The Amateur Detective

By Brandy Woldstad

Jessica Alister gets paid to find everything she can about people and sends the information to her boss.

When Jessica discovers someone murdered a man she researched, she panics.

Did her research lead to his murder?

Jessica researches to find out and stumbles on dangerous information.

If you enjoy light-hearted mysteries, buy The Amateur Detective today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandy Woldstad
• Release date: Nov 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393379140

Book preview

1

Jessica Alister's awareness of the whirs of the cappuccino machines and conversations in Brewster's Cafe ceased as she re-read the Tuesday morning headline on page 3A of the Dalton Times: Mayor of Bayville's Assistant Murdered . This wasn't possible. She let the paper drop to the table to avoid drawing attention to her trembling hands. A wet spot on the table seeped into the paper, circling the opening sentence of the article: Marty Matheson, the mayor's assistant of Bayville, was found dead in his home at 3:00 am with three gunshot wounds to his chest.

The paper crinkled as she folded it and placed it into the front pocket of her laptop bag. Her oak wood chair hummed as it scraped along the floor. No one glanced her way as she slugged down the last of her cup of Brewster's house blend coffee in front of the trashcan. The lukewarm liquid left an acrid taste in her mouth as she tossed the empty cup into the garbage. She leaned her body against the glass door of the coffee shop, praying she wouldn't pass out from shock.

The cool, March air slapped her exposed skin as the door opened. The chill forced her to stop walking long enough to zip her turquoise spring jacket. Her hopes of spring warmth were proving optimistic. Once zipped, she shoved her hands into her pockets and hurried past Carrie's Flower Emporium to the corner of the block. Water droplets from cars splashing into puddles along the curb dampened the shin area of her khakis. She winced as ice cold water oozed through the holes of her dress shoes. She grumbled at the chill, but felt compelled to continue to the office. Frank needed to know about Marty.

The red don't walk symbol shone steadily. It felt as if she stood in a cold air tunnel as she looked both ways and scurried across the street—struggling to quell her growing guilt at having broken the law of jaywalking—to the brick office building which displayed a sign for a radio station that no longer existed, and the Number Crunchers Accounting Firm. A passerby wouldn't know that Jessica's employer, the VanBuren Agency, operated on the second floor. A puff of warm air struck her face as she pulled open the door. She paused, rubbing her hands together and enjoying the warmth while wondering why she lived in Clearview, Wisconsin instead of someplace warmer.

Good morning. The building assistant waved from behind the reception counter as Jessica strode by. She smiled with her greeting and hurried up the steps to the VanBuren Agency office.

The door clicked as she pushed it open. The office felt cooler than the hallway as she stepped inside. The VanBuren Agency had been in business for five years, but a potential customer wouldn't know it by the cracked, gray, plastered walls, the two military green metal desks, and the worn vinyl office chairs. Not a single client had stepped foot into the office during the three weeks she had worked there, which may have been a good thing since there was nothing for them to see and nowhere for a client to sit.

Frank met her eyes as she closed the door behind her. She fought the urge to back out of the doorway and into the hall when she saw Frank sitting at his desk. His perfectly sculpted Italian face turned from his computer to her body. His delighted smile at her arrival matched that of someone who had just received a surprise gift. He raised his thick eyebrows.

You're in early, Frank said. His chair squeaked as he turned it to watch her walk across the room to stand behind her desk. Not that I mind.

Frank's sweet cologne permeated the air so much that she could taste it. She hoped he would stick to his usual routine and leave soon so she wouldn't get a headache from the smell. It wasn't that she objected to cologne, but he wore it strong enough her eyes burned. She dropped her bag on the floor next to her desk as she struggled to keep her face neutral in response to Frank's ogling. Her desk faced his, which left her back to the window. Not ideal, but she didn't like having her back to the door or to Frank. She ignored his roaming eyes as she removed her jacket, draped it over her chair, and wiped her static charged wisps of brown hair from her face.

Her laptop flickered to life when she opened the lid. As the computer powered on, she adjusted the folds of her turtle neck, wishing she had brought the quilted lap blanket she had made from her studio apartment for extra warmth. The urgency of her early arrival dissipated as Frank watched her with the attentiveness of a hawk spotting its prey.

