Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I knew I should have gone to church the next morning—my weary soul needed some back-to-my-roots refreshing—but my pain medication and the long day yesterday kept me in bed. When I did wake up, my thoughts played over and over in my head.

  Jackson admitting he knew more than he would tell me. Anastasia’s necklace. Max Anderson’s involvement in this.

  As I drank my coffee, I checked my phone. Shawn still hadn’t texted me back. I was anxious to know what he’d learned. And the fact that he hadn’t responded gave me a moment of worry. I hoped he hadn’t gotten himself in trouble

  I texted him again.

  It’s Joey. Haven’t heard from you. Hope all is well. Would love to talk.

  I lowered my phone, fingers crossed that I’d hear from him soon.

  Then I moved on to the next item on my to-do list. I had to talk to Bert Philpot again. He was the one who’d started that nonprofit, and that nonprofit tied my father with those international workers, including Anastasia. I had to figure out what he knew.

  I pulled my aching body out of bed, made myself another crappy cup of coffee, and sat down at my kitchen table. I found the man’s number online and dialed.

  A woman answered on the first ring. “Bert’s Storage.”

  “I’m trying to reach Bert.” I looked out the bay window at the serene beach outside and rolled my shoulders, wishing my body didn’t ache so much.

  “I’m sorry. He’s not available.”

  “Do you know when he will be available?” I needed to speak with him as soon as possible. And I needed different—better—coffee. Preferably from Sunrise.

  “No, ma’am. I sure don’t.”

  I needed something more detailed than that. “If you don’t mind me asking, is he out for lunch and returning later today, or is he out of town?”

  The woman, who sounded fresh out of high school with her thin, high-pitched voice and uncertain tone, sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him in two days. I’m getting a little worried. This isn’t like him.”

  I closed my eyes, reality hitting me. This was somehow connected with that nonprofit he started. And that nonprofit was somehow connected with international workers and that seafood-processing plant in Wanchese.

  “Thanks for your help,” I rushed. “I hope you’re able to reach him soon. Have you let the police know?”

  “Should I? I’ve been on the fence.”

  I frowned. “Call Detective Sullivan with the Nags Head PD. At least let him know.”

  I mentally patted myself on the back. At least no one could fault me for keeping sensitive information to myself. And I wouldn’t have to talk to Jackson myself. Win-win!

  When I hung up, I grabbed my keys. I couldn’t stay here. I had to head to Wanchese. I didn’t know what I would do when I got there, but I had to do something.

  I ended up at the warehouse where I’d been taken by a killer several weeks before. The same warehouse I’d also gone to with Maria Salvatore. And the warehouse where I’d met Adam. Adam, who was one of my fans. Who was someone who worked in this area. And who was someone who seemed very observant.

  I wasn’t sure how to track him down here. So I did the only thing I could think of: I walked into Shipwreck Bay Seafood and asked for him. To my surprise, he appeared a few minutes later.

  “Joey Darling?” He blinked, as if in disbelief. “What . . . I wasn’t . . . how can I help you?”

  “I have a few questions for you. Do you have time?”

  “Sure, I just signed out for my lunch break.”

  I nodded outside. “You want to take a walk?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  I was pretty sure I made him nervous, and I needed to put him at ease. We stepped outside into the temperate, sunny day. The fishy sea scent around us was becoming comforting—something I never thought I’d think. We strolled near the docks.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” Adam said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Adam, did you ever meet a man named Bert Philpot?”

  “Who?” His face scrunched in thought.

  “He was a man who started an outreach to some of the international workers in the area.”

  He pulled his head back in recognition. “Oh, him. Yeah, I do remember him. He was handing out flyers after work one day, mostly to the internationals. I almost look Middle Eastern, so he handed one to me.”

  Good. This was a start. “Who did he work with here?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. We don’t have a ton of international workers here. Only a few. He offered them financial counseling, food, and even clothes. It all seemed legit.”

  “Anything strange about it?” We stepped over a thick rope strung across the ground.

  Adam thought a moment and shook his head. “No, I can’t say there was. What’s going on?”

  I decided to level with him. “The truth is that my father disappeared four months ago. I believe something happened, something connected with the operations here in Wanchese and the nonprofit Bert started. I also wonder if all this is somehow connected with Anastasia.”

  “Anastasia worked here.”

  I paused. “At Shipwreck Bay?”

  Why didn’t I know this?

  “Yeah, she worked in the café. The international student workers have to be placed in a job where they interact with the public. She actually started at the drugstore but got moved over here in September. Some of the students head home then, but she wasn’t leaving until a little later.”

  That fact may have led to her untimely death.

  “We were all shocked when she died,” Adam continued. “For the longest time we thought she must have slipped and fell. Then we heard it was murder. I don’t know why someone would want to kill her.”

