Bequeathed

Chapter Thirteen: P.I Andrew Harris

Claire fingers the business card, rotating the thin white square between her fingers. She examines the card, the bold, black lettering, “Andrew Harris Investigative Services.” She sets the card down on the table, reads it from a distance, then takes it up again. William is at work, he didn’t seem keen to try the P.I, but what are Claire’s options? She won’t give it another thought. Claire leaves wearing the black and white caftan and white sandals that she had on around the house.

Claire arrives, parks outside the building. The walls are grey, bare, marked only by lines of a darker grey. It creates the impression that the building has been stained by liquid that has run down the side of it. Claire hesitates outside the glass door - a modern addition to a very old building. She considers returning to her car. This feeling is overpowered by another which is more menacing. The feeling that she is being watched, drives her inside the building, out of the heat, and into the cool air.

“What time is your appointment?” A cheery young man peeps up from behind his desk. His brown eyes move downward, to his desk. “I don’t have anything down for another hour. Mr. Harris is away.”

“I, I don’t have an appointment.” Claire rubs her hands together. “Perhaps I should come back.”

The receptionist stands up. “Mr. Harris will be in shortly. I have no meetings down. He will accommodate you.” The receptionist walks around the desk and leads Claire into an empty room. A large glass table sits in the center, surrounded by black chairs. A flat-screen television is mounted on the walls. The reception area, this room…the building’s exterior doesn’t reflect the inside. Outside is dingy and dirty; inside is sleek, clean.

“You may have a seat,” says the receptionist. “Mr. Harris will see you when he gets in.”

Andrew Harris arrives exactly half an hour later.

“Andrew Harris.” He extends a hand to Claire.

“Claire White.”

Andrew Harris takes a seat, waits for Claire to speak.

“Mr. Harris. I’m being harassed.”

“Andrew is fine.” Andrew takes a notepad from his pants pocket and a pen from one of the pockets on his jacket. He wears a black suit with a white shirt underneath his jacket. He doesn’t wear a tie and the top two buttons on his shirt are undone. Not what Claire would expect for a P.I.

Claire recounts her harassment, detailing the calls, the message at the restaurant, the veiled threats, and the unfruitful trips to the police station. She thinks she is offloading too much. Andrew keeps writing. He takes notes, stopping her and asking her to elaborate. Everything is noted shorthand in his notepad. Claire can’t make much sense of what he’s written. None of it resembles what she's said.

“Okay, Ms. White. I work hourly.” Andrew scratches a number onto a clean piece of paper. “That is my hourly rate.”

Claire stares at the number. “That’s more than I used to make in a day.”

“About the price of salad at Cho’s,” says Andrew. “I receive payment based on hours worked, not by the information relayed to you. Sometimes these things take time. I will have to hunt, search, and uncover before I can provide you with anything worth taking to the police.”

“Okay.”

“I will be quite frank with you, Ms. White, these things usually escalate.” Andrew pulls a little black gadget from his jacket pocket. It looks like a pager. “This will be used to log my hours. When I start the job I will start the timer.” Andrew presses a button. “When I finish the job, I will stop the timer.” He presses another button.

Claire’s head swirls with information. Who says Andrew Harris is even competent?

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?” asks Andrew.

Claire shakes her head. “Good.” Andrew rises to his feet. “You have a lunch date at Cho’s.”

“The police told me to stay away from the places I used to frequent.”

“A good safety tip. Retreat, find shelter from the unknown.” Andrew slips the notepad back into his pants pocket and the pen back into his jacket. “That's when you're trying to hide. Now we’re trying to trap. To trap, we need to lay bait.”

***

Andrew fits a listening device into Claire’s ear. “You will be able to hear me with this,” he says. “Whatever instructions I give you while you have this in, you have to follow it.”

Claire nods.

“Go ahead. Sit at your usual table. Have your usual.” Andrew steadies Claire by holding her shoulders. “Don’t worry. I will have eyes on you the entire time.”

Claire is ushered to her table by Beth. Beth is a bubbly strawberry blonde. Her voice and her movements are too animated; they make Claire feel even more on edge.

“Is Sue here?” Claire asks.

“Sue isn’t on shift.” Beth’s animation hasn’t dwindled. “I will be happy to take care of you as well as Sue normally does.” Beth smiles, which somehow makes the exchange worse.

“I’ll have my usual.”

“I will let the kitchen know.”

“The truffle salad,” adds Claire. Beth’s face looked pained when Claire mentioned her usual. It's the only time Beth lost her some of her excitement. Beth clearly didn’t know Claire’s usual.

Relax, Andrew says in her ear. Ask about the bartender.

Beth turns to leave.

“The bartender, is he here?”

“Which one?”

“I don’ know his name,” Claire says. “He’s about your height…” She extends her hand a few inches over her head. “Tan. Hair shaved a little and the sides.” Claire uses the tips of her fingers to indicate where. “Coiffed at the top. Brushed to the right. And he has a tattoo of a musical note on his forearm.”

I’m impressed.

Claire starts. She forgot Andrew was listening in, forgot that he was the one who told her to ask about…

“Jimmy,” Beth says. “Her face lights up with an epiphany. “I started last week. I’m still getting the names sorted. But that bartender is definitely Jimmy.” Beth tightens her brow. “Jimmy is off today…but I can relay a message to him.”

“No need.”

“Okay. I’ll get you that salad, Ms. White.”

CLaire munches on her salad in silence. She knows Andrew is still there because occasionally she hears him breathing. He encourages Claire to wait to collect the check after she has finished her salad.

“This is suspicious behavior,” Claire protests.

Humor me. Andrew disappears again. A few minutes later he returns, talking into her ear. You can wrap this up, Ms. White.

“Did you get anything?”

Not this time. As I said, these things take time.