Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent (P.I. Tracy Hayes 8)

By Susanna Shore

You don’t need a green thumb to save your friends.

I’ve faced some stubborn people as an apprentice to a private investigator, but they all paled in comparison with the resistance I met now.

Spring has made everything bloom, including Tracy’s love life. Experiencing an unprecedented urge to plant something, she visits a gardening center—only to discover that not everything is right there. Why is the biggest drug lord in Brooklyn interested in the place? And has his right hand man Jonny Moreira returned to his criminal ways?

Not everyone is lucky in love though. Cheryl, the agency secretary, is a victim of a dating scam. Determined to catch the guy, she goes after him alone. And then he ends up dead—with Cheryl as the prime suspect.

Tracy has her hands full once again, and not only with plants she knows nothing about. Can she and Jackson prevent a mafia war—or will they start it? And can they find the real killer and save Cheryl before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanna Shore
• Release date: Apr 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9789527061435

Susanna Shore

Susanna Shore is a historian turned author. She writes Two-Natured London paranormal romance series, P.I. Tracy Hayes mysteries, The Reed Files crime capers, and House of Magic paranormal cozies, as well as stand-alone thrillers and contemporary romances.

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Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent

P.I. Tracy Hayes 8

Susanna Shore

Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent

Copyright © 2021 A. K. S. Keinänen

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

No part of this book may be reproduced, translated, or distributed without permission, except for brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations or persons, living or dead, except those in public domain, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Crimson House Books at Smashwords.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover © 2021 A. K. S. Keinänen

Editing: Lee Burton, Ocean’s Edge Editing

www.susannashore.com

Twitter: @SusannaShore

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P.I. Tracy Hayes Series

Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I.

Tracy Hayes, P.I. and Proud

Tracy Hayes, P.I. to the Rescue

Tracy Hayes, P.I. with the Eye

Tracy Hayes, from P.I. with Love

Tracy Hayes, Tenacious P.I.

Tracy Hayes, Valentine of a P.I.

Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent

Tracy Hayes, Unstoppable P.I.

Two-Natured London Series

The Wolf’s Call

Warrior’s Heart

A Wolf of Her Own

Her Warrior for Eternity

A Warrior for a Wolf

Magic under the Witching Moon

Moonlight, Magic and Mistletoes

Crimson Warrior

Magic on the Highland Moor

Wolf Moon

House of Magic

Hexing the Ex

Thrillers

Personal

The Assassin

Contemporary Romances

At Her Boss’s Command

It Happened on a Lie

To Catch a Billionaire Dragon

Which Way to Love?

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Epilogue

About the Author

Excerpt from Hexing the Ex

Also in P.I. Tracy Hayes Series

Chapter One

I’ve faced some stubborn people as an apprentice to a private investigator, Jackson Dean, a great boss and my boyfriend—yay! The criminal element weren’t exactly forthcoming with information when faced with a non-threatening five-foot-six who has more soft parts than muscle—mostly around her bottom—and I’d had nice old ladies throw a door at my face more than once when I tried to interview them.

But it all paled in comparison with the resistance I met now.

Why would I want to improve my backyard? Jackson asked in response to my sensible suggestion that he do something about the waste of space behind his house. He leaned back in his chair and crossed arms over his chest, rejecting my suggestion with his entire body.

I only use it for barbecuing anyway.

We were having breakfast in his kitchen—which could also use some improvements, but one battle at a time—with windows to said backyard, currently waking up after winter. Not that there was anything waking up there. It was a little over two hundred square feet of dead lawn and weeds. But it was the first thing we saw every morning and I wanted it to look pretty.

The interest in gardening was out of character for me, so I could understand why Jackson was taken aback by my suggestion. But I’d woken up with an unprecedented urge to plant something that morning, to sink my hands into the soil and toil until my back ached, to have the satisfaction of watching things grow.

Weird, I know. Maybe it was the spring sun. Maybe I should have my head checked.

It’s the esthetics of it, I tried, and he cocked a dark brown brow.

You can always look at me if the view isn’t to your liking, he teased me, warming up my whole body. He didn’t usually mention his looks—the opposite in fact, as it suited him to be unmemorable—so he managed to briefly distract me from my mission.

Fine, I found his clean-lined face, dark eyes, and killer smile distracting all the time. I could’ve stared at him the whole day. And his body was even better. Five foot eleven of lean, tight muscles that would be perfect for heavy garden labor. I could picture him without a shirt, the muscles flexing as he sank a shovel into dirt, sweat running down his skin…

My mouth went dry and his lips quirked, as if he’d read my mind.

I cleared my throat. What about when you’re not home?

The question was out before I thought of how it sounded: that I believed I lived here. We’d only been dating for a few weeks. It was a bit early to assume that Jackson’s two-story semi was my home too. Never mind that I’d spent most nights here since Valentine’s.

But Jackson’s smile only deepened. I could frame a picture of me to keep on the kitchen table.

I actually gave it a thought, making him laugh.

What’s with the gardening enthusiasm all of a sudden? Have you been watching shows you shouldn’t?

I had, actually. I find British gardening shows soothing…

His happy look vanished and he took my hand. The work has been a bit stressful lately. I’m sorry.

I hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. It’s not your fault and you know it. I squeezed his hand back. But I think we could both use something completely different to take our minds off work.

He gave the backyard a dubious look. I guess we could paint the fence…

It was a start. We could expand the deck too, I suggested, and he perked.

