Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  "I don't want you to hurt me" Keep your voice calm, Gabby. Calm. I had to resist the urge to freak out. Maybe I should throw on the brakes like I saw Sandra Bullock do in a movie one time. The gunman would be thrown forward, knocked out, and I could run away.

  It sounded like a plan. I eased my left foot over to the brake and did a mental rehash of making sure my seatbelt was still fastened. I wanted to press the brakes but couldn't. Something mental stopped me. Something about the man accidentally pulling that trigger if I jostled him.

  "If you don't ease up on your little investigation, you're going to end up like Elvis. Got it?"

  "Absolutely. Drop the investigation. I'm on it. Or off it, depending on how you look at it." Stop talking, Gabby. Incessant babbling will only annoy him. Sweat poured down my forehead, and my heart pounded in my ears.

  "I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm not that type of person. But it's too late now. I'm in too deep. I've killed two people. A third won't hurt my record much more"

  "Of course"

  "Don't patronize me" The man raised his voice, and the gun dug harder into my side.

  I shrank. "Okay"

  "Pull over"

  I sucked in a breath and did as he said. While traffic zoomed by on the highway, I went right into a turn lane and threw on the brakes.

  "If you look back at me, I'll shoot you:"

  The door opened, and the man jumped out. I counted to ten and looked back. The man had disappeared. Drat.

  I pulled into the parking lot and called my dear old friend Detective Adams.

  "So since I've been through all of this pain and suffering, the least you can do is tell me something new about the case:" I smiled wide and blinked my eyes, trying to appear sweet as I stood in the grocery-store parking lot with police cars flashing their red and blue lights around me.

  Detective Adams gave me one of his looks before tapping his pen against the pad of paper in his hand. He clicked the top of his writing instrument and put away his notebook before stuffing his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "There is something new I can tell you"

  My smile disappeared as shock took over. I resisted the urge to lunge forward in surprise. "Really?"

  He raised his chin in a brief, no-nonsense nod. "Darnell Evans didn't die from a gunshot wound."

  "Really?" I know I'd seen one of those while I was under that house. The image had stayed with me for days now.

  "He died from a peanut allergy"

  I stepped back. "Really?" I had to think of a more original response.

  "He'd been dead a couple of days before he was shot. It appears he was shot with his own gun, which is missing."

  Was it the gun that had been pressed into me tonight?

  I shook my head. "This case is getting weirder and weirder"

  "If he'd just died of an allergy, we may not have a murder case. But the gunshot wound makes this a whole different investigation. On top of that is the fact that Ryan Hoffman-"

  "Who?"

  "The mold remediation man:"

  "Oh, right" I forgot that some people actually remembered others by their real names.

  "Ryan was shot with the same gun"

  My hands went to my temples. But when I noticed they were still trembling, I jerked them down. I didn't want the detective to know how scared I'd been. Instead, I focused on guns and peanuts and mold. "That just doesn't make sense. Why would someone shoot a dead person?"

  "There are a lot of sickos out there"

  I leaned closer and glanced around for any listening ears before asking, "Any suspects?"

  I saw the detective tap his foot against the asphalt. "I can't tell you that. I'd say you have to figure it out yourself, but given the circumstances, I don't think that's such a great idea"

  "But if someone hadn't threatened me, then it would be okay to stick my nose into your investigation?" Maybe the detective was finally coming around.

  "I wouldn't say that. But I know I can't stop you from being as curious as a cat"

  I smiled, somehow feeling proud.

  "But Gabby, remember this: Cats have nine lives. You don't. Please stay out of trouble"

  "Always"

  I thought I heard him groan as I walked away.

  BACK AT my apartment, I could hear a crowd inside Riley's place. I wondered who he had over. It sounded like they were having a good time between the rolling laughter, loud exclamations, and enthusiastic cheering that reverberated outside.

  I stared at his door with its chipped red paint for a moment, before sticking my key in the lock and starting inside my apartment.

