CHAPTER SEVEN
We were a few minutes early, but Lauren must have put the fear of God into everyone, because we were the last to arrive.
At 1 p.m. sharp, a woman showed up at the door. I was sure she was just another gawker, but Karen rushed out to greet her.
Lauren looked up from her tablet. “Okay. Let’s not waste any time. That’s our next client, Mrs. Peabody.”
Dixie looked surprised. “What’s Summer investigating for Nettie?”
“She’s looking for proof her husband is a philanderer.”
Dixie burst out laughing. “The whole dang town knows that.”
Lauren shot her a withering glare. “We’re still lining up cases. We’ll need some easy ones too, to help round out the episodes.”
Dixie turned to me. “I thought the whole point was to solve mysteries.”
I shrugged, still trying to figure out the real point of this show. I was beginning to think Lauren and I had two entirely different expectations. I knew some reality shows were scripted, but if Dixie was right about Mr. Peabody, this bordered on ridiculous.
Lauren ignored her. “Mrs. Peabody will come through the front door. Dixie, you’re going to say ‘Welcome to Darling Investigations,’ and then you’ll step in. Summer, you’ll ask her what she needs, and then ask any follow-up questions you need to figure out where to investigate.”
Sounded easy enough.
Dixie and I got settled in the chairs behind our desks, then one of the guys moved in front of Tony’s camera with a clapperboard and said, “Scene three, take one, Darling Investigations.” Then he lowered the arm with a loud clack and stepped out of the way.
Lauren pointed to the door, and Nettie Peabody swooped in dramatically, but the intended effect was ruined when she stopped short of Dixie’s desk and did a double take. “What the hell is she doin’ here?”
Dixie’s eyes grew as wide as quarters.
I stood and clenched my hands at my sides. “You have a problem with my cousin?”
“I sure as hell do! I don’t want to be talkin’ to no crackhead arsonist who killed her own folks.”
That would have pissed me off on the best of days, but I’d just seen firsthand how much guilt Dixie carried over the accident. How dare this woman talk to her like that?
I walked around my desk and said with plenty of attitude, “Excuse me?”
She moved closer, with a sneer on her face. “Y’all may have kept it all hush-hush on account of Trent Dunbar, but we all know what happened, and two damn years in juvie for killing three people ain’t near long enough.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I said, “but you—”
“Summer,” Dixie said, sounding defeated. “Stop.”
“Dixie!”
Dixie shook her head and looked up at Nettie. “If you don’t want me here while you talk to Summer, I’ll go, but don’t hold what I did against her.”
Oh, my God. Why wasn’t Dixie defending herself? It didn’t surprise me one bit that everyone in the town knew about the fire, but Nettie’s accusations didn’t match the basic-as-bones story I’d heard. While I knew Dixie had been incarcerated for setting the fire, this was the first I’d heard about drugs (as far as I knew, she’d always been clean as a whistle) or her then-boyfriend being Trent Dunbar, the son of the owner of Dunbar Lumber, the biggest employer in the county.
Then I realized this was all being captured on film . . . and Lauren was standing beside the camera with a gleeful look in her eyes.
I could either throw a fit and yell “Cut,” or try to salvage this, but one thing was certain, this entire incident would be aired on national TV. There was no stopping that now.
I wrapped an arm around Dixie’s back, cupping her upper arm with my hand and pulling her to my side. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Nettie, but Dixie and I are a team. That incident happened nine years ago, when my cousin was fifteen years old. We all do stupid things when we’re young, and thank God most of the time no one gets hurt for it. Dixie just happened to fall into that small percentage of bad luck. If you can’t find it in yourself to let bygones be bygones, then maybe we’re not the right agency for you.”
Nettie cast an eye toward the camera and lost some of her bluster. “Well . . . you can’t blame me for my concerns.”
“You are definitely entitled to your concerns, and you’re also entitled to find someone else to help you, but if you hire us, then you need to know up front that Dixie is my partner.”
