Since I could walk, I was curious about everything. If an item went missing, I would spend hours searching for it. Asking the right questions, doing my research and ultimately locating my prize. It hadn’t mattered what the item was. Just that I had found it. While there were times this drove my parents insane, they had to admit I had the knack. Plus, my idea of toys had been a notebook, magnifying glass, and tape recorder. I was an easy child to keep entertained.
When my dad realized this wasn’t a phase, he created mysteries for me to solve.
As a kid, I hadn’t caught on. I genuinely thought my dad was the king of misplacement.
As an adult, I look back on what he had done to encourage me and could never thank him enough for stoking that fire.
Whereas, my mom refused to admit she ever lost track of anything. I was around eight years old when I gave up trying to connect with her over mystery solving. The mere mention of it set her off. While I was too young to understand why it bothered her so much, I never questioned it. So, when something went missing, I would locate it, return it and never took credit.
It was my sophomore year of high school that I was brought in on my first official case. When the principal explained our mascot had been stolen, in effort to spare the student(s) responsible any blemishes on their record by bringing in the police, he asked me to look into it.
After three days of non-stop investigating, my hard work paid off and I not only located the mascot, I returned it to the principal explaining it was our rival and expressed their apologies. That day my skills were acknowledged publicly, over the intercom, to the entire student body.
That day I was Mercy Mohr, the student who solved the mystery of the missing mascot.
The recognition sparked something in me. I mean, the curiosity was always there, as was the need to solve puzzles, but that day, I had made a difference.
That was my focus and intent when I enrolled for college, and little by little I lost sight of what I truly wanted. It’s not like universities were offering sleuthing courses. The further I was from my dream the easier it was to settle for the next best thing. When I graduated with a degree in criminal justice, I had planned to become a detective.
However, to do that I had complete the police training academy first.
So I did.
While I didn’t love being an officer, I did give it my all because I couldn’t afford to be over looked for any reason.
Not when I was certain being a detective was the second-best choice for me.
It took roughly five months to realize, I had miscalculated. But, I forced myself to see it through.
For a time, I will say I had found some satisfaction in it. But I didn’t get much joy from it. The cases had so much red tape it was a miracle I had managed to close any. (As the rookie, they gave me the cases no one else wanted, which meant I had zero resources at my disposal.) But guess what? I pushed and argued until I was given bigger cases, harder cases.
In fact, it didn’t take long for my persistence and willingness to go the extra mile (break the rules) to earn the best ratios in the department. It also got me suspended so often I was going broke for going to work. Well, more broke than I had been going in anyway. (My student debt bill was fucking brutal!)
So, I asked myself, “Are you living your dream?” and as I stared at my reflection, I knew the answer.
And for the first time in my life, I would not finish what I had started.
I was also okay with it.
Because that very day I made two important decisions that would change the course of my life.
I was done playing it safe. No one was going to hand me happiness so that meant taking a risk.
With the help of my best friend, we financed what we could afford so I could open my own place.
That was six years ago and in that time I’ve covered nearly every kind of job including the whack jobs.
When it came to meeting clients, I preferred a neutral location.
Turns out, that was the safest and smartest choice.
So, responding to this inquiry that was being held at a gentleman's club wasn’t unusual for me.
From what I’ve heard this place is quite pricey and prestigious. Given that I’ve conducted similar meetings in moldy basements, a crack house, a confessional, under a viaduct off Vernor, a movie theatre and things of the like, this place was a nice change of scenery. For most folks hiring an investigator is done on the down low. Not out of shame but out of necessity and sneakiness.
I’m successful because the fact is, everyone is hiding something.
I’m good at finding out what that something is.
In my line of work, secrets and lies paid the bills. And while some jobs flat out sucked, most were pretty damn exciting and you never worked the same job twice.
So, stepping inside of The Foxxx Den, I told myself, “For this kind of money, I bet it’s a cheater.”
And I wasn’t ten feet from the door taking in the scent and scenery when I heard my name on his lips.
Never had hearing it held so much promise.