Jemma interrupted my daydream.
“I was in the zone,” I lamented, my fantasy cowboy fading into the ether.
“I know, hon,” Jemma said. “But that zone is not PG, and we’re in a public place. You were practically drooling.” She rummagedaround in her handbag and came up with a cell phone that she plunked down on the table next to the box. “Burner phone. So, if Hoffman wants to call the number on the card to see if it’s the real deal, he’ll get a legit-sounding voicemail message.”
“Wow. You really thought this through.” I was impressed, if not yet entirely sold on the plan.
“The phone and business cards are the perfect touches, right?”
I was thinking overkill—at least when it came to the number of cards. “How many are in there, anyway?”
“One hundred.”
I fingered the card I still held in my hand. “I’m grateful and all, Jem, but you couldn’t have just printed one on card stock?”
“Do I look like a stationery store? Besides, I had a fifteen-percent-off coupon.” She paused for a sip of her latte. “All you have to do is give Hoffman one of the cards and tell him you’ve hired a private detective to gather enough evidence to take to the police and have him charged with theft. He’ll be so scared that he’ll be throwing your money at you.”
“I don’t know, Jemma.” The thought of confronting Hoffman nearly had me breaking out in hives. Confrontation was not my strong suit.
Unless the confrontee was a sleazy man and I was armed with a cocktail glass. Hmm. Maybe I wasn’t as anti-confrontation as I’d thought.
“The plan is foolproof, Em.” Jemma shoved the box and burner phone toward me. “Not to mention it’s the only one you’ve got.”
She had me there.
Getting my money back from Hoffman wouldn’t solve all my problems, but it would buy me time. Time to find a decent job so I wouldn’t have to scrimp and save and take advantage of my neighbors’ generosity. That’s why I accepted the burner phone andbox of business cards against my better judgment. How much stock could I put in my judgment, anyway?
Jemma dropped me off in front of the Mirage before speeding away in her red Camaro. I might have had a hint of car envy since I couldn’t even afford an old clunker. Not that I needed a car in the city or wanted to deal with the constant street sweeping. I certainly couldn’t afford to pay for a parking space, but I imagined that owning a vehicle came with a sense of freedom.
With the box of business cards in my arms, I started up the front steps to the Mirage, going over Jemma’s plan in my mind.
“Afternoon, Emersyn!”
When I looked up to see who’d called out the greeting, I tripped and fell forward, landing on my knees on the steps. The box flew from my arms, and the business cards burst up into the air as the lid shot off, creating a cloud of white before fluttering down like a kaleidoscope of butterflies that had all simultaneously died mid-flight.
“I’m so sorry!” the same voice cried out. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I looked up to see Agnes Gao, a bespectacled, sixty-something Mirage resident, leaning out the window of her third-floor apartment, her short and graying black bob tucked behind her ears. She and her daughter owned a bakery two blocks away. She was a sweet lady, and occasionally brought Livy day-old treats that hadn’t sold.
“No harm done,” I assured her with a wave. Luckily, she was too far away to see me blinking away tears of pain. My knees throbbed, and I thought I felt blood trickle down my leg beneath my jeans.
As Agnes ducked back into her apartment, I scrambled around, collecting the fallen cards and dropping them into the box. After I’d picked up all the ones around me, I dusted off my hands and slid the lid back on. I didn’t know if I’d retrieved all the cards, but I figured it didn’t matter. With one hundred of them, I had ninety-nine spares, and I was pretty sure that card stock was compostable.
Once safely in my apartment, I cleaned up my bruised and scraped knees, using one of Livy’s dinosaur bandages to cover a small cut that was oozing blood. Then I spent an hour online, hunting for jobs. None of the listings struck me as promising, but I bookmarked a couple to apply for anyway. It’s not like I had the luxury of being picky.
When my eyes threatened to glaze over, I allowed my attention to stray. Even though it made me cringe, I brought up Hoffman’s social media profiles. Just looking at the guy’s selfies turned my stomach, but I needed to track his movements if I was going to put Jemma’s plan into action.
When I saw his most recent post, from mere minutes ago, I jumped up from the couch. He’d posted yet another selfie—featuring his typical self-satisfied smile—with a caption stating that he’d just arrived at the Hickory Hill Country Club to play some tennis with his new girlfriend. She was the country club member, not Hoffman. Even the money he’d stolen from me wouldn’t have covered the fees to get him into that exclusive club. No doubt he’d had dollar signs in his eyes when he met this woman and realized how loaded she was. Would he try to steal from her or keep the relationship going and milk it for all it was worth?
I felt sorry for her. Maybe I should warn her about Hoffman?
If I ran into her at the country club, I would, because that’s where I was heading.
