Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13)

by Christy Barritt

  I knew we were getting to the hard stuff, and I hated that for her sake. But it couldn’t be avoided. Each question had to feel like a sucker punch in her gut.

  Jessie inhaled a shaky breath. “They were going out for a date. They hardly ever did that. We mostly did things as a family, you know? But it was their anniversary, and my dad wanted to do something special. He took Mom to this seafood restaurant in Cape Charles. It’s not there anymore. Well, the building is. But it’s no longer Saul’s. It’s Rock Fish Tavern or something.”

  I made a note of that.

  “I was spending the night with one of my friends from school—Hope McClain. We didn’t know anything was wrong until Hope’s mom went to drop me off at home the next morning. My parents weren’t there, and neither was their truck.” Her voice caught, and she rubbed her throat.

  My blood pressure elevated a bit as I anticipated what would happen next, as I imagined what she must have been feeling.

  “I had no idea what to think,” she continued, tension pulling across her expression, her gaze distant. “I suppose my first thought was that they’d had an accident. But then the police would have come to get me, right? Unless they couldn’t find me because I was at my friend’s house. Then I thought, what if Mom and Dad left? But I knew my parents would never do anything like that. They loved me. I had no doubt about that.”

  “What did you do next?” My throat tightened as I listened to her recount what had to be the worst day of her life. I couldn’t even imagine.

  She drew in a shaky breath, and her eyes looked a little duller. “Hope’s mom tried to call my parents. They didn’t answer. She could tell I was getting nervous, so she drove me to Cape Charles. Maybe they drank too much and got a room at the inn there, she told me. She was just trying to make me feel better. As we were driving down the road, I saw my parents’ truck on the shoulder. They weren’t inside. That’s when we called the police.”

  “I see.”

  “A few hours later their bodies were found down the shore from our home.” Her voice broke. “They’d both been shot.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I wanted to reach forward and squeeze her hand, but we were seated too far apart and it would have been awkward. Jessie also seemed too withdrawn, as if she needed space to get through this.

  She nodded quickly, her eyes haggard. “Thank you.”

  My own latte suddenly didn’t seem that appealing. I moved it to the side. “You went to live with your aunt and uncle afterward?”

  “That’s right. Carol and Talmadge Banks. I didn’t know them well because of an estranged family relationship. But they took me in anyway, and they were a huge blessing to me. I didn’t want for anything.”

  “I’m glad that worked out for you.” That sounded awkward. I tried to think of what I should have said—what would have been more couth—but nothing else came to mind.

  “They said they’d be more than happy to talk to you. I’ll give you their phone number.”

  “That sounds great. I also have your old address, and I’d like to see your childhood home, if at all possible. Is someone else living there now?”

  She shook her head and absently played with her necklace. At the end were two rings. Her mom’s and dad’s wedding rings? I figured it was a pretty safe assumption.

  “No, it’s actually up for sale,” she said. “My friend Hope is a realtor, and she can help you take a look.”

  “Where are your parents’ things?”

  “I put most of them in an old garage owned by Uncle Tal and Aunt Carol,” she said. “They bought some property back in the woods when they first got married, hoping to use it one day as rental income. Then the market tanked. It’s a good place to keep everything, though, because I don’t have to see the building every day and think about what’s inside. It’s far off the beaten path, but accessible enough that I could get to it if I wanted.”

  “I see.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do with their stuff. I still haven’t had the heart to go through it all. I know that sounds crazy.”

  “No, actually it doesn’t sound that crazy. I’d probably be the same way.” I paused and shifted—a sure sign I was about to say something hard or difficult. “Jessie, I’ve looked at the police reports, so I know who the cops think could have been behind it. But I’d like to hear your opinion. You were young, but was there anyone you can remember who had any kind of beef with your family?”

  She remained quiet a moment, staring into her coffee as if the grounds would materialize and offer an answer.

  “I’ve been over it many times in my mind,” she started, her voice strained. “There’s not much I remember. If my mom and dad had problems, they didn’t tell me about them. But I do remember overhearing my dad arguing with one of his workers once.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “His employee was Ray Franklin. He died three years ago, unfortunately. My dad thought he was a bad worker . . . I think. Constantly late and kind of lazy. I think my dad wanted to fire him, but he knew that Ray had some financial issues and was trying to provide for his family.”

  “Your dad sounds like he was a good man.”

  She nodded, a wistful smile across her face. “He was. The best.”

  “Even though Ray is no longer with us, I’ll check him out, just to be certain he didn’t take secrets to the grave.”

  I was trying to choose my words carefully. I could tell that she was already fragile, so I wanted to take this slowly and be extra cautious—two things I wasn’t always known for. But I was trying to do better.

  “I’m also curious about this.” I pushed a paper toward her. “The police report says that your mom withdrew ten thousand dollars from her account three days before she died. Do you know anything about that?”

  Jessie shook her head. “No, only that my parents didn’t have a lot of money. Their bank records should be in the information Garrett gave you.”

