Sounds Like a Plan: A Novel by Pamela Samuels Young and Dwayne Alexander Smith
One Missing Person. Two Rival Detectives. Infinite Chemistry.
Jackson Jones and Mackenzie Cunningham have a lot in common. They are both hard-working private investigators with their own firms in Los Angeles, each happily single, and very good at their jobs. But when they’re together, they are like oil and water.
After they find themselves working the same missing persons case, the idea of collaborating seems about as likely as a blizzard in Beverly Hills. But once it’s clear that they have been set up to take the fall for a murder, they have no choice but to join forces and make a plan that will expose the truth.
Told in alternating perspectives, this rollicking, romantic thrill ride makes for a swoon-worthy mystery.
Read an Excerpt Below
Chapter 1
Jackson
I’m not accustomed to leaving a woman unsatisfied, especially an attractive woman who’d already shown me a great deal of generosity. Still, it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch Mrs. Green’s cheating husband in the act.
My name is Jackson Jones. I make my living sticking my nose in other people’s business. In other words, I’m a private investigator. I work out of a respectable-sized office suite twenty-seven stories above Century City. My picture-window view of Beverly Hills is pricey, but never fails to impress my well-heeled clientele.
J. Jones Investigations, Incorporated, specializes in servicing everyone from the well-off to those wealthy enough to have POTUS on speed dial. Truth be told, it’s been a while since a substantial case crossed my threshold. I try to pass on the routine gigs, so I’ll be available for the high-dollar cases. But if I’m going to keep the lights on, I may have to rethink that strategy.
Mrs. Allison Green, my latest client, fell squarely in the comfortably rich category. She was blonde and fortyish, but with a twentyish face and body that were miracles of modern science. She always dressed stylishly, yet strategically to display her goods. A former wanna-be actress, Mrs. Green shelved her dreams of stardom eighteen years ago when a loaded producer slid a diamond onto her finger. Now, a mansion and a yacht later, Mrs. Green suspected said producer of stepping out on her and scheming to trade up. Shrewdly, Mrs. Green wanted to get the goods on her husband so she could, well, get her husband’s goods.
It was for this reason Mrs. Green loomed over my desk, manicured hands planted on her hips, blue eyes drilling into me. She had the demeanor of a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted.
“Well?” she demanded. “Why is this taking so long?”
I ignored the heat of her stare and gestured casually to the chair facing my desk. “Mrs. Green, please. If you’d just have a seat I can explain.”
Except for the narrowing of her eyes, she did not budge. “I told you, Mr. Jones, I don’t want to sit. Stop asking me to sit. I didn’t come here to sit. I came to get answers.”
I flashed a smile in an attempt to cool Mrs. Green down. “That’s what I’m here for. To get you answers.”
I’m tall. A fit thirty-one years old, and Denzel handsome–and I’m talking Denzel from back in the 90s. My smile’s world famous for its soothing effect on the fairer sex. But on this white lady hovering over me, flashing my pricey dental work evoked the opposite effect.
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Green snapped. “I’ve been standing in this office for five minutes and you still haven’t answered a damn thing. Why is it taking you so long to get me the proof I need? You told me you’d have a photograph in two weeks at most. That was two months ago.”
Knowing Mrs. Green wouldn’t like what I had to tell her, I was trying ease into it. Clearly that wasn’t working.
“Okay,” I said, raising my hands. “It’s like this. Your husband is not a stupid man.”
Her perfectly micro-bladed eyebrows clenched. “Excuse me?”
“I suspect he knows he’s being shadowed so, of course, he’s being extra careful. I must ask. Did you let anything slip about hiring a private investigator? Like maybe during an argument?”
“Mr. Jones, you’re right. My husband isn’t stupid. And neither am I. In fact, I’m smarter than he is. So, don’t insult me. Of course, I didn’t let anything slip. Maybe he spotted you following him because you’re incompetent. That would explain your failure to meet your guaranteed deadline.”
Although I still wore a pleasant smile, I was quickly losing my patience. I’d come to expect a certain level of superior snarkiness from these high-net-worth types, but a brother can only take so much.
Maintaining my cool, I said, “I assure you, I’m the best at what I do. Also, I never guaranteed anything. I gave you an estimate and nothing more.”
