Read an Excerpt
1
Elvis Cole
Picture the detective alone in his office on a lovely spring day in Los Angeles. He is four floors above Santa Monica Boulevard, leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk, smiling. He is smiling because he is speaking with Lucy Chenier, an attorney who lives in Louisiana. The detective speaks with her every day. Sometimes, he speaks with her twice a day. On this day, he's certain he'll speak with her three times, and the thought makes him smile. A detective in love is insufferable.
Lucy said, "Are you bored?"
I said, "I'm never bored when I speak with you."
"I ask because it isn't even ten a.m. your time, and you've called twice. Don't you have work to do?"
"I'm between clients."
"That explains it."
"I had an idea."
"Okay, wait. I'm due in a deposition in ten, no, nine minutes."
"Let's take a trip this summer. The two of us. Or, if you want, Ben can come. Someplace you've always wanted to see."
Ben was Lucy's teenage son.
Lucy hesitated.
"Are you serious?"
"Don't I have great ideas?"
Lucy said, "This summer?"
"Check your calendar. A week, ten days, I don't care. If you can find the time, let's do it."
I was listening to Lucy think when my desk phone rang. It was one of the old hardwire Mickey Mouse phones and I liked it a lot. Prospective clients found it interesting and pushy cops found it annoying. Win-win. I was speaking to Lucy on my cell, so she heard the ringing.
I said, "Ignore it. It'll go to voice mail."
"Get it. If we go where I'm thinking, you'll need the money."
"I'll get rid of them. Hang on."
I lowered the cell and answered the Mickey.
"Elvis Cole Detective Agency. Superior detection at affordable rates."
A young female voice said, "Is this Elvis Cole?"
"Yes. Can you hold? I'm on another line."
The voice charged ahead as if she hadn't heard me.
"This is Dina Wade, Traci Beller's assistant. Traci would like to speak with you as soon as possible."
I said, "I'm on another call."
Dina Wade blurted.
"But it's Traci Beller!"
I said, "Okay. I give. Who's Traci Beller?"
Dina Wade sounded uncertain.
"The Baker Next Door?"
"Sorry."
"Her website, The Baker Next Door. Her socials. Traci has eight-point-two-million followers across her socials. You haven't heard of her?"
I had no idea who she was talking about.
"Oh. That Traci. Hang on."
I lowered the Mickey and returned to Lucy.
"Ever heard of Traci Beller?"
"Who?"
"The Baker Next Door."
Lucy hesitated.
"Oh, sure! The muffin girl."
I said, "The muffin girl."
"She's a baker, but she's best known for muffins."
"She bakes muffins."
"She makes cute videos of herself baking. They're short and fun. I've seen some. She called you?"
"Her assistant. She's on the other line."
"Ben will be impressed. A lot of kids in his class follow her. That's how I know about her. She's terrific."
Ben was a junior in high school.
I said, "Want to hang on?"
"For the muffin girl? Two minutes."
I lifted the Mickey.
Dina Wade was saying, "Mr. Cole? Mr. Cole, are you there?"
I said, "Sorry. How can I help you?"
"Traci specifically asked me to call. She'd like to speak with you about a private matter."
"Private matters are my specialty. Put her on."
"She'd rather see you in person. Today, if possible. Actually, now."
"I'll be here the rest of the morning. She can drop by whenever."
"Actually, she can't. She's filming today."
"Whenever she's not filming."
"Traci has zero free time, but my driving app says your office is only thirteen minutes away. If you're here in twenty, we'll pay you one thousand dollars whether you take the job or not."
"Hang on."
I picked up Lucy.
"Traci wants to meet. She'll pay me a thousand dollars whether I take the job or not."
"My. Aren't we the big shot detective?"
I smiled even wider.
"Impressed?"
"Studly, I couldn't be more impressed, and it's not because of a lousy thousand bucks. Tell me about it later."
"Love you."
"Love."
I hung up, copied Traci's address, and left to meet the muffin girl.
2
The address Dina Wade provided led to a pretty Tudor Revival home on a treesy residential street between Runyon Canyon and the Hollywood Bowl. The blue bay windows, bright green lawn, and redbrick drive were bright, well tended, and welcoming. Small cars and electric scooters lined the curb, so I pulled into the drive. A young woman with short black hair and dark-frame glasses hustled from the house as I parked.
"Mr. Cole, hi, I'm Dina. Here's the money, like we agreed."
