Deceived (Kelly Pruett Mysteries, Book 3) by Mary Keliikoa
About Deceived:
PI Kelly Pruett finally feels like she's coming into her own. With her personal life well on track, a gig uncovering what drove a client's granddaughter underground could be good for business. But after her undercover operation at the homeless shelter reveals rampant drug dealing, she's suddenly kicked off the case... just as another girl goes missing.
Vowing to expose the truth even if it means pro-bono work, Kelly is taken aback when her half-sister helps her hunt down answers in a tent city brimming with distrust. When her investigation doesn't move quickly enough to save a second woman from a vicious murder, Kelly doubles her efforts unwilling to accept defeat.
Excerpt:
After years of yearning for my father’s approval—doing everything in my power to have him acknowledge that I was capable in the detecting department—I was finally “one of the boys.” If only he were around to see it.
Don’t get me wrong, I was Mitz’s mom, and Kyle’s girlfriend—and my own best advocate—but PI work is often considered “guys work.” So, to get a call from Bernie Sokol about “a delicate matter which requires a pro” was validating—although not a complete surprise.
Bernie’s firm had been a longtime client of R&K Investigations. My dad had been called to Bernie’s home many times over the years to handle cases for him, but most of the work I did came from his assistant in the form of serving documents. This call had come direct from Bernie to me, and that said he had more than process serving on his mind. Now I was cruising through his well-to-do neighborhood, with its McMansions, heated pools and security systems, after dropping Mitz off at school.
Raindrops laced with snow dripped from the gray January sky, and my droopy-eyed and musky smelling friend, Floyd, lay curled in a ball on the passenger seat. I came upon Bernie Sokol’s S emblazoned wrought iron gate fast and skidded into the driveway, hoping the four million cameras hadn’t caught my less-than-graceful arrival. I hadn’t mastered my new-to- me Ford Focus, purchased after my Triumph Spitfire had an ending that rivaled an installment of Fast & Furious. Easing up the circular drive, I parked under the wide columned portico. A valet dashing out to greet me wouldn’t have felt out of place.
It was a good thing I’d dressed for the occasion, opting for black pants and a white blouse instead of my usual grey Nike warmup jacket and blue jeans. I was the CEO of my own agency now—time to act like it. I ran a hand over Floyd’s bony head and down one of his long ears, ignoring the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
“Back in a jiff,” I said.
More than a decade younger than my thirty-two years, a girl dressed in grey sweats answered the door. She had light freckles across her upturned nose and had a baby boy in blue-footed PJs perched on her hip. He pulled on the long blonde braid she’d thrown over her shoulder.
“Mrs. Sokol?” I asked. I’d never known much about Bernie’s family life other than what his assistant, Carla, had shared. Word was he’d traded in his first wife, Katherine, who had forty years of marriage on the clock.
The girl rolled her eyes so hard they almost disappeared into their sockets. “Yeah, no. I’m Morgan.” She tilted her head and yelled. “Mom.” She turned back to me. “She prefers Candy Appleton, by the way.”
My face flushed at the misstep, even as I wondered if the child on Morgan’s hip was her son or her half-brother. I was afraid to ask. The kid coughed, sounding croupy. Morgan rocked him and kissed him, patting his back. “Bad cold,” she said.
The real Mrs. Sokol, or Ms. Appleton as I’d been informed, jogged out from a back room of the house dressed in hot pink stretch pants, pink sparkle sports bra, and black heels. She’d pulled her red hair into a messy bun that sat on top of her head like a giant tarantula. Large hoop earrings hung from her ears.
Her bracelets jingled with each step, and her five-carat ring shot shimmers of rainbow colors around the foyer. “Morgan, don’t be rude. Let the lady in,” she directed.
Morgan huffed and stepped aside so I could enter the marble foyer that divided two living spaces. To my right, low slung couches, and sleek, modern lines; to the left, French provincial, matching the furniture I’d seen at Baumgartner & Sokol’s offices—a house divided, not just by age, but by taste—or lack thereof. I checked myself. She was Bernie’s wife, and I’d done enough sneaking around in bushes and peering through windows to be aware that wives often knew what was happening in their husband’s lives long before they hired me. I couldn’t alienate her.
Ms. Appleton smiled with her blinding white teeth. “You making a delivery?”
“No, ma’am. I have an appointment with Mr. Sokol.”
“Oh, God, don’t call me ma’am. I’m only forty-nine.”
“And a young forty-nine at that. Right, grandma?” Morgan bounced the baby on her hip.
Candy smiled, but her jaw flinched. “Honey, show the lady up to your dad’s office.”
“Dad?” Morgan said.
“The man pays for your education. Show a little gratitude. It’s the least you could do.”
Morgan met my eye, her mouth held in a tight curve. “Follow me.”
I wasn’t the only one with the occasionally strained family relations—except I didn’t have to live with my ex, Jeff, or his mother, Arlene, who happened to be my neighbor. But Bernie’s new wife was an interesting choice, and given the amount of jewelry and education he sprung for, I wondered if Candy was in it for more than love.
We climbed the grand staircase, red oriental carpet running up the middle cushioning our footsteps, while I made scrunchy faces at the little guy on Morgan’s hip. He mimicked them back at me.
“Your son’s a cutie. What’s his name?” I said.
“Thomas, but we call him bubbles because he likes it when I blow bubbles into my soda with a straw. Don’t we, bubbles?” She rubbed her nose on his and the kid burbled right back at his mom, pulling her braid harder.
I missed those years when they were focused so tightly on every action; a sound could get a giggle. My mom had a thing she did with spoons and a piece of aluminum foil that used to crack me up when I was a toddler— that’s what my dad had told me—but I couldn’t think about that. I was here on a matter of business, not a walk down memory lane.
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About Mary Keliikoa:
MARY KELIIKOA is the author of the award nominated PI Kelly Pruett mystery series and the upcoming Misty Pines mystery series featuring Sheriff Jax Turner slated for release in September 2022. She has had mystery shorts published in Woman’s World and in the anthology Peace, Love, and Crime: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of the ’60s. She spent the first 18 years of her adult life working around lawyers. Combining her love of all things legal and books, she creates twisting mysteries where justice prevails.
At home in Washington, she enjoys spending time with her family and her fur-kids. When not at home, you can find Mary on a beach on the Big Island where she and her husband recharge. But even under the palm trees and blazing sun she’s plotting her next murder—novel that is. To learn more about Mary’s life and work, please visit: https://marykeliikoa.com/
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