Tracy Hayes, P.I. for the Win (P.I. Tracy Hayes 10)

By Susanna Shore

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something burnt.

A bridal shop in Brooklyn has been burned, and the wedding of Tracy’s sister is in jeopardy. Arson is suspected, but who would hate weddings? Or is the cause more mercenary?

When a body is found, it’s time for Tracy and Jackson to investigate.

On another front, Jonny Moreira’s mafia boss has become suspicious of him, and he needs Tracy to arrange his fake death immediately. She doesn’t like losing her favorite criminal forever, but better gone than dead. And she has a plan—of sorts. Now she only has to make it work.

Bachelorette parties, wedding dresses, and crime lords keep Tracy and Jackson on their toes. A lot needs to happen before they can enjoy the I dos—of her sister—but luckily, Tracy always goes for the win.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanna Shore
• Release date: May 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9789527061565

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.

Book preview

Tracy Hayes, P.I. for the Win

P.I. Tracy Hayes 10

Susanna Shore

Tracy Hayes, P.I. for the Win

Copyright © 2022 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.

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 © 2022 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.

Tracy Hayes, P.I. for the Win

The Reed Files

The Perfect Scam

House of Magic

Hexing the Ex

Saved by the Spell

Third Spell’s the Charm

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

Magic for the Highland Wolf

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

Excerpt of The Perfect Scam

About the Author

Also in P.I. Tracy Hayes Series

Chapter One

When I agreed to move in with my boyfriend, Jackson Dean, in April, I had a vague notion I’d throw my clothes into a couple of bags and carry them into his house. Job done. I mean, how much clothes could I still have in my apartment after spending most of my nights at his place since February?

Three weeks later, I was eyeing the pile of boxes filling my apartment with dismay. I’d spent every free evening—which admittedly hadn’t been all that many—stuffing every box I could beg, steal, or borrow with gewgaws I had no recollection acquiring. Why did I own a smoothie blender anyway, or two irons?

When had I ever ironed anything?

I’d contacted Goodwill for the furniture I wouldn’t be taking with me, and I’d cleaned the empty cupboards and wardrobes. I was done.

It was Monday morning, my last waking up in this room, a nostalgia trip I needed in order to say goodbye to the apartment where I’d lived since my divorce six years ago.

I’d spent the night alone because Jackson had refused to sleep over. It had something to do with sleeping on a narrow mattress, as I’d already given the bed away, but I’m sure we could have made it work.

His loss.

I think we need a moving truck, I said to Jackson, who had come to fetch me to work. I was his apprentice at Jackson Dean Investigations, learning to become a private detective—a definite move up from the waitressing that I’d done before.

Jackson was a former juvenile delinquent-in-making turned Marine turned homicide detective turned private investigator after inheriting the agency—and the house in Marine Park I’d be moving into with him—from his uncle. He was thirty-five, eight years older than me, almost six feet tall with a slim, athletic body he took good care of, and handsome, with dark eyes and hair, a propensity for wearing black, and a smile that made my knees weak.

Jackson studied the boxes with narrowed eyes. I could almost hear him making mental calculations. Maybe we could move a couple of boxes at the time in my car during the week. It would be easier.

But with the truck, we could move everything at one go on Sunday, I countered.

Day after the wedding? He gave me a dubious side-eye. We won’t be in any condition to carry one box, let alone all these. Let’s do it on Friday.

He had a point, but I shook my head. I’d rather be too tired to move because of the wedding than too tired to celebrate the wedding because of the move.

A wry smile tugged his mouth. Later next week?

I guess we could take a day off…

We shared doubtful glances. With our current workload, it was a miracle we were able to take the weekend off.

Sunday it is, then. Jackson glanced into my housemate’s room through an open door, where chaos still reigned. Will Jarod be ready by then?

I spread my arms. He claims so. He said he won’t pack his computers until he absolutely has to, but I’m not sure about his clothes and other stuff.

Jarod Fitzpatrick, my roommate since last August, would be moving with us. It might seem unorthodox and unromantic, but it was necessary. An assassin had held him hostage during our last big case, and it had left him jittery. He had a doctorate to finish in computer science and I sincerely doubted he would be able to do it if we left him on his own.

Jackson hadn’t objected. In fact, he had suggested it himself. He had a spare room that had been filled with all sorts of junk, mostly the agency’s archives from the time his uncle owned it. It now filled his downstairs study, formerly known as the dining room. Good thing he never used it.

We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, he said philosophically. Then he gave me a teasing grin. So … are you ready for the final fitting of your wedding dress?

Jackson and I weren’t getting married, to be clear. We’d only dated since January, and I’d already done one fast wedding when I was twenty. It didn’t end well.

You might say moving in together after barely five months was fast too, but we’d known each other since August, when I became his apprentice. Or since childhood, really, as he’d been the best friend of my eldest brother, Travis, but since they were eight years older than me, I had no recollection of him before he disappeared from our lives at seventeen.

We’d been through some exciting and hair-raising stuff these past months that had helped us bond. Taking this step felt good and right.

The wedding was for my six-years-older sister, Theresa, or Tessa as we called her; her first marriage. She was marrying her girlfriend, Angela—her second marriage, though first to a woman.

The wedding would be held this Saturday in Douglaston, Queens at the house of Travis and his wife Melissa. They had a garden patio with a perfect seaside view for the ceremony, and a vast lawn for the party tent.

I would be a bridesmaid, and the fitting was for my dress. It was a self-appointed position. Tessa didn’t think bridesmaids, let alone matching dresses, were necessary, but Angela loved all the traditions, so Melissa and I would do the honors.

