Secret Lives and Private Eyes Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  “If you like your mysteries Southern, smart, and sexy, you will LOVE this book.”

  —MOLLIE COX BRYAN,

  Agatha-award Nominated Author of the

  Cumberland Creek Mysteries and the Cora Craft Series

  “Crisp writing and strong characters lead a fast-paced chase across Virginia in this charming debut mystery. Heather Weidner’s Delanie Fitzgerald is sharp and tenacious, and her adventures will keep you turning pages late into the night. I can’t wait for the next book!”

  —LYNDEE WALKER,

  Agatha Award-nominated author of Cover Shot

  “Rock star Johnny Velvet died in a fiery car crash thirty years ago. Or did he?”

  —MARY MILEY,

  Author of The Impersonator

  “P.I. Delanie Fitzgerald is a savvy investigator chasing clients, crooks, and assorted sleaze bags through a Richmond that sparkles with possibilities, both good and bad. Weidner’s characters are vividly drawn and memorable. I want to ride along with Delanie again on her next case.”

  —MARIA HUDGINS,

  Author of the Dotsy Lamb Travel Mysteries and the Lacy Glass Archaeology Mysteries

  “Move over Kinsey, there’s a new sassy PI in town - Delanie Fitzgerald. Secret Lives and Private Eyes is an impressive debut for Heather Weidner.”

  —DEBRA H. GOLDSTEIN,

  Author of Should Have Played Poker: A Carrie Martin and Mah Jongg Players Mystery

  “A book that grabs you from the start and refuses to let go.”

  —LYN BRITTAN,

  Author of The Mercenaries of Fortune Series

  “Delanie Fitzgerald is a smart, gutsy, and creative private investigator who finds herself involved in an interesting array of cases. Secret Lives and Private Eyes tops my list of favorite escape-from-life reads.”

  —JAYNE ORMEROD,

  Author of the Blonds at the Beach Mystery Series

  “Heather Weidner’s feisty red-head, Delanie Fitzgerald, takes readers on a wild romp through historic Richmond, Virginia in the first book of her southern PI mystery series – sure to make you crave a slice of lemon chess pie and retribution.”

  —FIONA QUINN,

  Kindle Scout Winning Author of the LYNX Series

  “An appealing PI, secrets galore, and an intriguing mystery make Heather Weidner’s debut a winner.”

  —MAGGIE KING,

  Author of the Hazel Rose Book Group Mysteries

  “In Secret Lives and Private Eyes, Weidner has crafted a gutsy heroine whose independence, impulsivity and dogged determination seem to get her into and out of run-ins with a humorous montage of quirky characters. Delanie Fitzgerald, the resourceful owner of Falcon Investigations, has an affinity for speeding. She’s also not afraid to use her feminine wiles to bring down the target of an investigation. Her partner, Duncan Reynolds, has an English bulldog named Margaret and a talent for technologically skirting legal boundaries. Together, they take readers on a disguised tour of Richmond area landmarks right up to the suspenseful ending. There is no lack of comic capers in this fast-paced mystery that will leave readers breathless trying to keep up. Secret Lives is a winner that you won’t want to put down.”

  —P. J. WOODS,

  Author of the Harper Simone Mystery Series

  “Readers will get a delicious dose of satisfaction from Delanie’s adventures.”

  —KATHLEEN MIX,

  Author of Impossible Ransom and Sins of Her Father

  “A cool car, rock star, and clever plots twists make Secret Lives a hit!”

  —TERESA INGE,

  Virginia is for Mysteries

  “Delanie Fitzgerald is a great addition to the pantheon of female sleuths.”

  —VIVIAN LAWRY,

  Prize-winning Author of Dark Harbor, Tiger Heart, and Different Drummer

  “If you like spunky sleuths and mysteries brimming with local color, then you’ll love Heather Weidner’s fun debut set in Richmond, Virginia!”

  —MEREDITH COLE,

  Award-winning Author of Posed for Murder and Dead in the Water

  “I started reading this book on a train ride from Richmond, VA to Baltimore, MD; and once I got started, it was really hard to put down. It was a great read and I consumed it over a weekend. I was attracted to the book by the blurb, it seemed interesting enough that I would like the impending plot twists and I do like a good mind-bending mystery. I have to say that the character of ‘Delanie’ is one smart cookie expertly juggling multiple cases at the same time. She’s very authentic. I could relate to her partner Duncan wanting to work behind the scenes doing research while Delanie was out and about posing as different characters to get the job done. They complimented each other well.”

  —J. KYLE HOWARD,

  Founder of LIFE HACKS 4 DUMMIES

  “Take one strip-club owner named Chaz, the T&A King, add one rock star who may not have died years earlier, stir in one feisty PI. Secret Lives and Private Eyes is a page-turner until the last word.”

