The Plot Thickens (Guardj, FoxLeFay, WhiteLily)

[guardj]

Monica Barrus stood outside the building, trying to compose herself. She ran her hands down her arms and sides, smoothing out her jacket as she took a few deep breaths. She dug into her purse quickly, looking for the business card her co-worker had given her. Discovering the card, she quickly pulled it out, and studied it again. Looking back at the sign next to the door, she nodded to herself resolutely. This was the place. If they couldn't get the answer for her, no one could, had said her friend. She reached for the door handle, but hesitated, her hand hanging in the air.

Monica was a small framed woman, barely over 5 feet tall. Now in her mid 30's, she looked younger than that, due to her size and her youthful facial features. Medium length blonde hair was presently pulled up and back in a professional style, as she was fresh from the office today. Her blue eyes trying to keep from tearing up as she thought about why she was here in the first place.

Finally, sighing heavily, she finished reaching for the handle. Now or never, she swung the door open, and stepped into the foyer of the PI firm. She looked around at the modestly decorated, but tasteful furnishings. There was a desk by the back wall, with filing cabinets behind it. A couch, some chairs, an ottoman, and a coffee table in the center of the room took up most of the space in this front room. On the far left wall, was a single doorway with "Private" stenciled on a frosted glass window in its center. Next to the doorway, stood a small craft table, where a coffee machine was percolating away. Also on the table was a stack of disposable cups, and a few packets of sweetener, and a bowl of hard candies.

But, there didn't seem to be anyone here. The door was unlocked, but she didn't notice anyone present. "Um... Hello?" She called out, somewhat tentatively. And suddenly, from behind the desk, came the sound of a filing cabinet slamming closed. A young man popped up from behind the desk. Having been there the whole time, he hadn't noticed the sound of the door opening, over his focus on getting the filing cabinets back in order after a few weeks of neglect.

"Oh, Hi there!" He spoke quickly. "My name's Colin. I guess you're here to see the ladies? Hang on just a second, OK?" The guy couldn't be but barely out of his teens, and in fact, he wasn't. At 20 years old, Colin appreciated the ironic humor of two lady detectives having a male clerk. Certainly different from the old movies, but he was fine with it. He was a pretty progressive kid, and besides. The two ladies he worked for were probably the best detectives he had ever met, police included. He was learning so much more working for them, than he was in his criminal justice and law classes in college. Working on a career as an investigator himself, he found the experience he got here to be his best teacher. He reached over, and punched a button on the phone on his desk.

"Ladies, there's a potential client out here. You got a minute for a consult?" He spoke his question aloud into the speaker, so that the lady would hear him ask the question on her behalf, but then picked up the receiver and held it to his ear to await the answer, so she wouldn't hear the reply. He nodded quickly, as he listened on the phone. "Alright then. I'll let her know."

Looking back up to Monica, he set the receiver back down on the phone unit. "OK miss. They'll see you in the back. Just go right through that door there, and it'll be the room at the end of the hall." Monica nodded, stepped to the 'Private' door, and walked through it. Through the door was a hallway, with another small conference room at the end of it. She walked past two other closed doors, the private offices of the detective themselves, each of whose names were printed on the doors with a pair of well cut plaques. The room she was headed to however, wasn't sealed by a door. It was a lounge, but they used it primarily for consultations like this, because it was found to be more comforting to clients than either of the offices, and more private than the lobby. She made her way through the open threshold, and smiled a nervous smile, giving a tentative wave to the two ladies already seated in two of the comfortable looking chairs in the room. Across from them, was a loveseat, currently empty.

[FoxLeFay]

Petra Deacon had been in the office for hours and it didn't seem she would be leaving any time soon. She had unlocked the offices around 7:30 that morning and proceeded to finish an investigative report for her last client. It was a textbook case of tracking down some stolen property and the writing went as smoothly as anticipated. Being a PI guaranteed that you'd end up having to write a multitude of reports over the years and it stood to reason that the majority of them all read the same. "I observed a white male entering the train station lockers/motel/restaurant" or some other close variation almost always started a tale of deception and subterfuge that would incense the client to no end until they finally handed over the final payment and left the office, clutching the paper close and either fighting back tears or a blood-chilling scream of rage. Being a good detective didn't always mean you would get deviant or otherwise enthralling cases to solve all of the time, and she accepted that reality. If a lot of people know you're one of the best, though, you're bound to get something juicy every once in awhile, which is why she put up with even the simplest of cases. Networking.