There would be no one from Angela’s side of the family attending, not as bridesmaids nor guests. They’d cut all contact with her after learning she was gay. To make up for their absence, we were determined to make the wedding exactly like she wanted.

Well, Melissa was organizing everything, but I was fully committed to anything she suggested.

The bridal shop was Angela’s choice though. It wasn’t the best or most elegant establishment in Brooklyn, but it was the closest to University Hospital of Brooklyn, where she and Tessa worked, and therefore garnered the least resistance from Tessa. She’d chosen their wedding dresses too, but at least Tessa had showed up for the fittings.

That left the bridesmaids’ outfits for Melissa.

She’d selected beautiful, strapless fuchsia satin dresses with a fitted bodice and a flared skirt. Hers came with a short-sleeved jacket, even though she had a better body than me. She was a former beauty queen whereas I … wasn’t. But she insisted that as a married woman with children, her choice was more appropriate.

I didn’t mind. I was looking forward to seeing the final version, and so was Jackson.

Can I come in to see it too? he asked, shooting an appealing smile at me as we drove toward the bridal shop. It was in the middle of a residential street, half a block from the hospital, and you had to know it was there to find it.

Isn’t it bad luck?

He laughed. I think that only applies to the wedding dress.

I hesitated. I kind of want to see your reaction when I’m fully decked up.

Fine… His warm smile made me reconsider my decision to wait until Sunday to move in with him. But I’d get to go home with him tonight, so…

He made to turn on the Clarkson Avenue where the bridal shop was, only to come to an abrupt halt. Our way was blocked by a police patrol car. Fire engines filled the street behind it, but the firemen were already storing away their gear after dousing the fire. The pungent smell of smoke filled the air.

We exchanged worried looks. The opposite side of the street from the bridal shop were tall, modern residential buildings with hundreds of apartments. If the fire had broken out there, lives had been in real danger.

Jackson pulled over on the other side of the intersection and we exited. I followed him to the uniformed officer guarding the street, my gut tight with worry.

Where was the fire, Officer? Jackson asked, but I’d already spotted it. My legs went weak, and I leaned heavily against Jackson, who wrapped an arm around my waist, startled by my reaction. I wasn’t prone to faints, but the sight merited it.

It’s the bridal shop, I managed to say, my body numb with shock.

The cop nodded. Yes, ma’am. Was your wedding dress there?

No, my sister’s.

What happened? Jackson asked, propping me up. My legs held, but I had trouble breathing. This could not be happening…

The alarm came around five this morning. Someone from the building across the way noticed it. But I have no idea where or how it started.

Thank you, Jackson said, and guided me toward the car. What do we do now?

I studied his face, anxious. Maybe it isn’t so bad. Should we wait and see?

He placed a hand on my shoulder and began to knead it, which helped with the dizzy spell. I doubt there’s anything to see. There’s nothing to salvage at any rate, with the smoke and amount of water they’ve had to use to put the fire out.

We got back in the car, but he didn’t start the engine. My hands were shaking as I dug out my phone from the large messenger bag I used at work. I selected Melissa’s number—and then I just sat there, staring at it, gathering the courage to press the call icon.

Jackson gave me a concerned look. Do you want me to call her?

There was a tiny part in me that wanted to say yes. I can do this… I pressed the call icon and she answered before I lost my nerve.

Hi, Tracy. Are you at the fitting? Is the dress okay? Her happy tone made me swallow and take too long to answer. The dress doesn’t fit? She sounded worried now.

Well … are you sitting down?

Yes. What’s wrong? Have they ruined the dress?

After a fashion… I inhaled deeply and plunged in. The bridal shop burned down last night.

The line went quiet. I pulled it away from my ear to check that it was still connected.

Are you all right? Do I need to come over?

No, I’m … fine. Her voice was reedy. I’m doing yoga breathing to calm down.

I let her breathe for a while. It wasn’t like I could do anything. Not even looking at the hunky firemen cheered me up when Jackson pointed them out to me.

Melissa came back on the line. I’m calm again. Here’s what we’ll do. Tessa will wear my dress. It’ll fit her. I’ll only have to take it out to air. Tessa was a former supermodel whose body was still super even if she wasn’t a model anymore.

And I’ll ask around from my friends for a dress that’ll fit Angela. If there’s nothing, then I’ll contact all the bridal shops in New York if I have to. With enough money thrown in, we’ll get a dress for her. Angela was short and curvy, so nothing off-the-rack wouldn’t fit her. That leaves only the bridesmaids’ dresses.

I gave it a quick thought, glad to concentrate on a tangible problem. I have an excellent fifties style designer cocktail dress in burgundy I’ve only worn once. If you have something to match, great. If not, that’s not the end of the world either.

She breathed in and out a few times. Yes, that’s a good plan. Will you tell Tessa and Angela, or shall I?

I’m already here. It should be done in person.

I’d told people their loved ones had died. This couldn’t be worse.

The last fire engine left, and the patrol car moved closer to the shop to keep people from going into the wreckage, opening the street to traffic again. We exited the car and made our way there. My knees buckled when we got the first proper look of the destruction.

The one-story building was only a shell of brick walls that were so blackened you couldn’t tell what the original color had been. The roof was gone, and there were gaping holes where the windows had been.

The bitter smell of burnt debris was overwhelming, making me cough. Water filled the street in large puddles, and the sidewalk outside the shop was littered with broken glass and heaps of what looked like burned, soggy dresses.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and Jackson gave my shoulder a consoling squeeze. That’s the fire inspector. Let’s go talk to him.

He was standing in front of one of the holes that had been a window, taking a preliminary survey of the place. Jackson showed him his P.I. ID. Do you know how the fire started?

The inspector shot