In Deep Shitake Part 5

Mo placed her coffee and doughnut on the desk, before dropping her purse to the floor. She picked up the receiver. "Good morning. Incredible Love," she answered.

"Yes, er..." The voice on the other end broke between the low pitch of adulthood and the high pitch of youth. "We, that is, I um..."

Mo was afraid she knew where this was going.

"Errrr. Um. We, I mean I, would like to order some escorts for tonight."

Sheesh. She wished for the umpteenth time that Harry would change the agency name. Mo sipped at the coffee before answering. "We aren't an escort service."

"You're not? That's okay because we really wanted..." The adolescent voice lowered to a whisper. "Prost.i.tutes."

"We don't deal in prost.i.tutes or escorts. We are private investigators."

"But I need, I mean really need, some incredible love."

"Why aren't you in school?" she demanded.

"That's none... Hey, I graduated. I graduated in- It was a long time ago. I don't go to school."

"Yeah, sure," Mo drawled. "Listen, kid. This phone has caller ID and if you call here again, I'll talk to your mother."

The call ended abruptly as the phone on the other end clicked off. She hated it when she had to answer these stupid calls.

The phone rang again.

Mo grabbed the receiver ready to rip the caller a new one.

"h.e.l.lo!" she shouted.

"Is this Incredible Love?" The voice on the other end had a heavy accent that made the L sound like a W.

"Yes?" Mo breathed out to calm herself. "Yes, it is. Can I help you?"

"I would like to speak to Stephen Dagger." The voice was heavily accented.

It took a moment for the words to register.

"Is this a joke?"

The caller hung up.

What was that? And why wasn't Clarence here to take these calls. Before Mo had time to consider further, the door to Harriet's office opened, and the boss stuck her head out.

"Ah, Mo. There you are. Would you come in to my office?" Harry said with a stern frown.

"Yeah sure, boss." Mo puzzled at Harry's manner.

Harry slipped back into her office interior, leaving the door open for Mo to follow her inside.

"You don't look like you have a broken arm," Mo remarked wryly from the doorway.

Harry stood behind her desk. She ignored Mo's statement and waved one arm toward the corner of the room that was obscured by the office door.

"I believe you know Mr. Dagger- I mean Mr. Grant," Harry said.

Mo pushed the door closed and saw that her nemesis was in the room. He lounged, one leg propped over the other. Ross had dressed casually. He wore a black polo shirt, jeans, Nike sneakers and a smirk. His hands, with their long tapered fingers, pressed together to form a pyramid. His little pyramid screamed self-satisfied superior creep.

"Mr. Grant has been telling me all about your run in with him last night," Harry continued. "Frankly, I was shocked. Shocked and upset at how unprofessional and rude you were. I have a.s.sured Mr. Grant that this agency does not tolerate such behavior."

"But, Harry, I was following orders."

"From the receptionist?" Harry frowned, tapping her desk with the fingers of one hand.

Mo nodded.

"And did he say who this supposed client was?"

"No."

"No one hired us to break into Mr. Grant's car." Harry snorted. "As if I would instruct anyone from this agency to break the law. I really don't know what you thought you were doing, Mo."

"But-"

"No," Harriet held up her hand in a halting motion. "Don't bother trying to defend the indefensible," she said with a heavily dramatic voice. "Mo. You're fired." To punctuate her words, Harriet's hand snaked toward Mo in a move like that of the guy on the television show.

The gesture would have been funny, except this wasn't a reality show. This was real life.

"But-"

"Clean out your desk immediately." Harry turned toward the still smirking Mr. Ross Grant and then offered her hand. "I'm terribly sorry about what you had to suffer because of someone in my employ. I hope we meet again under more pleasant circ.u.mstances."

He stood to shake Harry's hand.

"I appreciate your responsiveness to the situation, Ms. Hutson. It's been a pleasure." The custard turned toward Mo. "Good-bye, Ms. Tuttle." And with that he walked out of the office, through to the reception area. The sound of the agency door closed with a click behind him.

After a few seconds of silence, Harriet began laughing and plopped down into her desk chair.

"Harry. What-" Mo's legs shook under her.

"You should have seen your face when I did that snaky thing. I've wanted to do that for a long time," Harriet said. "I love that show. It's not quite as fun as the one where those celebrities try to dance, but still-"

"I don't understand," Mo said, her heart still lodged in her throat.

"Don't look so upset, honey. Of course you're not fired. That was all for Mr. Grant's benefit." Harry leaned back and put her feet on the desk. "The handsome devil. Bless his little heart. He is a charmer isn't he? Like all the rest of them. Worse since he's so blasted cute. Dammit. I wish I was a lesbian. It would make things so much easier."

"I'm confused."

"You and me both, honey. Did you have to pick on some spoiled celebrity's car?"

"Clarence told me that you broke your arm. He said you had this a.s.signment you wanted me to finish for you." Mo collapsed into the chair opposite Harry's desk. Her shaky legs refused to hold her up anymore.

"I never told him any such thing. And you can see both my arms are fine. What did he claim I wanted you to do?"

"Get into the car and pay particular attention to the content of any papers inside. I guess looking back, it was odd."

"No wonder the dear boy didn't show up for work this morning. That Clarence is another handsome devil. You'd think I'd learn and stop hiring the little darlings. I'd fire his cute a.s.s if he wasn't so good at all those computer thingies."