The first time she looked up from her work was when her partner came in at 9:00, looking a bit surprised to find the office open and lights on. Petra smiled and reminded her that there was nothing on the table so far today, and the pair waited for Colin to arrive at 10. She continued to type away on the report and spent the rest of the afternoon getting in touch with a handful of contacts to scope out any cases and hoping to make new acquaintances in higher places. From behind the shut door, she could still hear the muffled clanks of Colin as he performed housekeeping with the towering file cabinets stuffed with records. With afternoon sunlight finally streaming into her office, Petra was pleasantly surprised to hear the phone ring and she noted with a sense of relish that the caller ID couldn't identify the person on the other end. While the majority of clients went through Colin first, a few of them had gotten hold of her office telephone number directly from talking with one of her contacts.

She cleared her throat and grabbed the receiver promptly after the second ring, "Petra Deacon speaking."

"Is this the private eye's office? Is he in?"

"She is in. You're talking to the lead investigator here."

When the line went silent, she couldn't help but sigh. There were times when the twenty-first century still showed signs of the stone age and this was one of them. Most expected a private investigator to be a stocky, middle-aged man with a square jaw and a tendency to chew on cigars. A few decades ago, Chinatown came out and that seed of perception which was planted by Humphrey Bogart was solidified in the subconscious of nearly every American, unfortunately including a few of their would-be clients. Petra liked to tease Colin about this sometimes and claim that they had hired a male clerk in case someone came in one day and needed the Remington Steele treatment to feel more at ease.

Luckily, around 5 when she was beginning to think the slow day was reaching an unsatisfying conclusion, she glanced out through the frosted glass window and noticed two blurred figures. One was headed towards the desk and Petra assumed it was Colin. "Ladies, there's a potential client out here. You got a minute for a consult?" he asked over the speaker, and she replied over the receiver, "Send her in. We'll be waiting for her in the consultation office." She hung up and closed her door soundlessly behind her while she made her way to sit in the remaining armchair in the lounge, seeing as her partner had gotten there first. Determined not to lose this client due to first impressions, Petra made sure the lighting in the room was optimal, fixed her short black hair a bit and then glanced towards the entryway to anticipate the woman's arrival.

As she walked in, Petra returned the cautious smile with a broad grin of her own and gestured towards the love seat, "Please, sit down. How can we help you?" The blonde client looked rather young, only stood around five feet tall, and she was dressed as though she had just left work. Upon closer examination, Petra could tell that she was rather upset about something. Not that that's a surprise. No one walks in here happy, and normally women have it the worst, she ruminated, unfaithful husbands conducting affairs or jerks running off with their cars. She took the initiative in introducing herself, "I'm Petra. Would you like some coffee before we begin?"

[guardj]

"Coffee, sure... yes. Thank you."

Monica looked at the card in her pocket again. The name of the firm, Deacon and Hollister, hadn't led her to believe the investigators were both females. Though she supposed that would better suit her needs. A male might be more inclined to side with another male in this issue, read the evidence one way or another. They were just like that, men, and with two ladies, she'd be more likely to get a fair shake. As she flipped the card over in her fingers again, trying to think of how to begin her story, the young man, Colin, entered the lounge, a cup of coffee in one hand, a packet of creamer, a pack of sugar, and a few stirrers in the other.

"Here you are miss. Anything else Ms. Deacon?"

Monica looked up, taking the coffee from him. So distracted had she been she didn't even notice the detectives relay her orders back to their assistant. She popped the top on the creamer packet, and stirred it in slowly. As the assistant was pleasantly dismissed, she worked up the nerve to start talking. She addressed Ms Deacon, as she was the only one who seemed to have spoken to her up to this point. The other of the two just sat there, scribbling on some kind of notepad. Clearing her throat, she began her story.

"Okay, so you guys probably get stuff like this all the time, but I need you to check out something for me. I should start at the beginning. It's nice to meet you Petra. And you as well..." She looked to the other detective in the room.

Ms Hollister looked up from her pad for only the briefest of seconds. "Sarah Hollister." And thent went right back to what ever she was doing. Not the most cordial, but she was good at her job.

"Sarah. It's nice to meet you both. My name is Monica Barrus. And I think my husband is cheating on me. I know he's hiding something. I - I just don't know what. But there have been calls to the house. Some number I don't recognise. Whenever I answer the phone, they just hang up, but who ever it is, they stay on the line when he answers the phone. I tried calling the number once. A woman answered, but when I tried to ask who she was, she hung up and wouldn't answer any more when I tried to call back. I tried looking up the number on the internet yellow pages, but its unlisted. I'm not sure where to go from here. He goes off sometimes, but I know he's not going where he says he's going. I've thought about following him, but he obviously knows what my car looks like. And most of my friends' cars too. I don't know where it is he goes. But he's coming home late from work recently. Something about trying to finish up some project for his boss, but whenever we have company over, none of his co workers seem to know anything about it? I don't know... Does it sound like I'm just being paranoid? Could he just be really working on something? I'm just worried about it, 'cause we're just not talking anymore. Whenever he's at home, he's pre-occupied. Its like he's just killing time until it's time to do whatever it is that he's been going lately."

