I was in my office organizing files when my assistant, Ginger, came rushing in late.
"Ginger, you
are half an hour tardy."
"I know. I
apologize. I had a 27 page paper due in my criminology class, and I had to turn
it in before 10am."
Ginger is a junior
at the local university, and to be flexible for her this term, we don't usually
start work till 11 in the morning. This gives Ginger the ability to go to her
morning class, and it gives me a few hours to do my exercise routine (just 18
laps in the pool, some kick boxing, and then benching 250 to stay toned).
Ginger has been
working for me for about year. She comes to the office (which is conveniently
located in the spare bedroom of my house) three times a week to help me with
cases. She's very competent.
When the detective
agency is slow, Ginger helps me with my work with children, cutting out lamb
shapes from construction paper and buying Goldfish crackers in bulk at Costco.
See, I am a part-time detective but I also teach children about Jesus four days
a week. Once I walked in to teach 8am Bible Club while I was still wearing my
fake mustache from an early morning surveillance route. The kids laughed and
thought I wore it to be silly. But really I wore it because I didn't want Mr.
Delvino to recognize me while I followed him to Wal-Mart.
"Ginger,
today I have some lions for you to cut out for the Bible Club craft, I need you
to put together an Elijah costume for Sunday School, and then I need you to see
what new leads you can pull up for the Teverson case.”
“Okay, no problem.
Do you want me to find a beard for the Elijah costume?”
“That would be
great. There should be one in the disguise closet.” That’s the great thing
about working with children and being a detective. My disguises pull double
duty. It’s what I call a good investment.
***
At one o’clock we
took a lunch break, and I decided to ask Ginger about what had been on my mind.
“Ginger, what do
you think about on-line dating?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.
One time I tried it, but the only men who contacted me were 30 years old and
lived in Fiji. Thankfully soon after that I met Brian in the student union.”
I contemplated
this, then took a moment to look up information about Fiji. It could be a nice
place to visit. The reason I had been thinking about it was because last week
my best friend suggested I try on-line dating. The reason this would never work
out is because potential love interests would be all “what do you do for a
living?” and I would say I’m a detective. Then they would get freaked out and
think I’m an obsessive person who is going to start following them secretly,
which would lead to them not replying to any of my messages and we would never
even go on a single date.
Truth be told, I
was asked out on a date two weeks ago while doing some investigative work. I
had to turn the guy down because at the time he knew me as Darla, a blond
flight stewardess from Texas. I couldn’t just meet him for dinner that weekend
without the southern twang and golden locks. He would have thought I had
schizophrenia.
“I don’t know,
Detective Rossen. Maybe you should try it. I mean, what’s it hurt to at least
take a look?”
“Ginger, how many
times do I have to remind you? You can call me Joelle. And I guess maybe you’re
right. Messaging unknown, attractive men found on internet websites never got
anyone kidnapped for human trafficking or anything.”
So that evening I
spent three hours looking at profiles of men who fit my search criteria. I did
this instead of spending time prepping my Bible Club lesson, and I went to bed
without showering because it was so late. That just goes to show that on-line
dating sites suck up all your productivity and personal hygiene habits. I was
pretty sure the Lord was not pleased with my decision to put profile trolling
before my responsibility of preparing an engaging, well-planned, age
appropriate, spiritual growth-based lesson for the children who live in a
neighborhood where 75% of all the city’s drug houses are located within two
blocks of the school.
The next day I put
aside all thoughts of singleness and becoming a 40 year old cat lady who wears
blue velour stretch pants and focused on the job that Jack Teverson hired me to
do: spy on his employee candidates.
Jack is president
of a company called Biomed International and he is looking to hire a few new
employees. Mr. Teverson is very picky about the people he hires, especially
after his 2006 incident with a Japanese finance manager who caused the company
to lose two million dollars.
Right now I am
investigating Jack’s top three candidates. I do things like rifle through their
trash (because a person’s garbage can tell you a lot about them), follow them
to work, interact with them while in disguise, call them pretending to be a
computer technician in India, and interview their dry-cleaner. I’ve been
compiling a file of their full profile for the past three weeks. After a lot of
observation, I told Jack Teverson not to hire Kareem Larson because he frequently
refers to himself in the third person, which is sign of douchebaggery. And
nobody wants to hire a jerk.
So now I’m
focusing my attention on Colby Delvino and Kirk Patrick. You might say to
yourself “why doesn’t Mr. Teverson have
any women on his top candidate list? Is he chauvinistic and sexist and
oppressive?” Jack did have several women
on his list. I just eliminated them. I’d tell you why, but that’s confidential.
Trust me though, it was a good decision.
What was on my
list for today was to attend Kirk Patrick’s hair cutting appointment. I was
hoping to gain a lot of useful information from this short event. First of all,
the type of place a person gets their hair cut can tell you a lot about them.
For example, do they go to Supercuts or a fancy salon down town? Do they go to
a traditional barber shop with the white and blue spinning thing and a quartet,
or do they have their mom/wife/girlfriend give them a haircut?