  Riley must have internal radar for whenever my door opens. And to be honest, I kind of liked his freakish intuition. No sooner had I deposited my sequined purse onto the floor beside my couch than Riley's door flew open.

  "Gabby, we were waiting for you. Amy's over, and we want to help plan the funeral"

  I perked. I'd totally forgotten about our meeting tonight.

  "We just finished our Bible study and were goofing around" He took a couple of steps toward me and touched my arm. "How are you, by the way? Is Parker doing okay?" His voice sounded low and sincere, like he really cared. He made my knees feel weak.

  I swallowed, wondering when I had become so boy crazy that all the men in my life were suddenly targets. Watch out Bill McCormick. You just might be next on my list. "Parker's fine. We broke up."

  Riley gave me the same look as Chad earlier. His grip on my arm tightened, and his blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "Broke up?"

  I blew his concern off with a wave and grin. "It's all good, believe me. I'll tell you more about it sometime"

  "Okay then" His fingers loosened, and he stepped back, still appearing uncertain.

  "Oh, and I was just carjacked. But I'm fine now." I waved a hand in the air to blow it off also. Why be a drama queen?

  "Carjacked?"

  "Yeah. By a man with a gun. Probably the same one who warned me that the next crime scene I encountered would be my own:" I shrugged. "It's all in a day's work."

  "Gabby, are you okay?" With one gentle movement, Riley pulled me into an embrace. My head went into his chest, and I pressed it there until I heard his heart beating.

  Man, did I like being in his arms, smelling his aftershave, feeling cherished-

  "Gabby?" He must have taken my silence for distress. He hugged me tighter.

  "I'm okay."

  "It's okay to admit that you're not okay, you know."

  "I know;" I muttered into his chest. "But as long as I'm still breathing, I guess I'm okay. In my line of work, breathing isn't taken for granted"

  The door opened behind us. "Is everything-"

  Riley pulled out of the hug-darn it!-and I saw Amy standing there with wide eyes and red cheeks, like she'd just interrupted something intimate.

  "Sorry. . " She fumbled backward into the apartment.

  "You're fine, Amy. Gabby was just telling me about her night" Riley stepped away from me and toward Amy. "She's going to come on over. Right, Gabby?"

  I nodded. "Right. Let me just grab a notebook:" And I did just that. Grabbed my yellow legal pad before walking into the lion's den at Riley's.

  I recognized Amy, of course. But I also recognized the pastor, or Shaggy, as I liked to call him. He waved hello. A few other friendly faces congregated, all of them appearing to be close to my age.

  "Gabby, we'd love to help you plan the funeral:" Shaggy took a sip of his coffee, raising his pinky in the air as he did so. "We think it's a very noble undertaking, your idea. We want to do whatever we can to help."

  "Excellent, because I need all the help I can get." In more ways than one.

  For the next hour, we discussed burial options. Cremation seemed to be the best, we decided. Pastor Shaggy suggested we scatter his ashes somewhere meaningful. Did I have any ideas? I thought of the man's pink flamingo collection. He obviously had a taste for the cheesy.

  "How about Mt. Trash
more?" Mt. Trashmore was a real place in Virginia Beach. A park built on top of an old garbage dump. Today, people flew kites off the landmark, one of the only hills in the otherwise flat tidewater region. The landmark also boasted a skater park, playground, and lake. Just label me proud.

  Everyone nodded in agreement. Mt. Trashmore it would be. This way we wouldn't have to rent any kind of facility. Pastor Shaggy would do the eulogy. Amy would find an urn and clear up any legalities as far as releasing the body. She had connections through her work at the social services office. Then everyone opened their calendars or BlackBerries or PDAs, and we set a date for early next week, provided no snags tore into our plan.

  The process had been much easier than I'd expected.

  If only I could get Mr. Hermit's son to come.

  But the funeral was in three days. Would I have enough time to convince anyone that this man's life was worth honoring?

  THE NEXT day, I had more investigating to do.

  I wasn't going to let some crazy guy with a gun who just happened to sneak into my van and threaten to kill my sorry soul throw me off the case. If anything, that gunman had convinced me to pursue this case.