Monica stopped talking, and sighed heavily. She had rambled on, and now she was trying to catch her breath. Once the story was out there in the open, she then had to deal with the reality of it herself. She had spoken it out loud, and now denial was no longer an option.

"I..."

She stops. Tries to start talking again, and stops, stuttering again. Her face is a blend of rage and depression. She's about to hit her breaking point, and she refuses to cry. She breathes deep, taking in the faces of the two women.

Sarah Hollister, for her part, had been recording everything the woman was saying. Making notes of what her complaints were, what actions she had taken so far, how those related to her further suspicions. She also made some notes about her own speculations. Philandering spouse cases weren't new or rare. It was pretty fair to assume this husband probably had a lady friend on the side, and was going out of his way to find ways to hide her from the wife. The mistress, for her part, most likely was under the all to common 'he's gonna leave his wife for me, when the time is right' assumption, which probably wasn't true. It almost never was afterall. And the mistress wasn't as astute at hiding her presence from the wife, as the husband was. She had fallen for the trap with the phone. This case wouldn't be all that hard to wrap up. Just track the husband, find the mistress, and she'd be the easy one to figure out. Then just let the wife in on it so she could file for divorce or whatever she was going to do.

She was practically counting the pay stub for this case already. Just had to get a few of the details to start the process. He'd only need to make one trip to see his mistress, and they'd have him dead to rights. She flipped the note pad to a new page, and passed the pen and pad to Monica.

"Well, Monica. We're not the ones who should tell you whether you should or shouldn't have concerns. You know how your home life and marraige are usually, and so if you have concerns, then we can help you. We just need some basic information before we can get to work. If you would please put down your home phone number, as well as the suspect phone number that's been calling your house. Also, if we could get your husbands work schedule, including what time he usually leaves for work, and what time he usually gets home. Also, his place of employ, and the contact information for that company."

Sarah had spoken for pretty much the first time in the consultation, but Monica was really just looking at Petra for her opinions. She seemed to her, to be the friendlier of the two.

[FoxLeFay]

As Monica held her coffee cup with shaking hands and recounted her story, Petra glanced over at Sarah to see the woman fully immersed in her notes. Typical, but she wished her partner would actually look engaged for once. Even though affairs were the vast majority of their paychecks didn't mean that each one could be solved using the exact same algorithm. Sarah was a brilliant analytical mind, but sometimes she got too caught up in the framework and sped right past the eccentricities. She's the reason that Petra kept on schedule and the most steadfast partner she could have asked for but it often crossed her mind just how different they were and how well that translated in the business. Turning her attention back to Colin, she nodded at him, "That's all for now, thanks." She always had to stop herself from sounding like one of the nobles on a PBS drama whenever she had Colin running tasks for them.

The story sounded rather clear-cut. Shady husband and a mystery woman who obviously had no idea how to "disappear" like a good amour should. In a way, it made it easier for them but paradoxically, it would be harder on Monica. Traditionally speaking, when one or more parties in the affair has difficulty masking it, it ends up a large mess for all three of them. A clingy and deluded mistress is normally easier to catch in the act and that solid proof is always harder for the devoted wife to swallow. The same is true for a sloppy husband, but in that case, a private investigator is hardly ever needed.

Petra was about to address her client, whom appeared on the verge of tears or at the very least a visceral shout when Sarah unclicked her pen and gave her rundown of standard procedure and asked for all of the pertinent information. Monica looked a bit surprised to hear anything out of the woman but her gaze still lingered on Petra. The head detective continued, "While you're right that we do come across this situation often, each case is incredibly different. Trusting your intuition doesn't make you paranoid, and you've made the right decision coming to get help." She paused for a moment. Even though she was the one who normally gave the more compassionate rendition of the truth, she thought this was a particularly by-the-book case and left no viable avenue for a sugar-coated tale of trivial misunderstanding that would elicit a laugh from Monica. They'd probably have it wrapped up in a stakeout or two, tops, and the report and photos together would almost certainly end the marriage. "We'll get right to work and contact you when we have the clearest picture possible of what's going on." Another day, another unfaithful husband exposed, another x-number of years of marriage soiled, invalidated, whichever adjective the wife chose to use in her emotional defense.

