Riley Thorn and the Dead Guy Next Door

by Lucy Score

  “He’s dating my ex-wife,” Griffin announced in a voice much higher than usual.

  Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Man.

  Bella was bored with the conversation and stood raking her fingers through her curls.

  “I’m sure your fiancée doesn’t want to hear stories about your ex-wife,” Nick said with feigned courtesy.

  But Griffin was one of those nervous morons who tended to babble.

  “We met when I generously offered to interview her to get her side of the story when she was the prime suspect in her next-door neighbor’s murder.”

  Yep. He was going to have to maim the guy. Maybe beat him with a chair or smother him with his soon-to-be-wife’s thirty pounds of hair extensions.

  “You keep interesting company, Griffin,” Flemming said, sounding bored.

  “I mean, Riley was the only witness to the guy getting shot in the head. Naturally she’s going to be a suspect.”

  “Riley?” It was the first and only word Duncan “Trigger Happy” Gulliver had uttered. Now Nick had two guys to beat with chairs. “What an interesting name.”

  Nick hoped to God his cousin was hearing this and sending out an SOS to the girls. Griffin Gentry had just connected the fucking dots for a trigger-happy henchman.

  Flemming was eyeing Duncan with interest. “So your ex-wife actually witnessed the crime?” Flemming asked, turning back to the buffoon in the suit.

  “She didn’t see anything,” Nick said icily. He held Flemming’s gaze.

  Gentry noticed that no one was paying attention to him again and did what he did best. Performed for the spotlight. “Anyway, good luck with the ol’ ex, and don’t fall for any of her family’s psychic mumbo jumbo. I never bought into it.”

  Nick reached out and snagged Griffin by the lapels. “You look thirsty. Are you thirsty?” He hauled the man away. “You are the dumbest sack of shit I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

  “Hey! This is a custom Thaddeus, and I just got it back from the dry cleaners. You’re sweating all over it,” Gentry complained.

  “You’re fucking lucky I’m not making you bleed all over it. Now get the hell out of here and don’t ever mention Riley’s name to anyone again.”

  Bella appeared out of the crowd. “Baby, I’m thiiiiirsty. Will you get me some champaaaaaagne?” Her whine was accompanied by a pronounced pout as she tugged on his jacket sleeve.

  “Uh, sure, babe. Yeah,” Griffin said, mustering his haughtiest look before sashaying away from Nick.

  “Yo, cuz. You there?” Brian’s voice crackled in his ear.

  “Tell me you just heard what went down,” Nick growled in the direction of the mic.

  “Missed it. Jos just called. The signal was all broken up, but they got the Quackenbush girl. The waitress doesn’t know anything about Mayor McMurder, but she did know something about a blackmail scheme.”

  Nick swore under his breath.

  “Listen, the shit just hit the fan here, so I’m gonna give it a quick stir before I leave. Start the van and keep it running. We might have some trouble.”

  “Copy that,” his cousin said.

  Another woman walked by, shooting him a quizzical look, and he realized how he looked whispering at his crotch. “Just giving him a pep talk,” he told her.

  Her eyebrows winged up.

  Nick made his way back to the mayor, who was now in conversation with a couple of smarmy suits who looked like they probably had a few sexual harassment lawsuits between them. Duncan was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mayor Flemming, do you have a few minutes to answer some questions?” he asked, using his cop voice.

  Flemming picked up on the change in tone.

  “Anything for a voter,” he said.

  They walked a few feet away and enjoyed a view of the racetrack, where horses were being corralled at the starting gate.

  “I’m here because your name came up in conjunction with an investigation.”

  “You’re a cop?” Flemming asked, showing only mild interest.

  “Not anymore. I’m a PI. I was hired to look into a murder.”

  “Ah, your fiancée’s neighbor,” he guessed.

  Nick decided to throw some shit and see what stuck. “Actually, Representative Rob Bowers,” he said. “You knew him?”

  Flemming’s brow furrowed. “No. I knew of him, but we didn’t know each other personally. I’d heard that was ruled an accident. A tragic one, of course.”

