“Every second we’re in here increases our chances of dying,” Evie muttered. “Just do it.”
I swallowed hard, lifted a prayer, and grabbed the door. I held my breath.
Nothing happened.
I started to dart out the door when Evie said, “The gas has probably leaked out here also. We still need to be careful. Stay on the sidewalk if you can.”
I wasn’t going to argue with her. She did have her PhD.
With every footfall across the wooden planks of the porch, the cement sidewalk, the gravel driveway, I waited for an explosion. That was just how my life went.
But there was no explosion. No . . . anything.
Despite that, I didn’t stop moving until I was beyond my car and close to the street. Evie was right at my side.
When I finally stopped, I turned and looked at the house. I held my breath.
I continued to wait.
There was no explosion.
“Did we overreact?” I asked, feeling the tension across my shoulders.
“No, absolutely not. That was the smell of natural gas. We need to call someone to check it out before we step foot back inside. I’ll never forget tagging along with an officer once for a carbon monoxide death. A person’s skin turns red—”
“I know.” I needed to stop her because that could have very easily been us.
I called 911—thankfully my phone had been in my back pocket, unlike my coat or laptop, two things I desperately wanted right now—and the dispatcher promised to send someone out.
“Are you sure you read the instructions on the fireplace first?” Evie asked.
Of course she would think this was my fault. For a moment I’d wondered that also. But, as I thought it through, I knew this wasn’t my doing, no matter what the headlines might one day read.
“Yes, I did,” I said. “I’m very careful around these things.”
“Then what happened?”
“Maybe someone else did this to try and run us out of town.” It might be a long shot, but it was better reasoning than me being careless.
Maybe.
Evie scoffed. “Already? We haven’t even struck any nerves.”
The wind hit my face, and my skin tightened, drying out on contact. “We don’t know that. Maybe we’re closer to answers than we think.”
“I find that hard to believe.” She nearly snorted.
“Well, I’ve had enough people try to kill me that I have experience to back up my claim.” My words sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears. But whatever. Maybe I’d make it into the Guinness Book of World Records with that accomplishment. Gabby St. Claire Thomas: holds the record for most attempts made on her life by criminals.
“If that’s true, then we can already narrow down our suspects. We’ve talked to Detective Hanson, Mr. and Mrs. Banks, and Dewey. This is going to be easier than I thought.”
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. She was right. If the guilty person had done this, then our list of suspects could be narrowed considerably.
“Detective Hanson is related to Dewey,” I said.
“Yes, he is. We definitely need to keep that in mind.”
“I think we can safely rule out the Banks.”
Evie squinted before nodding. “True. But maybe they told one of their employees or coworkers what we were doing.”
“Maybe.” But why would someone show his hand this early? That’s what didn’t make sense.
A patrol officer arrived first at the scene, followed by two firetrucks.
We explained to everyone what had happened, and we were assured that we’d handled the situation properly. Then they directed us even farther away from the home, explaining that the gas could build up in ditches and other low-lying areas around us and still present a danger.
As we stood near the country road leading to the remote area, another officer arrived and offered us blankets. I greedily wrapped it around myself. Last time I’d checked, it was only 36 degrees out here, and it felt every bit like it. I ignored the fact that someone’s leftover Ramen noodles were dried between the various lint balls dotting the fleece. I was that desperate for warmth.
An hour after the utility company had arrived, the fire chief approached us. His name was Gary Burns, which I thought was a fitting name for someone in the firefighting business.
Gary was in his fifties with a large belly, a bald head, and a fringe of gray hair. He wore tinted glasses and had an easy, reassuring smile.
“You’re the girls who are in town investigating that murder of Ron and Margie?” Gary asked.
I blinked and pulled the blanket closer. “What? How did you know that?”
“Everyone in town knows that,” he said.
I exchanged a glance with Evie. She showed the same confusion I did: a wrinkle between her eyes and uncertainty in her usually very certain gaze.
“How in the world does everyone know that?” I asked.
“It’s a small town. Word travels fast.”
So much for our theory that only a few people knew we were here and why. This opened up our suspect list to the whole town, practically. Great.
“Plus, none of us have forgotten what happened to Ron and Margie,” Chief Burns continued. “We all want answers. But neither of you really look qualified to head up this investigation. I expected to see someone older, more experienced.”
“We’ve got plenty of experience between the two of us,” Evie said. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Her words left no room for argument.
I supposed there were a few upsides to such bold confidence.
He blanched and backed down. “Of course. It wasn’t an insult.”
She gave him a pointed look. “That’s what it sounded like to me.”
And here she went again, pushing people away when we needed to make friends. I took some mental notes to not act this way.
Had I acted this way before? I was going to have to evaluate that later. I’d like to think the answer was no, but there were times I’d been bold and outspoken when maybe I should have used tact.
“So, what did you think happened? It sounds like you were around back then,” I said, watching as firefighters stood around the perimeter of the house.
