Home Sweet Home

Happy New Year all. The love and support is overwhelming, and we reached 600 followers this year. Here's to another great year, hoping to reach 700 by the end of it.

I'm about halfway done with the next detective story, hoping to have it out by the end of February.

I'd like to thank Lastman for the proofreading and his letting me pick his brain. Sometimes things only sound good in your own head.

--

Diana had to leave work an hour early to make her meeting with Odette O'Hara. The private investigator had forewarning of her call, which expedited the conversation to merely deciding a time and place to meet. Diana suggested Odette's office, but she didn't operate in that manner. In fact, when Diana did a search for her on the internet, she didn't find one mention of her. No social media, no LinkedIn, no official website. Diana could have bent some rules and used law enforcement data bases but decided it best to leave no trail linking the two of them. Physical or digital.

Odette sent her an address to meet. Diana put it into her phone, and discovered it was a pub roughly halfway between Ferry Grove and Chicago, and right off the tracks. A mere half-hour on the Metra at the Parrington stop. Diana was at work when she received the address, so went home early to change and catch the train. Whitney traveled to Chicago with her friends at least once a month and had a Metra card, so Diana borrowed it before leaving.

During the train ride, Diana's mind drifted to Riley suddenly having to fly to Savannah Georgia. On their second date, he did say he might have to go there, but that wouldn't be until August at the earliest. It was still April, but he was gone regardless. She already missed him. She surprised herself when the pain of his absence made her somewhat happy. Not that he was gone, but that she had someone in her life that could make her feel that way.

Riley had sent one text early in the morning, saying he was about to have breakfast with someone important to the TV show based off his book series. Diana tried to remember the word he used and opened her messages to read it again, like she had a dozen times that day thinking she might have missed a message from him.

Showrunner.

She didn't know what that meant, but it sounded straight forward. He runs the show. Or something.

The intercom system said Parrington was the next stop. Diana readied her purse and moved to the door as the train slowed to a stop. It had been over a year since the last time she rode the Metra, so she didn't prepare herself for that last second jolt forward that could easily take you off balance. Thankfully, she was holding a pole and managed to stay upright.

Diana checked her phone for walking directions to the pub.

McCoy's Irish Pub

was only a three-minute walk. Just walk across the street from the tracks and one block down. She sent a text message as she walked in to find Odette. It looked like any other pub she had ever been in. A bar with high backed stools with booths at the side and standing tables. Televisions behind the bar permanently displaying sports. Wednesday at five in the evening did not appear to be rush hour. In total she counted five patrons besides herself, and four of them were men. That narrowed it down the woman currently reading a message on her phone, followed by her turning to the door.

Diana mouthed '

Odette?'

the best she could and received an uncommitted nod in reply. She excused herself past the hostess and walked across the pub to the woman in a raised booth at a circular table.

"Odette?" Diana asked aloud when she was close enough to be heard.

"Diana?" Odette asked. They both nodded to each other, so Diana slid into the booth across from her.

Odette did not look like an investigator of any kind. Dressed in high waisted mom jeans, a windbreaker jacket, and a hat for Alabama that said

Roll Tide

with her pony tail out the back. She appeared the same age as Diana in her mid-forties. Lightly freckled nose, and only wore eye shadow, giving her already dark eyes an alluring smolder.

"You are a hard person to find," Diana said after situating herself.

"Impossible to find is more like it. I work on a referral basis only," Odette with a strong southern accent. The Alabama hat made sense now.

"I noticed. I like to research who I hire. Couldn't do that with you. Mind if I start with your credentials?" Diana asked. Odette took a sip of her straight bourbon and gestured for her to go ahead. "Former investigator?"

"Military and civilian. Army CID from 1996 to 2000. Went back home, was a cop in Montgomery from 2001 to 2010, then followed my first ex-husband to Chicago where I was a detective until 2015. Property Crime mostly, forty percent close rate, which is good for property. After that I went private. Been private for five years," Odette explained.

Diana nodded along, and asked about the husbands. "Three failed marriages. Love getting divorced as much as I love being married."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"All my fault. All three. First one, we just weren't compatible," Odette said with a grin.

"What about the other two?"

