Sixteen

After a good night’s sleep, a shower, a banana, and two cinnamon muffins, I headed out the door. I hoped this new day would be better than the previous one. Then I remembered what my grandfather said when I was a teenager: ‘Hope in one hand and crap in the other; then see which one fills up first’.

Linda arrived just as I backed out of the driveway. I rolled my window down as I hadn’t lowered Patsy’s top—the weatherman had predicted a scorcher of a day. “Hey. How are you?”

“Doing okay. Anything special you want done today?”

“Can’t think of anything. Just the usual.”

“Got it covered. Should I have lunch ready for you?”

“Sounds good. Surprise me. I should be home around one o’clock. I’ll call if that changes.”

I made a few turns and headed north on Wible Road. I passed the Bakersfield Auto Mall and stopped at The AM-PM on the corner of Wible Road and White Lane. After filling Patsy with premium gas, which took a while and a good chunk of change—she has a huge tank—I pulled into a parking spot and dialed Trianna Weatherly’s office. I was lucky to get an eleven o’clock appointment.

I had almost two hours to kill before my appointment with Trianna Weatherly. I’d neither seen nor spoken with my parents in a while, so I decided to drop in on them. Both were retired state employees; Dad had retired five years ago, Mom less than a year. Dad had been an engineer for the State Highway Department for thirty-five years and Mom had worked at a driver’s license office almost as long, having been the office manager for her last seventeen years.

It was a nice, quiet visit as usual. Dad was laid back and Mom was her typical chatterbox self. They were excited and happy for me when I won the Vegas jackpot but not so thrilled when I told them I wanted to become a private detective. Nonetheless, they’ve supported me all along.

After spilling my guts to them about my fruitless Vegas episode and the dead end with the Camaro guy, Mom said something that piqued my interest. She told me she still had good connections with the DMV and if I needed any help in that regard, she’d do what she could. So, in addition to Max’s position with the Sheriff’s Office, Mom’s connections at the DMV expanded my resources. I doubted Mom’s offer was a hundred percent legal, but I didn’t go there with her. I simply told her to not put herself in an awkward position. She told me not to worry; she knew what to do and what not to do. I gave them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before I left.

I arrived at Trianna Weatherly’s law office and parked Patsy in the shade of a huge silver maple tree. Seconds after her receptionist informed her of my arrival, a plus size but gorgeous black woman stepped through a door and extended her hand. I estimated her about forty, perhaps a little older. “Good to meet you, Ms. Grace. Trianna Weatherly. Let’s step into my office.”

I followed her through the door and took a seat in a plush chair as she settled in behind her desk.

“So, what can I do for you, Ms. Grace?”

“I’m a private detective currently working on a case for Butler Farms. They feel they’re being sabotaged from inside and they’ve hired me to find the bad guy or bad girl. I may require a court order to get some of the information I need—privacy issues. I’m not sure I’ll anything from the court, but I want to be prepared in the event it becomes necessary. Besides, it might be a good idea to have an attorney on retainer. Sometimes things just seem to happen that require legal counsel.”

“Should I ask what kind of things?”

“You know—stuff.”

She smiled. “Uh, yes. Stuff. Great reason to have a lawyer on call. Going back to your current case; what kind of stuff are we talking about? I need a few more details. Stuff covers a lot of ground, ya know.”

I already liked her. “Mostly background information, personal and professional, on some of their employees.”

“If they really want to find out who’s doing them wrong, my guess is they’d cooperate to a large extent. But if they don’t for some odd reason, I’m here to help you. I have considerable experience with privacy laws.”

“Are you available on a retainer basis?”

“I am.”

She quoted me her fee and I wrote her a check. She was a bit pricey in my estimation, but expertise and dependability are worth a few pennies more. I knew Ron wouldn’t steer me to her of he didn’t think she was competent. Plus, I trusted my instincts. She had the demeanor of a confident, no drama, no-bullshit, and assertive professional—a strong voice with no hesitation, direct approach and several difficult-to-describe intangibles.

She stashed the check in a folder and then scribbled my name on the tab. “Thank you. And may I ask how you became aware of my practice?”

“A friend referred you to me, a gentleman named Ron Matthews.”

“Oh yes, Ron. Great guy. I’ve known him for quite some time. In fact, his father has me on retainer. Not only is he a great guy, but a real stud muffin, too. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“He is quite the looker. As far as a stud muffin, that might be a good …” I caught myself before saying any more regarding my knowledge of his stud muffin prowess.

Ms. Weatherly hiked an eyebrow and almost suppressed a smile, but made no comment. She cleared her throat. “Let me know when I can be of help.” She plucked a business card from her desk and handed it to me. “Just give me a call.”

“I’ll do that. And thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I guided myself behind Patsy’s steering wheel, my mind conjured a few thoughts. So, Ron has a reputation as a stud muffin. Hmm!

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