Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

  "Actually, Sierra, I'm in the hospital" This is why I liked to cut out those polite formalities that people seemed so fond of. "I wondered if you could bring me some stuff."

  "Hospital?" Her voice rose a few decibels. "Why are you at the hospital?"

  "It's a long story, but I really need to work on a paper that's due soon. Plus, some clean clothes would be nice. Do you mind?"

  "Of course not"

  I twirled the phone cord, contemplating my next question. Should I let Riley know what had happened? I really needed to separate myself from the man if I was ever going to get over him. The last thing I wanted to do was to become clingy and needy. I cringed at the mere thought. Logic and desire collided inside me.

  No, I wouldn't involve Riley. He'd already done enough for me.

  I quickly told Sierra goodbye before my mouth took on a mind of its own and the R-word popped out.

  With the phone dangling in my hand, I glanced up at Chad. He looked distracted and slightly intrigued by the instructions posted on the bathroom door. I cleared my throat, and Chad rescued the phone from me before I flung it across the room. Then he looked at me again with his hands on his hips.

  "So ... uh, can I get you something to eat?"

  Something about his raspy voice comforted me. It must have been the painkillers. They did funny things with my mind.

  "I'd love that burger and fries you were on your way to get"

  "Yeah, sure, I can totally do that" When Chad reached the door, he stopped and turned back toward me. "Gabby?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm really sorry I left you alone. This might not have happened if-"

  "I told you to leave, Chad. You have nothing to feel bad about. Besides, if I'd been the one to leave, the gunman would have probably shot you"

  He didn't say anything else as he walked away. Nor did I.

  Sierra showed up before Chad returned. She made me explain what had happened, detail by detail. If I were a wild animal, she'd probably stage a protest to end violence against me. I could hear it now: "Save Gabby St. Claire! Honk your horn to show you care!"

  I twisted my lips when, even in my imagination, the sound of car horns were nowhere to be heard.

  Great, even in my daydreams I was unlovable and alone.

  I really wanted to ask about Riley. But I restrained myself. Instead, I asked about Sierra's court date over the incident at the seafood restaurant. She told me, but I didn't listen. Shame on me.

  When a moment of silence fell, I cleared my throat and asked what I'd vowed not to ask. "So, was Riley home when you left?"

  She shook her head, and her sleek, bobbed hair swished back and forth. "His car wasn't there"

  "Oh" The statement shouldn't have disappointed me. The man didn't have to rush to my side every time I needed him. Besides, Chad had been here for me. I could hear Rod Stewart singing "That's What Friends Are For" as the soundtrack to my life over the past couple of days. Chad had been a great friend during my stay here at the hospital. I hadn't been totally alone. Chad would honk for me if Sierra ever staged a demonstration.

  Besides, Riley would be here at the hospital if he knew I'd been shot.

  I eased my head back into the pillow. I had to get over that man. If I didn't, the next step would be obsession and then stalkerdom. Before I'd know it, I'd be setting up a little Riley shrine in my bedroom. I'd secretly collect paper cups and tissues he discarded. I'd start my own Riley Thomas fan club, and it would rival that of Darnell Evans.

  Except I'd be the only member.

  Yep, if I didn't get over Riley, those would be the roads I'd go down.

  Couldn't. Let. That. Happen.

  "One burger and some greasy, salty fries!" Chad popped into the room again, proudly holding up a stained paper bag. His gaze fell on Sierra. "Hey, Gabby's friend. How are you?"

  "I'd be better if my friend would stay out of trouble. Doesn't she know I already have the overwhelming task on my shoulders of saving all the innocent, helpless animals in the world? To add my best friend to that list just isn't right" "I wouldn't say I was helpless" I suddenly felt small and incapable.

  "Did she tell you about her last hospital visit? She has a knack for trouble, I tell you. She's like a dolphin to tuna fisherman. She always seems to get caught in other people's nets" Sierra continued on and on about the evils of the fishing enterprise.