"Couldn't stop sleeping with the first," Odette said, Diana's laugh making her laugh as well. "I'm honestly thinking about a fourth try. I ain't a quitter."

"At least you're on the scoreboard," Diana said, and Odette shrugged. "Why the privacy?"

"Why not?" Odette asked.

"Business traffic for one."

"It allows me to pick my clients, not the other way around. Most of PI business is chasing husbands around, and I got tired of that sad shit. I hated snapping pictures of married men having their midlife crisis with teenagers."

"Wasn't Riley an infidelity client?" Diana asked.

"I don't discuss other clients, but Riley was paying good and watching a wife suck that many dicks, it was pretty inspiring," Odette said while shaking her head. "I want someone to look at me the same way that woman looked at a stranger's cock."

Diana didn't know how to respond to that.

"Anyway," Odette said, then finished her drink. "What's the reason you called? I don't like foreplay. Get a drink, and let's get to business."

Diana tried to order water, but some nudging from Odette who hated drinking alone got her to order beer from tap. After the first sip, she explained David Fitzgerald. Just talking about the man turned one drink into three within a half hour.

"I have to sit down with this man and get his side of the story. At first, he's saying it didn't happen, but when I start dropping receipts from the woman who filed the complaint, it turns into a consensual affair. The sonofabitch is already on oath under penalty with the different story. Does the review board care?" Diana says once the alcohol lubricated her appetite for discussion.

"Oh hell no," Odette says while shaking her head. "Who would have imagined a room with that many dicks, would have so many pussies."

"Then he makes a pass at me, and I quote, 'It was consensual. As consensual as you and I at five o'clock tonight'," Diana says, reaching her hand across the table and touching Odette's to demonstrate.

"I'd pull a gun on him," Odette said.

"I wanted to," Diana said, then slid her hand back. "I was still admin Sergeant at that point."

"What exactly do you want me to find? Or think I will?" Odette asked.

"I don't know exactly," Diana admitted. "I'm a little desperate to stop this man from destroying my department. Obviously, the investigation is off limits, and only a few of the women will talk."

"Why is it off limits?" Odette asked.

"It's sealed by court order," Diana explained.

"Get it unsealed," Odette suggested. "Know anyone in the SAs office? Accidents happen."

"That's...very..." Diana said, trying to find words.

"...very Chicago. People forget Obama won his Senate race when an opponent's divorce was unsealed. Welcome to the windy city. You can't tell me you're desperate and then take that off the table. I've been working PI for defense more than prosecution, so believe me, I don't have friends in the SAs office."

Diana mulled the idea around in her head. Cook County was the board who oversaw the investigation on David Fitzgerald, so they would have the records. She tried to think if she knew anyone in the Office of the Cook County State's Attorney. It functioned the same as a District Attorney's office. She almost groaned aloud when she realized she did know someone.

"I might know someone there," Diana said, to keep the conversation alive. "Besides that, what're my options. What else would you look for?"

"Money," Odette said as a matter of fact. "You say he's a fixer. He makes problems go away. What does he get in return? Something translates monetarily, I guarantee it. It might not be obvious. IPO tips. Access to the right people. Foreknowledge of property development. Cash isn't the only way to pay someone."

"Let's say I hire you. What are your billable hours?" Diana asked.

"Riley said he has my bill."

"Riley isn't hiring you. I am," Diana said, and repeated the question.

"$3,000 now for retainer, you'll get most of that back when I'm done. $300 an hour. The retainer covers my incidentals. You still hiring me?" Odette asked. It didn't matter to her who paid.

Diana wondered if her pride could take the hit better than her pocketbook. After a brief contemplation, she asked about payment methods.

--

Riley typed a message to Diana as he left his hotel room.

Meeting the Showrunner for breakfast

. He tucked his phone into his pocket and walked down the hall to take the stairs to the lobby of the Marshall House Inn, one of the most historic hotels in Savannah. It was also considered one of the most haunted hotels in the country.

Marshall House was a hospital during the civil war and was host to two yellow fever epidemics. The history of sick and death made it highly conducive to stories of haunts and ghosts. Children ran down the halls at night, but when guests open the door to yell at them, no children are there. Faucets turned on, on their own. Ghosts walked the foyers.