Dina Wade pushed a check into my hand. I counted zeros and tucked it away.
"I'm three minutes early. Do I get a bonus?"
Dina Wade steered me toward the house without laughing.
"We're running behind, but I carved out twenty minutes for you and Traci to talk. We should hurry."
The living room felt crowded with two women by a rack of women's clothes, another huddled over her phone on a couch, and a man and a woman sorting through a bag of camera equipment. Dina towed me through the room without introducing me.
I said, "Why the rush?"
"Traci drops a new video every day, which means seven videos a week. She shoots them back-to-back, so the grind on shoot days is horrendous."
"She shoots them here?"
"Of course. In her kitchen."
Dina led me into a room that had been repurposed into a production studio. A sleek table topped by three large monitors filled a wall and two twenty-something men wearing headsets manned the table. They were watching multiple images of a young woman adding ingredients to a large bowl. The woman wore a simple flower-print shirt and faced us across a center island in a homey kitchen.
I said, "Traci?"
"Uh-huh. This is Miles, our director. This is Tad, our editor."
Miles glanced over his shoulder.
"Hey."
Tad adjusted a dial on an audio panel.
"Hey."
Traci Beller was twenty-three years old, but she could have passed for sixteen. She had a round face, short brown hair pinned at the sides, and large brown eyes. Her eyes sparkled when she grinned and her grin was infectious.
Dina said, "Between shoots, product development, meetings, marketing, and promotion, there aren't enough minutes in the day."
"What's she making?"
"Sour cream muffins with chocolate ganache centers."
A tall man with spiked, graying hair entered behind us and stood next to Dina. He squinted at the monitors and frowned at his watch. A Patek Philippe.
"She's behind."
Dina said, "She's wrapping five now. It's five, right, Miles?"
The tall man didn't wait for Miles to answer.
"She should be finishing six. Why are you behind?"
Miles shrugged.
"She's off."
The tall man said, "What do you mean, off?"
"Distracted, maybe. Not on point. Off."
The tall man crossed his arms and stood even taller. He looked impressive.
"She has to be in the Palisades by one and Woodland Hills by three. We cannot be late for this. Especially the Palisades."
Dina leaned close and whispered.
"Traci's opening two new storefront locations. We're expanding to fourteen by the end of the year."
The tall man made a hiss.
"If I can secure the investors."
Traci scooped a spoon of what looked like cinnamon from a large glass jar, held it toward the camera until the scoop loomed huge on the monitors, and abruptly lowered her hands. She visibly slumped.
Tad pressed a button. Traci's voice came from a speaker, but I also heard her in the next room.
She said, "I'm not feeling it. Sorry."
Tad glanced at the tall man.
"See?"
Miles keyed a mike.
"No worries, Trace. Just pick it up and keep going."
Traci Beller stared at us from the monitors.
"Has Mr. Cole arrived?"
The tall man said, "Who?"
Traci repeated her question.
"Dina, is he here?"
Dina opened a door in the far corner of the room and motioned me over.
"Elvis Cole, Traci Beller."
I stepped past Dina into a kitchen as Traci Beller came from behind the cook island. She wore black tights cut at the knee and open-toed sandals. She brightened when she saw me and put out her hand.
"I'm so glad you came. Thankyouthankyouthankyou."
She pumped my hand as she thanked me and abruptly crossed the kitchen.
"I have a gift for you."
She scooped up a pink shopping bag and opened it to reveal four fist-sized muffins.
"I don't know if you're gluten free or vegan, but I baked these this morning. Sour cream zaatar, salty caramel, honey mustard pistachio, and double chocolate cherry."
They looked fantastic and smelled even better.
I said, "They're beautiful. Thank you."
The tall man appeared behind us and didn't look happy.
"The Palisades in two hours. You need to dress. You need to finish the shoot."
Dina said, "I gave her twenty, Kev. It'll work. It's important."
Kevin scowled as if he'd seen me for the first time and didn't like what he saw.
"Twenty for what? Who is this?"
Dina said, "Traci's guest. Mr. Cole."
"Why is he here?"
Traci took my arm.
"We're fine, Kev. Twenty and done. I promise."
Traci grabbed a gray backpack and tugged me toward a set of French doors that led to her backyard.
I said, "What if we need twenty-one?"
Dina said, "Talk faster."
3
Traci led me across a used brick patio to the shade of a blossoming pear tree. Dina stopped at the doors, giving us space. Kevin circled behind Dina, glowering over her shoulder.
