Chapter 36

Boxford Agency

Like Dunny Sting, Renner was loaded. He sat across from me at my desk, looked dazed, and mumbled, “You know I’ve had a liquid lunch, right?”

The man was handsome and sexy for all the right reasons, but this afternoon he looked like cow dung. He hadn’t shaved, half-moons hung under his eyes, and his clothes smelled of body odor.

“Renner, what have you done to yourself?” I inquired, getting ready to phone my sister and tell her that her husband was plastered and in my office.

He ignored my question (many people did those days, probably because I was a private investigator), and said, “I came on bees’ nest.”

“Bees’ nest?” I questioned, feeling bad for his ass, knowing that something critical had occurred in his life with my sister, which I would help the both of them with, since I was related.

He laughed. “Business. I came on business,” he corrected himself.