Riley had made reservations at the 45 Bistro, a restaurant attached to the Inn. He declined bar seating by the hostess who directed him to a circular table with a vase filled with white daisies in the center. Riley ordered coffee and then checked his phone. The showrunner hadn't sent anything since acknowledging their breakfast meeting. He had almost finished his first cup when the showrunner arrived.

"Riley?" a man asked after stopping in front of the table. Riley put his phone on the table and stood up to greet him. "Alvin Sinclair."

Alvin Sinclair was not what most people imagined an in-demand television producer would look like. He didn't wear suits if he could help it. For this meeting with Riley to hopefully save a show, he wore white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up shirt. He wore sandals without socks. He had boyish good looks accented by blonde peach fuzz.

Alvin had established a reputation as the Renaissance Producer. If a show had hit a creative speed bump or was faltering in their ratings, the person to call was Alvin Sinclair. His specialty was for revitalizing shows in their later seasons and bringing them back from the dead. Shattered Cross was his first attempt at starting a show from the ground up. He had quickly learned taking over an established IP was not the same as starting one from scratch.

"Nice to finally meet you in person," Riley said as they shook hands. He gestured to the chair across from. "Have a seat." Alvin took a seat and ordered a mimosa.

"The man himself. You always been such a hermit?" Alvin asked.

"Not really. I've just been busy the last year. Got divorced just in time for a show to start development. Who owned the thing was somehow up for debate," Riley said. "Where is the show right now?"

"Stalled. When Lillard dropped, there was panic selling. When the casting director quit, some people went with him. The director of the pilot walked away in solidarity, and the director was why Lillard wanted on in the first place. Getting a full primary cast on contract will go a long way to revive confidence in the project and start attracting some directors to it."

"Okay. Get someone on contract," Riley said.

"Someone needs to want the part, but they also must have the talent to carry a show. Your initial wish list dried up. Some actors don't like the schedules. Some don't want the commitment for a television show because the initial contract is two seasons. A couple are still protesting filming in Georgia because of the abortion shit. You still against moving the setting to Louisiana because that can open a few people," Alvin said, this being the third time he had made the recommendation in the last six months. New Orleans being a little cheaper to film was Alvin's primary motivation for that suggestion.

"I've told you; Louisiana has a very particular ascetic. If we have a supernatural show set in New Orleans, we'd have to incorporate hoodoo mythology. I'm not saying I wouldn't watch that show, I'm just saying it wouldn't be Shattered Cross," Riley explained.

"Cynthia, the new casting director, the old one's assistant, she's already putting out calls for Timothy Augustine. Hard to convince top line talent to come in when word on the street is, they'd be signing a waste of time. They can't look for work while waiting for filming that will never come, and then not get paid for their time. No way in hell is the studio going to greenlight pay for play contracts with actors with so much uncertainty," Alvin said. His drink arrived, and he took a moment to enjoy a sip of it. "Are you willing to open up casting?"

"In what way?"

"Age for one. Does Augustine need to be sixty?"

"He's fifty-eight in the first book."

"Rounded up, whatever. Does he?"

"He's a Korean War veteran. It throws off the timeline for him not to be. Especially if this is set in 1992," Riley said. Even Alvin couldn't argue the setting, considering the amount of money having been spent to replicate the time period.

"Then we move the timeline. He's a late thirties Vietnam vet."

"Who then also wasn't a Pinkerton Agent for ten years and in an asylum for five because he'd be too young to also be an agent of the Cross for twenty-five years," Riley said. Alvin took another drink and put it on the table loudly. It sounded like he nearly broke the glass.

"Fine, he's sixty, and you won't budge. Can you think of an in-universe reason why he's sixty without us having to cast an age accurate actor?" Alvin asked. Riley started to shake his head but remembered something Alice had suggested.

"Okay, how about Timothy Augustine looks young but is still older, because of the little maiden," Riley said. Alvin postured to suggest he was all ears. "The little maiden is an immortal witch, and her soul has made Timothy age slower."

"A few off handed remarks about him not looking his age. A wink and nod for the fans. Suggest but not say outright. That's an easy rewrite. That's just page notes. Can I run with that because Aaron Westland is still interested in the role," Alvin said. He did like the idea, but it was mostly the excuse to get an actor attached to the show.

