No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) Read Free Page A

television showing his dog in a local dog show.”
A trust that finances private investigators was set up in Cisco’s name by Elmer Herschel, the landlord of the apartment complex where the Medinas lived. When interviewed by the Sentinel, Herschel stated, “I’m shocked the grandparents skipped town. They were a nice couple, but I guess everyone has secrets.”
According to the authorities, even if the child surfaces with his grandparents, guardians are required to check in with Child Services and the Medinas are in violation of that agreement. Any information you may have, please contact the Orange County’s Police Department or the Orlando Sentinel at 407-555-1234 or by email at [email protected] .

    I grabbed another pickle and washed it down with a Coke while I wondered where Cisco was. An incorrigible snoop, I could sniff out the biggest stories that professionals couldn’t catch a whiff of even if right under their noses. That’s the main reason Eddie Lopez nearly murdered me. When I found a dead body in a dumpster near school, I discovered a local gang was involved and bravely—or moronically—called them on it. Problem was, Eddie wound up being the actual murderer, and I didn’t even know she belonged to the group … she basically sucker punched me. She didn’t just sucker punch me, though; she nearly killed our assistant principal whose recovery had been brutal.
    But should I get involved with Cisco Medina? For God’s sake, it sounded like a job for the Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines. Still, for some insanely, idiotic reason I couldn’t let it go, although I knew nothing apart from a few paragraphs in an online newspaper and had only two weeks to work with.
    A smart person would leave the job to the professionals; a dumb person wouldn’t know enough to care; an idiot would contact the newspaper and … lie.
    This wasn’t exactly what I’d call a good life-choice, but the longer Cisco was unaccounted for, the colder the trail got. The colder the trail got, the more he’d be relegated to a cold case file. Cold case files were essentially when the authorities folded, or Destiny said it’s not the time to right your particular wrong.
    Been there. Done that. Sucked.
    I fired up my email account and typed a few sentences, changed my mind, and decided for a more direct approach. Thumbing the digits for The Orlando Sentinel into the house phone, after four rings, an overworked voice answered. “Troy here,” he muttered. “Make it front page or go away.”
    I stood up straight, finding my big-girl voice. “Hello, I have a lead in the Cisco Medina case.”
    A sweat mustache instantly formed over my lip. “Is that right?” he chuckled. “Well, sweetie, no one’s had a lead on Cisco Medina for months.”
    “Well, I do,” I lied. “And don’t call me sweetie.”
    Rustling paper, amidst sidesplitting laughter. “You don’t like sweetie, huh? How about babe?”
    “Listen, dude, are you sexist?”

    “Who me?” he mocked, his voice innocent. “ Nooooo , I love women.”
    “Sure feels like you’re sexist to me. Just because I have ovaries, it doesn’t mean I can’t hang with the boys.” My God, I needed to shut up.
    “Okay, Miss Ovaries. If you can find Cisco Medina, then you’re the Messiah I’ve been waiting for. My boss just called me ‘a frigging dipwad.’ Don’t make me die a frigging dipwad, babe.”
    “Well, I’m better than a frigging dip wad,” I said confidently.
    Whatever that was.
    My cell phone blasted, I got spooked, and butter-fingered the phone off into never-never land. When I lunged for the receiver, my hand guiltily knocked over the pickle jar. Pawing at the air, I quickly grabbed my laptop and set it off to the side. Unfortunately, I toppled the jar again, and juice splashed me in the face like Orcas attacking a herd of seals. Watching the liquid ripple across the countertop, I snatched the phone from the floor, said “Hello” three more times,