Judge Me When I'm Wrong Read online

  “It’s happened before,” Don said. He didn’t seem as angry.

  “Judy can’t be a replacement for Gil. But I don’t know if anybody could. Maybe this is the time for us to rely on new skills, Don. Judy is really good on the phone. She could handle almost all of our background checks. We know her. She knows us. Nobody works harder.”

  “Have you already talked to her about it?”

  “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that before I conferred with you,” Charlie said.

  “Do you know if she would even want to be a partner? She’d have to put money into the business, just like we did.”

  “We can work something out. We should talk to her,” Charlie said.

  “Now?”

  “Why put it off? Let’s see what she says, and then we can all agree to sleep on it for a couple of days. What do you think?”

  “I think you found a way to gang up on me. Even without Gil,” Don said with a smirk.

  # # #

  Mandy got home from a night shift at eleven-thirty. She accepted the kiss and hugs from Charlie and Hamm, then went upstairs to lock her gun and take off her uniform. Fifteen minutes later she sank into the couch and stretched her legs across Charlie’s lap.

  “Hard evening?” Charlie asked, rubbing Mandy’s knees.

  “We raided a small-time drug operation. Mostly weed and pills, and we think some meth. It was a bunch of young guys. Maybe in their twenties. Bensen and I had to chase one of them a few blocks until the guy jumped over a fence and was attacked by a Doberman. It took the homeowner a bit of time to convince the dog to let go of the guy. We had to put the man in an ambulance. There was a bunch of back-and-forth with the homeowners, and then the paperwork back at the station. We had so much going on with the runner and the dog we missed all the action at the drug house.” She wiggled her legs. “Oh, that feels wonderful,” she said in response to the massage. “How were things at Mack Investigations today?”

  “Don and I talked to Judy today about coming on as a partner.”

  “Judy.” Mandy swung her legs to the floor. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Cynthia Fitzgerald’s.”

  “Wow. I’d never have thought of Judy. But it’s a terrific idea, Charlie.”

  “I thought so too.” Charlie laughed. “But it took some fast talking to get Don to even consider the idea.”

  “Oh, I bet,” Mandy said. “Did you offer Cynthia the job?”

  “Yes. She turned me down, but when I told her what qualities we were looking for, she reminded me that Judy had most of those skills.”

  “She’s a keeper, all right. What did Judy say?”

  “She was flabbergasted. It never even occurred to her to ask. She started crying.”

  “I’m sure that went over big with Don.”

  “I thought he was going to burst a vein. Anyway, I finally got both of them calmed down.”

  Mandy began laughing. Charlie joined in. Hamm, who was curled up and snoozing on the other end of the couch, opened his eyes and lifted an ear until the laughing subsided.

  “One crying, and the other fuming. Your work is cut out for you,” Mandy said. “So, Judy is Gil’s replacement?”

  “No. Like I told Don, we can’t ever replace Gil. He had a unique combination of skills and qualities. You were the only one I thought could come close to filling his shoes with a minimum learning curve. But you turned me down.”

  “Twice.” Mandy smiled.

  “Yes, twice. Judy will bring a new set of skills. We’ll have to make some adjustments at the office. We’ll need a new office manager. Judy will be required to invest in the business, and she would work a trial period as a junior partner.”

  “That all sounds good.”

  Charlie’s cell phone rang. Hamm lifted his head and both ears, and Mandy swung her legs to the floor.

  “Is your phone upstairs?” Mandy asked.

  “Yeah. It’s charging. I wonder who could be calling this time of night?”

  “Guess you better go find out,” Mandy said, grabbing the tray with their empty tea mugs. “I’ll lock up down here.”

  # # #

  Charlie didn’t recognize the number. Telemarketers wouldn’t call this late, would they?

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is this Charlie?”

  Charlie hesitated. Most people would answer this question straight out. She knew because it was a common technique when a private investigator was looking for someone.