"But why would Clarence want me to break into Ross Grant's car? It doesn't make sense," Mo wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but I expect you'll find out when you go over to his house and speak to the boy."

Mo rose and turned to exit the office.

"Don't forget your meeting with Mrs. Nelson at eleven a.m." Harry's words interrupted Mo's departure.

"Is there any way I could get an advance on my salary?" Mo asked with tentative hesitation. Harry didn't like to be parted from her money.

"Don't push your luck, honey." Harry slid on reading gla.s.ses and then picked up a paper from her desk.

Mo tried to avoid a desperate edge to her voice when she added, "You said you'd consider a bonus at the end of the month."

"And I will." Harry didn't even glance up from the paper as she said the words in a distracted tone.

Mo released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She'd have to be satisfied with that small a.s.surance.

"By the way," Harry said, lowering the paper. "Have you stopped swearing?"

Mo nodded. "I haven't dropped the F-bomb in thirty-three days, twenty hours, and two minutes."

"Good. The clients might swear like rappers trying to make a hit record, but they don't like it when you do."

"I know. I know," Mo said, trying not to tap her fingers on the doorframe. She'd heard the lecture before.

"And stay away from Ross Grant," her boss warned. "I don't want that hunky boy suing the agency or anything like that. I'm afraid I'd have to fire you for real if that happened."

"Yeah, I understand." Mo walked out of Harry's office. On her way past the reception desk, she grabbed her purse.

"Oh, honey?" Harry called through her still open office door.

Mo stopped with her hand on the doork.n.o.b and glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Were you actually stuck in the sunroof?" Harry gave a bark of laughter.

Striking a pose by sticking her backside toward her boss, Mo slapped one cheek of her bottom and made a smoochy sound.

Then she ran down the stairs and through the front door of the building.

Chapter Four.

Outside, Ross waited for Ms. Imogene Tuttle to emerge from the building. He leaned against a tree at the center of the park-like square facing the agency door. His car was parked illegally on the opposite side of the square, a few yards away. A meter maid had just placed the tenth-no wait, the eleventh-parking ticket he'd received since arriving in Savannah on the car's windshield. This too was Ms. Tuttle's fault.

Of course, he'd almost felt sorry for Mo during her firing. She seemed so stricken. However, Ross felt it was unlikely Ms. Hutson would truly fire her hapless employee. If there was one thing Ross Grant knew, it was bad acting. He'd been on the receiving end of it in enough movies.

However, the boss would probably put enough fear in Mo to send her running to the client. And Ross wanted to find out who was so interested in his comings and goings that they would go to the trouble to track his car and arrange for a break-in.

It briefly occurred to him that he waited here for Mo Tuttle because he was fascinated by her quirky blend of beauty and feistiness. But then he dismissed the thought. He was only here because her mysterious client might threaten his film project. That was his only interest in Mo, he insisted to himself.

At midmorning a dozen people milled about. A lone saxophonist had positioned himself on the square's east side, playing a slightly off-key rendition of an old standard. Several elderly ladies were cl.u.s.tered together on a park bench, nattering amongst themselves. An old man carried a sign warning against an evil something or other while periodically hurling indistinguishable words in the direction of the nearbycourthouse.

A couple-obviously tourists-with T-shirts displaying their allegiance to some college in North Carolina, stood near the square's center as they examined the plaque which described its history. Each carried one of the famous Savannah to-go cups. Could they be drinking before noon?

A young man in an ill-fitting blue seersucker suite and bottle strength eyegla.s.ses, sat on a park bench, reading a newspaper with his legs stretched out in front of him blocking, the way of pa.s.sers by.

A squealing of tires caught Ross's attention. He turned toward the source, a black SUV speeding around the square. The vehicle screeched to a halt in front of the agency building and continued to rev. The driver-a block head with a Neanderthal brow-stared at Ross for a second before turning away. What was wrong with that guy?

The cell phone in his pocket rang. Ross pulled the sleek, black device out to see the caller's name displayed on the face. He groaned. As much as he didn't want to, he'd have to answer it. His agent became nervous if he couldn't reach Ross at all times. Ross hoped he didn't have bad news from the studio.

"What is it, Aaron?" Ross schooled his tone to boredom with a hint of annoyance designed to hide his trepidation. Dealing with Hollywood types resembled dealing with wild animals. One could never show fear or they'd tear you apart.

"I'm hearing good things about your meeting with Nicodemus last night. It's looking good. This one could really do it for you, Ross. This film could put you back on top of the power pyramid."

"That's great," Ross said, smiling to himself.

"The studio suits were blown away by your professionalism."

"Do I hear a 'but' coming?"

"If anything happens to make you look personally unstable, this whole deal will fall apart like a house of toothpicks."

"Cards," Ross corrected under his breath.

"Whatever. It could all quickly turn to a smelly brown substance."

"I know you've warned me before, but-"

"You're trying to prevent leaks about the project."

"Exactly," Ross commented. "And you know the old saying about doing things yourself if you want them done right."

"Yeah, but you obviously don't know the old saying about s.h.i.t rolling downhill. If you're the only one on the hill, it's definitely going to hit you. But if you hire some minions to stand around you on the hill you can always duck behind them when the time comes."