“It’s totally on my to-do list.” I just put it on there.
“Great minds think alike.”
“That’s why the two of us are on the same page so often, right?” I grinned, trying to cover my total cluelessness about this. I must have done a good job, because the mayor grinned back at me, his face absolutely beaming.
“You know I think of you as our little local treasure,” he said.
“You’re too kind.” No, really. He was. I wasn’t exactly local, but I had been in town for several months, so whatever worked for him. “I guess I should get busy, huh?”
“Yes. I can’t wait to see your painting skills.”
“Painting skills?” I didn’t actually have to paint, did I? I mean, I could just slather a few colors on the rocks and call it a day. Better yet, I would call it abstract art.
“Have fun!”
I stepped toward one of the tables in the distance. Before I reached it, my eyes connected with someone walking in the same direction.
Crista.
For some reason, my stomach clenched at the sight of her. She spotted me just about the same time, and a big smile lit her face. She reached me and paused, as if ready to chat for a while.
Who would have thought I’d run into so many people I knew here?
“Joey!” She grinned, showing her perfect teeth and a warm smile. “I had no idea you were into rock painting.”
“Oh, I’m totally into it.” What was rock painting again?
“How fun. Someone would flip out if they discovered a rock painted by you. Wait till word of this gets out.”
“You think?” They might change their minds when they saw my painting skills.
“Oh, I totally think. Actually, I know.”
“I’m sure the mayor will use that to his advantage in whatever way he can.”
“I’m sure he will.” She smiled but it faded. “Did you and Jackson have fun last night? His truck pulled up awfully late.”
Nosy much?
Since I didn’t think quickly on my feet, I found myself answering her. “Yeah, he dropped me off at home, but I forgot my car was at his place. I’ll need to go get that later on today.” I had no idea why I felt the need to explain that, but I did.
“I think it’s really cool that the two of you are friends.”
We began walking beside each other. I wanted to take off in a sprint like The Running Man fighting for his life. In other words, I wanted to avoid this conversation because I could sense turbulence on the horizon.
“He’s a great guy,” I finally said.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” She slowed her steps and turned awkwardly toward me. The breeze kicked up and brought with it the scent of strawberry cream and rainbows. “Can I ask a strange question?”
“Sure.” But I mentally braced myself for it. If someone asked you if they could ask you something before asking you whatever it was they wanted to ask, it was never a good sign.
“Are the two of you dating?”
How did I even begin to answer that? Jackson and I were so complicated. I couldn’t exactly say, “No, we’re not dating, but we kind of are. We just need some time first.” That explanation was too convoluted.
“No, we’re not,” I finally said. But the words felt like a lie as they left my lips.
Her shoulders seemed to slump with relief, and she grinned. “I see. That’s good to know. Because I don’t meet guys like Jackson very often, but I didn’t want to overstep.”
I opened my mouth to explain but paused, unsure what exactly I should say. I didn’t want to sound like one of those territorial females. But still, I had to say something.
“Well,” I started.
Before I could finish, two other women came up and began chatting with Crista about painted rocks. From what I gathered they’d be teachers together here in the fall.
The next thing I knew, they were gone. And I hadn’t clarified.
Wasn’t that just great? Had I just given Crista my blessing to date Jackson?
Welcome to my life.
Dizzy had told me that Morty’s best friend Evan’s mom would be here.
I had to keep those connections straight in my head. The bad news was twofold: not only had I failed to look into what painted rocks really were, but I hadn’t looked up what this woman looked like either. Nor did I know her last name. So I was going to have to find her some other way.
For once, luck was on my side.
I spotted a man around Morty’s age whom I’d seen before at Willie Wahoo’s. He chatted with a woman old enough to be his mom, and their body language gave off a mother/son vibe—she looked bossy, and he looked like he needed something.
Finally, the woman slipped some cash into his hand, and the familiar guy smiled, kissed her cheek, and walked away.
They definitely appeared to be mother and son.
As soon as he was gone, I walked over to that table and began looking at the rocks and paints laid out there.
“So glad to have you here today,” the woman said, sorting through some paintbrushes and organizing them by the size of their tips.
“I’m glad to be here,” I said. “What a great turnout. This event totally . . . rocks.”
I smiled with amusement at myself.
“Well, yes it does.” She finally glanced up and did a double take. “Oh my goodness. You’re Joey Darling!”
“I am.”
“The mayor just swung by and said you were here.” Her full attention was suddenly on me. “I’m Annette, and I’m in charge of the shindig.”
“Nice to meet you, Annette.”
“It’s a good thing I think quickly on my feet, because I have an idea.”
“An idea?” I didn’t like the start of this. Joey Darling, rock painting, and ideas didn’t fit well together.
And what about finding answers? Was I going to get sidetracked . . . again?
