The Lady Who Sang High: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 7) (2 page)

“Okay,” I said and named my daily rate.

She didn’t blink. “I’ll pay you an hourly rate, just like the other employees at the store, and then I’ll make up the difference myself. Would that be okay?”

“Sure.”

“No one can know I’ve hired you.”

“Jude knows, right?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t convince him there was a problem.”

“Hold on.” I held up a hand. “Your brother doesn’t know you’ve contacted me?”

“No one does.”

“Why not?”

“Jude doesn’t think there’s anything to be worried about.” She sat back and sighed. “I told him what was going on and he thinks someone is playing a joke on us, or something like that. And he’s also worried about what would happen if people found out we’d hired a detective to check out our partners.”

“Why?”

“Jude’s hoping to get another investor or two, so we can grow even more weed, maybe open another store or two. With all of the issues around legalized marijuana, it’s hard enough to get investors. Trust me, he would not be happy if he knew I was talking to you.”

I hesitated. “Is it a good idea to go behind his back?”

“It’ll be fine. Jude’s a great guy, everybody likes him, and he only wants what’s best for the business…and for me.” Her blue eyes grew misty. “He’s two years older than me, and he’s watched out for me ever since our parents died in a car accident. I was seventeen, still in high school, and he was in college in California. I didn’t handle things well, and he came home to Boulder and enrolled at the CU. That way, we could stay in our house, and he could watch over me. I finished my senior year and went to CU as well. He got a business degree and I got mine in computer science. When he decided to get into the marijuana industry, he gave me an opportunity.” She looked me squarely in the eye. “I have a chance to make a
lot
of money with this – we both do. I wouldn’t do anything to screw that up.”

“But?” I said slowly.

“Like I said, I don’t trust our partners.”

“Why not?”

She let out a little laugh. “I don’t trust anyone with our new process. It’s too valuable.”

“But Jude thinks the partners are okay?”

“Yeah. He’s known these guys for quite a while, and he thinks I’m being silly, thinking they would steal the process.”

I pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Tell me about the partners.”

“There’s two of them. Wes Scobie used to be in the oil business. The other, Heath Zimmerman, was a stock trader in New York and then he worked with Jude a number of years ago. Both brought a lot of money to the table, as well as great business acumen.” She paused uncertainly as she saw me writing down their names. “You’ve got to be careful when you investigate them, okay? They like to keep a low profile, and they’d be really upset if they knew someone was poking into their business.”

“I’ll be discrete,” I said.

“Good. They don’t want to draw any attention to themselves because that might draw the attention of the feds. Those guys still look at us as drug traffickers.”

“So those two, along with Jude, own the bulk of the business?”

“Yes,” she said. “Jude has the controlling interest, fifty-one percent. Both Wes and Heath have twenty percent, I have nine. Which still will end up being a lot, if things go well.”

“Anything noteworthy about either of them?”

She looked out the window as she thought. “I’ve never liked Wes. He’s just an arrogant jerk, thinks he knows everything about everything. Every time he comes around the store, he tries to tell me what I’m doing wrong. It’s irritating.”

“What about Heath?”

“He’s smart with money, has a good head for the challenges of running a business. He’s a true professional.”

“Okay, I’ll start on them. And don’t worry,” I reassured her. “They won’t know a thing.”

“Good.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

“They come around the store, right? So I’ll be able to meet them?”

“Yeah, they’re there almost every day. Sometimes they go check things at the other stores, but it’s rare that they don’t at least stop by Blue Light.”

“And they don’t know about your new growing system?” I found it curious that the partners didn’t know.

“No, it’s only me and Jude.”

“When will you tell them?”

She shrugged. “Jude wants to wait until we get a couple of good crops, then we’ll let them know.”

“Do they know that Jude’s looking for other investors?”

“No.”

“That might make them mad.”

“Yeah, but Jude says they’ll be happy in the long run since he’s taking care of it all, and he’s going to make sure their shares aren’t diluted in any way. They’ll only make money on this.”

“You mentioned that the employees could steal the idea. Anyone in particular?”

She tapped fingers on the table nervously. “Do you mind if we take a walk?”