I thought I'd get an early start on today's research, she said. She grimaced at her hesitancy to tell Frank what she had read in the paper.

Frank rested his bare forearms on his desk as he leaned forward. His white polo shirt pulled open at the top, revealing three gold chains and his chest hair. Jessica stepped back as if two desks didn't provide enough of a barrier between them.

Really? His voice relayed his doubt. Normally, you spend an hour in the coffee shop before you come up here.

She shifted her gaze to the pile of papers on the corner of her desk. I—How— she faltered in her question as she realized she didn't want to know how he knew.

He chuckled as he placed his hands on his desk. Yes, I keep tabs on my employees.

Jessica opened her mouth to explain that keeping tabs didn't include spying on her, the only employee he had, but closed her mouth. She couldn't jeopardize her job, not right now while her son was sick. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Have you— She paused, wondering if this was the right thing to say. Have you read the papers this morning?

Frank looked at her with amusement. Should I have?

Jessica dropped into her chair. The wheels thunked on the grooves of the wood floor as she pulled her chair closer to her desk. Her eyes focused on her screen. No. I was just curious. She moved her mouse to open a web browser.

Frank leaned back in his chair. He set his feet on his desk and crossed his legs. His pants rose enough to reveal multi-colored striped dress socks. You might as well tell me about it, because now I'm curious. He folded his arms over his stomach.

The man you had me research five days ago, Marty Matheson, is dead. Her voice quavered. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves.

Is that so? He raised his eyebrows. And do you think I have something to do with it?

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she shook her head. No. Don't be ridiculous. I just found it startling to read about someone I just researched. That's all. She sat down at her desk and logged into her computer.

Oh. Yes, I can see how the timing would be a bit odd. His eyes continued to study her. She shifted under his gaze. Maybe I should send flowers? There was a sarcastic tone in his voice that caught Jessica off guard.

Did you know him?

No.

Then you wouldn't need to.

She jumped as Frank's feet struck the floor with a loud thump. He chuckled. You're right. I hadn't expected to see you so upset about someone you didn't know. He waved a hand of dismissal. Murders happen every day. I assure you this is coincidence and nothing more.

He grabbed a file folder from his desk as he walked to hers. Here is the next person I need information on. Find everything you can.

Jessica took the file. All right, I'll see what I can find.

Thank you. You're a good worker, Jessica. He rested his fisted hands on her desk. His eyes studied her for longer than she would've liked. I won't be here for the rest of the day. If you have questions, you know where to find me. He stood up, pulled out his cellphone, and pointed to it. Or if you need to talk, I can offer you comfort.

Jessica turned away from his flirtatious look. I'm sure I'll be fine.

Frank strutted to the door. One of these days... He grabbed the handle of the door, not bothering to complete his thought. He saluted her before leaving.

The thud of the door as it closed wrapped her in a sense of security that wasn't present when Frank was around. At least once a week since she started, Frank asked Jessica to join him for dinner. Each time she declined. If she was confident it was just a business dinner, she'd accept his invitation, but the way he looked at her suggested he had other intentions.

She stared at the closed door for a moment, willing it to stay closed. The tension in her shoulders released little by little. When she was certain Frank wouldn't return, she took a deep inhale and coughed. His cologne still lingered and would for the next hour. She wished her window opened behind her, but it had been painted shut long ago.

Her desk drawer rumbled and squeaked in protest as she pulled it open. She grabbed her thin, three-ring binder that had color coded tabs to separate the different reference lists she created to help her dig deeper into people's backgrounds. She set the binder on her desk next to the folder from Frank. A small stack of folders remained in her drawer of completed projects. Her fingers hovered above Marty Matheson's folder before she pulled it out to read the details about him.

Inside the file folder was a copy of her report with his photo paper clipped to the front. Behind the report were her handwritten notes of things to look for and a list websites she visited, including the people finder service that she only had access to at the office. Frank hadn't told her what the report would be used for, but he was extremely pleased with her thoroughness.

The fluorescent bulbs buzzed as she waited for the icons on her computer screen to appear. She re-read the information in Marty's file. His death shouldn't upset her so much. All she knew of him were the details on the six pages in front of her. Details from her research scouring public records and social media feeds. All of it public information. Marty Matheson wasn't any different from a random research project. How sad that a person's life was summed up by a stranger in six pages.