“Then what’s your explanation?” she said. “How does he know you’re following him?”
“Like I said, he’s smart. If he is having an affair, he’s being extra careful. Behaving as if he’s being followed. That makes my job much more difficult.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, catching him in the act could take a few more months.”
“Months? Not at the rates I’m paying you.”
“I think my rates are more than fair.”
“I want a discount.”
“As I said, my rates are fair.”
“You’re a crook! I want my money back. Every last dime.”
I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help myself. I was done with Mrs. Big Mouth. I stood, forcing her to look up at me. “I’m terminating our agreement. Go find someone else to yell at. Goodbye.”
For a moment she just glared, trembling, as if she were about to blow. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”
With that, Mrs. Green was gone. The fact that she didn’t slam the door told me she’d probably never call her lawyer. It’s been my experience that rich folks love to brandish lawyers, but seldom pull the trigger.
I sank back into my seat feeling a twinge of regret. Customers who paid well and on time, like Mrs. Green, were hard to come by lately. On top of that there was a notice on my desk from the landlord informing me that my million-dollar view was about to get even pricier. I was seriously considering intercepting Mrs. Green at the elevator when my assistant poked her head into my office.
“Whoa,” Nadine said, a smirk on her face. “Mrs. Green sure looked pissed.”
“She’s no longer a client. And, oh yeah, she’s suing us.”
“Us? I just get coffee and answer phones. Don’t get it twisted.”
We traded smiles.
Nadine’s my cousin. She’s a few years younger than me, “put-together plump,” as she likes to say, and funny as hell. We were crazy close as kids, then lost touch for a bunch of years. When we reconnected as adults she was fresh out of rehab and needed a break. For years, I worked without an assistant but decided to give Nadine a shot. Now I don’t know how I ever managed without her.
“Guess what.” Nadine gestured to the reception area behind her. “You have a walk in.”
“Okay. Just give me a couple of minutes. I need to make a few quick calls.”
“Are you sure? This is a new client. Very nice suit. Slick shoes too. Oh yeah, and a briefcase that probably costs more than my car.”
I put down the phone. “Briefcase, huh?”
She nodded.
“Lawyer?”
She nodded again. “Big time from the looks of him.”
“Wait. Are you trying to tell me Mrs. Green came with her lawyer?”
Nadine laughed. “No. He’s someone else’s lawyer. Should I send him in?”
“No. Send him on a sandwich run to Subway.”
“Ha-ha. Fix your tie.”
Yes, I wear a tie. Suit too. Sure, I’d be more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt like the PIs on TV, but this is real life. The type of clients I cater to don’t do business with black men in T-shirts.
I straightened my tie as Nadine disappeared then reappeared moments later ushering in a man in a finely tailored suit. He looked to be in his sixties, maybe even early seventies. His polished appearance, refined posture, and air of confidence brought the word dashing to mind. And Nadine wasn’t kidding about his briefcase. My visitor clutched a black Dunhill Heritage, definitely pricier than Nadine’s eight-year-old Corolla.
I rounded my desk and greeted him with a handshake.
“My name is Raymond Patterson,” he said. “I’d like to discuss engaging your services. The matter is quite urgent and will require your immediate and exclusive attention. Of course, your compensation would be commensurate with the level of dedication I’m requesting. Are you interested, Mr. Jones?”
“You definitely have my attention.” I gestured to the visitor’s chair and returned to my seat. “Please, tell me what I can do for you.”
( Continued… )
Copyright 2024 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Pamela Samuels Young and Dwayne Alexander Smith. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.
Sounds Like a Plan Book Review
“This sexy, banter-filled mystery is so much fun you’ll lust after a sequel.” —South Florida Sun Sentinel
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About the Authors
Pamela Samuels Young is an attorney, an NAACP Image Award winner for Outstanding Literary Work, and the author of several books, many of which feature characters with legal backgrounds that mirror her own. Follow her on Tiktok @AuthorPSY.
Dwayne Alexander Smith is a screenwriter and author of Forty Acres, winner of the NAACP Image Award for Literary Work by a Debut Author. Follow him on Twitter @WrittenBySmith.