Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13)

by Christy Barritt

  “If I dare?”

  “We had a little gas-leak scare earlier,” I explained before quickly changing the subject. Besides, there were more pressing things on my mind. Things like . . . “Did you just fly in?”

  I was still trying to put this together. He was the last person I’d expected to show up. Honestly, I hadn’t expected anyone to show up. Had I mentioned yet how the first part of my plan was to start small? And, although Evie was just one person, she was seeming bigger and bigger by the moment.

  “I did. I caught the first flight I could find. I didn’t want to miss any of the action.” He grinned and pushed his glasses up higher.

  “But don’t you work?” I continued, still perplexed at his appearance.

  “I have vacation time. A lot of it.” He glanced at Evie and offered an awkward wave. “Hi, Evie.”

  “Hi, Sherman.” She didn’t sound nearly as fond of him as he did of her. I hoped this wouldn’t be a problem.

  “Well, since you’re here, I guess we should get you caught up.”

  He plopped down on the couch and stared at us with puppy-like innocence. “Sounds good. Let’s do it!”

  After a gab session with Sherman, I escaped to my room, ready to unwind for a while. The first thing I did was check my email. I decided to read my work messages first to get them out of the way so I could relax and enjoy myself while checking my personal inbox.

  I had several messages from Grayson Tech, to which I shot off quick replies. Mostly they were about upcoming workshops that I was leading.

  I also got a message from Chad. He really wished I was in town because he needed my help with a cleaning job. Three people had been shot at a nearby college campus, and he was cleaning up the blood from the incident. Thankfully, they were all still alive, though one was in critical condition.

  Next, I moved down to an email Sierra had sent me. It was a video, actually, of her son, Reef. He was only eight months old, and he was absolutely adorable.

  He smiled on the camera and reached for the lens. Drool slipped from his little mouth. When Sierra set him back on the floor, he bounced on his hands and knees. And then he . . . crawled. He crawled!

  I’d missed it. I missed being there for his big moment. Bittersweet sadness pressed in on me. I was so glad to see him progressing as he should. But couldn’t he have waited until I got home?

  Finally, I clicked on an email from Riley. It was the house listing he’d promised to send. I opened it and held my breath, waiting to see what this place looked like. Men and women were known to have different tastes for things like this, and I hoped I didn’t have to burst his bubble by hating one of the listings he’d sent me.

  My gaze slowly focused on the initial picture of the house.

  As I soaked in the structure, my shoulders relaxed. It actually didn’t look bad. Just as he’d told me, it was craftsman style. White wooden siding. A glorious porch with a swing.

  I started to click through the photos. The inside had all kinds of nooks and crannies. Built-in bookcases and intricate woodwork and columns. And the wood floor—it looked original and beautiful.

  I kept looking, my excitement growing with every photo. The backyard was pretty spacious, considering the area. And it backed up to . . . water. Glorious water. The Lafayette River wasn’t exactly the Chesapeake Bay, but it would do.

  My gaze shifted to the final pictures. There was some kind of bonus building in the backyard. It wasn’t a garage, and it was barely bigger than a shed. But inside there was a bedroom and a decent-sized living area/kitchen. It was a little bigger than a tiny house, and it was decorated just like the main house. I wasn’t sure what we could do with the space—who would want to stay there—but I loved the idea of having it, even if it was just for an office.

  As soon as I finished studying the photos, I called Riley.

  “I was waiting to hear from you,” he said. “What do you think?”

  “I love it. Do you really think we can afford it?”

  “It’s in our budget. I mean, it will need some work. The HVAC system needs to be updated. It will need a new roof. The landscape isn’t remarkable—”

  “We can fix those things,” I said.

  He laughed. “You really like it.”

  “I do.”

  “If we’re interested, we’re going to have to act fast. I know there’s been some other interest in the listing.”

  “What do we need to do?”

  “Do you think you could drive back tomorrow evening? Maybe we could look at it then.”

  I mentally calculated how long that would require and how much time would be taken away from the investigation.

  It would take an hour to drive there. An hour to look at the place maybe? An hour to get back. So, I was looking at being gone at least three hours. Could I take that much time away from the investigation?

  I was in charge, I remembered. Certainly, I could take a few hours for myself. We could work something out.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  “Really? You’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  Grown-up Gabby was taking form. It was scary and exhilarating. And it was time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We left promptly at nine the next morning to retrace Ron and Margie’s steps. I drove since I knew the area better than the other two. Evie sat beside me, and Sherman was in the backseat, talking away and not seeming to notice the tension rolling in waves from Evie.

  I was actually kind of happy to have him here. He was a nice break from Evie’s aloofness, and I welcomed that.

  He was a genius also, so that helped. Though I didn’t think we’d need his computer forensic expertise, we could definitely use his mind.

  I pulled into Cape Charles, a cute little town on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay. The town’s main street was picturesque with numerous shops, people riding in winterized golf carts, and families strolling with their dogs despite the frigid temperatures. A harbor waited on one side of the town and old train tracks stretched on another side.