Apparently, the utility company had managed to turn the gas line to the house off, but now they needed to investigate how this had happened. It could be hours before the place was cleared and deemed safe again.
If I had to wait much longer, I was going to escape to my car, just for warmth. What I wouldn’t give for some coffee right now. I might even take some made from cat poop.
“Lots of rumors flew among locals,” Chief Burns said. “Dewey was one of them. I’m sure you’ve already heard about him.”
I nodded. “We tried to talk to him today. No luck.”
He snorted. “Not surprising. He’s a strange one. I’ve always thought he’d be better served in a mental institution than as a wannabe farmer. He subleases his land and makes his living off that money.”
“Interesting,” Evie said.
“Maybe,” Gary said. “But it never made sense to me why he would kill the Simmons, you know? For ten thousand dollars? I suppose it’s a possibility. But there’s more to the story.”
“Of course there is,” Evie said.
I narrowed my eyes, mentally trying to shush her.
“Did you have any other suspects?” I asked before Evie could further insult him. “Any other rumors that seemed to hold some weight?”
“Well, there was the migrant worker theory. But we don’t even know for sure what his real name is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since he was undocumented, there was speculation that he used a fake name on his papers.”
“It’s a possibility,” I conceded.
Either way, it didn’t give me any clues on how to find the supposed Emilio Perez.
“Then there was Ron’s employee and friend, Ray. But everyone says he wasn’t the type who’d hurt Ron and Margie.
Of course, he’s dead now.”
“So, it sounds like this is why the police never arrested anyone,” I said. “There was no one to arrest.”
“That’s right. Sometimes I wonder if someone passing through the area just happened to find them at the wrong time, you know? I mean, their truck was found on the side of the highway, yet their bodies were found three miles away. How’d they get there?”
“That’s a great question,” I said. “I find it strange that they hadn’t broken down either. Why did they pull over?”
“Maybe if we discover the answer to that question, we’ll solve this mystery,” Evie said.
Just then, one of the firefighters stepped out. “You’re going to want to see this,” he said.
We followed him to the back of the house, and he pointed to some kind of line leading into the exterior wall. I didn’t have to know what it was to know what it was, if that made sense.
“If you look right here, you can see this line has been tampered with,” he said, before looking me right in the eye. “This is only a guess, but I’d say that someone wanted that house to explode with the two of you inside.”
CHAPTER NINE
It took five hours for officials to clear our house and air it out. Evie and I had waited outside in my car for the last half of the process. At one point, I’d driven down the highway to a roadside coffeehouse and gotten some drinks—anything to pass the time.
But I was counting down the minutes until we could get back in because everything I knew about the case was in my file in there. Besides, my valuable time was slipping away, never to be regained.
I didn’t know about Evie, but that little scare had left me exhausted—and even more determined to figure out what was going on.
Once we were tucked safely back inside, Evie and I stood in the kitchen. Evie sliced vegetables for some crudité, working carefully and precisely on the butcher board.
As she did that, I spread out papers in front of us. Mostly, it was the police reports and some photos and some notes that I’d scribbled by hand. We’d also written out Ron and Margie’s timeline.
We would need to work backward from their date night, however. It would be difficult since the Simmons were no longer here to tell us what they did in the days leading up to their deaths. Many people wouldn’t remember what had happened ten years ago. Their bank records, which Jessie had gotten for us, showed that Margie had gone to the grocery store and Ron had gotten gas in their last days. But there was nothing there that offered any answers.
“Okay, I think what we should do is start at the beginning,” I said. “We should go to the restaurant where they ate. We know the approximate time they were there. Then we should retrace their footsteps leading to the crime scene.”
“That sounds like a good plan.” Evie stared at one of the reports. “I really want to call the medical examiner and speak with him as well. I use the term medical examiner loosely. He’s actually an area doctor who does that work on the side. There are a few things in this report that don’t make sense to me. I’m hoping he’ll remember some of the details of these gunshot wounds.”
“It was a Smith and Wesson. I can only assume that a lot of people have those in this area. It’s a pretty common gun.”
“I would agree. Which doesn’t make this any easier. Also, the angles of these shots have me curious.” She narrowed her eyes at the sheet. “Well, there’s no need to theorize. I’ll call tomorrow and see if he has any helpful information.”
She carefully cut up a carrot, making sure each slice was matching and proportionate. I’d never seen someone take so much care with slicing veggies but whatever floated her boat. “I’ve been consulting for a TV show. Did I tell you that?”
“No, I had no idea. I knew you’d left your full-time position, but I thought you were a professor.”
“Only part-time. This show approached me about helping them, and I thought the opportunity would be fun. Hollywood pays pretty well also.”
“Well, that’s great. You’re doing a little bit of everything, just like me.”
She made a face. Quick pouty lips. Flickered eyebrows. Cool aversion to eye contact by glancing at her nails. “There are a few differences.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask but I did anyway. “Like . . .”