Judging by Monica's face, she was still furious and crushed. She couldn't tell if her words had softened the blow but she silently looked on as her client filled out the phone numbers and addresses that would be vital to crack this case. If Petra had gotten a dollar for everytime she had seen a despondant wife on the verge of a breakdown on that couch, she would have been conpletely loaded. Something kept nagging her in the back of her head that this time was a little bit different. It wasn't empathy; Sarah had laughed the majority of that out of her very early on in their partnership whenever it threatened to cloud her judgement. No. It was a much more hazy feeling, one that the Hollister half of the partnership might discredit if Petra had ever found the words for it. For the time being she ignored it and simply focused the amount of coffee still in Monica's cup while the blonde continued steadfastly filling out the missing links.

[guardj]

Nodding her head a little, Monica reached for the note pad and the pen that had been extended to her. It was only then that she noticed she still had the coffee cup in her hands. She hadn't actually taken a single sip this entire time, just distractedly stirred her creamer around and around and around through the whole exchange. She laughed a little, but it was entirely without humor. A bitter sound. She took a huge gulp of the cooling coffee, mostly just for the caffine and sugar of it, and set it on a coaster next to her seat, before taking the pen and pad from Sarah Hollister. She nodded at her as she was relayed all the different information she needed to write down. Acknowledgement. But mostly she was listening to Petra, and processing what she had said. It was little comfort, to hear that this was commonplace enough that they were expert at solving this kind of situation. She was glad to hear her say though, that they'd help her sort out whatever this was.

"Okay," she said as she wrote, "How exactly does this go down? I don't know any thing about private detective work except what I've seen in movies, and I know it can't be like that, not really." She was basically just making small talk while she filled out the paper. Trying to distract herself from what she was doing, what she was committing to, and what it most likely meant for the future of her life. She was asking, but in reality she probably wasn't even really aware of what she was saying. Might as well be blah blah blah. She scribbled as she talked nonsense. "I mean, it can't be all ducking in cars and talking to yourself and stuff, right? You guys really park outside my house and tail him? Or is it more civilized than that? More modern? Bugs and GPS and stuff like that?"

She handed the notepad back to Sarah, who checked the information she had written down, and nodded politely to her as she flipped through a couple of the pages. Her eyebrows went up slightly, as if she had already picked out a detail or two. Maybe she had already figured out a good angle to come at this situation from. That was her strength. Analyze, find patterns, check and match facts and figures. It was why she worked so well with Petra, moreso than she did on her own. She was more adept at the numbers, the statistics, the business end. Making everything line up. Where as Petra had the X-Factor of investigation. For the first part of their partnership, she had disregarded Petra's drive to follow her instincts and intuitions, thinking it irrational behavior. But after enough time of their working together, she had learned to trust her partner's gut, even if she would never give her the satisfaction of mentioning it out loud. Hers may have been the eye for detail, but her partner knew people better than anyone she had ever met, and was gifted with that natural ability to piece stories and situations together in her head, that Sarah would always secretly envy.

Monica sat for a moment more, before she realized she was still rambling. She sighed heavily, made a pretty loud frustration noise, and snatched her coffee off the table and finished the rest of it in one long draw. Shaking her head from side to side, eyes squeezed shut to keep from letting any tears fall, she stood up. Addressing the detectives one last time, she was getting ready to depart.

"So, I guess its really real now. Um... So, I guess I just go home, and let whatever happens, happen? I don't know what's really next in my life. Um... I don't know whether to be sad about what's going on here, or pissed off about it. Or happy that at least I'm about to get some help... After this... I just..."

And with that, her words trailed off. She shook her head sadly again, and pushed the door to the lounce open, strolling back down the hall.

"Goodbye, and thanks again." She said, as she made her way out of sight.

Sarah passed Petra the note pad, speaking quickly, but in a low voice in case Monica could still hear them.

"Looks pretty open and shut. She's given us a pretty good amount to work with, just a matter of catching him in the act. Check it out."

On the paper, was Monica's name, as well as the name of her husband, 'Jackson Barrus'. She had also listed their home phone, her cellphone number, her husband's cell number, and the suspicious number. Skipping down some space, she had written the name of her employer, its address and office phone number, and her husbands employer, office address and phone number. Below that were her husbands hours, as well as when he left the house, 6 am, and the time he usually got back, 5 pm. Though she also included a few other times as well. Times when he had a pattern of leaving the house in the evenings, usually between 7 and 8 oclock, and when he got back, which was usually between 11 and 11:30 at night.