The old porch is too small for a proper barbecue. I could tear it down and make a completely new one, maybe get a new garden set too…

His eyes narrowed as he started making plans in his mind. I recognized the look from work, although it was usually associated with figuring out how to catch bad guys. A moment later he shook himself and rose from the table.

I guess we could pop into the gardening center today.

Yes!

There was a Lowe’s only a half a mile from Jackson’s house in Marine Park, Southeast Brooklyn, so we headed there after breakfast. We’d enjoyed a sunshiny and warm March week that had made nature bloom. It was also Sunday, so we weren’t the only people there, even though we arrived fairly early—for a Sunday.

Jackson’s eyes began to glaze in horror already as we crossed the full parking lot. He looked ready to bolt, so I wrapped my arm around his and half dragged him into the store. There I began to have second thoughts myself. The place was huge and I had no idea what we were looking for.

Maybe we should’ve planned this better.

There’s bound to be a lumber department where we can get the materials for the deck, I suggested hesitantly.

Or we could just leave.

That wasn’t an option, because I’d never get him back here, so I pulled him down the closest aisle. Come on. It can’t be that bad.

Naturally, the lumberyard turned out to be at the farthest end of the huge store. We strolled aimlessly around the shelves for half an hour without purchasing anything. There were so many options to choose from—real wood or composite, aluminum posts or tile, not to mention the colors—that Jackson decided he needed to do more research before he committed himself to the project. But at least he didn’t look like he was about to abandon it completely.

So what did you have in mind for the rest? he asked when we neared the plant section.

I eyed the rows and rows of metal tables and shelves full of flowers and tomatoes and what have you in growing trepidation. I knew absolutely nothing about gardening.

Ummm…

He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Why don’t we take a look at what’s on offer since we’re here.

It was his turn to lead me around the shelves, but it didn’t bring any clarity. All I could see was green. Endless walls of it.

How am I supposed to know what all these even are? I asked, exasperated.

There are these tags, Jackson pointed out.

Yeah, but—

May I help you? a perky voice interrupted us. I turned to the forty-something woman in the Lowe’s uniform gratefully.

Yes. Give us all the help you can muster.

Jackson stifled a laugh and the woman’s face lit up. Absolutely. What’s the project?

We need something easy to maintain for a small backyard, I stated, feeling more confident now that there was professional help available.

What sort of soil does it have?

And there went that confidence.

I glanced at Jackson, who shrugged. Dead?

The woman was unfazed. In that case, I suggest you start with that.

She turned around and headed briskly toward the back of the warehouse and out to a gated yard filled with even more plants. She ignored the cherry trees and cypresses, and led us to the gate to the parking lot. I was certain she was showing us the door for wasting her time, but she paused right inside and gestured at the ziggurat of plastic sacks stacked on wooden pallets.

Here we have the basic garden loam soil that’s perfect for your needs. You should replace the existing topsoil with it before you start planting anything else. Remove three or so inches of the old soil and fill it with this. A good five-inch layer should do.

I eyed the sacks in horror, trying to calculate in my head how many of them we would need to fill two hundred square feet five inches up. Math had never been my strong suit, but even I could figure out we’d need quite a few.

Jackson placed a hand on my shoulder, either to support me or to steady himself. Thank you. I think we’d best start with the removal of the old, then.

I shot him a dismayed look. By hand?

Did he even own a shovel?

The woman smiled. There are machines available for such small-scale gardening work. The closest rental service is right across our parking lot. You should inquire there.

Jackson nodded. Excellent. We will.

The hand on my shoulder guided me firmly out of the gate. I was too stunned to function properly. I had envisaged a couple of small shrubs that didn’t need more than small holes dug for them, and now we were talking about removing the entire yard.

To my amazement, Jackson headed in the direction the woman had pointed.

You’re not seriously considering doing what she said?

But he looked very determined for a man who hadn’t even wanted to renew the backyard. Why not? We’re already here. We might as well ask the rental prices.

Well, as long as I didn’t have to do the digging by hand…

On the other side of the parking lot was a small park with some hedges and benches on which to admire the waterfront view over the Mill Basin, a horseshoe-shaped waterway off Jamaica Bay. A quay for small—and not so small—boats lined the park, presumably for people from the wealthy Mill Basin neighborhood across the basin who wanted to drop by the gardening center by boat. An impressive sixty-foot yacht was docked there, but mostly the boats I could see were headed out to Jamaica Bay.

Right before the park, by the parking lot, stood all manner of garden-sized earthmovers in neat rows. They were painted in cheerful pinks and light greens and blues, and had the logo of Zyma Rental on them. Customers were circling them, accompanied by young men in cargo shorts and T-shirts with the same logo.

We’d barely stepped past the first digger when we were approached by an employee too. And to my amazement, I recognized him.

Oleg?

Oleg Pasternak lived in the apartment next door from me with his mother. He was a couple of years younger and only a little taller than me, with a round face, pale blue eyes, and mud-blond hair that was probably cut by his mother with scissors meant for shearing sheep. I didn’t know him that well, despite having been neighbors for several years, but his mother was a formidable personality in our building.

Tracy? What are you doing here?

I could ask you the same. The last I heard, you were working in the baggage handling at the JFK.

He smiled. I’ve been here about a month now. My cousin’s father-in-law, Mr. Zyma, owns the place. Much better than the airport. No night shifts, for one, and the workload is easier.

I could imagine.

How can I help you?

He addressed Jackson, but since I was just the hanger-on here, I didn’t mind that he assumed Jackson was in charge. Besides, he knew I didn’t have a garden.

"I need to remove a few cubic feet of soil from a small garden and I’m