"Who is that?"

"Who is...you shortlisted him yourself."

"Oh...the guy who was too young?" Riley asked, and Alvin nodded like he was an idiot. Riley did like his audition except for the fact he was early thirties. "What's he done?"

"He just wrapped up a show on Freeform last year. Former teen model who bounced around the CW circuit in supporting roles. He is hungry to rebrand. Get away from his YA demographic," he said. Something told Riley that Aaron didn't know what the strongest demographic of Shatter Cross's book sales was. He was certain Alvin wouldn't tell him.

"A thirty something teen heartthrob as my late fifties paranormal investigator?" Riley asked.

"Fanboys poo pooed Ledger and Phoenix before they played the Joker. Both won an Oscar and grossed a billion. The Emmy's became the Bryan Cranston awards for five years from of a role he almost didn't get because he was just a comedian."

"I get the point, judge the performance when I see it," Riley said. "How soon can we get him on contract?"

"Not that easy. He's a hard sell to executives."

"Aren't you the showrunner?"

"I'm just the guy someone hired to create a show. My opinions only move as far as their money allows them to. If their money says Aaron Westland is too risky, then we're fucked."

"You have a number for him?"

"I don't, but Cynthia would."

"Is he LA based?" Riley asked.

"Should be. He did an in-person audition. Why? You got an idea?"

"I might," Riley said, then tried to think of the idea he knew Alvin thought he already had. "What about...we...um..."

"...what?" Alvin asked.

"...we...we do what we did with Grace. Get his audition out there," Riley said.

"Grace was bottled lightning. We won't get that level again. But I like your instincts, and she might be able to help. How about we get them in a room together for a script read?"

"What's a script read?" Riley asked.

"They sit in a room and read a script. What the fuck do you think it is?"

"Let's roll some dice," Riley said. He picked up his phone from the table and scrolled through his recent calls to find Grace Weatherby's phone number. "I got Grace's number if you can get in touch with Aaron. Shoot for later today?"

"Today? LA is at least a five-hour flight."

"I can get Grace there if you can get Aaron."

"I don't doubt that. I was talking about flight logistics."

"It's just after nine here, call it three hours to get to the airport, five to fly, and I lose three hours in the air. I can get there before five. Keep working the ground game here," Riley said, and started looking for last minute flights to LA. "I'll get Debra in the loop. Get the actors ready to read before I land. Debra will fill me in once I touch down."

"Assuming a flight is available of course, but you're actually serious? Alright, fuck it. A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week," Alvin said. Unlike Riley he stayed in his seat and scrolled his phone with one hand and held the mimosa with the other.

"Who said that?" Riley asked while pulling out his wallet to pay. That sounded like a quote to him.

"Patton. I'll pay for breakfast. I'm staying to enjoy it after all."

"Thanks. We gotta show to save," Riley said and patted Alvin's shoulder as he walked away with his phone to his ear.

--

Diana took the train the rest of the way to Chicago shortly after her meeting with Odette O'Hara. It wasn't long after sitting on the train she felt Odette's insistence of her drinking was to loosen her wallet more than anything. $3000 dollars later. She hoped when the alcohol was out of her system, her sobriety would allow her pride to let Riley handle her bill after all.

"He's not a piggy bank," Diana said.

"What?" asked the man sitting across from her. Diana hadn't realized she said that out loud. To save face, she pointed to her ear, hoping she had enough hair to make him assume she had wireless ear buds. Thankfully, the man just nodded and looked down at his phone.

'He's not a piggy bank,' Diana said, this time to just herself.

Diana pondered the thought of what her boyfriend being wealthy meant for her. While he was generous all on his own, Diana was trying her hardest to keep him and his money separate. It didn't stop her from thinking about what she'd do if he offered to pay for Whitney's college. Or if he wanted to take her on vacation. Something about a man using money, had always stuck into her like a thorn. Her mother looked the other way because the men had money. Not much, but enough. To her mother, her daughters were worth whatever the rent was. Riley wasn't at all like those men, but her history still made her weary of men who offered to pay, because everyone eventually wanted something in return.