  Chad glanced at me and smiled for the first time since I'd been in the hospital. Sierra had that affect on people.

  My cell phone-which a nurse had brought to me an hour or so agobeeped from the table where all my clothes were heaped. Sierra retrieved it for me. I saw that Detective Adams had left me a message. Out of curiosity, I excused myself from the conversation to find out what he wanted.

  "Gabby, I thought you might want to know that we just found the gun used to shoot you. From the initial tests, it appears to be the same one used to kill Darnell Evans and Ryan Hoffman"

  THE PAPER I'm doing for class is on suicides and crime scenes.

  I closed my eyes to give them a break from reading some research material. A girl's got to do something to pass her time at the hospital. Sierra had left a couple of hours ago, and Chad had gone to find a magazine to read. There was no better time to start working on my paper than while here in the comfort of my adjustable hospital bed.

  If only my shoulder didn't pulsate, my head didn't throb, and my eyelids didn't feel like they had lead weights attached to them.

  This paper was due on Thursday. The ten-pager couldn't be late. So even though I really wanted to take a nap, I opened one of my books again and continued reading.

  Of all the crime scenes that I clean, the suicides affect me the most. I mean, why would a person want to take their own life? I'd been through some hard times, and I'd never been tempted to end it all. I wanted to give life a chance to get better.

  But that was just me.

  While doing my research, I'd discovered that suicide is the numbereight cause of death in the U.S. The books I read also said that most people who try to end their life are simply crying out for help.

  Did the tragedy boil down to the same struggle I'd been wrestling with lately? Did our society today make it too easy for people to become isolated? A person could form friendships on the Internet without ever leaving home. Order groceries online to be delivered to their front steps. Use the computer to work from the comfort of their living room. Criminals, even, could hop onto the net and steal someone's identity, all while wearing pajamas and sipping java. Today, society's members could avoid ever interacting face-to-face. The result: loneliness.

  Faces roamed through my mind.

  Mr. Hermit, who died without anyone to miss him.

  Mrs. Mystery, who seemed to prefer solitude.

  The dead Elvis, who was loved for imitating someone else.

  And how about me? I'd been distancing myself from people so much lately that I refused to even think of my neighbors or clients by their real names. Was I reluctant to get too close to people for fear of ... what? That they'd get to know the real me and run away? That I might actually care about them and let them down somehow? That I might be abandoned by them, like I'd felt abandoned by my own parents, first when my mother died and then when my dad's life crashed downhill at breakneck speed?

  I couldn't examine loneliness without questioning my own understanding of the issue. I'd been assuming that loneliness was caused by external situations-like isolation-but I myself was an example of the fact that one could be surrounded by people and still feel empty.

  People did strange things to combat loneliness. Some tried to draw attention in positive ways and others in negative venues. Some filled their lives up by doing good deeds to get noticed and to be loved. Other people turned to crime and drugs or hurting themselves. What did I do to try and fill up my life?

  "Surf's up!"

  I winced at the interruption and turned to face Chad Davis. He stood in the doorway holding a surfing magazine, and I could tell b
y his wide smile that he was pleased with himself for tracking down the publication.

  "How's it going, Gab?"

  I took in his long-sleeved surfing T-shirt and faded jeans, along with his sun-kissed tan that really popped against his white shirt. I wondered if he went to a tanning booth or did the spray-on route.

  Nah, I couldn't see him doing either, though how he got that tan at this time of the year perplexed me.

  I closed my book and rested it on my chest. "I'm okay. Been better. Been worse. What more can I say?"

  He perched himself on the edge of my bed, looking comfortable in the position, like he'd done this a million times before. "Did they catch the guy who did this to you yet?"

  In the two hours since he'd been gone? How optimistic of him.

  "That would be way too easy" I rolled my tired, bloodshot eyes. I knew what they looked like because I had made the mistake of looking in a mirror earlier. Not. A. Pretty. Sight.

  "Any suspects?"