“Sure.” I stood up and followed her outside.

People milled about the mall, popping in and out of stores, or scurrying to work. We strolled in the direction of Broadway, the high-rises beckoning.

“The two guys that help in the lab,” she said. “But neither one has given me any real reason to suspect them, and I kind of feel bad about mentioning them. But they have opportunity.”

“They both seem all right?”

“Yeah. Carlo Lombardi.” She laughed. “He does seem like your typical stoner, but he’s actually very smart. He’s got a degree in chemistry and he’s done some great stuff with crossing strains. And Pete Eastwood…the only bad thing I can say about him is he’s a slut. I think he’s banged every female that’s worked at Blue Light. Except me.”

“Charming,” I said as I jotted down their names.

“You’ll see. Don’t be surprised if he comes after you.”

I laughed. “I’ll watch my back.” Literally.

She glanced over her shoulder, so I did the same.

“Think someone’s following us?” I asked.

“I’m getting paranoid.” She forced a smile.

“I’m assuming I’ll be working with both Pete and Carlo?”

“You won’t work with them directly, but you’ll see them around. Carlo will be there tomorrow. Both will be in over the weekend.”

“Really?”

“We’ve got people around seven days a week, both for selling and for growing. You have to keep an eye on the plants. One little mistake and a crop could be ruined.”

“So I’ll come in tomorrow and you’ll be there to hire me on the spot?”

“Yeah, I’ll handle all of that. If anyone asks, I’ll say I’ve already interviewed you and then I’ll hire you.”

“Isn’t that a little fast? Won’t Jude be suspicious?”

“He knows we’re hiring a new person, and he leaves the personnel decisions to me, so he won’t have a clue.”

We walked in silence for a moment.

“Will that work?” she asked.

“I don’t have any other plans,” I said. “When should I come in?”

“Eleven?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Your shift will be noon to eight. I’ll show you the setup and train you. Your position is kind of a jack-of-all-trades, so you’ll be able to roam around a bit, help keep the supplies stocked, clean the store and warehouse, that kind of thing. But it’ll allow you to look around without drawing suspicion.”

“What’s the atmosphere like?”

She threw me a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“Business casual? Jeans?”

“Oh, you can wear jeans or shorts. It’s casual.”

“Does anyone…uh…smoke pot while they’re working?”

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s a typical assumption, but the answer’s no. I don’t care what they do outside of business hours, but I need them to be clearheaded while they’re on the clock. And that goes for you, too.”

“I was hoping for a bonus,” I said. “Just kidding.”

“This is a serious business, not just a bunch of stoners hanging around.” There was a good bit of defensiveness in her voice.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay. I just get frustrated sometimes. People think it’s a joke, but it’s not.”

“You’ve convinced me,” I said.

“You might do a little research before you come in,” she suggested. “The people who want to work at our stores are really into weed.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, feeling like a nerd.

We parted at 16
th
and Stout.

She gave me one final piece of advice. “And don’t say ‘smoking pot’ or ‘pot’. They call it ‘weed’ these days.”

“Good to know,” I said.

She smiled as she turned the corner.

Good Lord
, I thought as I walked back to my car.
When did I get old?

“You’re going to work
where
?” my girlfriend, Willie, asked as she smothered a laugh.

After leaving the mall, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon running errands, and then I’d popped in and out of a few marijuana stores, getting a feel for what I was about to do. I had no idea there were so many varieties with such colorful names: Northern Lights, AK 47, Big Bud, Burmese Kush, Chocolope, Great White Shark and many, many more. Willie had offered to make dinner that evening, and when I came home, she was in the kitchen. Bowls and dishes filled the sink, something with a tomato base bubbled in a pot on the stove, and the room smelled like garlic.

Willie, real name Wilhelmina Rhoden, and I had been dating for almost a year now. Until recently, she lived in an old Victorian house she owned across the street from my condo in the Uptown neighborhood, northwest of downtown Denver. A couple of months ago, her house, which had been converted to apartments with three units, had burned down and she’d been suspected of setting the fire. She’d been living with me while the construction company finished repairs on her place, and everything would be finished in about a week. It was a little surprising, but I found myself not wanting her to move back to her apartment. Just recently, we’d acknowledged that we loved each other. Was having her live here permanently the next step? The right step?