Belatedly, I worried that this had been the wrong tactic. Here we were, shining a spotlight on Dixie’s past, the very thing I’d hoped to avoid. A quick glance to Dixie confirmed that she was shell-shocked. Dammit. Why hadn’t I warned her this was a possibility?
Still, by handling it this way, we could have some impact on the way the story was slanted. I’d rather do that than leave it wholly in Lauren’s hands.
“Fine,” Nettie huffed.
I blinked, surprised she’d conceded so quickly. I’d known she would agree—the hungry glance she’d thrown the camera had convinced me she’d do anything to be on this show, even publicly embarrass herself by admitting to her husband’s infidelity—but I’d expected her to put up more of a fuss.
I motioned to the client chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat.”
I walked around and sat at my desk. “What can we do for you, Mrs. Peabody?”
“Call me Nettie. I need to hire you to find out if my husband is cheating.”
Dixie leaned back in her chair and gave her a snide look. “The whole dang town knows the answer to that, Nettie Peabody. Whatcha doin’ wastin’ your money and Summer’s time?”
Nettie sputtered, surprise covering her face. She’d thought her insults had given her some sort of control over Dixie. Thank God, my cousin had gotten her spunk back.
“Are you gonna look into it or not?” Nettie asked.
Dixie gave her a shrug full of attitude, then motioned toward me. “It’s your checkbook.”
Nettie turned back to me. “I remember you from dance class,” she said with a sneer. “You always thought you was something back then. You ain’t no better now. You’re stuck back here just like the rest of us.”
Apparently the pretense of civility had flown out the window. “Maybe so, but you’ve shown up on my doorstep asking for my help. So what can I help you with?”
Tony the cameraman walked closer to get both of our faces in the shot.
Nettie looked fit to be tied, but God love her, she kept plugging along. “It seems like Dixie’s got it all figured out.”
“I’d like to hear it from you,” I said patiently.
“My no-good husband’s hookin’ up with the town harlot, and I need proof so I can get his fishing boat in the divorce.”
I made a face, then said, “Well, okay . . . so you need photos?”
“And video if you can get it.”
“Video of . . . ?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“Them doin’ it. What do you think I want video of? Goin’ fishing like he claims to be doin’ whenever he’s with her?”
“Uh . . . ,” I said, taking a quick peek at Dixie.
“We can do that,” Dixie said, nodding her head.
I realized that Bill was filming too, getting shots of Dixie.
“Really?” Nettie asked, sounding surprised.
“Sure,” Dixie said. “I can’t guarantee what quality it will be, but we can do it.”
“I’m goin’ to need a name and address, if you have it,” I said, opening my desk drawer. “Have you noticed a pattern to his goin’ to see his mistress?”
“Mistress?” Nettie said. “You’re makin’ it sound all fancy. He’s screwin’ the town harlot.”
Grimacing, I pulled a stenographer’s notebook and pen out of the open drawer. “And who do you think he’s havin’ an affair with?” Belatedly, I heard my accent slip. Dammit.
“Yeah, he’s screwin’ Becky MacDonald—with an M-A-C, not an M-C.” She got up and looked at my notebook. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Do you have an address for Ms. MacDonald?”
“Shoot,” Nettie said in a snide tone. “You should have it already. Your guys have already been over at her house, makin’ sure it looks okay for shooting.”
“Cut!” Lauren yelled, then scolded Nettie for letting the audience know this wasn’t all in the moment. “Let’s try it again,” she said. “We’ll take it from Dixie telling Nettie to have a seat.”
Sure enough, we took multiple takes, each one more stilted than the last.
Finally, a little more than an hour after we started, Lauren called it good and told Chuck to remove Nettie’s mike. “So this next case is insurance fraud,” Lauren told us as Nettie walked out the door. “The case is going to be called into the office. Dixie, I want you to take it, then put the caller on hold and let Summer find out what they want. After that, the two of you will discuss when and how to investigate.”