  I lowered my voice and glanced around, making sure no one else was close enough to hear my next question. “Do you believe her death could have something to do with her work here?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. There were a couple of men at the seafood company who liked to give her a hard time. I’m not saying they hurt her or anything. There was one other time she seemed pretty upset when she was leaving work.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “No, but I thought she’d been crying. And her hands were shaking.”

  “How about the men? What do you know about them?”

  He shrugged. “I just know they work the night shift. We don’t usually take deliveries in the evening, but every once in a while a catch from down farther south will be ready in the evening. We have to have someone here to receive it. One of the guys is the night manager.”

  “When was that?”

  Adam frowned. “Two days before she died.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “One more question: When is the next time one of these night deliveries is supposed to take place?”

  “Actually . . . tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  That did it. Whatever had happened went back to this marina. All of it. And I was going to figure out what.

  After leaving Adam, I’d talked to Charlie, and he gave me permission to hang out in his dolphin-tour ticket shack. He left at six, and that was when I moved into the small space.

  What did I hope to discover? I wasn’t sure. But I was going to discover something.

  I would stay on the sidelines. I wasn’t going to interject myself into a dangerous situation. But I’d watch and observe and record. Then I’d report and walk away.

  That had been easier than flubbing an audition.

  I’d brought Sunset coffee with me. My warmest black sweater. My black knit hat.

  I could do this.

  I would do this.

  I opened the ticket sales window ever so slightly—just enough so I could peer outside. What was I expecting to see? I had no idea.

  I knew that most of the operations in this area closed down in the evening. T
he seafood-processing-plant workers went home. There could be a few stray fishermen coming in with their catches of the day.

  I didn’t see anything for the first three hours. Yes, three hours. So I played on my phone. Took selfies. Caught up on all the online gossip concerning myself. I had no idea that my breakup with Eric was a publicity stunt or that I was secretly pregnant. It was that picture of me in the bathing suit, wasn’t it? I knew it!

  I had a new cell phone, one that was cheaper than my last, which had died when it fell into the ocean while I was tossing a Frisbee with Zane. I was still learning to use my new phone, which was a step down from my bells-and-whistles old phone. That kind of phone wasn’t in my budget right now.

  Technology wasn’t my friend, but I had to make sure I knew how to take pictures. Unfortunately, nighttime pictures on a cell phone were usually grainy.

  At nine, my phone vibrated—yes, I’d remembered to put it on vibrate this time. Yay, me! Though I didn’t recognize the number, I answered.

  “Joey? It’s me. Shawn.”

  Shawn from Seaside Condos. The war vet. “I tried texting you back, but you didn’t respond. Is everything okay?”

  “I started out just trying to see what I could find out, but I’ve gotten into some pretty deep stuff. We need to talk.”

  I straightened. “Okay, let’s talk.”

  “In person. You’ve got to see it for yourself.”

  I bit down on my lip. I couldn’t ruin this operation. I had to stay and see if this was all for nothing or not. “I really want to hear what you have to say, but it’s not a good night.”

  “It’s about the man who died.”

  I glanced at my watch. I wanted to know what he’d learned. Desperately. But I couldn’t leave right now.

  “I can try to meet you at eleven at Willie’s.” It was the only place open at that hour. “Would that work? I’m tied up with something right now.”

  “Sure, that will work. And, Joey . . . be careful whom you trust in the meantime.” His words had an ominous ring that I didn’t particularly like.

  Of course, I was now wondering what he’d discovered and why he had to tell me in person. At least I’d been smart enough to suggest meeting in a public place. Not that I thought Shawn was dangerous. In fact, he seemed harmless and kind.

  But a girl could never be too certain.

  I used my binoculars to watch the harbor in the distance. Finally, just after 10:00 p.m., I saw movement on the water.

  A boat pulled up to the docks at Shipwreck Bay. As it did, three people stepped from the factory.

  I zoomed in on one. Military Woman! She was involved with this.

  They talked to the men on the boat, who then began to unload some boxes from the hull.

  Why would they be making a delivery at this hour? And in boxes, at that?

  I pulled out my camera and took a few pictures. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see anything in them. Anything at all.

  I was going to have to leave this shack.

  I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have any other choice.

  I crept from the safety of my hideout, careful not to make any sounds. I dodged behind cars and any other obstacles I could find as I tried to get close. Finally, I reached the building, stood at the corner, and prayed no one came this way.

  I raised my phone. Yes, I could make out details here. I snapped photos of everything. From here I could clearly read that the boxes were marked shrimp. Shrimp? What was so secretive about that?

  Somehow, I just knew this was all connected. There was more to this than just a nighttime seafood delivery.

  Strains of the conversation drifted up to me. They said something about barracudas and fish scales. What in the world were they talking about? It must be barracuda season. It was the second time I’d heard it mentioned.

  One of the men said something to the other . . . in a different language. I tried to place what it might be. I closed my eyes. I’d had to learn bits of certain languages for the show.

  Was that . . . Russian? It was my best guess.

  Just then, one of the men dropped a box. He muttered curses as the items inside tumbled to the ground.