  I nodded. “They are.”

  “You’ll see that they believed in paying for things with cash. We lived on a very tight budget.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  She offered a quick smile. “Hope—my best friend—still lives there. She said she’d be more than happy to answer any of your questions about the area, if you have any.”

  “I’d love her information then.”

  Jessie’s eyes locked with mine. “You really think you can figure this out?”

  I contemplated my response before nodding. “All I can say is that I’m going to do my best. I promise you that.”

  Because no one—I repeat, no one—should get away with murder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After Jessie departed, I stared at a picture of Ron and Margie Simmons that she’d left with me. The couple had been in their late thirties when they’d died.

  Margie looked very much like Jessie. Her hair was shorter and cut to her chin. They had the same figure, but Margie was probably thirty pounds heavier.

  Ron looked like a true waterman. His skin was sun-kissed. His blond hair was thinning on top, and he had a thick build.

  They stood on the shore of what I assumed was the Chesapeake Bay. It was a close-up shot, but I could tell their arms were around each other and their faces were pressed up close. Sunlight hit their skin, brightening it to match their eyes and smile.

  The two were the picture of happiness.

  I knew a picture couldn’t tell the entire story, but, based on their smiles, I just couldn’t imagine the two having problems. Plenty of people made it look like they had a perfect life based on the things they presented to the world—whether it was on social media or in person. But layers and layers of pain and ugliness could be buried beneath those façades.

  “I’m going to do my best to figure out what happened to you,” I muttered, staring at their picture. “You deserve some answers.”

  It was time for me to leave. I was going to the Eastern Shore to get a feel for the area and find th
e rental cottage I’d booked online. Evie Manson, a forensic psychologist and anthropologist—yes, she was that smart—who would be helping me with this investigation, was supposed to meet me at two. She was flying in from Texas and had insisted on renting her own car and driving in herself. That was fine by me. Having two cars had its advantages.

  Just as I rose to leave, someone very familiar stepped through the front door and into The Grounds.

  Riley.

  A grin stretched across my face. I hadn’t thought I would see him again before I left.

  “What are you doing here?” I rose to meet him, soaking in his suit and tie. He looked handsome all the time, but there was just something about a man dressed to the nines that made my heart turn to a puddle.

  He kissed my cheek. “I just got out of court, and I had to stop by to tell my favorite girl goodbye. Besides, I just happened to be in the area.”

  I was so glad to see him. I’d been tempted to drop by the law firm where he worked to say goodbye, but I never quite felt like I fit in there. I bet everyone there knew what kopi luwak was. And that was just one of our many differences.

  And how had someone discovered that you could take digested coffee beans excreted by a cat and use them for coffee? Someone sick, that was who.

  “Well, I’m glad you were in the area,” I said, turning my focus back on Riley. “I was just about to leave.”

  I didn’t bother to sit back down to finish my now-cold latte. I knew I didn’t have time to chat for an extended period—and neither did Riley. Instead, we stood in front of each other, and I tuned out everything else around us—even the really catchy remake of “I Think We’re Alone Now.”

  Riley’s warm gaze studied me. “You ready for this?”

  I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You ready to work with someone else? That’s really what you should be asking.”

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re used to going solo.”

  “That’s not true. I let you help me. And sometimes Clarice.”

  “It’s not the same. You’re still the one calling the shots. We’re just there to help out and try to stop you from doing anything unwise.”

  “That’s what you think Clarice does?” I lowered my voice. Clarice was a dear friend, but she was spacier than an astronaut in a galaxy far, far away.

  He shrugged. “Well, that’s what I’m doing. She’s usually comic relief.”

  I nudged my chin higher. “I’m sure Evie and I will be fine.”

  He nodded slowly, in a way that made me wonder if he was skeptical. I wasn’t going to own up to the fact that I’d considered those same questions myself. Evie and I could very well be like our own forensic version of Batman versus Superman. And, just like the movie, that would be very, very bad.

  “Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble,” Riley said.

  “How much trouble could I get into with a ten-year-old murder?”

  He cocked his head to the side and pointed at me playfully. “You, my dear, can always get into trouble. Always.”

  Maybe usually. But not this time. This time, I was all professional and totally safe.

  Because I was a part of . . . I nudged my chin higher, placed my hands on my hips, and mentally hit Play on the superhero theme music . . . the Cold Case Squad.

  I’d rented a cottage for seven days. Because it was on the smaller side, the cost wasn’t taking up too much of our paycheck, and the location beat driving back and forth to my home in Norfolk every day.

  Most of our answers would be found on this side of the water, if I had to guess.

  The last time I’d been on the Eastern Shore had been late spring when everything was warming up, and being outside had been pleasant. Right now, it was January and the area was bitterly cold as wind swept across the waters on either side of the peninsula and dropped the temperature substantially.

  The house I’d rented was on the sandy shores of the Chesapeake Bay. It had three bedrooms, a great room/kitchen area, and one bathroom. It was ample for what we needed. The furnishings inside were simple. Laminate floors, clean but outdated furniture, and fake-marble kitchen countertops.

