Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

“I guess I’m catching you at a bad time?” she said.

  “I was just going . . . to see someone,” I said. “What brings you by?”

  “I stopped by Beach Combers to see if you wanted to hang out after work. Dizzy said you’d taken the day off. She practically volunteered me to stop by and make sure you were okay . . . which was a little weird.”

  Dizzy suspected me of investigating. Had she sent even-keeled Phoebe to be my watchdog?

  I blinked, unsure how to respond. “I’d love to have some company, but—”

  “Okay, great.” She climbed from her Jeep, scurried over, and opened my passenger-side door. “I’m having a bad day, and I really don’t want to stay at the house all day by myself.”

  I still felt a touch of hesitancy. It was one thing if I got myself in trouble, but an entirely different story if I got Phoebe in trouble. Plus, where I was spontaneous, emotional, and far from levelheaded, Phoebe was an all-around good person who was well thought out and logical.

  I swallowed hard as I pulled out of my driveway. I hadn’t wanted to reject a new friendship. I needed people in my life. But I wasn’t sure potentially getting Phoebe into trouble was the best way to win any points.

  “Bad day?” I started down the road.

  “Bad week. No offense, but I really don’t want to talk about it. I just want to do something.”

  “So where are we going?” Phoebe asked.

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and contemplated lying. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tap into my vast ability to pretend to be someone else in a scenario outside of reality. Our budding friendship would dissolve faster than that snobby clique in Mean Girls.

  “Well . . .” I cleared my throat.

  “You’re investigating, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck. “Maybe. Honestly, I have an opportunity in front of me that I can’t let slip through my fingers. It’s concerning my father’s disappearance. I feel like the answers are close. So close. And I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do everything in my power to figure this out.”

  “Okay, where are you going to investigate?”

  I pointed to a house in the distance. “Right there.”

  Sandblaster, the big yellow house with the gigantic anchor in the front yard, waited at the end of the imaginary line extending from my finger. I’d seen the place before and had known exactly where White Blond was talking about.

  An SUV was parked in the driveway. Just as I drove past, White Blond stepped outside and strode toward the vehicle. I kept driving, hoping he hadn’t seen me. But I kept an eye on him in my rearview mirror.

  “Whose house?” Phoebe asked.

  “I don’t know his name. But he was one of the last people seen with the dead guy, and he’s my only real lead at this point.”

  “So you’re going to talk to him?” Phoebe played with the end of her braid.

  “I . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do. I like to play it by ear.”

  She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “You’re one of those kind of people.”

  “Is that bad?” I couldn’t read her tone.

  “No, I enjoy playing it by ear . . . in situations that aren’t life or death, at least.”

  “Good point.”

  I watched as White Blond climbed into his car, backed out, and took off down the road. When he was out of sight, I turned around and parked in his neighbor’s driveway. By all appearances, no one was staying at this house.

  “What now?” Phoebe asked, surprisingly even keeled, considering what I was about to suggest.

  I tried to choose my words very carefully.

  “Well . . . I, uh . . .” How did I even say this? She was going to run for the hills faster than the von Trapps escaping the Nazis.

  “You want to go into his house, don’t you?” Phoebe stared at me with a smirk on her face.

  And here I’d thought she’d been all small-town wholesome and incapable of smirking.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  She shrugged, appearing unaffected. “Lucky guess.”

  “I know this is weird, but you could wait in the car—”

  “Oh, no, girl. I’m going with you.”

  “But—” I didn’t know if that was a good idea.

  “I know it’s risky. But I’m not missing this. If anyone asks what we’re doing there, we tell them I was supposed to come for a pet-sitting job, and we must have gotten the wrong house.”

  I raised my eyebrows, seriously impressed. “I have to admit—I didn’t think you were the type to go along with something like this.”

  “I’ve learned to live without so much fear. In some areas of my life, at least. You never know what life will hand you, so you might as well go after what you want. And I know you need answers. There’s more at stake here than simply your curiosity.”

  I hesitated one more minute before nodding and opening my door. “Let’s do this then.”

  I knew sneaking inside his house was a risky move, but White Blond probably wouldn’t talk to me if I tried to ask him questions. Or he’d lie. Especially if he was the killer.

  I also knew I probably shouldn’t do this. But someone was shooting at my feet and yelling for me to dance. So I was putting on a show.

  Had this man followed Douglas to the OBX, determined to get revenge for some prior wrongdoing? Was he the one who’d killed the man at the Polar Plunge?

  Phoebe and I darted across the sandy ground between the houses, not stopping until we reached a door beneath the house. I knew it was a long shot that the door would be unlocked, but I rattled it anyway.

  Locked. Go figure.

  “We have to try the ones upstairs,” Phoebe said. “You’d be surprised at how irresponsible people are with rentals.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” I darted up the stairway at the back of the house, praying that no one saw me. At the top, a deck stretched around half the house. I felt exposed up here, so we had to move quickly.

  I tried the first door.

  Locked.

  I moved to a sliding-glass door. Also locked.

  I went to the next sliding-glass door.

  And bingo.

  It slid open.