She sighed as she returned Marty's folder to the drawer. The grayness of the space and silence made Jessica feel as if she were in a prison. After her first week of work, she had taken initiative and hung some pictures she picked up from the thrift shop on the walls to brighten things up. A splurge she couldn't afford, but felt would help her focus. Frank pulled them down as soon as he saw them, explaining he preferred a minimalist approach to decor. Decor, as far as Jessica could tell, meant castoff furniture, the printer, and the monitors. Her compromise was a dollar store silk flower arrangement that sat on her desk next to her photo of her son, Ben.

With a few swipes of her phone, soft piano and cello music filled the room. The computer beeped, alerting her of emails, mostly junk, which awaited her attention. She slid the folder Frank had given her with the name Sandy Meyer on the tab closer to her laptop.

The only thing inside the folder was a photo and piece of paper with Sandy's name on it. Jessica studied the photo for a few moments as if doing so would reveal information about her. Sandy looked like a friendly lady with round cheeks and an easy smile. The kind of person who would strike up a conversation with whomever sat next to her.

The first bit of information she retrieved was Sandy's current address in Hamilton, Iowa. Jessica typed the address into an online map and felt an odd sense of relief to discover Sandy lived nearly eight hours away. There wasn't any danger of Sandy dying from Jessica's research. Not that Sandy would. Jessica stopped typing as she acknowledged the thought that had passed through her mind. Clearly, she had read one too many suspense novels. Marty's death was coincidence, and Sandy wouldn't be put in danger because of something Jessica found out.

Within two hours, Jessica had two pages of notes detailing Sandy Meyer's life. She worked as a manager for the Midwest Chocolate Factory. Her employees adored her. She was an active volunteer for her church. From Jessica's perusal on social media, Sandy appeared at every church function there was. Her husband died two years ago, leaving her with a large dairy farm that her two sons ran. Sandy looked happy in every photo Jessica had found. So far, no information was scandal worthy, let alone murder worthy. Jessica slid her chair back and stretched her arms above her head.

What didn't make sense was why Jessica needed to research these people in the first place. Sandy's information, at least from the good things Jessica had found, mirrored Marty's. Both of them were good people and active in their communities. Frank had told her she needed to find their secrets after finding all the public information. When she questioned him on what kind of secrets and what he did with the information, he dismissed her. It wasn't her concern, and she wasn't to worry about it.

Now with Marty dead, she did worry more than she wanted to admit. She tried to picture Frank using the information for good. Maybe he was an anonymous donor who dropped cash off to the people she researched. Maybe she was screening them for an opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe she was finding out all kinds of information for Frank so that these people could be reunited with long lost friends or family members.

She looked at the photo on her desk of her and Ben at the park. His eyes shone brightly as his little hands gripped the chains of the swing. If her ex-husband whisked him away to another part of the country and didn't let her talk to Ben, she'd want to find out everything she could about her son. It put her mind at ease thinking that the information she dug up on these people would lead to something good happening in their lives. Marty's death was only coincidence, she had to believe that; otherwise, she couldn't work today, and she desperately needed the money.

She leaned back over her computer. Okay, Sandy, time to balance out your picture. What are your secrets?

2

Sandy Meyer's secrets remained hidden by the time her one o'clock lunch date with her best friend, Callie, came around. Jessica arrived in time to see the kitchen crew at Bob's Sandwich and Ice Cream Shop bustle about, clearing and wiping the tables after the high school lunch rush. The black floor mat was saturated with water and ice melt. A wide trail of muddy footprints on the faux stone tile led from the door to the counter.

Three high school young men stood near the entrance teasing each other as Callie approached the door. One playfully punched the other in the shoulder. Jessica wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but in a quick scuffle, one young man had the other two in headlocks. It reminded her of their days at Bradford Community Technical College when young men would show off as soon as Callie entered their awareness. There was something about her bright smile and polished appearance that garnered attention no matter where she went.

All right, boys, Callie said as she stepped through the door. Settle down. This is close enough to school grounds that I could make you sit detention.

The young