Shitake Happens: (A Shitake Mystery Series Prequel) by Patricia Mason
Authors: Patricia Mason
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It Keeps Getting Shitakier
Oncoming headlights flashed in Mo's eyes, causing her to shield her face with one hand as she hunched over the car's steering wheel. Fortunately, her Mini Cooper was in park and the brief moment of blindness didn't cause an accident, only a spike in her already splitting headache.
The approaching car passed by and continued down the suburban street, not even hesitating in front of the home of her private investigation target: one Dewly Hawkins. She'd seen Hawkins enter the cookie-cutter, one-story ranch an hour ago. If the pattern of the last three nights continued, his wife would be home at any moment from her shift as a nurse at the local hospital. Being spotted by Mrs. Hawkins could compromise the stakeout.
The taillights of the passing car had just disappeared when the Mini's passenger door opened, causing the dome light to switch on.
"Hurry up," she ordered.
Clarence climbed in, plopped onto the seat and slammed the door shut. Almost simultaneously, a red blob appeared and began to blossom into a stain just over her right breast. A French fry from the pack in Clarence's hand had popped out, hit her chest and now lay in her lap.
"Shitake mushroom," she swore, jerking back. "Can't you keep that food on your side of the car?"
Giving up obscenities really limited a girl's options for appropriate outrage, she thought as she tossed the fry out the window. At one time, multiple F bombs would have tumbled from her mouth. But then Harry, her boss, had insisted the clients of the PI agency expected more gentility. After all, Savannah, Georgia, was in the old South where manners were important. Since Mo needed this job until she could afford to go back to culinary school, she'd had to figure out a way to satisfy Harry. Abandoning her beloved swear words had been difficult at first, but now the food substitutes were automatic.
"Sorry, Imogene," Clarence said, shifting in the passenger seat before stuffing a glop laden fry into his mouth. He chewed and then reached for the seat belt over his shoulder.
"Call me Mo. And you're dead if you get that ketchup on my new car interior." She tapped the purse wedged between them, next to the long-lens camera. "Remember, I'm carrying."
Her Kel-Tec .380 pistol was in the trunk, but he didn't need to know that.
Clarence swallowed in a gulp, hesitated, and then reached inside the white paper fast-food sack on his lap. Pulling out a napkin, he eyed her with an uneasy gaze as he wiped his hands before reaching toward the belt again.
"Why are you buckling up?" she asked. "We're on a stakeout. We're sitting still."
"Oh yeah, right," he mumbled, letting go of the buckle, leaving it to snap back into place.
Shaking her head, Mo wished for the umpteenth time she hadn't agreed to let him come tonight. But Harry had insisted they start training the receptionist for field operations so he could do double duty. Harry wanted maximum value out of every employee.
Mo suspected Harry wouldn't be nearly as interested in Clarence if he weren't an ultra-cute, slightly geeky, twenty-two year old. Mo at thirty wasn't old enough to be his mother but she felt like it sometimes. Since watching a suspected insurance fraud was low-risk, boring duty, Harry had thought it would be a perfect opportunity to give Clarence a chance as an operative.
Yeah. Low risk except to Mo's wardrobe...and her patience.
They'd been parked here since 7 p.m. and in the last three hours Clarence had made a run to the nearby gas station for a bathroom break, a run to the store for a magazine, and a run to McDonalds for food. His singular goal seemed to be to irritate Mo. As if to emphasize the point, her hapless companion stuffed another handful of fries into his face and began chewing with his mouth half open.
She glanced down at her chest with a meaningful arch to one brow and then pinned him with a glare.
"Whaaaa?" he asked mid-chew.
"Can I have a napkin?" She resisted an eye roll and
Oncoming headlights flashed in Mo's eyes, causing her to shield her face with one hand as she hunched over the car's steering wheel. Fortunately, her Mini Cooper was in park and the brief moment of blindness didn't cause an accident, only a spike in her already splitting headache.
The approaching car passed by and continued down the suburban street, not even hesitating in front of the home of her private investigation target: one Dewly Hawkins. She'd seen Hawkins enter the cookie-cutter, one-story ranch an hour ago. If the pattern of the last three nights continued, his wife would be home at any moment from her shift as a nurse at the local hospital. Being spotted by Mrs. Hawkins could compromise the stakeout.
The taillights of the passing car had just disappeared when the Mini's passenger door opened, causing the dome light to switch on.
"Hurry up," she ordered.
Clarence climbed in, plopped onto the seat and slammed the door shut. Almost simultaneously, a red blob appeared and began to blossom into a stain just over her right breast. A French fry from the pack in Clarence's hand had popped out, hit her chest and now lay in her lap.
"Shitake mushroom," she swore, jerking back. "Can't you keep that food on your side of the car?"
Giving up obscenities really limited a girl's options for appropriate outrage, she thought as she tossed the fry out the window. At one time, multiple F bombs would have tumbled from her mouth. But then Harry, her boss, had insisted the clients of the PI agency expected more gentility. After all, Savannah, Georgia, was in the old South where manners were important. Since Mo needed this job until she could afford to go back to culinary school, she'd had to figure out a way to satisfy Harry. Abandoning her beloved swear words had been difficult at first, but now the food substitutes were automatic.
"Sorry, Imogene," Clarence said, shifting in the passenger seat before stuffing a glop laden fry into his mouth. He chewed and then reached for the seat belt over his shoulder.
"Call me Mo. And you're dead if you get that ketchup on my new car interior." She tapped the purse wedged between them, next to the long-lens camera. "Remember, I'm carrying."
Her Kel-Tec .380 pistol was in the trunk, but he didn't need to know that.
Clarence swallowed in a gulp, hesitated, and then reached inside the white paper fast-food sack on his lap. Pulling out a napkin, he eyed her with an uneasy gaze as he wiped his hands before reaching toward the belt again.
"Why are you buckling up?" she asked. "We're on a stakeout. We're sitting still."
"Oh yeah, right," he mumbled, letting go of the buckle, leaving it to snap back into place.
Shaking her head, Mo wished for the umpteenth time she hadn't agreed to let him come tonight. But Harry had insisted they start training the receptionist for field operations so he could do double duty. Harry wanted maximum value out of every employee.
Mo suspected Harry wouldn't be nearly as interested in Clarence if he weren't an ultra-cute, slightly geeky, twenty-two year old. Mo at thirty wasn't old enough to be his mother but she felt like it sometimes. Since watching a suspected insurance fraud was low-risk, boring duty, Harry had thought it would be a perfect opportunity to give Clarence a chance as an operative.
Yeah. Low risk except to Mo's wardrobe...and her patience.
They'd been parked here since 7 p.m. and in the last three hours Clarence had made a run to the nearby gas station for a bathroom break, a run to the store for a magazine, and a run to McDonalds for food. His singular goal seemed to be to irritate Mo. As if to emphasize the point, her hapless companion stuffed another handful of fries into his face and began chewing with his mouth half open.
She glanced down at her chest with a meaningful arch to one brow and then pinned him with a glare.
"Whaaaa?" he asked mid-chew.
"Can I have a napkin?" She resisted an eye roll and
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