  I paced my sticky kitchen floor as I tried to sort through the facts.

  I needed to narrow my suspect list down to the one person who was strong enough to move a two-hundred-pound body, smart enough to hack into my computer, savvy enough to cover up the crime, and deranged enough to shoot a dead man.

  Since I knew, based on the carjacking, that the person responsible was male, I ruled out Jamie and Lynette.

  That left Rodger and Hank.

  Hank had motive: fame, fortune, and blackmail. But did he have the means? He looked strong enough to manhandle Darnell's body. But Hank didn't seem like the type to learn computer code and hack into my Web site.

  That left Rodger Maloney.

  I remembered the computer equipment I'd seen in Rodger's office. Maybe he knew enough about technology to hack into my computer. Had he designed his company's Web site? I'd have to check into that. Being a business owner, he had to be savvy and have a certain amount of common sense. Despite his bulging belly, he appeared strong enough to drag Darnell's body under the house and deranged enough to shoot a dead man.

  Rodger had to be the killer. He was the only suspect who made sense.

  I picked up my pace, walking from one side of the kitchen to the next, tagging the countertop and then the refrigerator, over and over again. Who needed a treadmill when you had a kitchen?

  I pictured the crawl space beneath the house. How had anyone, regardless of their strength, dragged someone into such a small space? I could hardly maneuver my own body down there. There was no leverage room to drag a body into the confined area.

  I rubbed my temples, hoping the action would somehow help me see more clearly.

  I drew in a quick breath. What if there was another way to get a body under a house? I tore up subfloors all the time, and what's underneath a subfloor? A crawl space.

  What if someone-Rodger Maloney-had torn up the floor inside and deposited Darnell's body under the house?

  I stopped pacing.

  Bingo! That had to be what happened.

  Now I just needed to get inside that house so I could check out the possibility for myself. If my theory proved true, then I'd simply need to nail down a few other details to seal my case before I turned Rodger in to the police. I could focus my investigation.

  I already knew Rodger's motive: money. The man couldn't stand the thought that Darnell might take away his business that he'd worked so hard to build and establish. The idea had made him desperate enough to kill. I'd seen the man angry and knew he'd be a foe to cross on the wrong day.

  I also knew that to kill someone by peanut would be a premeditated crime. Had Rodger Maloney lured Darnell to that house only to secretly slip him a deadly dose of legume? And why did he choose Bob Bowling's house, of all places?

  I needed to investigate for myself. But how would I get inside that house without getting arrested?

  Someone who just might be able to give me some guidance of the soft and chewy variety popped into my mind.

  I found Bob Bowling's address and decided to pay him a visit. I'd been trying to perfect my sweet eyelash flutter lately, and maybe if I played nice enough, Doughboy would let me inside his parents' place for a little look-see.

  Bob's real home rested in a nice older neighborhood in Norfolk, one not too far from Ghent. His current house with its white wood exterior and matching picket fence appeared much nicer than his parents' old place. And I'd bet a million dollars that Elvis didn't rest in peace under this one. I pulled into his U-shaped driveway, parked, and pounded up the brick sidewalk to his door. I carefully avoided the ivy-covered wreath and knocked.

  Doughboy answered a moment later. He blinked, as if trying to place me.

  I handed him a business card. "You hired me to give you an estimate on cleaning some mold under your parents' old house" I exaggerated some innocent blinking until he could place me, the poor, helpless girl he'd pulled out from underneath a worm-and-dead-body-infested house.

  "Oh, right. The crime-scene cleaner" He pushed his oversized glasses up on his nose. "What can I do for you?"

  "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions"

  He leaned in the doorframe, not in a sexy way. More like he was expanding out the door like a marshmallow under heat. He wasn't necessarily a big guy, just kind of soft-looking. "I've given up on selling the place. No one will want to buy a home where two people have been murdered. There's no need to clean up the crawl space now."