“Well, you work for Grayson Tech, and I work for Yale. You do little PI cases, and I consult for a blockbuster TV show. You clean crime scenes in your spare time, and I go to the Caribbean.”
Ouch! “That . . . that wasn’t very nice, Evie.”
“I’m not saying it to put you down.” She frowned. “It’s just a fact.”
Indignation rose in me. I could put up with a lot but not this. “I’m well aware of the fact that you’re more educated than I am, not to mention smarter and wealthier. But you don’t have to be so rude or disrespectful about it.”
She picked up a carrot stick and bit off a crisp bite, careful so that her lips didn’t touch the vegetable. I imagined it was because of her bright red lipstick.
“It’s just an observation,” she stated. “I wasn’t proclaiming a hierarchy or anything.”
The coolness of her words set off another round of fireworks inside me. “That’s what it sounded like. I thought you’d be a good one to help me with this case, but if this is beneath you then, by all means, feel free to go back to your wonderful life elsewhere.”
I hadn’t meant for the words to leave my lips. But they had. Maybe it was better that I didn’t keep my feelings bottled up inside. But, as silence stretched taut between us, I wasn’t sure.
She frowned again. “I’m sorry. You know I have very few social skills. The fact normally doesn’t bother me, but I can see that I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“You haven’t hurt my feelings, Evie. I love my life.” I remembered my apartment going up in flames. My brother being arrested. My alcoholic, freeloading father. “For the most part, at least. But you sound haughty and like you think you’re better than me, and I’m starting to think this whole working together thing wasn’t a great idea. This is my first time trying to organize a team to help solve crimes, and maybe I didn’t choose wisely.”
If she was going to be blunt, perhaps I should be blunt as well. Maybe that was her communication style. There was no need to beat around the bush right now.
She frowned, but the action was offset by the aloof way she looked off into the distance afterward. “I was actually looking forward to the change of pace. People rarely ask me to do things because I’m their friend. They mostly use me for my expertise. In a way that’s what you’re doing, but your invitation sounded so personal. I thought maybe we could have some girlfriend time, as they call it.”
I stared at her. Certainly, I hadn’t heard correctly. Evie wanted to have girlfriend time with me? Had she lost her mind?
She wasn’t the girlfriend-time type of gal. There was nothing warm or fun about her. I couldn’t envision her giggling as we did our nails or swooning over the newest rom com, or popping chocolate in our mouth and bemoaning weight gain.
But she was waiting for my response right now. And she was just so hard to read.
“Let me get this straight: you wanted to hang out with me?” I asked.
She nodded, her frown returning. “Yes, I did. I’ve always thought you were interesting. People seem to warm up to you faster than they do to me. Actually, people never warm up to me. I’m pretty much a loner. But as I get older, I’ve realized that’s less appealing than it was at one time.”
“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re here then.” I couldn’t believe those words had just left my lips.
“Thanks, Gabby.”
“Maybe we both just need some sleep.”
Before she could respond, I heard wheels rolling over the gravel driveway leading to the house.
I grabbed my gun from my purse. We weren’t expecting anyone, and, after the gas scare, I needed to be on guard.
I wasn’t taking any chances.
CH
APTER TEN
I crept toward the door with my gun drawn and ready to use. My heart slammed into my chest as the doorbell chimed.
The only thing comforting me was knowing that killers didn’t usually ring doorbells.
Usually being the key word here. There was a first time for everything.
With stiff muscles, I pressed myself into the door and peered out the peephole. I didn’t know whom or what I was expecting to see.
Trouble, mostly.
But trouble hadn’t arrived, thankfully.
I set my gun on the entryway table and threw the door open. A man stood there. He was close to my age, with thick, dark hair. He had a thin build, a square face, and plastic wire-framed glasses—not to mention an awkward smile and stiff movements.
“Sherman?” I blinked. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “Evie invited me.”
My head swung toward Evie, and I expected her to blurt a quick explanation—especially since we’d talked about Sherman earlier. Instead, she looked just as surprised as I was.
“Why would you think that?” she said point-blank.
He shrugged, nonplused. “You told me Gabby was putting together a team.”
“But I didn’t invite you,” Evie said.
“You said I’d be a good fit.”
She crossed her arms. “It was an observation, not an invitation.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She scowled. “Obviously, I did.”
The tension was palpable. I had to do something, so I opened the door wider. Partly to try to end the awkwardness by ushering him inside and partly to shut out the cold. “I’d be happy to have you help, Sherman.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t need any payment. I just wanted the chance to work with you two again.”
Evie and I exchanged a look.
“Where will you stay?” Evie pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms.
“I suppose I can ask if there’s room at the hotel down the street.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, tugging his suitcase out of the way so I could close the door. “There are three bedrooms here. Stay at the house . . . if you dare.”
Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13) Page 6