a crush on one of our guys, and when he did not reciprocate, she tried to get him fired by lying.”
She stopped there. It still made her furious. She took a few deep breaths so she could talk without her volume climbing to shouting range. “Even though it was straightened out right away, it scared me. Max was a college kid majoring in education. If there had been some sort of crime reported against him, it could have landed him on the sex offenders list and he would never have been able to get a job as a teacher. It could have ruined his entire life. So I take this very seriously.”
“Good. Exactly what I want to hear. I need a job and a paycheck. I don’t need to risk my future and my niece’s future.”
She stood and he followed suit. “I think you’ll be fine. I’ll get the results and call you tomorrow.”
THE DAY WAS pleasant and Wyatt would have chosen the outdoor seating, but Marcus Canard had already taken up residence in a corner booth at the Citadel Mall location of Sesame Burgers & Beer. The lunch crowd was beginning to thin out which troubled him a little. People in large noisy crowds were less likely to eavesdrop.
Wyatt hesitated, studying Marcus for a moment. He wore the Southern gentleman’s casual uniform of khakis and a polo shirt. But everything was a bit off. The shirt stretched over a too-large gut and one collar was frayed. The fabric of the khakis was stiff and shiny. By his appearance, he wouldn’t seem to fit with the business elite of Charleston, but he did.
He’d first noticed it when he’d been summoned to the office of Henry Moody to meet Marcus. The contrast between Henry’s Old World grace and Marcus’s crude appearance and speech was almost comical. Until you realized they were both rich and powerful men. And in the business world, money and power were all that really mattered.
Wyatt had taken this assignment when he really didn’t want to. The work he did for Henry’s insurance company was his main source of income. He couldn’t jeopardize that relationship. Not with Jules’s welfare to consider. So he was stuck with Marcus Canard. He crossed the room, pulling on his bland cop face.
“Did you get the job?” Marcus asked around a mouthful of fries as Wyatt sat across from him.
“Start on Monday. It’d be helpful if you told me exactly what it is you’re looking for.”
“Anything. I know that gal isn’t running a legitimate business over there. And what’s with the guy thing? Is that a gimmick or are those boys doing more than mopping?”
Wyatt corralled his irritation while he gave the waitress his order. Clients usually knew exactly what they wanted him to find. When he turned back to Marcus, he had it mostly under control. “You think there’s something illegal going on, then?”
“All I know is she charges twice what I do, and for what? So a good-looking guy can clean your house? Who cares what he looks like?”
A spark of interest flared at that and Wyatt leaned forward. “You think she’s running a male-prostitute service?”
“Why not? Women can pay for it now, too, right?”
“My preliminary investigation hasn’t turned up anything. Not even a rumor.”
“Find a rumor. Find something. Find anything. I want her out of business.”
“Why?”
“That’s nothing you need to know to do your job. Just do it.”
Marcus had barked out the order, but his eyes had slid away from Wyatt’s and lingered on the shoppers passing the window. His hands clenched into fists on the table. The man was angry. Anger was usually personal.
“You said she couldn’t run a legitimate business. How do you know that?”
Marcus looked back at Wyatt and the silverware clanged on the table as he slammed his fist down. “There is something going on. She’s nothing. A minimum-wage trailer-park maid. Thinks she’s something now.” He leaned forward and pointed his index finger at Wyatt. “I won that ridiculous City Paper award five years in a row. She took it from me. Now I’m losing customers. Find me something. Anything.”
And there it was. She was hurting him financially and now she’d publicly beaten him. The City Paper’s Best of Charleston Award may have been the catalyst for Marcus seeking revenge, but money was always the motivation for men like him. He shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything going on, but if you want to continue the investigation, it’s your money.”
“Damn right, it’s my money. You find something. Anything. Be a shame if I had to tell Henry you let me down.”
Wyatt pressed his lips together. His first impulse was to get up and walk out. But there was Julietta to consider now. He couldn’t do anything to risk the stability he was trying to give her. If his relationship with Henry was damaged, he’d lose his biggest source of income.
He shrugged as he squeezed lime over his fish taco. “It’s your money.”
“And you’ll have a report for me next week.”
Marcus wiped his mouth and threw the napkin on his plate. He reached into his wallet and left a twenty on the table before lumbering away.
Asshole. Wyatt tried to finish his lunch, but the food tasted like sawdust and his stomach burned with frustrated anger. He shoved the plate away and smiled at the waitress to let her know he was ready.
He should probably try to dig a little deeper into the story of the woman who made the false allegation. Most likely a waste of time. He’d heard the passion and the fierce protectiveness in Sadie’s voice when she’d told him the story this morning. She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t stupid, either. There was more going on here than Marcus was telling him. His phone buzzed in his shirt pocket. The display read Springfield Elementary and everything else was forgotten in a wave of concern. Julietta.
“Mr. Anderson? This is Mrs. Rigby, the principal at Springfield.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is Julietta all right?”
“She’s having a bit of a rough time today. Would you be able to come to the school?”
“On my way.”
A bit of a rough time today. Poor kid had had a rough time the past six months. Her mother, Maddie, his baby sister, had been filling in for another flight nurse when the helicopter she was in went down in the Smoky Mountains. There had been no survivors. Julietta had been dropped off for school and had never seen her mother alive again.
He found her sitting in a chair in the school office, clutching her book bag to her chest. She sat perfectly still. No fidgeting, no swinging of the legs or tapping of feet. None of the constant motion you would expect from an eight-year-old. She didn’t smile at him, only turned those big, dark eyes in his direction. He squatted beside her and ruffled the black hair falling in a messy sheet down her back.
“Hey, Jujube. What’s up?”
She lowered her head to the book bag but her eyes, so full of a sadness he’d give anything to know how to relieve, never left his. “I want to go.”
She
