Murder Under the Full Moon

Chapter One

“You’ve reached the Dizon Detective Agency. This is Danika speaking. How can I help you?”

I listen for a moment before pulling up my calendar on the ancient computer at my family’s office. The color-­coded squares blocking out my schedule fill me with pride and satisfy my inner organizational geek. Not only am I psyched to see that I’m almost completely booked for the month, but I love how a quick glance lets me know what kinds of services are needed. Purple for tarot readings, pink for relationship investigations, yellow for missing items and pets, blue for miscellaneous requests, and red for important, high-­priority cases.

Not a single bit of red on my calendar, but a whole lotta pink. And the phone call I just received was a plea to gather evidence on yet another cheating boyfriend. I sigh, remembering my first (and currently only) big case: One of the seniors at my school, who happened to be one of my tarot clients, disappeared and I was tasked with finding her. That case changed my life, and I clinched a spot to do actual detective work at my mom’s agency. I’m super grateful for it. But looking at the types of cases I’m doing now is a reminder of how mundane most detective work actually is. I’ve stayed busy for the past month or so, but not “taking down a criminal ring and catching a murderer” busy.

Still, life has been good, bordering on really freakin’ great. And work is work.

I’m about to let the girl waiting on the phone know that sure, I can tail the guy she suspects is cheating on her and get evidence (of what, I don’t know, ’cause the girl’s, like, sixteen—­it’s not like she needs to take those photos to divorce court like my mom’s clients, but whatevs) when my best friend, Nicole, walks in.

I raise my hand to ask her to hold on. “Sorry for the wait. I have an opening in two weeks and should be able to take your case then. Could you—­?”

Nicole shakes her head and waves her hand in front of her neck. I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit, so I cut my call short.

“Actually, now that I’m looking closely, it seems I’m all booked up this month. So sorry. Best of luck.”

I hang up and make my way around the desk to give Nicole a hug. I note her cute yellow off-­shoulder crop top and shorts she’s wearing with matching sneakers. The color absolutely pops against her dark brown skin.

“Okay, shorts set! Looking good. What brings you by?”

Nicole preens before returning the compliment. “I see you, romper! You think you’re cute now?”

She’s been doing her best to get me more interested in fashion, so I’m wearing a loose olive-­green tank top romper that I got on sale a couple weeks ago. I’ve paired it with the brass Lingling-­o necklace I always wear and the dangly brass earrings my girlfriend, Gaby, made me, and even I have to admit: I do look good.

“I learned from the best.” I grin. “You know I’m always happy to see you, but something tells me you’re not here to hang out.”

“Your detective skills are as sharp as ever,” she says with a laugh. “Mo and I want to hire you. Are you free right now? There’s no point in me talking about the case without him. He gets off work soon and can either meet us here or at a café or something.”

Maurice “Mo” Harris is Nicole’s newest boyfriend and the first one in a long time who I actually like. If he needs my help, I’m happy to clear my schedule.

I glance at the clock. Three p.m. I would usually be working the front desk until five, but if it’s for a case, my mom is cool with me leaving early. “Let me call my dad to tell him I’m ducking out. He’s not on deadline, so he should be able to cover the phones for the next couple hours.”

Once I clear everything with my parents, I start packing my bag. “Where does Mo work again?”

“That taco joint, Tacotlán. You ever been there?”

“No, but I heard their birria is fire! Hook me up with some birria tacos and maybe a birria grilled cheese, and I’ll give you a discount on my services.”

“What, I wasn’t gonna get the friends-­and-­family discount anyway?”

“If the tacos are good enough, you’ll get it on top of the friends-­and-­family discount.”

Nicole’s eyes gleam—­the girl loves herself a deal. “Sold! You cool with driving? I had one of my sisters drop me off.”

I hold up my keys. “You know I’d drive even if you had the car. You can navigate.”

We make our way out to my pride and joy, a black 1994 Chrysler LeBaron convertible affectionally named Veronica. She sat in my garage for almost a year, since she needed a ton of repairs. Getting enough money to fix her up was another way my first big case changed my life. Thanks to that, the number and kinds of cases I could do dramatically increased, and my mom was willing to take me on as a detective in training as long as I keep my grades up and follow through with my promise to go to college.

The car is a million years old and doesn’t have functioning AC, but hey, if Nicole’s taught me anything about fashion it’s that you gotta sacrifice a bit of comfort for style. Like, rompers are super cute but a real pain in the ass when you have to use the bathroom. Besides, who needs AC when you can drive around town with the top down? It’s summertime in Chicago, after all. I love the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair, but Nicole isn’t a fan. She carefully ties a silk scarf around her curls before buckling up, then gives me the general directions to the taco joint. Since I’m so new to driving, I have trouble paying attention to the road and looking at my phone for directions. Another thing this car is too old for: GPS.

The restaurant is packed when we get there, which I wasn’t really expecting for a random weekday afternoon. But Nicole must’ve let Mo know we were on the way, because he’s waiting for us out front and ushers us to an empty table on the patio that has a reserved sign on it. He greets Nicole with a quick kiss and wraps me up in a bear hug.

“What’s up, Danika? Thanks for coming out. I appreciate any help you can give us.”

Mo and Nicole have been dating for about a month and a half, and Nicole—­who falls in love every five seconds—­is straight-­up smitten. What sets this guy apart from the rest is that he seems to understand how amazing Nicole is. Sometimes I catch him staring at her in a daze, as if wondering how he could possibly be so lucky as to have her in his life, which yeah, if a guy doesn’t become an absolute simp over my best friend, he doesn’t deserve her.

“I was promised birria and a case, so no worries. Are you cool talking about it here?”

Mo looks around the small, crowded patio, but everyone’s too busy stuffing their faces and chatting with their own parties to pay any attention to us. “Yeah, it’s not like it’s top-­secret or anything. I just don’t wanna be putting the group’s business out there.”

“A crowded, noisy location is actually a good way to make sure people don’t overhear you, as long as you keep your voice down. I wouldn’t be spilling, like, state secrets out here on the patio. But if we’re gonna meet in public, this is a prime spot,” I say, picking up the menu.

I continue talking, keeping my voice light while surveying the area around us out of the corner of my eye. “Are you worried that someone’s watching us? If so, make sure to act naturally, like this is simply a bunch of friends enjoying Taco Tuesday.”

He laughs. “I doubt anyone’s watching. The case isn’t that serious. Or at least, I hope it’s not. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’d love for you to stop whatever’s going on before it escalates.”

He’s about to explain further, but a server pops up to take our order. Birria tacos for everyone and a birria grilled cheese for me and Nicole to split, plus a pineapple Jarritos for Mo, horchata for Nicole, and a tamarind agua fresca for me. Mo waits until the server delivers all our food before bringing up the case. In the meantime, he updates me on his band’s next show and how Nicole is designing the group’s outfits.

Once my giant platter of tacos appears, Mo gestures for me to start eating. “Enjoy it while it’s hot. I can talk while you eat.”

Say less. I dip my taco into the small container of consommé on the side and take a bite. The juices flood my mouth, and the tender meat is so delicious that I stifle a moan, but Nicole knows me too well and starts laughing.

She hands me a napkin. “Yeah, I pretty much had the same reaction the first time Mo took me here. We’ll give you a minute so you can focus on the food.”

When something is particularly delicious, I like to give it my full attention. Still, I’m on the clock, and as tasty as these tacos are, I can always come back here. My clients should be my ­priority.

I wipe my mouth and take a gulp of my refreshingly cold, tangy drink. “I appreciate it, but you both reached out to me for a reason. If you’re ready, I’d like to hear more about the case.”