Traci lowered the backpack and took a breath.
"Whew. We've been shooting since four a.m."
"Do all these people work for you?"
She grinned.
"Crazy, right? I began posting content in high school and it sort of took off."
"Videos of you, baking?"
Her grin widened and she dimpled.
"Me, baking. Now Kevin manages my business and Dina manages my schedule. Who knew?"
Traci Beller wasn't beautiful like a model or an actress, but she had a fun, friendly, best friend quality I liked a lot. Her eight-point-two-million followers probably liked it, too.
I said, "We have nineteen minutes left. Do I have time to eat a muffin?"
Traci giggled and looked even younger. Then she glanced at Kevin and led me farther away.
"Did Dina give you the check?"
"She did. Thank you."
The enormous brown eyes turned serious.
"A friend at the Times says you're good at finding people."
"I could pretend to be modest but why bother?"
I waited for Traci Beller to smile, but she didn't. I cleared my throat.
"Who would you like me to find?"
"My dad. My father disappeared ten years ago next month."
She took a pale blue check from the pack. It looked like the check Dina gave me only the amount was larger.
"I'll pay you five thousand dollars now and another five when you find him or proof of his death. I'll cover any and all expenses and any additional monies needed during the search. That's the job. Say yes."
She held out the check.
I glanced at the house. Kevin was speaking to Dina and didn't look happy. Dina was shrugging and glancing at Traci.
Traci ignored them and pushed the check toward me.
"This is on top of the thousand."
I touched her hand to lower the check.
"The thousand is enough for now. When you say disappeared, what do you mean?"
She hesitated, as if deciding how to explain.
"My dad owned a heating and air-conditioning company with my Uncle Phil. The day he disappeared, he was making service calls out in Rancha by Calabasas."
"I know where it is."
Rancha was a rural community at the western end of the San Fernando Valley. It was in L.A. County, but outside the LAPD service area.
I said, "Was your father making the calls alone or with your Uncle Phil?"
"Alone, which was totally normal. They split the work."
"Okay."
"He called my mom after lunch, told her he was running late, and we never heard from him again. So it was like, poof, he vanished."
I tried to pretend I didn't know where this was going. When healthy adult males went missing, they almost always did so voluntarily. This happened so often the court had a term for it. Voluntary absence.
I said, "Do you have reason to believe his disappearance wasn't voluntary?"
"Of course I do. He loved us. He was a wonderful father."
"Besides that."
"I don't need besides that. What I need is for you to find him."
She shoved the five-thousand-dollar check at me again and I touched it away.
"I assume your mother went to the police."
Traci removed two folders from the backpack and offered one embossed with an LAPD seal.
"For all the good it did."
I took the LAPD folder and she held out the second.
"My mother had him declared dead as soon as she could. OhmiGod, I was furious."
If a person was missing for five years, the state of California would grant a presumption of death if certain requirements were met. This usually meant hiring a private investigator to show a good-faith effort had been made to locate the missing individual. The firm's name, Byers & Ryan, was embossed on the cover.
"I know Byers & Ryan. They're good."
"Not good enough to find him."
Kevin called from the house.
"We need to get going here."
Traci's voice held an edge when she answered.
"In a minute."
I thumbed through the folders. The police report was thin. The Byers report was thick with contact lists, search results, and documentation. Jessica Byers was one of the finest investigators I knew.
Traci watched me hopefully.
"There's a lot of information here. I thought you could look at it. I thought, I don't know, maybe you'll see something they missed."
Like I was magic.
"The presumption of death was granted?"
She rolled her eyes. Exasperated.
"I was so mad. I still can't believe it."
I felt bad for her. The presumption wouldn't have been granted if Byers had found proof of life, evidence of death, or a reason to believe her father might still be found.
"If your father didn't leave voluntarily, the options aren't good. You understand this, right?"
Traci wet her lips and glanced away.
"I get it. He might've been murdered or committed suicide or something awful. But he would've come back to us if he could. He didn't abandon us."
She wet her lips again.
"I know ten years is a long time. I know it'll be difficult to find him after so much time, but what's ten years to the World's Greatest Detective?"
"That was a joke I made to a reporter."
![Miss Timothy Perseveres [Wedding Series Book1]](http://prodimage.images-bn.com/pimages/2940000103746_p0_v1_s90x140.jpg "Miss Timothy Perseveres [Wedding Series Book1]")
