I'd follow my uncle for a few days and prove that these receipts weren't from him cheating. There had to be another reason that my aunt hadn't thought of. Lots of people jumped to conclusions when people acted weird, but that didn't mean he actually did something wrong.

The plan came together quickly. I'd take pictures of him being terribly boring, and then we could all move past this. I'd save Christmas. And Thanksgiving. Easter. Fourth of July.

Easy peasy.

Of course, I could never tell my mother, so she'd never hear about my hero-ness. I'd tell Broadrick. He'd appreciate my efforts. In fact, I sent him a text so I didn't forget.

VONNIE: Details later, but I'm officially my family's savior. No one can find out.

Even though I knew better, I waited to see if he responded. He didn't. Just like the many other messages I'd sent since he left on his official deployment.

My phone buzzed. I jerked to attention, grabbed it from the desk without a scorch mark from my stun gun trial, and then sagged my shoulders

Not Broadrick.

"Vonnie Vines, Private Investigator," I said to the unknown number.

The caller hesitated. "Is Ms. Vines there."

"Speaking."

"This is Frasier. I am... err, was Mick Darcy's partner. I'd like to speak with you regarding Mick's death. There's information you may be interested in seeing."

"When can you meet?" I asked and pushed back from my desk. It wasn't the same with all the sun and the missing scorch mark.

Another pause. "I'm in Pelican Bay now, but they have your office covered in police tape."

"Yeah, it's a crime scene," I deadpanned.

I ran my fingers over the leaves of the fake plant in the corner. A wax feeling coated the tips of my fingers. Why did everyone keep bringing up Mick's death? I had enough constant reminders running through my mind nonstop. They didn't need to help.

I'd never met Mick's partner, but if he had something regarding his murder, we needed to become close friends. "Stay there. I'll meet you in the parking lot."

We were still on the phone as I locked up the office, and I'd just hung up when I hit the parking lot and remembered I didn't have a vehicle at the new office building. Tony drove me and then ran away.

"Shit," I whispered to myself at the curb.

It was less than a six-block walk, so I took off at a steady jog toward my dead-body office. The air wasn't warm yet, but I still had a sweat going by the time I passed the street toward the parking lot at my old building. I slowed and used a regular stroll when I passed over the curb.

Yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed over the front door, and I scowled at it for good measure. A car door closed, and I whipped in that direction. A tall man walked toward me wearing a sharp blue three-piece suit.

"Frasier?" I asked, squinting at him.

No way was this man Mick's partner. They were complete opposites. This man belonged on a boat or something. He didn't seem like a person who took nudie shots of cheaters to pay for those suits.

He held his hand out at me as he got close. "Ms. Vines. Thank you for coming. Did you walk?"

We both scanned the parking lot. "I parked a street over," I lied.

He was too fancy looking for me to admit that I walked. Even his car was fancy. The bright red sports car looked faster than Pierce's overpriced vehicle.

"I'll get right to the point. I assume you're looking into Mick's death," he said and glanced at the taped-over door.

The way he kept looking at the door upset me. I moved, so he had to place his back to it. "Of course."

Frasier smiled. "Good. He always spoke well of you."

"He did?" That didn't seem right. I thought Mick barely tolerated me. At least I barely tolerated him.

"Yeah, he said you were smart. He didn't like it."

I laughed. That sounded more like Mick. "Do you know why he was here that day?"

The yellow-taped door in my sights made my chest hurt. Mick lost his life in there. What if I'd been there, too?

He shrugged. "He didn't tell me, but Mick loved the pop in."

I laughed sadly. "Yeah, he did." Surprise inspections were his favorite thing. He had a habit of showing up without telling me in advance. It annoyed the crap out of me and apparently got him killed.

"Who hated Mick enough to kill him?" I asked.

His shoulders bunched. "Who didn't? Half of the county hated Mick because he caught them doing something they shouldn't. That's what a good PI does."

I wasn't a hundred percent sure I agreed. Mick liked his money shots-naked ones-but I had bigger dreams for my PI life.

"Any of those clients stand out to you more than anyone else?"

A cloud blocked out half the sun and the air chilled.

"It wasn't a client. I'll tell you who killed Mick. His stepson."

What? My forehead furrowed. "Mick had a stepson?"

He never mentioned him.

He scoffed and slapped his hands together. "Yeah, and he's a real little shit. Failed out of college, but didn't tell anyone until he'd cashed Mick's tuition check."

"Wow," I said and attempted to whistle. I'd never gotten great at the skill. "Mick didn't like that, I bet."

I could only imagine all the pen clicking he did in his agitation over it.

"Biggest row I've ever seen. Mick kicked him out of the house. Told him not to come home until he paid back the fifteen thousand dollars. Knew the amount right to the cent."

Now that sounded like Mick. He always knew exactly how much I owed him in mentor fees.

Hmm. People killed for money all the time. It wasn't a far-fetched plot. But how did Mick's stepson find him at my office when I didn't even know he'd be here? I needed to visit the morgue and see what Kelvin could tell me about the autopsy after they finished. Maybe he had a heart attack and everyone always expected the worst.

"Kids kill all the time," Frasier said, cutting into my thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah." Pretty cold-blooded, though.

He hit a button on his keyring, and his car started. "I'm telling you. The stepson did it. You're in a better place to investigate this here. You should take the lead. Kid's name is Eric, and he hangs out at this bar in Clearwater called The Rusty Spike."

I patted my pockets, looking for my notebook. Damn it. Where did I leave it?

"Rusty's spike. Got it."

"The Rusty Spike," he said. "Save Mick's soul and put the kid away."

He turned, but I stepped in his way. He adjusted his suit jacket and flashed me an annoyed expression. "Why are you telling me? Why not the police?"

Frasier side-stepped me. "The cops in this town couldn't solve a crime if it happened right in front of them."

"They've gotten better since Anderson took over," I said and hated that it was the truth.

He stopped after opening his car door. "It's up to you now, Vines."

I stayed on the sidewalk until he'd left the parking lot. Home was another six blocks away, but I didn't have to run this time. It gave me plenty of time to think about what I just learned.

My car, Rachel, was out of gas and Clearwater was a good twenty minutes away. I'd been driving Broadrick's truck for emergencies but hated to use more of his gas. Maybe I'd ask Tony to give me a ride. Although, he asked a lot of questions. Questions I rarely wanted to answer.

I walked past the bushes in front of my office building and saluted the one NB loved to pee on the most. A piece of black caught my eye, and I stopped. On my haunches, I pushed deeper into the bushes to get a better look.

A finger of a black glove peeked out from under the bottom of the bush.

Interesting.

I searched the area for a stick to poke it with, but the pieces of mulch were too short for proper poking. It's lucky NB wasn't with me because he definitely would have peed on the glove before anyone noticed.

But was it evidence or trash?

I glanced at the front door. The police tape blocked out anyone from entering. I hadn't even tried to break in. Mainly because who knew if the police were watching the place or not?

With everyone in town looking for Mick's killer, I only had one option to get a better look at the glove.

I grabbed my phoned, found my least favorite contact, and pressed call.