Chapter Thirteen
“That’s right. What do you think about this? You can paint some rocks,”—Annette pointed at me with a handful of paintbrushes—“and we’ll post them online with a JoeyRocks hashtag. Whoever finds your rocks will feel like they’ve found a special prize—think of it like the golden egg at an Easter egg hunt. People will go crazy over it.”
That didn’t sound that bad. I mean, Easter egg hunts were fun. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. We try to paint kind messages to encourage the people who find them,” she continued. “I mean, different people paint rocks for different reasons. But that’s my favorite. You just never know when someone will find a rock with a message on it just when they need a reminder of those very words.”
“That actually sounds really cool.” It really did.
“We’re charging five dollars per rock here today, and any proceeds we get from this event go to the We Can Fight Cancer Fund. It’s a horrible disease. I lost my mom to it three years ago.” Her face tightened with grief, and water flashed in her eyes before she blinked the moisture away.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Cancer is a horrible disease that’s claimed way too many lives.”
“We’re hoping to raise twenty thousand to donate to local victims who need financial assistance,” she continued. “Families don’t need financial strains on top of everything else they’re going through.”
“Absolutely.”
“I know it seems like a simple little activity—rock painting—but I’m hoping this simple little activity will make a big impact on families who are in need.”
“I think that’s wonderful. You know—whatever amount you raise, I’ll match it.” Had I just said that? I really needed to check my bank account before I made promises like that.
But this was a good cause. And I did have more paychecks coming in finally.
I could totally swing it.
Her face brightened. “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. And a great incentive for people. So this event goes on all weekend and then again next w
eek. Right before it ends, we’ll announce how much we raised. Could you be here for the announcement?”
“Of course.” I mentally reviewed my schedule. I could . . . right?
She handed me some rocks and waved someone over. “Paint to your heart’s content. We’ll get some pictures because people always respond better with pictures.”
“How’d you get started in this?” I picked up a paintbrush and desperately wished I had some ideas of what to paint. I glanced over at other people who were painting and saw some of their images.
Horses. Lighthouses. Sea turtles.
Some were fancy. Some were simple. Some people were skilled with a brush. Others were just having fun.
I nibbled my lip, trying to think quickly.
“I found a rock that said, ‘There’s always hope.’ I was feeling pretty hopeless at the time, and those words just lifted my load. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”
I grabbed a bottle of blue and squirted it on a plate, copying some people down the row. “Was that your son you were talking to when I walked up?”
Sound casual, Joey. Casual.
“It was. Evan.” She shook her head. “He’s a piece of work. If he wasn’t my son . . .”
“Sounds like you’ve had some challenges.” I painted a line on the rock, which was already coated with a layer of white. I had no idea what I’d do with the line, but it was a starting point.
“We have. He got into the wrong crowd. Not only that, but his best friend died yesterday.”
I gasped. “Is he the man everyone’s been talking about? Morty Somebody?”
She nodded, her lips pressed in a frown. “That’s right. He and Morty . . . they were two peas in a pod. A dangerous pod.”
“What do you think happened to Morty? I thought this area was so safe.”
“It is safe. Usually. And I have no idea. All I know is that I woke up in the middle of the night two days ago. Evan and Morty were in the house. I heard their voices. And they were talking to someone with an Australian accent . . . I think. Their conversation sounded heated.”
My pulse spiked. “You’d never heard this guy before?”
“No, never. I thought I knew most of his friends. And it wasn’t a guy. It was a girl.”
“What do you think it was about?”
“I have no idea. But the two of them have been acting secretive lately. They’ve had more money than usual too. Whenever I tried to bring it up, they got all quiet and told me that I’m imagining things and that the summer season is when they make most of their money. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” She rolled her eyes. “I just stopped asking.”
It certainly sounded like drugs to me.
I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I was going to anyway. “Does Evan hang out with Zane Oakley, by chance?”
“Zane? Yes, he’s been over a few times. They all grew up around here. They all got into trouble together. I thought their paths were changing, but I guess old habits are hard to break.” She waved her hand in the air. “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all this. What are you painting?”
Oh, I so did want to hear all this. But instead, I looked down at my rock. I’d painted a little beach scene, and it didn’t look half-bad.
“Now maybe you can just add some words,” she suggested. “I think the paint should be dry enough, thanks to the heat out here.”
“Of course.” But what words should I add?
I remembered something Jackson had said to me not too long ago. Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be great.
That phrase had stuck with me. I grabbed a Sharpie and scribbled in my neatest writing those words on the beach scene there. When I looked at it again, I was rather pleased with the end result.
“Oh, that’s just beautiful,” Annette said. “People are going to love that. Make more, please.”
I decided to write more phrases and pieces of wisdom on my other rocks. Wisdom from my dad.
Bee your best. (I painted a bee.)
Keep the faith. (I painted a mountain.)
Love always. (I painted a heart.)
Hope floats. Rocks don’t. (I painted water.)