  “You heard wrong. It was a homicide. Another driver hit him head-on on the bridge then drove off. Their mistake.”

  “Mistake?” Flemming repeated.

  “If they would have stuck around, they would have seen his passenger get out and walk away.”

  It was subtle. He wouldn’t have spotted it if he hadn’t been studying the man’s face. But something dark flickered in those creepy plastic doll eyes.

  “Interesting. Who hired you?” Flemming asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. But I would like to ask you about your whereabouts on the night in question,” Nick said, his smile full of sharp teeth. “Your muscle’s, too. He looks like he could kill a couple of people without breaking a sweat.”

  “If you’d like that information, then you’re going to have to speak to my attorney,” Flemming said. Nick finally got a peek at the hellfires beneath the politically-correct facade.

  Maybe Duncan pulled the trigger coldly, but Flemming ordered the kill with a raging hatred.

  “Maybe I’ll do that,” Nick said. “Well, I’ve got work to do. I’ve got a witness to interview. Should be interesting. She said she has information about a blackmail plot, which coincidentally ties to Dickie Frick, your partner at Nature Girls. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “Oh, I’m positive our paths will cross again,” Flemming said in a hiss.

  Nick gave him a two-fingered salute and headed toward the door. He waited until he was in the hallway before breaking into a run.

  “Coming out, Bri. Might have a tail, so get ready to drive fancy. We need a rendezvous point with the girls. Tell them to bring the waitress and not to go to Nature Girls under any circumstances.”

  Duncan already had a headstart, and he already knew where Riley worked and lived.

  “About that,” Brian said. “We’ve got a problem.”

  48

  9:30 p.m., Saturday, July 4

  “I still feel like this could be kidnapping,” Betsy said again from the back seat of Riley’s Jeep, where she was crammed against Josie. They were heading out of Mechanicsburg without a firm destination in mind.

  “More like abduction,” Josie corrected her.

  “It’s neither,” Riley lied. She’d just abducted a human being. She couldn’t possibly get much farther from rule-abiding good girl if she tried. “If we found you, they can find you, too. We’re going to get you someplace safe where they’ll never look.”

  “Who’s they?” Betsy asked.

  “The people who killed your boyfriend, Rob,” Riley said grimly.

  At his name, Betsy started to cry. A loud, heaving wail. Gabe dug through the glove compartment and handed her a fistful of fast-food napkins.

  “Walk us through the blackmail again,” Josie demanded, over the sobbing.

  The busty blonde dabbed daintily at her eyes. “There’s really not much to tell,” she said. “The bald creepy Duncan guy with no neck would show up at the bar once every couple of weeks with evidence and instructions. Dickie would make contact, apply the pressure, and collect the cash or favor or whatever.”

  Riley’s eyes met Josie’s in the rearview mirror. Betsy’s crayon was sharper than it looked.

  “You sure noticed a lot,” Josie said. “We were led to believe that you were an idiot.”

  “Josie!” Riley chastised.

  “What?” Josie shrugged.

  “Oh, I get that a lot,” Betsy said, giving her hair a fluff. “Pretty, dumb girls get more attention than pretty, smart girls. If you’re sm
art, everyone assumes you can take care of yourself, so you’re stuck paying your own mortgage, mowing your own lawn, and buying your own jewelry. But if you’re dumb, someone always steps in to take care of you.”

  “So you’re not dumb, just lazy?” Josie guessed.

  Betsy rolled her baby blues. “Why should I do all the work when it makes someone else happy to do it for me? Really, I’m doing them a favor. At least, I was. Now Rob’s dead.” The wailing began again.

  Gabe dug through the stakeout snacks and handed the crying woman a pack of cupcakes.

  “Oh! My favorite,” Betsy said.

  “What did Dickie have on Rob?” Riley said the man’s name carefully and hoped the sobbing would be temporarily stemmed by processed sugar.

  “Besides me?” Betsy asked.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Something about campaign finance fraud. I mean really, that was probably his campaign manager’s fault, or it could have been blamed on him. But Robby was married and seeing me. So he couldn’t really take his pick on the blackmail charges.”