  I drew in a deep breath. Last time I’d sneaked into a house, US marshals had surrounded me—along with Jackson. It hadn’t been my most flattering moment. But I’d had a lot of those. What was one more?

  “The longer we wait, the more likely it is that we’ll get caught,” Phoebe said.

  Had this woman been a cat burglar in a past life? Talk about wrong assumptions. I’d never in a million years seen this coming.

  “Let’s go then,” I said.

  Phoebe and I slipped inside, and I quickly scanned the place.

  “Typical rental,” Phoebe said.

  And it was. Neutral furniture. Pastel paintings. An abundance of seashell accessories. Nothing appeared out of place.

  “Let’s check out the bedrooms,” I said.

  The first one appeared unused. As did the second. And third.

  “How many bedrooms does this house have?” I muttered.

  “The more bedrooms, the higher the dollar people pay.”

  “How do you know this? Did you work in real estate also?”

  “We take classes on this in high school in this area.”

  I paused. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Really. Tourism is our livelihood, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  We headed up another set of stairs to the top floor. Another four doorways waited for us here. We went through the same routine, but it wasn’t until we reached the last bedroom that we hit the proverbial jackpot. The master suite. Of course.

  “Check this out,” I whispered as I glanced around the place.

  It was a Hollywood-worthy beauty. Large, with expansive views of the ocean, a high ceiling, and plenty of natural sunlight.

  “I could get used to a place like this,” Phoebe said, gravitating toward the w
indow.

  “Who couldn’t?”

  I wasn’t here to admire the property, so I hurried to the closet and opened the door. A suitcase rested in the corner. I knelt beside it and read the tag attached to the handle. Richard Williams. His address was listed as McKeesport, PA. I used my cell phone to take a picture of it. I’d research him later.

  “I have a name, at least,” I muttered.

  “It’s a start.”

  I stepped back and glanced around the room. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. I just needed to learn more about this man. I needed to think like Raven.

  Pamphlets for parasailing and hang gliding and nighttime kayaking were sprawled on the dresser. If I had to guess, the owner had left them here for his guests. There was also some spare change, a ticket stub from the movies, and a business card from one of the local olive oil and wine shops.

  Nothing suspicious. And nothing that gave me any clues.

  I opened a drawer and paused. There was money in here. A lot of money. Cash, freshly wrapped in bundles from the bank.

  “Check this out,” I muttered.

  Phoebe joined me. “That’s a lot of mullah.”

  “Tell me about it. Maybe this guy was paid off to kill Mark Hamill?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “Let’s check the bathroom,” Phoebe said. “It can say a lot about a person.”

  “I’m not sure what I’ll find there.” I walked into the oversized room anyway. The first thing I saw were the bottles huddled together in the corner. Aftershave, lotion, mouthwash. Boring.

  I moved a couple and spotted some medicine bottles at the back. Acid-reflux medicine and pain reliever. Another one I didn’t recognize, so I took a picture on my phone to look up later.

  “You recognize this?” I asked Phoebe.

  She shook her head. “I can’t say I do.”

  “I risked a breaking-and-entering charge, and the payoff was not worth it,” I said.

  Phoebe shrugged. “Win some; lose some. At least you know now.”

  Just then something slammed downstairs. Then whistling cut the air. Keys rattled.

  White Blond Richard was back, I realized.

  Already?

  Phoebe and I exchanged a glance, panic in each of our gazes.

  “What do we do?” Phoebe whispered.

  My gaze darted around the room. We wouldn’t make it to the balcony. Plus, we’d risk being locked out there in the cold. No, thank you.

  Footsteps echoed. Coming up the stairs. Toward us. We didn’t have much time.

  So I did the only thing I could think of. I hid. In the shower. With Phoebe.

  And I really hoped Richard wouldn’t go a little mad and decide to re-create any shower scenes from Psycho.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The whistle got louder and louder, closer and closer.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” Phoebe whispered.

  “Maybe not. I’m so sorry if I get you in trouble. I just want to tell you that in advance.”

  “You didn’t make me do this. I practically forced it on you.”

  I glanced around. A seashell bath curtain offered our only protection from whoever was in the house. A dirty white washcloth hung on a silver bar below me. A soothing tan tile enclosure reminded me, at the moment, of walls at a mental ward.

  The whistle was in the bedroom now. Please stay there, and don’t come in the bathroom!

  But what if White Blond Richard was home for good? What would we do then?

  I ran a hand through my hair. What a predicament. And again, all for nothing. I’d discovered virtually no new information except his name. A lot of risk and no payoff.

  When I didn’t show up either at home or at work, Zane or Dizzy would eventually get worried. One of them might call the police. Which meant that Jackson would probably get the memo.

  He’d go looking for me. He’d eventually see my car parked at the house next door. He might come over here and eventually find me and Phoebe.

  Or worse—he’d try to call me!

  My phone, I realized with another surge of panic.

  My hands trembled as I slipped the device from my back pocket. Don’t drop it, Joey. Don’t drop it. That would be my luck. Or that it would ring.

  Is your phone on silent? I mouthed to Phoebe.

  She nodded.

  Well, at least one of us was on the ball.