  “Who’s calling?” Charlie asked with annoyance in her voice.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I know it’s late. This is Pamela, uh, Pamela Rogers.”

  There was a pause on the phone.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know . . .” Charlie began.

  “Franklin’s wife,” the voice said.

  Charlie had never met her ex-husband’s new wife. Franklin had sent a pro forma wedding invitation to her mom, and had enclosed an extra invitation in the package for Charlie, but both Ernestine and Charlie had graciously RSVP’d their regrets.

  Pamela Rogers nee Fairchild was a southeastern Michigan socialite with deep roots in the moneyed old families of the region. These were not old money families, but nouveau riche from the Northeast who spread west to Michigan to keep an eye on their investments in the burgeoning auto manufacturing business. Not every one of these families had made money in cars, but they all managed to become wealthier when Detroit became America’s Arsenal of Democracy during World War II.

  “Charlie? Are you still there?” Rogers asked.

  “Yes, I’m here. Just surprised to hear from you. We’ve never officially met.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “How is Franklin? Is anything wrong?” Charlie asked.

  “Things are terribly wrong, Charlie. May I call you that? Everything is such a mess. I didn’t know who else I could turn to.”

  “What’s happened?” Charlie hoped her direct, forcefully asked question would calm the woman.

  “Franklin’s been charged with first-degree murder.”

  “What?”

  “The police say he killed my brother last night. Charlie, I don’t know where Franklin is. He hasn’t called.”

  “Oh my God,” Charlie said.

  Mandy had come into the bedroom and now stood beside Charlie, touching her arm. “Is it your mom?” Mandy whispered with a worried face.

  “No. Franklin is in trouble.”

  “Are you speaking to me?” Pamela said.

  “No. I’m sorry. I was talking to my partner. What do you need me to do, Mrs., uh, Pamela? Did Franklin ask you to call me?”

  “No. He’d be angry that I’ve called. But, my father said I needed some outside help. My father doesn’t particularly care for Franklin, and he long ago gave up on my brother, but my mother is distraught. Daddy has to bring her back to Michigan next week to bury her son, and he wants to make sure the police aren’t dragging their feet.”

  “Do you believe Franklin killed your brother?” Charlie continued her direct questions, and Mandy’s grip on her arm tightened.

  “No, I don’t. He couldn’t do such a thing.”

  # # #

  “The police report is pretty clear, Mack,” Don said. “They said your ex’s gun was found on the floor, and there was some kind of a scuffle, and his fingerprints are all over the place.”

  “I don’t care what the police say. Franklin doesn’t have it in him to kill a man.”

  “Charlie, you said his current wife will pay us to investigate?” Judy asked.

  “Yes. Pamela said, and I quote: ‘We will pay you for your time, and pay you handsomely.’”

  “Guess that means we have a case,” Don said.

  “. . . and this will be Judy’s first case as a private investigator, and junior partner.”

  “Heaven help us,” Don said, ignoring the nasty glances the two women gave him.

  Mack Investigations was back at full strength and on the job.

  About the Auth
or

  A Detroit native, Cheryl A. Head now lives on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC. Her debut book Long Way Home: A World War II Novel was a 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Award finalist in the African American Literature and Historical Fiction categories. Bury Me When I’m Dead (Book One of the Charlie Mack Motown Mystery Series) was a 2017 Lambda Literary Award finalist, and included in the Detroit Public Library’s African American Book list. In 2019, Head was inducted into the Saints & Sinners LGBT Literary Festival Hall of Fame. She also serves as the Director of Inclusion for the Golden Crown Literary Society.

  Bywater Books

  Copyright © 2019 Cheryl A. Head

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61294-158-5

  Bywater Books First Edition: October 2019

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.

  Cover designer: Ann McMan, TreeHouse Studio

  Back cover photo credit: Leigh H. Mosley

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  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events described by the author are fictitious. No resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, is intended.

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