“A pot store,” I said in response to her question. “Er, weed. A medical marijuana dispensary that’s just begun selling recreational weed. Why is that funny?”

“Okay, if it was a whiskey store, or whatever drink Humphrey Bogart would have, that would fit.” She pulled out bread from the oven. “But a weed store? It doesn’t fit you.”

“All right, smartass. It’s true,
weed
has never held much interest for me, but a case is a case.”

“Come on.” She nodded at the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

“It smells great,” I said.

I was not a chauvinist and I’d done my fair share of cooking while Willie stayed with me, but she had me beat. My mouth drooled as she served up a cheese-laden serving of lasagna.

“My mother’s recipe.”

“How about a toast?” I said, raising my beer bottle.

“To what?”

I shrugged. “My new case?”

“I’ll drink to that,” she grinned as she raised her wine glass.

I took a sip of beer and then a bite of lasagna. “It’s fantastic,” I said.

After we finished, I helped with the dishes while we discussed my parents’ impending visit. They hadn’t met Willie yet and they were making a special trip to Colorado so we could “right that wrong,” as my doting mother said.

“Will you be able to finish this case before your parents arrive?” she asked as she dried a pot.

“I hope so,” I said. “If not, you can entertain them.”

“That is
not
funny,” she said. “You mother is very nice, but she can be –”

“Challenging,” I interrupted.

My mother feared three things: that I was doing drugs; that I would never meet someone nice, settle down and give her grandchildren; and that I continued to work in a dangerous profession. She was pushing hard with Willie on the first one, but I doubt she’d want to know about my latest case since it touched on fear number two. Well, more than touched, it flat-out rammed into that fear of hers.

“She’s sweet, but she can go on…”

I leaned over and kissed her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around to run interference.”

“Okay, good.” She was already getting nervous, and my parents weren’t due to arrive until the following week.

“Let’s watch a movie,” she said as she put the last dish away.

“I need to call Cal first.” I headed down the hall to my home office.

“I’ll pick something out, but no film noir tonight,” she called after me.

Willie had endured my love of film noir, the old movies from the forties and fifties, where the heroes were tough men with suspect morals who fell for beautiful femme fatales. I sighed, knowing tonight
I
was going to have to endure a romantic comedy.

I went into my office, sat down at my desk and logged onto the internet. My office has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of film noir, detective movies and Alfred Hitchcock DVDs, as well as rare first-edition detective novels. A glass case in the corner holds my most prized possessions: A first edition of
A Study in Scarlet
, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a first edition of Raymond Chandler’s
The Long Goodbye
. I did a quick search on Wes Scobie and Heath Zimmerman. Nothing on either of them except white page listings. Not even LinkedIn accounts. They were both keeping low profiles. I picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Yeah?” my best friend, Cal, said by way of greeting.

Cal Whitmore was a computer whiz, the Archie Goodwin to my Nero Wolfe, although since he was so much smarter than I was, he was more likely Wolfe.

“I’ve got a new case,” I said.

“Splendid,” he said in a mock British accent.

“What’s with that?”

“Working for a company in London, old boy. It’s quite the case.”

Cal had his own consulting firm, specializing in computer viruses and virus protection. He lived in the foothills west of Denver and rarely ventured from his home. Think Sandra Bullock in
The Net
, only way smarter and more covert. But definitely not as good-looking.

“Well, old boy,” I said, mimicking his British accent. “Do you have time to research Jude Lundgren, Wes Scobie and Heath Zimmerman? Just the usual stuff, background, anything suspicious.”

Cal was my go-to guy for detailed information on people. I could scrounge up some of the information, or pay for it online, but he was more thorough and clandestine.

“Sure.” He returned to his normal voice. “But that’s not very challenging.”

I laughed. “Be careful what you wish for.” He sounded put out, but I knew he really liked helping, as long as he could stay in his office. The times he’d had to leave his home were another story. He helped, but he complained about it. A lot.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“I’m going undercover, working at a medical marijuana dispensary.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” he said, after I’d given him the rundown of what I would be doing.