It’s also known
that people are gossips in a salon. Either the hairdresser tells you everything
she knows about everybody in town, or you spill all your business and complain
about the people you know. When I go to get a haircut, I’m a listener. Or I’m
content just to sit there in silence. One time I had a stylist who told me all
the intimate details of her personal life and the break up with her boyfriend.
I didn’t even know her. Another time, I went to a salon in my hometown and
heard all the mom-age gossip from the other ladies in there getting highlights
and perms. I never went back, but that was mostly because the hairdresser
didn’t even blow dry my sopping wet hair. Just cut it and said I was done. I
had to go to a meeting looking like a drowned rat.
My point is, this
was going to be a very telling moment for Kirk. Either he was going to complain
and gossip, or he wasn’t. He was going to get his gray covered or he wasn’t. Through
my technological abilities, I was able to access Kirk’s on-line calendar and
discovered that the appointment was for two o’clock at The Wild Hare. I
conveniently made an appointment for myself at the same time to get a Keratin deep
conditioning treatment. At first I dropped my jaw when the receptionist told me
it was going to be $80, but then I remembered that technically this appointment
was work related, so I could write it off on my taxes as a business expense.
While I was eating
a vegetarian, protein-rich lunch, I decided to visit Match.com again and look a
little bit more to see if the love of my life might be a 35 year old man in
Fiji. I really wasn’t having any luck. All the guys had scruffy, unkempt
beards, or they were balding, or they were missing teeth. “Ginger, is there a
way to filter this site so that people who horrify me don’t keep showing up?”
Ginger stopped
eating her noodles and came over to take a look. “Joelle, you’re looking at the
Marion County Inmate roster. Those are their mug shots. All of those men are
criminals.”
“Whoops.” Turned
out I had like five open tabs and got my work research mixed up with my love
life. I decided to get off-line and review the files I had for the Teverson
case.
I left for the
salon at 1:15 and arrived at The Wild Hare a bit early, so that I could observe
Mr. Patrick’s behavior when he first arrived. While reading a copy of Vogue, I
peeked out to the side and saw him check in with the receptionist. Then he sat
two seats over from me. I made a mental note of his politeness and friendliness
towards the receptionist. Just as I was reading an article about Jennifer
Lawrence, Mr. Patrick’s phone rang.
“Hey….yes…I told
you that deal needs to go through today.”
I perked my ears.
“Have Cindy call
Marco… Just make sure it happens…We can recoup the costs later…Okay. Ten a.m. Thursday.
Bye.”
“Alyssa?” A hair
stylist appeared.
I popped out of my
chair. Alyssa was my alias for today. I smiled and walked forward. After
getting a cape draped over me, I was led to the sink for a shampoo. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw Kirk Patrick shake his stylist’s hand.
Once my hair got
rinsed, I got to sit back down in my swivel chair. Luckily, Kirk was in the
seat next to me, so I had the perfect location for listening in and observing.
“You sure have a
lot of hair,” my stylist, Shelby, said as she clipped my locks up to get to the
bottom layers.
“Yeah, I know,” I
said. “My lion mane makes extra work for everybody.” Shelby started to apply
some goop to my hair. Then she turned me in my swivel chair to the right and my
jaw just about fell off.
It was him. A
greek god from Mount Olympus come to earth to mingle with the mortals. I saw
the profile of his perfect nose and his strong jaw. I knew I had seen this face
before. It was one of the guys I had viewed during my three hours of time spent
on Match.com searching for a lover (not a criminal). And here he was, getting
his locks buzzed off like he was about to join the army.
Noooo, I wanted to scream. What will my fingers have to run through
now? But then I collected myself and remembered that this guy hadn’t even
asked me out to coffee yet. In fact, he hadn’t even seen me, as far as I knew,
because he was looking forward into the mirror and engaged in a conversation
with his hairdresser.
Shelby applied
another pile of goop to my hair. And that’s when it happened. I looked into the
man’s mirror and locked eyes with him. It was a second of breathlessness, and
then he grinned. He let those sparkling white teeth shimmer at me. If you are familiar
with Song of Solomon, you might say his teeth were like a flock of goats. If
you are familiar with modern dentistry, you might say his teeth looked like
four years of expensive orthodontic work, Crest toothpaste, and diligent
flossing. I bet he never had a cavity in his life. We were soul mates. Or could
be.
I thought about
giving a seductive look, but then thought better of it. I remembered a story my
friend Leslie told me about how she tried to give guys in college seductive
looks. But they would just look at her terrified and turn away. She tested her
sultry look in front of a friend and discovered that the look she thought said
“come hither” actually conveyed “I am about to murder you.” I didn’t want to
scare off my subject, so I gave a small smile instead.
Then I remembered
that I was there to spy on Kirk Patrick and not to make passes at perfect
strangers. So I turned my attention to the grey haired executive getting the
back of his neck shaved. I perked my ears and listened to what he was taking
about: his newborn grand-daughter. I took this as a positive sign of his
character.
After my deep
conditioning Keratin treatment was finished and I had learned ample details
about baby Olivia Patrick, I went to the front desk to run my card.
I signed my name
on the receipt and turned to leave when the receptionist said, “Oh yeah, this
is for you.” She handed me a folded piece of paper.