  —BETSY ASHTON,

  Author of the Mad Max Mystery Series

  Secret Lives and Private Eyes

  by Heather Weidner

  © Copyright 2016 Heather Weidner

  ISBN 978-1-63393-256-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other – except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters are both actual and fictitious. With the exception of verified historical events and persons, all incidents, descriptions, dialogue and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Published by

  210 60th Street

  Virginia Beach, VA 23451

  212-574-7939

  www.koehlerbooks.com

  To Stan, thanks for all of your love and support.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER T HIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THESE ARE REAL …

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  “HEY, DO YOU want another drink?” slurred the man on the barstool next to Delanie Fitzgerald.

  Delanie leaned in closer. “No, but I’d like to go somewhere and get to know you better. What do you think about that?” she ask
ed, winking at the fifty-something sitting next to her. She tossed her long red curls to one side and tilted her head toward him. She hoped the black dress showed enough cleavage to do the trick.

  He smiled. He looked like he was expecting her to kiss him. When she didn’t, he waved to the bartender for the tab.

  The man placed two twenties on the bar next to his glass. Delanie slid off the barstool, careful not to cause her micro-dress to creep any higher. Flipping her shiny purse strap over her shoulder, she made her way out through the crowd. Delanie felt his ragged breaths on the back of her neck, huffing and puffing like he’d run three or four laps. He reached out and touched her shoulder, trying to steady himself.

  When they arrived at the parking lot, she said, “I’m over there. I’ll follow you. Where to?”

  “I dunno. I’m not from this part of town.”

  “We could go to your place,” she suggested.

  “Uh, no. Too far. It wouldn’t be any fun.”

  “Well, I’m all about fun. Okay, where then?” She shivered and wished she had brought a jacket, but it would have ruined the effect.

  “Uh, I dunno,” he stammered. “I think they are some places over near the interstate a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Okay. I want somewhere nice with a Jacuzzi.”

  “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

  “Neither did I,” she said.

  He leered at Delanie, taking in her long legs and short skirt, while fishing through his pockets for his keys.

  “I’m in the beige Corolla down there,” he said.

  She climbed in her black Mustang and watched him stagger to his car.

  Delanie felt a tinge of guilt for letting him drive drunk, but she needed to get him at a motel. She started the engine. He still hadn’t made it to his car. After turning on the lights and the radio, she kicked off the four-inch heels that pinched her feet and made her calves burn. She threw them in the backseat and settled in to watch what he would do next.

  He finally backed out, and Delanie followed behind him until he pulled into a small motel at the entrance ramp to I-95. The sign under the neon vacancy advertised Jacuzzis and free breakfast.

  He parked and walked over to her car. Rolling down the window a crack, she waited. He leaned forward but didn’t say anything.

  “Why don’t you get us a room?” she asked. “I’ll pull around back and wait for you to get everything ready.”

  “Okay,” he smiled again and wandered off in the direction of the office. It was 12:35 according to the radio display.

  Pulling the tiny video recorder out of the backpack she always kept in the front seat, Delanie made sure she captured him going into the office and talking to the desk clerk. Before he returned, she drove around back and parked midway down the row. She turned her lights off and waited in the seedy parking lot, dotted with mostly working lampposts.

  A few minutes later, the Corolla parked at the end of the row. Her date weaved up the outside steps to the second floor. Recording his ascent, she zoomed in on the room number before he opened the door. She wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

  When he went inside and turned on the lights, Delanie clicked the camera off and flipped her lights on. Backing out, she pointed her car toward the interstate.

  Her conversation with Mrs. Clayton tomorrow wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was probably expected. Delanie had enough evidence on the camera and the wire taped to her stomach to make the divorce attorney drool. This one was easy. She didn’t have to do anything for the setup but hang out in his favorite bar. He found her there and started chatting her up. Another working Friday night, and Delanie Fitzgerald couldn’t remember the last time she had a date she didn’t have to secretly tape.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DELANIE SLID OUT of her car and pulled her sunglasses down from her curls to block the blazing afternoon sun. Grabbing her backpack, coffee, and purse, she bumped the car door with her right hip and pressed the key fob twice, listening to the door locks click.

  On her way to the office, she shuffled everything to one side and jammed the key into the mailbox, snatching a handful of bills and junk mail addressed to Falcon Investigations.

  The receptionist desk, empty as always, remained from the previous tenant. Her suite included a kitchenette, a conference room, and two offices. Small by most standards, the space worked for Delanie and her partner, Duncan Reynolds. Delanie had used her share from her father’s estate to get her PI license and open the firm about seven years ago after business school didn’t lead to anything interesting.

  Delanie and Duncan would be turning forty in a few years, but each could easily shave at least five years from their ages because of their youthful looks and adventurous spirits. They had been good friends since college and were each other’s greatest advocates.