  Something about the town made me feel warm and mushy inside. It also gave me the strange urge to watch Gilmore Girls reruns. Stars Hollow and Cape Charles seemed to have a lot in common—mostly their charm.

  I pulled to a stop in front of the Rock Fish Tavern. They were open for brunch, which we planned to hit while we were out. Then we would go from there.

  “What do you think the chances are that someone still works here who worked here the night Ron and Margie came to eat?” I asked, staring up at the restaurant, which looked like it had been a stone-faced church building at one time.

  “Slim to none.” Evie glanced around. “Then again, in a town like this, maybe there aren’t many jobs. Maybe there are lifers in this business.”

  The way she said it made me think she wouldn’t admire anyone who settled for such a menial job.

  “I don’t know,” Sherman said. “I’m from a small town. People like their jobs. There aren’t that many opportunities, so they don’t bounce from place to place like they might in a metropolitan area.”

  “Psychologically speaking, you’re correct.” She nodded with affirmation. “And some people are creatures of habit. I’d venture to say that people who live in a town like this fit that description. Otherwise, there’s not enough variety here to keep them here.”

  “Well, I’m just hoping they have some eggs and bacon,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  We walked inside the restaurant, and the scent of a pig’s stomach being fried in its own fat greeted me. Yes, that would be bacon. Yummy, yummy, bad-for-you bacon. It was a nice greeting, and I already decided that this place would be a winner. When I heard Jack Johnson on the overhead, I knew I was right.

  The place indeed was an old church, and the sanctuary had been turned into a large dining area. The high ceilings were amazing and trimmed with dark wood that made the whole place look rich and inviting. The original stained-glass windows—I assumed they were original, at leas
t—added some ambient lighting.

  There were probably twenty other people dining inside. I couldn’t tell if they were locals or visitors, but everyone seemed happy with their meals.

  We were promptly seated. As the smell of bacon continued to waft around me, my stomach grumbled.

  How much longer would my metabolism tolerate breakfasts like this? I hoped for a long time, but I was going to have to up my exercise level regardless. I was thirty now, and things were supposed to be slowing down soon. That’s what the latest issue of Cosmo had told me, at least. I’d read about it in the dentist office while waiting for a cleaning.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” our waitress asked.

  Sherman and I both ordered coffee. Evie, on the other hand, had to be persnickety.

  “Do you have tea?” she asked.

  “We sure do.”

  “Is it imported?”

  The waitress made a face. “I’m not sure. I can check for you.”

  “You’d know if it was.” Evie frowned. “I’ll just take some hot water. I brought a backup stash of my favorite tea for moments just like this.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Please, Lord, help me to never be like that. Please.

  After the waitress departed, I glanced around. I wondered if this restaurant looked this way when Ron and Margie had come here. I wondered if they’d been excited or if there had been a big, dark secret between them. What had really been going on in their minds? Did they have any close friends who could tell me? I needed to find out about that also.

  Maybe they didn’t have the perfect marriage that people assumed they did. And, by people, I meant Jessie. I had no idea what Talmadge and Carol thought about their relationship, and it didn’t really matter since the two couples had been estranged from each other. It would be hard for them to have an opinion, it seemed.

  “Are you trying to summon the spirit of Ron and Margie or something?” Evie asked, eyeballing me from across the table.

  I snapped out of my mental re-creation. “I don’t summon spirits.”

  “Okay, I wasn’t sure. I knew you believed in that spiritual stuff.”

  There was definitely an edge of patronization to her voice. I’d faced it before. The battle of faith versus science. It wasn’t always a pretty debate, but I really did believe that the two could peacefully co-exist.

  “We just need to figure out where Ron and Margie were with their marriage and in their lives,” I said. “They wouldn’t have told Jessie if they were having any problems. Certainly, they had friends around here.”

  “All valid points,” Evie said. “It will also help me to get into their mental space.”

  “It’s what happened between here and their home that’s really the pivotal point, though,” I continued. “There are witnesses who confirm that they were here at the restaurant. They ate here. From what I read, they didn’t leave early. So, what happened?”

  “That’s a great question.” Sherman took a sip of his coffee.

  I waited for him to raise his pinky in the air. He didn’t. He was just that type of guy, and there was nothing wrong with that.

  As a waitress refilled my own coffee—I drank it a little more quickly than I should have—I decided to see if she knew anything. Before I could even start, she said, “You’re the ones who are investigating Margie’s and Ron’s deaths, aren’t you?”

  Her words again reminded me that our pool of suspects was even larger than I assumed since everyone in town seemed to know who we were and why we were here.

  I quickly soaked in details about the woman. She was probably in her mid-fifties with blonde hair piled on top of her head, a thin build, and pleasant wrinkles. The name on her lapel read “Wendy.”

  I nodded. “We are.”

  “I hope you can figure it out.”

  “So do we,” I said. “Did you know them, by chance?”

  She waved a hand in the air. “We all know each other around here. But, yes, I did know them. Not as well as some others.”