  “Did Dickie know you knew about the blackmail stuff he was doing?” Riley asked.

  Betsy shrugged. “I doubt it. To him, I was just another big-boobed bimbo. But I knew there was going to be trouble the day Dickie died. He and Dun had an argument that afternoon in his office. They got pretty loud.”

  “What were they arguing about?” Josie asked.

  “Something about Dickie skimming off the blackmail scheme. And ‘the boss,’ whoever that was, wasn’t happy.”

  “How was he skimming?” Riley asked, driving aimlessly now.

  “Dun said something about how the boss was saving Rob for later and Dickie squeezing 25k out of him now was a stupid move.” Betsy said all of this through a mouthful of cupcake. “Even stupider, Dickie didn’t have most of the 25k anymore.”

  So Dickie had broken into the blackmail stockpile and helped himself to a piece of the pie. That was enough of an oopsie to get him dead.

  “Did the cops get the blackmail evidence when they searched the office?” Riley asked.

  Betsy shrugged in the mirror. “Dunno. Doubt it. He had some kind of hiding spot. Somewhere behind the desk. I walked in on him one time when he was all hunched over behind it. He yelled at me to get the fuck out, which was totally rude and uncalled for. I looked for it after he left but couldn’t find anything. I don’t think Dun knew where he hid the evidence either. He asked Dickie for it that day, and Dickie said ‘fuck off, cocksucker.’”

  The underestimated waitress was a fount of information.

  “You think what he had on Bowers is still there?” Riley asked Josie.

  “Could be,” she mused. “If we found it, it could tell us exactly what Flemming was planning.”

  “Ooh! Are you talking about Mayor Flemming? He’s sooooo cute,” Betsy purred.

  “Trust us,” Josie said. “You can do better for a sugar daddy.”

  “I can forgive a lot for good looks and a big wallet,” Betsy countered.

  Riley shook her head.

  “I am concerned for your well-being,” Gabe told the girl.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” Betsy said, fluttering her lashes. “What’s your financial portfolio look like?”

  “No!” Riley said sharply.

  “You know,” Josie mused. “Brian said that Dun and Flemming are both at that party.”

  Riley chewed on that for a moment. “Maybe it couldn’t hurt to swing by the bar and take a look when we know they’re both occupied miles away. Although, I think Trigger Happy Dun keeps the office locked now.”

  “Oh, Rod’s got a key behind the bar by the ice machine,” Betsy said confidently.

  “Problem solved,” Josie said. “Of course, Nick wouldn’t be happy about it…”

  It was the right button to push at the right time.

  “Let’s go have a drink,” Riley said, exiting the highway and heading toward Nature Girls.

  They couldn’t decide who should go in and who should stay behind. So they all went inside together. Gabe, Josie, and Betsy were supposed to stay at the bar and create a distraction while Riley snuck into the office and did some snooping.

  The distraction proved easier than originally thought because as soon as the bandaged Betsy walked in the door, Liz got in her face. “Look, everyone, it’s Boobs McNoShow.”

  Their loud argument and Betsy’s third round of tears for the evening soon had the attention of everyone in the place.

  Josie sidled up to the bar, leaned over the counter, and plucked the key out of the cup while bartender Rod poured a round of shots and ignored the shouting women. Smoothly, she held out the key behind her back, and Riley palmed it before ducking into the hallway and hurrying to the office door.

  With Rod occupied and Duncan miles away, she didn’t have a thing to worry about. But nerves still made her hands shake. Her whole body was vibrating as if there was a message trying to get through. But she shoved it aside. She didn’t have time for a dead grandpa trying to tell her where the keys to the Buick were.

  Unlocking the door, Riley took another peek over her shoulder. Seeing no one, she snuck inside and locked the door behind her.

  The office was just as disgusting as the rest of the bar. But it had the distinction of housing a stale, farty odor. The ghost of Dickie, she supposed. Making her way behind the desk, she pulled out the creaky-wheeled chair and sat. She wisely decided not to think about the fact that the last two people who sat in this chair were a murder victim and his murderer.

