Lily Anne's coffee shop was a delicacy to the outskirts of New York. It was a pretty sort of building, reminiscent of Louisiana's old architecture with dandelion yellow paint about it. The double French windows on the second level were usually left slightly ajar and the wooden door atop the porch always bore an 'open' sign.
Many of the shop's more frequent visitors knew the owners well. There was a very old woman with a sharp attitude and a bit of a cleanliness complex and her son, a middle aged fellow who'd lost his wife just a few years prior. The case of Mr.Duboir was a very unfortunate one and many of the long-time customers missed seeing Mrs.Duboir quite terribly. She had been a very motherly sort of woman and a handsome one at that.
What was the most missed by all parties though, was the way the room felt with the two of them in it. Between the Mrs' mothering and Mr.Dubois flippant clumsiness, there was hardly ever a dull moment. She would bicker and follow after her husband to be sure no harm came to him and drove the man mad at times, but it was very clear the two of them were in love. It filled the air with a sense of affection and meshed well with the dark roast coffee and pastries.
Heart disease had taken the woman and for a while the customers feared for the shop owner. The shop was colder and less well kept without her around. The smell of pastries began to fade as he was unable to bake without thinking of her. Some days the shop didn't open at all. It wasn't long until an older gentleman who'd known Mr.Dubois since their college years called in some help for the man.
At first, Mr.Dubois was furious at his old friend. He felt this to be a mockery, a betrayal of some grave kind. His thick brows were drawn angry and his lips were straight.
"Jason, you had no right to bother her like this!"
The other gentleman nodded quietly, unsure of what to say.
"She's gathering all her things alone now, you know she's far too old for this sort of work. Seriously man, how could you?"
"I was only worried about you, Isaiah."
Mr.Duboir sighed a bit heavily as the anger faltered in his chest. Jason Neely wasn't the sort of man who'd make decisions to be malicious. Really he was only angry at the idea that he needed the help.
Soon enough his mother arrived on his doorstep. It was very early one morning, at such a time when nobody else in their right mind had any sort of business being awake. The knock was faint and sounded only twice. Mr.Duboir had been suffering another sleepless night on the sofa when he noted the sound and rose to figure what it could be about.
The door opened and Ms.Patima pulled her son into the warmest sort of hug, and for a brief moment, Isaiah Duboir allowed himself to be upset.
It wasn't long before things found a new sort of groove. Mrs.Patima kept the shop at its utmost cleanliness and the customers were fond of the woman. With some of the responsibility off of his shoulders, Mr.Dubois was able to get back into his old groove.
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Secoiya Polson received the mug she'd ordered from Mr.Dubois gratefully, muttering a short thanks. The man's eyes lingered on her for a moment after he'd heard her voice but he quickly snapped from the trance and went back to his duties. It was not any sort of attraction to Secoiya which had done it, and the woman was well aware. She had a very similar voice to his late wife, down to the gentle Jamaican accent.
When the mug hit her lips, she breathed in the scent deeply. Lily Anne's was her utmost favourite coffee shop of anywhere she'd been in the U.S. The atmosphere was friendly and light, and the coffee was imported from wherever Ms.Patima hailed from- and it was safe to say they had the very best coffee.
For a while, the woman's patience held strong. She watched the strangers sitting about her and the way the shop owner interacted with his mother. It was a Sunday morning and she hadn't much else to be doing after all.
Still, when her companion turned out to be disrespectfully late, the woman began to doubt his capabilities and considered finding another detective to do the work for her. He'd been a rather sketchy candidate in the first place, being that he had little formal training to be a detective and answered any personal questions with sparse, short answers. Secoiya sighed deeply and started to gather her belongings when a young man with a briefcase walked through the doors. His eyes sucked in the crowd before landing on Secoiya and he made his way over to her.
The woman immediately lost all hope as he slid into the booth before her. He couldn't possibly be over the age of twenty, with wild and unkempt hair and a wrinkled collared shirt. It was the first sign he lacked attention to detail, by the woman's own observation. Secoiya eyed him, her state of mistrust very evident in the arched brow and bored eyes.
He eyed the mustard yellow shirt about her and opened his mouth to speak.
"Yes, it's me."
She cut him off with little thought. He nodded, seemingly oblivious to her newfound doubt in him. Then he clicked open his briefcase and swiftly flicked through a pile of dishevelled papers. He pulled from the stack a stapled set and laid it out smooth on the table, snapping the briefcase shut and placing it beneath the table.
"You want me to look into the daily life of a woman?"
Secoiya nodded.
"Do you mind elaborating on the details? It gives me more to work with."
She decided it was only fair to humour the young man. PI's unknown to the Alvarsson family came about as frequently as snow storms in the Sahara. So she leaned back, and raised a hand for one of the workers to come over to her. Ms.Patima caught glimpse of her and hobbled over slowly. When she made it to the table she grinned at the woman, politely asking what she'd like.
"Just another cup of coffee, doll."
Ms. Patima nodded, moving away again and Secoiya gestured for Detective Growden to continue his line of questioning.
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By the end of the information stage, Secoiya had regained some of the lost trust. The young man was hardly stupid by any means. His questions were direct and necessary, and the entire time his focus didn't break once. Not to glimpse at the pretty girl shooting eyes at him from across the sunny coffee shop, not to look at Ms.Patima when she came back with the coffee, hardly ever even to look up from his notes at Secoiya.
This soothed the woman's doubts to an extent. Growden was a rough sort of fellow. His social skills were horrifically lacking and he had no sense of interest in the way other people perceived him. Still, those could be looked at either as flaws or as strengths and Secoiya was sure he was the way that he was for a reason. More importantly, his notes were meticulous and his calculative ability was wildly advanced.
"That should give me enough information to start with."
Now, Growden allowed his brown eyes to glimpse up at Secoiya's black ones. He analysed her expression and opted to wait for a response.
"Growden, do you have any formal detective training?"
The woman's face held no sign of emotion. Her arms were laid flat on the table, with one tracing small designs on her mug. Her smooth umber skin glowed nicely in the morning light and she was glimpsing out the window rather than at him. He had no idea what to make of her current state and a sigh befell him.
"No ma'am. Technically, I haven't."
Secoiya nodded, looking back to him passively. Growden felt his heart beat faster as he was sure she'd send him away. It was only the third rejection this month, he figured, and perhaps by the fifth or sixth time someone would give him a chance.
"When can you start the work?"
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