“Okay . . . ,” I said. “What kind of insurance fraud?”
“Worker’s comp.”
“Are you going to give me any more information than that, or am I supposed to just make it up as I go?”
It was an innocent question, but Lauren didn’t take it that way. Glaring at me in a way that promised future pain and suffering, Lauren held out a piece of paper. I refused to take it.
“Look,” I said, “I get that reality TV is scripted, but do you really want me to fake a phone call? Won’t Chuck pick up the voice on the other line through my mike? Even if he fuzzes out the other voice, it seems like it would play more naturally if there’s someone on the other end.”
Chuck took a breath, then said hesitantly, “She’s got a point, Lauren.”
“Fine,” Lauren said, shoving the paper at Karen. “You have two minutes to study that paper enough to answer any questions Summer asks you.”
Karen took the paper, her eyes wide with fear.
Lauren ignored her and turned to face the rest of us. “We’ll take several shots of this call before we head for our next location. After that we’ll go to Dr. Livingston’s office.” She turned to Karen. “Are you ready?” But when she saw her assistant’s fear-stricken face, she jerked the paper out of her hand. “I’m going to make the call.”
Karen looked close to tears.
Lauren pulled her phone from her pocket. “Start the damn scene.” The camera guy started to roll film as she stalked outside. She stood there, watching us through the window like a murderer waiting to strike, and then lifted her cell to her ear. Tension filled the room as the phone on Dixie’s desk started to ring. Dixie jumped, startled by the sound. I expected Lauren to cut the scene, but she gave me an evil smile.
Somebody was cranky.
Dixie answered the phone. “Darlin’ Investigations.”
She listened for a second, seemingly unnerved, and glanced over at me. “Let me get Summer on the line for you.” Then she pushed a button on her phone and said, “There’s a Ms. Dearborn on line one wantin’ to hire you to investigate a workman’s-comp fraud case.”
“Thanks, Dixie,” I said, picking up the receiver and pressing the blinking button.
“Summer Butler. How can I help you?” I said. That’s how an investigator would answer, right?
“I need more drama, Summer,” Lauren said. “We’re paying you a lot of money, and so far, you’re not delivering enough.”
I hid my shock. I’d expected her to give me something to use for my side of the phone call. “Yes, we do investigate workman’s-comp fraud. Can you explain the situation?”
“This afternoon was better, but I needed you to ask the McBrides more sensational questions this morning. We need a hell of a lot more drama.”
“Yes,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I personally handle everything, including the investigations.”
“If you can’t deliver, we’ll have to drag Dixie’s past into the show. And there’s plenty of material to use there. Maybe more than you know,” Lauren said.
I’d expected as much, but it felt worse to have it confirmed. For Lauren, it turned out, a threat was the same thing as a pep talk. “So why don’t you give me details about the case?”
“You’re too nice. You’re here because you punched an old man in the face. We need more of that.”
“You said this was workman’s comp?” I asked, trying to hide my horror. She wanted me to punch more people?
“You’re not a good girl anymore. So bring out the sexy. Bring out your inner bitch. I need more of the fire I saw with you defending Dixie or I’m bringing in the other fire.”
I took a breath, trying to keep myself under control. I couldn’t risk my cousin getting wrapped up in this. I’d suck it up and do whatever Lauren wanted from me. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be happy to help you.”
“I knew we could come to an agreement.”
“So this is a back injury, you said?” I asked.
“That’s right. He claims to have a back injury, but you’re going to catch him in his lie. When you hang up, tell Dixie I’m e-mailing you a file. Don’t fuck this up, Summer. Both of our careers depend on it.” She hung up and moved toward the door.
I still held the phone pressed to my ear. “I’ll send you the rates. I look forward to working on your case.” Then I hung up. Lauren held my gaze as she strutted into the room with a triumphant smile.
Score one for Lauren. I’d been intimidated into submission.
For now.