  I sucked in a breath. Were those . . . guns?

  I let that sink in for a moment.

  Illegal arms trafficking. Was that what all of this had been about?

  I quickly took more pictures.

  That was what had been going on. Someone was packaging these weapons at the bottom of their seafood shipments, somehow using the product to conceal the weapons. They’d then loaded them into the delivery trucks, which were hijacked. I vaguely remembered hearing that news story at Dizzy’s house. The weapons were then taken to a kingpin of some sort who’d sold them and made a killing . . . literally.

  At that moment, the crab pod beside me crashed to the ground. I hadn’t even touched it!

  One of the men glanced my way, and I quickly ducked behind the building. I couldn’t risk being caught. Or was it too late for that?

  “Did you hear something over there?” one of them asked.

  Run!

  I slid my phone back into my pocket. I had to get out of here. Now. Before my good luck turned bad.

  When I was on the causeway back to Nags Head, I reached for my phone to call Jackson and tell him what had happened. My problem was that my phone wasn’t in my pocket.

  I closed my eyes.

  I knew I’d put it in the pocket of my black leather coat when I’d taken off.

  So where was it?

  I felt on the floor of my Miata and everywhere else I could think of. It wasn’t in here.

  And that would mean I’d dropped it at some point as I ran back to my car.

  Dread filled me. I knew what that meant. I had to go back and look for it. It had all the evidence I needed, not to mention my personal information.

  So I did. I went back. And my phone was nowhere to be found.

  The men were gone. The docks were quiet. It was almost like nothing had happened.

  Except I had proof that it had.

  Or, I’d had proof that it had.

  This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

  I turned around and rushed back to my house. I had to use the phone there and call Jackson, even if it was almost midnight. He had to know.

  He answered on the first ring, and I began one majorly long run-on sentence about what had happened.

  “You did what?” he screeched.

  I didn’t know he was capable of screeching.

  “I didn’t want to be the girl who cried wolf,” I said, pacing my living room like a frenzied wind-up doll. “I decided to get proof first.”

  He let out a long, heavy sigh. “That wasn’t a smart move, Joey.”

  “I know, but I was trying to be safe. And now I’ve left my phone.”

  “Even if someone found it, they’re not going to link it back to you and know that you were taking pictures . . . right?”

  “Well, that would be true, except the picture on my home screen is of me at the People’s Choice Awards. Don’t judge.” I stopped pacing long enough to rest my forehead against the wall. If I wasn’t on the phone, I might have banged it there.

  He sighed. “Okay, but you were there earlier today, you said. It doesn’t mean anything. They could think you left it earlier.”

  “Except I turned the lock off my phone so I could take pictures tonight. It kept getting in my way and freezing it up.”

  “So anyone can get on your phone and look at the pictures there?” Disbelief lilted Jackson’s voice.

  “Yes, that’s right.” I did bang my head this time. But softly. Just enough to make myself feel better. “And, Jackson, they were talking about barracudas and fish scales. Does that mean anything?”

  “Joey . . .” He sighed. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Do me a favor. Stay at your place. Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over to get you. Okay?”

  “What are you going to do with me? Lock m
e up? Turn me over to the mayor? Parade me around town as an example of what not to do?” I deserved it. I would deserve every minute of it.

  “Your first suggestion isn’t bad. At least I would know you’d be out of trouble behind bars.”

  “Jack—”

  “But of course, I can’t do that. I’m not sure where I’ll take you. But I know you shouldn’t be at your place alone, especially if one of those guys has found your phone. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. No idea.”

  As I hung up, uneasiness filled me. No, I had no reason to feel uneasy. Jackson would arrive, he’d protect me, and that was that.

  Except my life was never that easy.

  Someone pounded on my door a couple of minutes later. Jackson had gotten here fast. I rushed toward it, so ready not to be alone.

  Except when I looked out the peephole, it wasn’t Jackson. It was another familiar face instead.

  Chapter Thirty

  Shawn. I’d forgotten I was supposed to meet him!

  “I’m sorry I stood you up,” I started. “It’s been one of those nights. And right now really isn’t a good time.”

  “I have to tell you something. Now.” He leaned on his arm crutch as he stood outside on my stoop and sounded genuinely concerned.

  “It has to do with the man who died at the Polar Plunge?”

  He nodded. “It does. I’m sorry to come here. I really am. But I knew I had to get through to you somehow.”

  With a touch of hesitation, I pulled the door open. Shawn wasn’t involved in this, I reminded myself. I’d already ruled him out as a possible suspect. He would have a hard time going in the water with his disability. Plus, what would his motive be?

  “Come on in,” I said.

  Jackson would be here soon enough. Maybe Jackson needed to hear whatever Shawn had to say also, so it would all work out.

  I didn’t move from the entryway. Instead, I rubbed my hands together and looked up at Shawn, anxious to hear what he’d learned. “So what’s going on?”

  “You’ll never believe who’s involved in Max Anderson’s murder.”