“Yeah, Willie said the same thing.”

“Okay, I’ll check them out as soon as I can. I’ve got a deadline on a project first, okay?”

“Sound great, thanks.” I heard the doorbell ring. “Gotta go.” He was still laughing about my new case when I ended the call.

I went back into the living room, where Willie was talking to my downstairs neighbors, Ace and Deuce Smith. They were lighthearted, loyal, and none too bright, but we’d become great friends. I’d affectionately nicknamed them the Goofball Brothers. Ace was currently unemployed and job-hunting, and Deuce was a construction laborer. They could afford to live in my neighborhood only because their parents helped them financially, and their older brother, Bob, who lived a few miles away, watched over them and tried to make sure they stayed out of trouble. As far as the names “Ace” and “Deuce”, apparently their father had discovered his love of poker only after Bob was born. I’m sure that Bob had, at some point, breathed a sigh of relief over that one.

“We’re going to B 52s to play pool,” Ace said in his slow drawl. “Wanna come?”

B 52’s was a bar near my condo, and I loved hanging out there. I glanced at Willie. “Uh, we were going to watch a movie.”

“It’s Thursday, ladies night,” Deuce said. He was practically Ace’s twin, same baby face and dirty blond hair, but a bigger build.

“You’re not making Willie watch that film now stuff, are you?” Deuce asked.

“It’s film noir,” Ace corrected him. We did this particular dance a lot.

“Some pool sounds like fun,” Willie said.

I stared at her, surprised. “Really?” No romantic comedy?

“Sure. Let me freshen up.” She patted my cheek as she walked past me.

“I guess we’re playing pool,” I said to the brothers.

***

“Hello, Reed. I’m Jodie Lundgren.” She introduced herself to me as if we’d never met.

“Hi, thanks for giving me this opportunity,” I said as I followed her through the store to a door behind the counter. I expected the smell of marijuana to be heavy in the air, but instead, the store smelled faintly of flowers. It was Friday morning and I’d arrived at the store right at eleven, pretending to be applying for a job, as Jodie and I had discussed.

Blue Light Medical was located on Blake Street, north of downtown Denver. The store was the front part of a large two-story warehouse, with a sign over the door that included the ubiquitous green medical cross next to it. Inside the store, a long glass display counter, like you’d see in a donut shop, held all kinds of marijuana varieties in jars labeled with colorful names like I’d seen yesterday at other stores. A brunette in her mid-twenties was standing at a register at the end of a long counter, and a man a bit younger was behind the counter, helping a customer. Chalkboard signs behind them advertised daily specials and new varieties. It reminded me of an ice cream shop, only the pleasure delivered would be much different.

“I’ll introduce you later,” Jodie said, gesturing at the two employees. They were too busy to give me much notice. “Let’s go talk and see if you’re a good fit.”

We passed through the door, down a short hallway and up some cement stairs to the second floor.

“We have our offices up here,” she said as she held open a door for me.

I went inside. Her office was large, with a glass tabletop desk, a file cabinet, printer and a small credenza in the corner. I took a seat at a leather tub chair in front of the desk.

She shut the door and sat down. “Whew. It’s been a long morning already. Any problems finding the place?”

“None,” I said. “It’s bigger than I expected.”

“Yeah, we’re what’s considered a Type 2 store. We can grow up to 3,600 plants at a time.”

I whistled. “How much does that yield?”

“That’s not easy to answer. It depends on the varieties we’re growing, how we’re growing it, what fertilizers we’re using, and other variables. I’ve even heard people say it depends on what music you play in the grow rooms. Suffice it to say, we’re producing a lot of weed.”

“So you stay busy,” I said.

She nodded. “Weekends are busier, but not by much. I’ll have you fill out an application, just in case Jude asks, and then I’ll show you around.”

The application was standard fare, and we made up some previous employment history, since both of us thought ‘private investigator’ would be a red flag.

“Good,” she said when I’d completed the form. “You’re hired. Let’s go downstairs and you can meet the rest of the crew.”

We traipsed back downstairs and into the store.