  "I'm not here about cleaning up the crawl space"

  He stared at me a moment, and I wondered what was going through his head. Finally, he pulled open the door. "You've got me curious. Come in"

  I stepped through his doorway and noted that his house could use a good cleaning, from the crumpled newspaper littering the glossy wooden floor to the boxes filling the room to my left. Was the man moving?

  "I have an eBay business" He shoved a box out of the way with his foot.

  "Mr. Bowling.. " My mind worked quickly. "I've been thinking about investing in some property, and I think your house might be just what I want. I'm interested in taking a look inside."

  "Inside? The place is a mess. You don't want to buy that old house"

  I shrugged, trying not to appear overly eager. "I'm pretty handy. I think I could fix it up. Plus, it doesn't bother me that dead people were found there. I'm around stuff like that all the time"

  "Ma'am, I just have to be honest with you" He leaned closer, as if about to tell me a secret. "It's a dangerous neighborhood. I hadn't been inside the house for several years, up until a few weeks ago. I couldn't believe the damage that vandals had done to the interior. It's nowhere for a single young lady to live"

  I ignored his sexist comment for the sake of sleuthing. "Damage? What kind of damage?"

  "Graffiti all over the walls. Drug paraphernalia everywhere. Syringes stuck into a mattress in the spare bedroom, and broken bongs in the living room. Need I go on? Someone obviously made themselves at home. I can't help but wonder if Darnell Evans was associated with that whole drug scene and if that's what got him in trouble"

  Could drugs be the motivator behind this murder? Had I been looking in the wrong direction entirely? No one that I'd talked to had mentioned Darnell doing drugs.

  Regardless, I still wanted to see that floor, to see if my theory was correct. Rodger Maloney still remained my number-one suspect.

  "I'm still interested."

  He balked. "You're serious?"

  "Very."

  "Why?"

  I searched for a quick answer. "Because I think Ocean View is going to be revitalized one day, and I want to be there when it happens. I want to get in early."

  He stared at me a moment. "Okay, fine. But view at your own risk. I definitely don't need another crime happening at the place" He reached up on the wall and pul
led down a key from a hook. "Here you go"

  "You're just giving me a key?"

  "Lady, once you see the inside of the place, you'll realize that it can't be damaged much more than it already is"

  I'd learned a few things since I started this amateur investigation stuff. For starters, don't go into potentially dangerous houses alone.

  For that reason, I called Riley. At work. Yes, it was Sunday, but apparently he was really busy and trying to cram in some extra hours. I explained the situation, and he said if it meant spending some time with me, he could take a break from his heavy caseload.

  Okay, not really.

  He'd remained quiet for several moments before finally agreeing. Sheesh, he'd fuss at me if I went without him, yet he was grumpy when I asked him to go. What's a sleuth to do?

  As I cruised down the road toward Riley's office, I called Jamie. Lately, I could be mistaken as someone trying to win the title of Multitasker of the Year. I was becoming rather good at talking on the phone while doing ... well, everything. Next, maybe I'd try brushing my teeth while driving, or showering as I ate breakfast.

  "Gabby! You figure out who killed my Darnell yet?" The Priscilla Presley wannabe smacked her gum as she answered.

  I rolled my eyes as I pulled up to a stoplight. "I'm still working on it. I have a few good leads"

  "I thought you'd work faster than this"

  I scowled out the window, causing the driver beside me to respond with a very un-nice motion. I looked back toward the stoplight hanging above me, thankful it finally turned green. I charged ahead, both on the road and in my conversation. "Listen, Jamie, did you know that your husband didn't have a show lined up in Vegas?"

  "Of course he did. It's all he talked about for weeks"

  "He was going to start his own plumbing business."

  "Hogwash. My Darnell hated plumbing. He only talked about starting his own business to get under Phony Maloney's skin:"

  He got under his skin all right.

  I had a feeling that all other career options had sunk like the Titanic for Darnell and starting his own business seemed his only option. Sure, he'd made some money as Elvis, but not enough to support himself and his wife and his lover.