I opened it up and
read:
Have time for a cup of coffee? I’m around
the corner at St. Arbucks waiting for you.
“The guy who was
just in here left it for you.”
I was hoping she
was referring to Mr. Greek God and not 50 year old Kirk Patrick. Cautiously, I
walked to the corner edge of the block. When meeting strangers, it’s important
to take safety precautions, even if you meet in public. I was wearing my grey
lace up boots—the ones with the side zipper, and I checked to make sure my
hidden knife was still there. I paused on the sidewalk and applied some lip
gloss as well. I stealthily peeked around the corner and into the window to see
if I could spot Mr. Patrick. Thankfully, he wasn’t there. Instead I spied the
closely shorn head of the physically fit mystery man who was waiting for me. I
took a deep breath and walked in.
It’s common
knowledge that I am incredibly awkward around attractive men (probably the
result of being home schooled or growing up without any brothers), and every
once in a while I decide to be brazenly awkward. For example, once I was on a
ferry boat traversing the waters from Washington to Canada, and sitting across
from me was an Orlando Bloom look-alike. I decided to stare at him a good long
while, and when he looked up at me I didn’t look away. My efforts resulted in
dinner for one.
I pushed open the
door of St. Arbucks and went straight to the counter, not even bothering to
look towards the guy. “Can I get a chai latte, please?” I don’t drink coffee.
Ever. Mostly it’s because during my time in Colombia I was held hostage on a
coffee bean plantation while trying to expose some drug smugglers.
After getting my
drink, I went to an empty table that was rather near Mystery Man’s. I sat down.
He looked up. I stared into his eyes, which were the color of the sea after a
storm, just like Wesley’s from The Princess Bride. He tilted his head to
the side and gave a half smile, like he was trying to figure me out. Then he
stood up, walked nine steps forward, and sat down right across from me.
“Hey,” he said. “I
like your hair.”
Words jumped out
of my mouth before I could stop them. “Do you know that every time Brad Pitt
gets a haircut, he asks for his hair to be swept up, put in a bag, and given to
him so that people don’t try to sell it on eBay?”
He laughed. But it
was that awkward little laugh, the kind you do when someone tells you their dog
died but it’s okay because he chewed on the furniture anyway.
“What’s your
name?” I said.
“Peter.”
“What’s your last
name? I need to know in case you try to kidnap me later.”
“Johansson.”
“Are you related
to Scarlett?”
“No.”
“Well, Peter
Johansson, I’m Joelle.”
“Joelle, I promise
not to kidnap you later.” He chuckled. “Have you been kidnapped before?”
He was probably
joking about the last part, so I decided not to tell him about my time in
Colombia. Besides, you can’t just go around blabbing to everyone that you are a
private detective. Not only does it blow your cover, but it makes them jumpy.
“So Peter, what’s
your story?”
“You don’t
remember me, do you?”
“Well, I saw you
in the salon like thirty minutes ago…”
“No. Not from the
salon. From Albuquerque. We flew from Albuquerque to Portland on Southwest
Airlines and you couldn’t put your carry-on in the overhead bin because you
were too short and I offered to help you. But you said no, that you could do
it. Then your suitcase came tumbling down, spilled open, and some wigs fell
out. And you shoved them back inside quickly and told me—”
“—that I’m not a
stripper. Yes, I remember. That was you?”
“Yes. I sat in the
seat behind you and the whole way I listened to you tell stories to the person
sitting next to you, because you were so funny. I wanted to say something to
you when we got to Portland, but I lost my courage.”
“You should have
posted a Missing Connections ad on Craigslist.” I check the Missed Connections
at least once a month, mostly for entertainment value.
“So Joelle, may I
ask…If you’re not a stripper, why do you travel with so many wigs?”
“I’m afraid I
can’t answer that. You haven’t even bought me dinner. I can’t reveal all my
secrets to you when you haven’t even asked me out on a proper date.”
“Alright. Fair
enough. Will you go to dinner with me?”
“Don’t ask me
unless you mean it.”
“I do mean it. I
want to take you to dinner.”
“Okay. Now I’m
getting nervous. What should I wear? I’ve never been on a real-life dinner date
before.”
Peter laughed.
“You should wear whatever the heck you want to wear. You can wear what you’re
wearing now.”
“I should hope
not. I’ll probably write about this date in my diary later. I don’t want to
record that I wore five year old jeans and my Berkeley sweatshirt.”
“Then wear your
favorite outfit.”
“Okay.” I took a
sip of my chai.
“Peter?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
“I better get
going. I still have some things to do for work, and then I have to figure out
which one of my wigs goes best with my favorite outfit.”
“For reals? You’re
going to wear a wig?”
“Guess you’ll find
out at dinner. And besides, who said I’m not wearing one now?”
When I got out of
the coffee shop I dialed Jack Teverson. “Mr. Teverson. I have results for you.
My recommendation for hire is Kirk Patrick. If you want a full review of the
reasons, we can meet next week. I can’t meet today though, I have a hot date to
get ready for.”
Recommended reading:
Snoop: What You’re Stuff Says About You by Sam Gosling