  Tossing the mail on her desk, she yelled, “Hey, Duncan! Dunc, you here?”

  A muffled “Hey,” came from the kitchen area. She followed his voice to find Duncan’s feet sticking out from under the sink.

  “What’s up?” she asked, stepping over Margaret, Duncan’s three-year-old English bulldog whose normal speed was napping. Margaret, who only moved for treats and for Duncan, looked like a brown and white log with legs. She wasn’t much security, but she was good company.

  “We sprang a leak. And we’ll need a raft if we wait for maintenance,” Duncan muttered from under the sink.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “I’m almost done. I think I fixed the problem.”

  “Thanks. You know I appreciate you. If the computer stuff doesn’t work out, I’ll put in a good word for you to take over for the maintenance guys.”

  “Funny,” he replied, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. He tested the faucet; the leak had stopped. Duncan, a computer geek, worked with Delanie on her cases when she could afford to pay him. The rest of the time, he paid for his office with website design and computer research, which Delanie believed was a euphemism for his extracurricular hacking activities. But he always found interesting information for her, so she never asked where it came from.

  “I finished Mrs. Clayton’s case last night. You know, the wayward husband investigation. I gave her a copy of his misadventures, and she gave us a check. Whooo hoooo, paying clients.”

  “Maybe things are picking up,” he said. “We received a voicemail from someone interesting in California.”

  “Cheating spouse or insurance fraud?” she asked, grabbing a water out of the small fridge.

  “Neither. A personal assistant for an author in Hollywood. They need a PI to run down some leads.”

  “How’d the assistant find us?” asked Delanie.

  “Our fantastic website, of course.”

  “What are you waiting for? Let’s see what it’s about.”

  Dropping her purse and gently setting her cup of coffee on her desk, Delanie plopped down in her faux leather chair. Duncan balanced his laptop on a stack of papers piled on the edge of her desk. She glanced at the back of his computer, a montage of brightly colored stickers for crazy causes and interesting places. He scooted forward, and she punched the phone number for California and pressed the speaker button while Duncan clicked away on his laptop.

  After several digital tones, a raspy voice answered, “Tod Eastman.”

  “Mr. Eastman, this is Delanie Fitzgerald from Falcon Investigations.”

  “Oh, hi,” he said. “Let me put the top up. I’m in the car. Gimme a minute.” After a long pause, he returned with, “Sorry about that. My employer is looking for a private investigator in Virginia to do some research for her.”

  “What type of research?” Delanie asked. She wondered if he was tooling around in some exotic convertible.

  “It’s for Tish Taylor. Heard of her?”

  “Is she the one who writes all those unofficial Hollywood biographies?”

  “That’s the one,” Tod said. “Sex and sin sell books. Would you be interested in the
assignment?”

  “Possibly.” She tried not to sound too eager. She was glad that Tod couldn’t see them. Duncan’s head was nodding so vigorously his ears almost flapped. He flipped his laptop around so Delanie could see Tish Taylor’s latest tell-alls on infamous celebrities and politicians.

  After a half-hour discussion of logistics, reports, and prices, Tod said, “Okay then. I’m pretty sure you can do this work for us. I’ll send you a confidentiality agreement. Send it back signed, and I’ll FedEx a package of what we have so far. We can work out any other details when it arrives. Send me your contract and fee schedule.”

  “Sounds good,” said Delanie as she disconnected. Duncan pumped the air with his fist and did his happy dance around Margaret. The bulldog joined in the celebration by opening one eye.

  Delanie slipped off her red leather sandals and enjoyed their good fortune—landing a client who wasn’t trying to dig up dirt on a cheating spouse. On his way out of her office, Duncan said, “Now, this should be interesting. Tish Taylor’s recent books have been on former vice presidential candidate John Edwards, Lindsay Lohan, and Michael Jackson’s doctor.”

  She answered the ringing phone as Duncan and Margaret retreated to his office.

  “Falcon Investigations.”

  Delanie managed to get in “yes” and “no” a few times and then agreed to meet a prospective client downtown in an hour. Business just might be picking up, she thought. They hadn’t had more than one client at the same time in years. It would be nice not to have to worry about the bills for a while.

  A few minutes before her appointment, Delanie paid the Honor Park box at the lot across from Gator’s Sports Bar. She wondered if her new client would be as chatty in person as he was on the phone.

  Inside the restaurant, she marveled at the flat screens lining the perimeter. All the high-tech gizmos contrasted with the rest of the room, which looked like the other rehabbed Civil War warehouses in Richmond’s Shockoe Bottom. She didn’t see anyone waving at her, so she let the hostess seat her in a booth where she could see the large glass doors. Delanie ordered iced tea and waited.