The Detective and Her Bachelor

Chapter 2

Have you ever loved a place that seemed beautiful to you, but all anyone else ever saw were the flaws? The way the ceiling was covered in cracks, but to you it was quirky, looking like intricate spiderwebs. Or how the conference room always smelled like takeout, but to you, it was the spoils of hard-earned meals once assignments were turned in. The entire place was memories that acted like puzzle pieces clicking together. It didn't need to be beautiful for it to be yours. And it didn't need to be understood by others for it to be special.

The detective agency was all grey walls, florescent lights, and dark blue carpets with questionable stains. The people that worked there were great at reading others, spent all their time scoping out liars and digging up dirt, but were terrible at normal human interaction. When those kinds of people shared a space, things got interesting. We were a strange, rough around the edges group that spent more time with each other than with our own families. 

"You owe me five bucks!" Denzin snorted as I followed Decker into the conference room.

Brooklyn swore, crumbling up a five-dollar bill and throwing it at the eighteen-year-old intern's head. Denzin snatched the money off the ground, all grins as he smoothed it out on the conference room table, a glint in his eye. "When are you gonna learn Brooklyn, never bet against Decker."

The sixty-year-old Office Manager, Brooklyn, leaned back in the office swivel chair, causing it to let out a squeak of protest. Her hair was cut short, curled primly around her face, hair dyed a platinum grey, large chunky jewelry clacking together with every movement. "I believe that Delle is more stubborn than Decker. He must have had to bribe her with the money."

She shot Decker a pointed look. "Did you?"

Decker turned towards the whiteboard wall at the far end of the room. "Walk us through the information," he replied, ignoring Brooklyn's question.

"Bribe means I win Denzin," Brooklyn said with a laugh.

"What—" He scoffed.

"Give me my money back and hand over yours," Brooklyn cooed, her voice taking on a sickly sweet singsong quality, even as her grin turned sharp.

Denzin swore, shoving the bills across the table to Brooklyn.

"Enough betting!" Decker snapped, eyeing Brooklyn and Denzin with a deadly stare.

"YEAH BROOKLYN!" Denzin added dramatically, attempting to wash away all of his part in betting.

Brooklyn and I looked at each other, rolling our eyes in unison, an almost daily habit now. Denzin had been the president of Decker's fan club since arriving last month. Something Brooklyn and I detested. 

"Let's get to the point of this." I took the seat at the far end of the conference room table, the farthest possible seat from Decker. I needed the space just in case I had to talk myself out of a public outburst.

Brooklyn slid a large stack of folders to Denzin. He flipped the top one open, quickly sliding on his thick frames as he cleared his throat, slipping into 'go mode,' eyes scanning the first page. "Twenty-six-year-old Kacey Grail, a lawyer with a degree from Harvard, a master's in business from Yale, and a social media influencer with a YouTube channel titled..." Denzin paused, squinting his eyes and reading the channel name to make sure he understood it properly. "LA Lady Law," he said, "was found dead at the bottom of a set of stairs, on-set of a television show late last night."

Decker wrote 'KACEY GRAIL' on the whiteboard.

"Accident?" I asked.

"That's what it was ruled as," Denzin replied, flipping the page. "According to the police reports, no one was on-set when it happened."