  After I’d brought all my things inside, I tried to prepare myself for this assignment. I’d had a choice in assembling any team that I wanted, yet I’d asked only one person to join me. That was Evie Manson. The Mensa inductee was one of the best in the country in the field of forensic psychology and anthropology. I’d gone to school with her for one year, and we’d reconnected a year and a half ago at a forensic conference.

  She wasn’t the easiest person to work with. No, she was haughty and arrogant and had no social skills. But she was also brilliant, and I wanted to surround myself with the best.

  I’d decided to start small and grow the team gradually. Riley was right. I was used to working alone and being the one to call the shots. I figured I’d start with one person. Even the Bible said that two were better than one, and I hoped that would be true now as well.

  I was surprisingly nervous. I supposed that was normal since this was my first time doing something like this. I didn’t want to let Garret down, nor did I want to disappoint Jessie.

  I turned on Train’s “Hey, Soul Sister,” hoping it would create some positive vibes, and then I started some coffee—because coffee always made everything better. While I waited, I called Mark Miller. He was one of the suspects in the murder, and apparently he’d dated Margie at one time. I hoped he would be open to talking to me. His daughter answered the phone and told me that her dad was out of town until the weekend, so I made a mental note to try him later.

  I also called Hope, Jessie’s best friend, and arranged to see the family home later on that day. I didn’t expect to get much out of seeing it except possibly a better understanding of the family.

  By the time I’d done all that, Evie arrived.

  Evie looked a little like Winona Ryder with her pale skin, dark hair, and stark style of dress. We’d made some strides in our relationship when we’d last been together, but seeing her now made me wonder if too much time had passed. She stood stiffly at the door and stared at me.

  “Evie!” I said. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  I started to greet her with a hug but then dropped my arms. Evie wasn’t a hugger. In fact, she was as cold as ice. On the outside, at least. I knew her on an interpersonal level, and she was still pretty cold. But I was familiar enough with her to know she could be counted on for truth, no matter how painful it was.

  “How was your flight?” I asked, taking her black suitcase from her.

  “Ample.” She looked around the cozy cottage with a touch of disdain. “It’s cold here. Texas is warmer.”

  “I’m sure it is. I have a fire going. You can warm up.” Thankfully this place had a gas fireplace that I’d been able to start without any problems. It was a small victory for me—because nothing ever went off without a hitch with me, it seemed.

  She turned toward me. “I’m fine with the cold. I’d rather get started on this case.”

  “Great. I’m good with getting started also. In fact, we have a meeting with the detective who worked on the case in—” I glanced at my watch—“one hour.”

  “So, I don’t have time to warm up.” She assessed me with what appeared to be contempt, like I’d purposefully deceived her.

  “Well, not for very long.” I’d forgotten how hard Evie was to get along with. Now that it was flooding back to me, I questioned why I’d asked her to come. Then I reminded myself just how smart she was. Having her here would increase my chances of solving this cold case. That was the important thing.

  “Let’s talk,” she said.

  That sounded good to me. We sat across from each other on the couches near the fireplace, and I shared with her everything I knew so far.

  She stared at the police file. “This is quite fascinating. It will be difficult to solve.”

  “We can do it.”

/>   Her analytical gaze shifted from the file to me. “We don’t know that. The police haven’t been able to solve this in more than a decade. We need to be realistic.”

  “And we need to have a can-do attitude.” I felt like a cheesy camp counselor, especially when I added a little jig motion with my arm.

  “Attitudes make us feel better, but they don’t necessarily produce results. I don’t care what any of the latest psychobabble claims.”

  Irritation rankled me. I needed to end this conversation, I realized. Despite what Evie said, I wanted to start this with a good attitude, and mine was going south more quickly than Mark Stewart’s presidential campaign.

  Mark who?

  Exactly.

  I offered a quick nod and pulled myself together. “Okay, how about if we get going? I want to give ourselves plenty of time to get to the sheriff’s office.”

  “That sounds like a fine plan.” She stood and draped her designer purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go. We can discuss as you drive.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  What had I gotten myself into? I was about to find out, like it or not.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’m very familiar with the case,” Detective Hanson, with the Northampton County Sheriff’s Department, said. “I was the one who found Ron and Margie’s bodies. I also went to church with the family.”

  I’d actually worked with the detective last spring when I’d helped solve a case on Cemetery Island, which was also located in this county. He was in his forties, I’d guess—although, at times, he looked older. Especially when he was grumpy. But he seemed to have warmed up to me some since our initial butting of heads when we’d first met.

  He had a square face, short black hair flecked with gray, and leathery skin. His clothes were often stained, and he looked tired most of the time.

  Just as the last time I was here, his desk was messy and crowded with stacks of papers, leftover breakfast, two coffee mugs, and numerous knickknacks. There was apparently some kind of inside joke revolving around the poop emoji because he had various versions of that in the room, everything from bobble heads to an insulated soda can holder.