Page 26 of Cowboy's Way

“Yourhusband?” The third man looks surprised, and it’s becoming apparent that they know exactly who I am.

“Um, ex. He passed,” I blurt out the truth and instantly want to curse myself for not remembering to lie.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the older man stares gravely at me as the bells above the door announce a new arrival. “Demo.”

“Who died?” Demo asks, looking at the other man.

“The young lady’s husband.”

“Did he now?” In the split second before he schools his face, I see something close to suspicion in his eyes and my stomach starts to churn.

These men are all licensed private investigators and bondsmen. I would imagine they keep mental files on everyone they get to know, and now I’m on their radar.

“Anything else?” Walt asks, placing my plate in front of me and sliding the caddy of condiments closer.

“You don’t happen to know anyone who’s hiring, do you?”

“What are you looking to do?” he asks, knitting his eyebrows together.

I bite my bottom lip, embarrassed to admit my lack of any work experience in front of the other customers, and focus on assembling my breakfast.

“I’m a fast learner and really organized,” I tell him before taking a large bite out of my French toast, egg, bacon, and hash brown taco.

“How are you with computers?” Demo thankfully interjects as I furiously try to articulate any other skills I might, unknowingly, have. “You know all the basic programs, at least, right?”

“Yes,” I eagerly answer, happy to realize I have a third skill to add when recommending myself.

“When can you start?” he asks and I frown at him, wondering if he’s asking that question in general or if he actually has a job in mind for me.

I may have gotten a little ahead of myself.I don’t necessarily want to start working today, but I don’t want to appear ungrateful, either.

Taking another bite, I concentrate on my breakfast for a moment, trying to buy myself some time.

“I suppose it would depend on the position and what would be needed to prepare,” I hesitantly reply.

“We need someone to answer calls and help track expenses, just basic bookkeeping, really. There’s a whole system in place, whether people are calling for a bail bond or investigative work. You just read from a list of questions and then assign the job to whoever’s available.”

“And the bookkeeping?” I ask him, not sure how in depth that would get.

“Nickel handles the books, but, well, like these two bozos just got back from a job,” he replies, indicating the older man and the large guy with his chin. “So, they give you an envelope with all their receipts—breakfast, lunch, dinner, motel, gas, all that shit—and you just put it into Excel and send it to Nickel.”

“Where would I work?”

“There’s an office at the clubhouse. Thea, she gave herself the title of office manager, had the position for nearly three years, but she moved a month ago and things have been piling up. Pay is fair and the hours are flexible. There’s a two-month probation period to see if you like the job and we’ll see if you can handle everything, and then I’ll add you to our insurance plan.”

“I accept.”

I’m not sure who’s more surprised by my answer, Walt, Demo, or me. This might end up being a horrible idea, but if a job falls into my lap, I think I’d be an idiot not to take it.

“There’s some paperwork I’ll need you to fill out,” Demo tells me, motioning to Walt for more coffee. Even though I’m stuffing my face, I don’t miss the look he and the older man share. “Because of our business, we have to run a background check on you.”

“Sure thing,” I say without hesitation, pretending not to notice that flicker in his eyes as he constantly catalogs my reactions and reassesses me.

My childhood was anything but normal, but the one absolute certainty I have long had is thatmybackground check won’t turn up a damn thing. Nor will it raise any red flags, or at least any that can’t be readily explained.

Faith Murphy has had a perfectly ordinary life. She even was on the lease of a rental apartment in Vegas for a couple of years. I let out a sigh as I start to feel full from my meal. Now ifAngelacould just get with the program and stop blowing her cover with slip ups like a dead husband, I might just live another year.

“I need to run a couple of errands down in Seneca today, but I can stop by afterward. Oh! I don’t know how to get to your clubhouse.”

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