  "Who knows? Not me." I wish I knew because then I'd track down whoever did this and ... well, I don't know what I'd do. But they would regret the day they messed with Gabby St. Claire.

  The title of number-one suspect was still held by Rodger Maloney in my book. I needed more evidence before I singled him out, though.

  "I keep thinking about it, and I still can't figure out how someone knew you were at that farmhouse"

  "They would have had to have been following me and waiting for the right opportunity" The thought frightened me. How could I have not noticed? I considered myself to be observant. Yet someone had trailed me all the way out to the boondocks and I hadn't even had the slightest suspicion? Between the man stowing away in my van and someone following me to a crime scene, maybe I needed to get a clue and rethink the detective thing.

  Chad rested his hand on my leg, which seemed a little odd, but I'd never been good at deciphering the actions of someone trying to comfort me. I decided he was doing just that and kept my mouth shut.

  A woman I didn't recognize appeared at the door. She wasn't a nurse, and my gut told me she wasn't on the hospital's welcoming committee.

  She pushed her red plastic-framed glasses higher on her thin nose and swiped a curly hair behind her ear. "Gabby St. Claire?"

  I fluttered my fingers. "That would be me"

  She stepped closer, and her high heels clanked against the sterile floor. "I'm Dr. Killgore"

  "Ear, nose, and throat?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "I thought I'd already seen every possible kind of doctor there is hereexcept I haven't seen an ENT yet, so I presume ..

  "I'm the hospital psychologist"

  Psychologist? The doctors must have thought the gunshot wound traumatized me or something. With the number of lawsuits going around nowadays, doctors always want to play it safe. The hospital was in no danger of having me sue them. I just wanted to put this experience behind me and get out of this place.

  "Ma'am, I really don't think this, this ... incident ... has had any huge effect on me. I mean, sure, I know all about post-traumatic stress, but-"

  Her icy hand landed on my arm, and even through her glasses, I could see her sharp eyes sizing me up. My hackles rose.

  "Gabby, I'm here to let you know that ending your life is never the answer.

  I SAT up straight in my bed, causing pain to slice through my shoulder. I grimaced but pushed ahead. "Suicide? You think I'm suicidal?"

  Killgore's small little chin bounced up and down like a bobble-head doll on a bumpy road. She gripped her clipboard and continued to assess me with beady little eyes. "That's what the nurses fear"

  "What would ever give the nurses that idea? I thought I'd been in rather good spirits during my visit here, considering everything" I gestured rather roughly with my fingers toward my shoulder injury.

  Chad cleared his throat and nodded toward my chest. I looked down at the book that rested there. Suicide: A User's Guide.

  I held the book in the air like a preacher holding up the Bible at a revival. "This isn't what it looks like. I'm doing a paper on the subject so I can get my degree in forensics. I wouldn't have to read a book to figure out how to end my life. I get ideas every week when I go to work and clean up after dead people!"

  She scrutinized me like ... she felt sorry for me and my pitiful little life. I hated it when people felt sorry for me. "You don't have to be ashamed, Gabby. Many people who are in your position-"

  "My position? What would that be?"

  "Single and working a dead-end job aren't reasons to want to end it all. Things will get better."

  "Better?" I screeched.

  Her chin bobbed again. I imagined that bobble-head doll again. This time, I pictured jerking its annoying head off and flushing it down the toilet.

  "The nurses overheard that your boyfriend just broke up with you. I know that can be hard. I'm single myself, you know."

  "I broke up with him" If those nurses were going to eavesdrop, they needed to learn to do it properly.

  "And you work cleaning up crime scenes? I know a very nice lady who can get you some temp jobs as an administrative assistant-" Her condescending voice grated on my ears like techno music at a symphony.

  "I like my job! Maybe I won't even get my degree in forensics, and I'll just do this for the rest of my life!" I paused and tried to think of something wise to end with, and ended up with, "So take that!"

  Her head tilted compassionately. "I'm going to recommend some counseling for you."