  I stared at my device, which I’d only had for a month or so. I didn’t see any Off buttons. Wasn’t there a way to disable this? I couldn’t figure out how.

  Daggonit!

  Carefully, I flipped the sound to vibrate. And as a means to confirm what I’d done, my phone buzzed.

  Stupid phone.

  The whistling stopped.

  I froze and exchanged a look with Phoebe.

  Had the man heard the buzz?

  If this man had killed Mark Hamill’s doppelganger, he could kill me and Phoebe, and no one would be the wiser. He could even claim it was our fault, that we’d broken in.

  Worst-case scenarios rushed through my mind, and my pulse spiked.

  The whistle started again. Mary Poppins, I thought. Whatever floated his boat.

  My skin crawled as the sound got louder and louder.

  I shrank closer to the wall.

  Oh my goodness. He was in the bathroom. In. The. Bathroom!

  Phoebe and I exchanged another look.

  Sweat sprinkled across my forehead, and I pressed myself farther into the tile.

  I heard water hitting water, and my cheeks heated.

  He was not only using the bathroom, but he was literally using the bathroom.

  I closed my eyes. I should not be in here. It was such an invasion of privacy, not to mention gross and inappropriate.

  Yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything except stand here and try to disappear.

  Please, phone, don’t ring. Don’t ring! Or vibrate!

  I glanced up. Bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash were perched in a wire container hanging from the showerhead. If I moved just the wrong way, the whole thing could fall. And my shoulder was dangerously close to it.

  Come on! Finish up! And whatever you do, don’t take a shower!

  I glanced at the shampoo again, then at the shower curtain. What if he could see my shadow beyond those happy-looking little starfish and conches? Was it translucent?

  There were so many things that could go wrong here. So many things.

  I was terrible at this detective thing. Had I mentioned that yet? Good detectives didn’t make this many errors.

  I shifted ever so slightly as my leg began to tingle. When I did, the shampoo shifted. The whole rack hanging on the showerhead crept down by a fourth of an inch.

  Phoebe squeezed my arm. Too many more shifts and the whole thing would fall down. Which would cause the man to check the shower to see what was going on. Which would then lead him to finding us.

  And it would be the end of my reign of error. Yep, then I would go to jail. Or the mayor would let me off, but I’d have to promise the life of my firstborn—as well as my People’s Choice Award—along with the commitment to remain in the Outer Banks and do whatever he said for the rest of my existence.

  Finish up already! How long did it take to relieve yourself? A long time apparently. The man should win some kind of Guinness award. What an accomplishment.

  Finally, the water-on-water noise stopped. Something zipped.

  I squeezed the skin between my eyes. I should not be hearing this. It was against everything I’d been raised to . . . to hear, I supposed.

  Scenes from Psycho flashed back again. I half expected Richard to pull back the curtain and stand there wielding a knife.

  Or . . . maybe he would leave now. After he washed his hands, of course. Because not washing your hands after going potty was gross.

  But before I heard the sink running, a phone rang.

  My heart almost stopped.

  Until I
realized it wasn’t my phone or Phoebe’s. It was his. Richard’s.

  I held my breath.

  “Yo, yo, Timmy!” Richard said. “What’s up, my man?”

  I waited. I still didn’t hear the water running in the sink, but Richard remained in the bathroom, so maybe there was still hope he would practice good hygiene.

  And that if he found me, he wouldn’t kill me.

  “Yeah, I know, man. I heard about it on the news,” Richard continued. “It was totally the guy who was spying on me. Who would have thought he’d be here?”

  He was talking about Mark Hamill!

  Richard let out a laugh. I pictured him preening in the mirror.

  It was risky, but I moved my head ever so slightly and was able to see out of a slit between the shower curtain and wall. Sure enough, the man stared at himself in the mirror, playing with his hair.

  “No, man. I didn’t go to the Polar Plunge. Are you crazy? It’s way too cold for that. You do remember that I have a heart condition, right?”

  Heart condition? That was interesting.

  “But one other interesting thing happened. Guess who else I saw here? Joey Darling, the Raven Remington girl. Yeah, she looks even hotter in person than she does on TV.” Pause. “Yeah, I was going to give her my number, but she was with a guy. I figured it probably wasn’t going to happen . . .”

  Really? Guys were so weird.

  “Okay, I’ve got to get back to my golf game here in a minute. I realized I needed to put some more layers on first. The wind is wicked . . .”

  He wandered from the bathroom.

  No washed hands? Shame on you. Shame. On. You.

  His voice faded as he left the room.

  The good news, I supposed, was that Richard didn’t appear to be guilty. Either that or he was a really good actor. The conversation had sounded authentic. Plus, I didn’t remember seeing him in any of the pictures from the Polar Plunge, and having a heart condition seemed like a good reason not to dive into ice-cold water.

  To my relief, I finally heard the door slam. Then a car started.

  I was pretty sure he was gone. Which meant Phoebe and I had to get out of here. Now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I went home and dropped Phoebe back at her Jeep.

  Before she got out, she turned to me. “Well, that was fun. Thanks for the distraction.”