Okay, my dad didn’t say that last one. But I wrote it anyway because it made me laugh. Maybe it would make someone else laugh too.
I smiled for the camera, signed some autographs, and made a big deal out of some of my favorite rock painters’ creations.
Then I got Annette’s contact information so we could be in touch about where I’d hide these. With that, I left. At least I’d learned something—about rocks and about Morty.
As I was headed down the road, lights flashed in my rearview mirror.
It was a cop.
Really? I was being pulled over?
I let out a sigh and stopped on the side of the road. Just as I rolled down my window, I spotted an officer standing there, and gawked.
“Jackson?”
“Joey?” He tugged down his sunglasses, as if his eyes were deceiving him. “Why are you driving this car?”
“Because I left mine at your place. Remember?”
“This is Winston Corbina’s car,” he said, as if I didn’t know.
“Yeah, he let me borrow it. So why did you pull me over? And since when do you pull people over?”
His gaze darkened, and I knew there was more to this story. “I pulled you over because you kept crossing the center line. And I can pull people over when I need to.”
“I’ve never known you to pull anyone over. Like ever.” He wasn’t a highway patrol officer.
“It’s my prerogative.”
There was more to this. I was sure. I’d always suspected that Jackson knew more about my father’s disappearance than he could let on and that he suspected Winston was somehow involved. But out of respect for his job, I kept my mouth shut.
I figured he’d tell me when he could. And I also figured that maybe I didn’t want to know. What if Jackson knew something devastating? Maybe it was better to keep hope alive. And floating. Unlike rocks.
“I totally wasn’t crossing the center line,” I said.
“You totally were. Why do you think all those people were honking at you?”
“Because they recognize me from my movies?” As my words left my lips, I realized how feeble they sounded.
Jackson gave me a look that said it all. He thought I was crazy.
“By the way, did you really reenact a scene from Chariots of Fire while you were at the crime scene yesterday?” Jackson asked.
My cheeks heated. “Why would you think that?”
“It popped up on my online newsfeed this morning.”
I should have known one of those reporters might have been close by. “I got a little bored.”
“I’d say.”
“It could have been worse. I could have grabbed you and done the scene in From Here to Eternity.”
Something lit in his eyes, and I had the impression he liked that idea.
“You’re a piece of work, Joey.” He shook his head. “Listen, since I caught up with you, I thought you might want to know that I followed up on Leonard Shepherd again to see if anything changed since I last looked into him.”
I swallowed hard, suddenly uncomfortable. “Okay. And?”
“As you probably remember, he was locked up for assault and battery about a year ago, but he got out on a parole.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to continue.
“I called his parole officer, and he’s gone. But we both knew that, right?”
I nodded, but my head felt a little woozy. “He disappeared around five months ago. Right about the time I moved to the Outer Banks.”
“Right. He doesn’t have any credit cards, so whatever he’s doing right now, he’s using cash. He also doesn’t have a car, so we have no plates to trace. But I’ve put someone on it. If he’s still in this area, we’re going to find him.”
“Thanks
, Jackson.”
I considered what I’d just learned during my rock-painting venture. Part of me didn’t want to share it—it wasn’t like Jackson was sharing anything with me—but I knew I had to.
“There was a woman meeting with Morty and his best friend, Evan, two nights ago,” I blurted. “She had a possible Australian accent.”
Jackson’s eyes widened, as if he recognized something about what I said. “Who told you that?”
“Evan’s mom.”
“When did you talk to her?” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“You know something.” I gave him a challenging stare.
He gave it right back to me. “I told you before, Joey, that you need to leave this alone. And until we locate this Leonard Shepherd guy, you need to watch your back.”
“And I have to hide some rocks, so it sounds like I have a lot going on today.”
“What?” Confusion laced his eyes.
“Never mind.”
He sighed. “Listen, how about if I drive you back to your car?”
“But I have a Corvette.” I rubbed the dashboard. “I’m not even a car enthusiast, but . . . it’s a Corvette.”
“Joey . . .”
He didn’t like Winston Corbina. He hadn’t been in favor of me moving into his condo complex either. “What I really want to do is some more NHPD Blue tweets. I feel like I’m slacking on the job.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Somehow, I have a feeling if you’re not with me, then you’re just going to get in trouble.”
I shrugged but said nothing.
“Give the car back, and we’ll talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jackson was going to let me help with the investigation. I couldn’t believe it, nor could I wait to get started.
I dropped off Winston Corbina’s car, as promised. Winston wasn’t home, so I’d have to wait until later to return his keys. Then Jackson took me to his house to pick up my car and asked me to come down to the station in an hour.
That gave me just enough time to visit Zane.
I needed to talk to my friend, to figure out how he was doing and to see if he was willing to tell me anything new. Because I felt sure he had more to tell me—if only he would. I had lots and lots of questions also.
Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5) Page 7