  “What do you think happened?” I asked. That was always a key question. It was amazing the things people said when that question was raised. I got the best answers and often heard things that got my juices flowing.

  “I wish I knew.” She jutted her hip out in thought. “I waited on them that night, you know.”

  My attention was totally on her now. Bacon had taken a mere second place. “Did you?”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t Rock Fish Tavern back then, but instead it was Saul’s.”

  “You must like it here to stick with it for so long.” Evie’s voice contained her normal edge.

  “I get to keep up with people in town and meet visitors. It’s fun. And the soup is good.”

  “Do you remember anything about that night?” Evie asked.

  “Oh, I remember it quite well. You don’t forget stuff like that. Ron and Margie seemed so happy that night. For a while, at least.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  This was the first I’d heard of this.

  “Something changed about halfway through the evening. As soon as they finished eating, they asked for the check. They were ready to go. And not in a good way.”

  “You have no idea what changed?” Evie asked.

  “Oh, no idea. I’ve replayed it many times. No one came up to them or approached them. The only thing I can figure is that their conversation took a turn for the worse.”

  “I suppose that would make sense,” Evie said. “Or someone could have gotten a text.”

  “I’m sure the police checked their phones,” Sherman said. “Even if their phones couldn’t be found, the cell company could have gotten the information.”

  Maybe it was good to have Sherman here after all because I wouldn’t have known that.

  “There were rumors that they weren’t happy together,” Wendy said.

  “Really?” Now that was interesting.

  “I mean, every couple has issues at some point or another,” she continued. “But I’d never seen the two of them unhappy. And they’d been together a lot of years.”

  “So, they both grew up around here?” Sherman asked.

  “That’s right. They went to high school together, but they never dated back then. I’m pretty sure Ron and Margie started talking again while Margie was in nursing school. He was in the military, and they struck up a good, old-fashioned romance. They even wrote letters to each other. That’s what I heard, at least.”

  “Do you remember anything suspicious? Any strangers who were in town?” I asked.

  Sorrow filled her expression. “I wish I did. I wish I had some answers. But, sweetie, that’s about all I know. If you want answers, go talk to the Watfords. Steve and Shelli. They were good friends with the family.”

  I stored away that information.

  Just then, our food was delivered. Maybe some food would help me think more clearly.

  If nothing else, there was bacon. There was always bacon.

  And Jesus.

  We walked back to my car, our bellies full, as well as our minds.

  Going to the Rock Fish Tavern had been a great idea, as had talking to Wendy.

  But, when I reached my sedan, I paused.

  Stared.

  Blinked.

  Certain I was seeing things.

  But I wasn’t.

  My tires had been slashed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, staring at the flat tires. “Why would someone do this?”

  “Someone doesn’t want us here.” Evie stared at the tires, crossed her arms, and raised her nose in the air.

  I was getting that message loud and clear. “Again, that begs the question of why. Why do they want to get rid of us already? It doesn’t make sense.”

  I called a tow truck, and was told it would be there at any minute. Who knew how long this mishap would hold us up? I’d guess it would take at least a couple hours to have my tires changed.

  I also needed t
o file a report with the police, just in case incidents like this continued.

  Evie talked to several businesses close by to see if anyone had seen anything. Of course, they hadn’t. That would make my life too easy.

  “Look who just happens to be in town,” Evie whispered, nodding to someone in the distance.

  I followed her gaze and saw Dewey Witherspoon sauntering down the sidewalk across the street. Though he wore battered jeans and a ratty T-shirt, that didn’t stop him from flashing a confident smile and waving at anyone who looked his way.

  He had serious delusions of grandeur, didn’t he?

  “The fact that he’s in town right now should be noted,” Evie continued. “Because that means he was most likely here when your tires were slashed.”

  Maybe there was one suspect rising to the top of our list, after all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Good point,” I said, still staring at Dewey, who had the redneck swagger of George Clooney and the class of Archie Bunker. “Whoever did it was pretty brazen. It’s broad daylight, and there are plenty of people around.”

  “But your car is kind of secluded by this hedge maple tree,” Sherman pointed to a tree with low-hanging branches.

  He was right. Anyone could have casually walked by, acted like they were tying a shoe, and put a knife through my tires.

  I watched as Dewey climbed into his beat-up Cadillac. As he did, his eyes met mine, and something gleamed there. Was that satisfaction?

  He squealed away, accelerating extra loudly.

  Sherman pulled out his cell phone. “Let me call Uber, and I’ll go pick up my car.”

  Evie gave him a look that clearly articulated an eye roll without the actual rolling of the eyes. “I’m pretty sure there’s no Uber around here.”

  “You might be surprised.” Sherman shrugged, unfazed.

  Evie needed someone like him in her life, someone who didn’t care about her sharp tongue, her reprimanding ways, or her occasional resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Just then, Talmadge Banks pulled to a stop beside us in his silver Mercedes SUV. He rolled down his window and peered at us with a sympathetic look on his face. “I was down at the hardware store and heard what happened. Do you need a ride?”