  Chad gripped her arm and led the woman to the door. "Ma'am, she doesn't need counseling. Not anymore than anyone else does, at least" He nudged her out. "Have a great day."

  As soon as she disappeared from sight, I erupted. "Can you believe the nerve of that lady? Coming in here and making all of those assumptions. How dare she?"

  "You are hugging a book with `Suicide' splashed across the cover."

  "It's for a paper-"

  Chad shushed me. "I know, I know. But just think about how it looks."

  "My life isn't that awful. I know people who have it far worse" Mr. Hermit, for starters.

  "You're right."

  `And I like being single. It's better to be single than to marry the wrong person.

  "Absolutely."

  "Is this why they've been keeping me here all day? Because the nurses thought I was suicidal?" I threw my legs off the side of the bed. "I'm going to give them a piece of my mind"

  Chad urged me back into bed. "They were just trying to do their job"

  "I'll show them a thing or two about doing their job." I turned toward the door. "Eavesdrop on this, you good-for-nothing-"

  "Gabby, now they're going to recommend you for anger management. Calm down."

  I slumped back into the mattress. "Fine" I really wished I could cross my arms because it would go perfectly with my immature sigh and lower lip thrust.

  "Let me find the doctor and see about getting you discharged"

  "Please do"

  An hour later, Chad wheeled me out-to my van. I'd forgotten that we'd ridden together to the job site. So it made sense that he'd taken my vehicle home last night and then brought it back this morning. And who was Ito complain? I needed a ride home. And Chad was there for me.

  As soon as I settled into the passenger seat with my seatbelt secured across my tender shoulder, I made up my mind. "I need to go clean up the site we started yesterday."

  Chad cranked the engine and gave me a sideways glance. "No"

  I felt myself straighten at his defiant response. "No what?"

  He shook his head and began backing the van out. "No, you're not going back there"

  Was Chad Davis telling me what to do? I guess he didn't have me all figured out yet. If he did, he'd know that I hated being told me what to do! "I promised the homeowner that I would clean up there, and I need to finish the job"

  "I'll finish it up as soon as the police release the scene" His hands gripped the steering wheel and his eyes focused on the
road.

  I wanted him to look me square in the eye so he could see my determination. He seemed to sense my laser-vision gaze and refused to return it. "I'm sure the homeowners want to get back into their house, though"

  "I'm sure they don't. A man committed suicide between those four walls, and you were almost killed there. I can't imagine they'd be in a big hurry to come back to home, sweet home!"

  Chad could be so infuriating. And he still wasn't looking my way. The nerve.

  "You need to go to your apartment and rest," he continued, as if he were my guardian or something. What is it with people trying to tell me what to do? After my last hospital visit, Riley had acted like a prison guard, making sure I didn't leave my apartment. Parker had constantly tried to boss me around. And now Chad thought he knew what was best for my life. Didn't these people know that I didn't need anyone watching over me? I was a woman. W-o-m-a-n, and I'd say it again. Thank you, Peggy Lee.

  I continued to stare at Chad, daring him to look my way. "Resting is overrated"

  Chad ran his hand through his sun-bleached hair and sighed. Finally, he turned his head and connected with my eyes. Frustration screamed from his weary-looking pupils. "Why don't you just let me take care of you?"

  I leaned back into my seat, confused. "Why would you want to take care of me?"

  He looked away and sighed again, then continued driving. Why was everything so complicated? Silence reigned for the rest of the ride. We pulled up to my apartment building, and Chad raced to the other side of the van to help me out. I let him, against my better judgment. I knew he just wanted to be useful, so why not let him feel good about himself?

  Then he helped me up the steps like I was a little old lady or something. And I let him.

  Then he helped me into my apartment as if I were a fragile piece of glass or something.

  And I let him.

  What was wrong with me?

  Once inside my apartment, he patted the sofa cushions and motioned for me to come hither. "Why don't you, like, sit down and let me get you something to drink?"