  She peered at the floor. It was concrete under vinyl tile in here just like the rest of the bar, only slightly less sticky. There were some peeling tiles, but nothing that looked like a hidey-hole.

  “Where is it?” she whispered to herself.

  If she were a gross old guy doing dastardly things, where would she hide the dirt?

  Her nose twitched when she looked at the vinyl baseboard. Odd that it only existed on one wall. Another twitch. With only a little bit of disgust, she knelt to get a closer look. There was a foot-long section that poked out from behind the shelving unit that seemed like it fit just a little more flush to the wall than the rest of it.

  She ran her fingers over the top of the baseboard where it met the wall, then did the same along the floor. She found a paper clip on the desk and wedged it into the seam.

  “Well, would you look at that,” she murmured as the piece of trim slid up to reveal a dark hole. Her heart was pounding, but this time, it wasn’t from fear or Nick pheromones. It was the thrill of discovery. Finding typos at work never felt like this.

  She whipped out her phone and fumbled with it until she turned on the flashlight function. It was indeed a small compartment built into the block wall. Inside, she found two food storage bags with photographs and two flash drives. The top photo in the first bag was a shot of Representative Rob with his tongue down Betsy’s throat.

  “Jackpot.”

  Mission accomplished, she grabbed the stash, stuffed it into her purse, and replaced the trim.

  Her heart was thundering in her chest with adrenaline. Finally, solid evidence that even the cops couldn’t refute. Nick was going to be pissed and would definitely have to apologize. That made her even happier.

  Elated, she slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door.

  Her elation turned to an iceberg of dread when the emergency exit door was yanked open.

  A pissed-off-looking Duncan seemed just as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

  “We meet again, Riley.” Her name coming from the mouth of a cold-blooded killer was unnerving, to say the least. The door clicked shut behind him.

  “I forgot my—” Excuses ceased to matter when she noticed the gun he had in his hand. She sent up a sarcastic “thanks a lot, guys” to her so-called spirit guides for not alerting her to her own death. Then, because there was nothing else she could do, she hurled the office key at Duncan’s face, and when he made a move to c
atch it, she took off running toward the bar.

  It was hard to run in a zigzag in a hallway like Made It Out Alive suggested, but Riley did her best, also throwing in some ducking in case he was ready to shoot up a bar to get what he wanted.

  She charged through the swinging doors back into the bar area where it appeared hell had also broken loose. Betsy and Liz’s argument had escalated into a physical fight. Gabe was trying to hold Liz back, but she was fighting dirty with fingernails. Betsy was screaming insults while hurling plastic cups of beer at Liz. Deelia, with a festive sparkler headband, was begging both of them to calm down and address their issues outside. Patrons were getting in on the action, either by laying odds on the women or by starting their own fistfights. Josie was at the bar, watching the action with a beer of her own.

  “GUN!” Riley shouted at the top of her lungs and dove to the floor just as Duncan squeezed off a shot. The bullet meant for her put a hole in a very large, very bearded man’s beer.

  Duncan barreled out into the bar, and everything came to a screeching halt… including the girl fight. The eyes of every patron locked on the guy with the gun. For a second, the only sound was the twangy musical stylings of Garth Brooks singing about his pals in low places.

  A knife sliced through the air and embedded itself in the wall two inches from Dun’s face.

  “Dang it. I pulled it a little too much to the left,” Josie complained.

  All hell proceeded to re-break loose.

  Guns were produced from God knew where. More knives were thrown. Some at Dun, some just in abandon. Rod popped out from behind the bar with the shotgun. He fired it at the ceiling, but as far as warning shots went, it only encouraged everyone else to open fire. Guns and cheap beer were not a great pairing, Riley decided as a hail of bullets took out the glass windows and peppered the block walls.

  “Let’s roll,” Josie shouted to Riley, producing a small handgun from an ankle holster.

  Riley crawled after her toward the door.

  Gabe threw a gentleman in a confederate flag tee into two drunk guys dueling with chairs. Then he pushed Betsy to the floor. She joined the hands and knees parade.