Two dysfunctional detectives help a dysfunctional young woman with a missing grandfather and a severe tape problem.
Wanna be a hard-boiled private eye? Easy. Just slip on that old trench coat and hat and place an ad in the Penny Saver.
But be careful. When Izzy and Vero try that they get a trippy client with a severe tape obsession. Before they know it, they're all up to their fedoras in trouble. Big trouble.
A serial killer is on the prowl and they're on his hit list!
Soft cover and e-books available.
Excerpt
"You sure can’t use that condemned basement you live in," Vero pointed out again.
"What condemned?"
"Well it should be. I know my room is bad, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain. If I start taking care of it my old man will think I’m growing up and next thing he’ll be wanting me to get out and find a job. Like that’s ever going to happen." She sniffed and stared at the unfinished wood in the ceiling of the garage some more. "I wasn’t cut out to say, ‘Welcome to the shit hole. May I take your order, sir? A slice of grease on a soggy bun with our famous Kraft secret sauce? Coming right up’."
"Aw geez," Izzy complained. "Alls we got at my house is a carport. That won’t work. My mom’s working most of the day, but I don’t know if she’d go for clients coming into the house." Izzy looked troubled. "And you’re right. My basement pad wouldn’t work. I know that. Wow, we gotta figure something to do."
"Well, I think you’ll have to start doing your figuring alone sweetheart. I’m getting sick of hearing about your future exploits already. Infomercials got to be more interesting than our relationship."
"Hey, come on, Vero. You’re supposed to be my right-hand man—woman—whatever. I mean, when you let me use the garage I thought that kind of made us like you know, partners. Besides, most shamuses have a gal Friday or something. I mean, I thought we were more than just you know, friendly friends." He showed his long teeth suddenly. "Well, very friendly friends. You’re supposed to work with me, back me up, take notes. How many times I have to explain all that to you anyway?"
"So many times that I just tune you out, you little weasel. "I explained all that to you too, but it didn’t do me any good."
Izzy stood up and stretched. "Well, you're right. Sitting around here crying ain’t doing us any good," he said. "Let’s get out of here. We can go over to my place. My mom’s probably home by now, but we can crash in the living room and watch TV…or something."
Without a word, Vero unwound herself and got up from the couch. She touched one hand to her stiff hair to make certain nothing had moved. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. But she already knew that.
Izzy winced as they stepped out into the bright light of the sunlit alleyway. Gravel crunched beneath Vero’s heavy boots.
"Detectives and their girl friends who do all what you said are supposed to make money too," she suggested. "You know, money. It buys stuff. Stuff like donuts."
"It’s coming. The money’s coming," he insisted, but inwardly he wondered. Maybe he had got ahead of himself. After reading so many novels and watching all those old movies on TCM he thought he had it all figured out. Nick and Nora Charles. You just hang out your shingle and hot blondes in trouble show up at your door. There is big money involved, gems, pearls; bad guys, sure, but—"
"Hold up," Vero said, suddenly alert, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Who’s this?" Following Vero’s lead, Izzy focused his attention on a little gray Honda that that had just turned into the alley. Since they were the only visible humans in the alley at the moment, the Honda pulled in over crunching gravel and a slender black girl popped the door and got out. Her movements had a graceful swing despite her overall awkward appearance.
Izzy and Vero stared. Their first impression was of some kind of clown.
The girl’s wore straight multi-colored black hair. Parted in the middle, one tuft, tied, stuck out and had been dyed bright chrome yellow. Almost a bright chrome yellow flower rather than a tuft of hair. The other had been dyed purple. Like Vero, the girl flashed a silver ring in one nostril. She wore a faded denim top over a tee shirt, a very short denim mini-skirt with frayed hemline, and beneath that, striped pantyhose, except that Vero suddenly realized there was no pantyhose at all. The stripes were actually alternating horizontal strips of red and blue tape spaced about an inch apart that started inside boots that apparently came from the same thrift shop as Vero’s and continued up two very chocolate brown legs to disappear into the frayed hem of her mini-skirt.
All that tape stuck on bare legs, Vero thought. I don’t know if I could—but then another thought occurred to her: It could be a look….
The girl ducked her head slightly. "Hey."
"Hey," they said in unison.
Somewhere a dog began barking and a huge gray tomcat ran silently along the top of the fence line. The girl glanced at the cat, then pulled a folded Penny Saver from a small pocketbook that hung low from a long slender shoulder strap. She looked at the Penny Saver and then back at Izzy and Vero.
Vero was regarding Izzy with suspicion. There had to be a connection here. She knew Izzy.
"I’m not so sure I’m in the right place," the girl said, sniffing slightly at the aroma of the many garbage and recycling containers that lined the alley. "I was looking for an office, Brix Investigations…?"
"B-Brix?" Izzy stammered. "Brix Investigations? Hey, that’s me. Well, hey!" he showed his long freckled teeth, "You found me. Here I am in person. Well," he laughed in a nasal sort of sneeze, "I guess you don’t need a detective; you found me without one." Pleased at this he danced a couple of gravel crunching steps in his red Vans.
The girl stared at him. So did Vero.
He stopped and got serious. "So…you got a problem?"
"I—well, yes, sort of."
Izzy threw a triumphant sidelong glance at Vero who returned the look with haughty disdain. "Well, of course," he told the girl in his best manner. "You’re in the right place." He turned and indicated the open door of the garage. "You just tell us all about it. Come into my office."
"That’s a garage!"
Professional Reviews
Cleveland Courier
"A real page turner."
— Ivan Reichmann
Chicklibrarycat
"The author did a great job here...well plotted. I loved the characters."
— Marina Stevkovska
Taylor Reigler moves to Indiana in order to reopen a campground she inherited. She finds decades of grime, waist high grass, and a few resident ghosts.
Taylor Reigler moves to Indiana in order to reopen a campground she inherited. She finds decades of grime, waist high grass, and a few resident ghosts.
