Page 21 of Lorenzo

He looks unconvinced.

“You didn’t help the first time.”

That is unfair. He did help. He stood directly in the doorway while I tried to maneuver it inside, which forced me to stop twice and shoo him away.

I walk to the desk and open another box.

This one holds the things that make the office feel official: blank contracts, intake forms, invoice sheets, business cards, envelopes, folders, and a printer that worked perfectly in my apartment and will probably refuse to connect to the wireless network here.

I take out the business cards and run my thumb over the top one.

Donna CostaLicensed Private Investigator

The card has my phone number, email address, and office location. Nothing else.

No old title.

No old agency.

No line explaining how someone my age ended up with enough investigative experience to open a business.

People will ask.

Some of them will ask with curiosity. Others will ask because they think twenty-five means inexperienced, careless, and easy to dismiss.

They can think whatever they want until the invoice is due.

I set the cards in a holder near the corner of the desk.

Mocha puts his front paws on the edge.

“Absolutely not.”

He lowers himself again.

“You have your own job.”

I reach into the box and pull out a dark blue vest.

His posture changes immediately.

Mocha knows the vest.

I hold it up, and he steps closer, calm now, waiting while I fasten it around him. The fabric sits securely over his shoulders, the patches visible on either side.

WORKING DOGDO NOT DISTRACT

He looks much more official than I do.

“That’s embarrassing for me.”

His mouth opens slightly.

“I’m glad one of us came prepared.”

I straighten the vest and run my hand over the fur at the back of his neck.

Mocha has been with me long enough to know when I am joking and when I am just rambling to keep myself going.