Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13)

by Christy Barritt

  “Did they walk all the way here?” Sherman pushed his glasses up higher on his nose.

  “And in the dark?” I added, trying to picture it. “That would be quite the trek. And they died in the summer, so I would think there would be snakes and ticks and biting flies out here. I can’t imagine they would willingly walk through those woods. Granted, maybe the area has grown up some since then.”

  The familiar scent of the bay rose around me. It was strange, but this area smelled old, like memories had been absorbed into the sand and rotted there. It was a dark thought, and I dared not voice it aloud.

  “Those trees have been here a long time,” Evie said. “They have some age on them. I’d bet it hasn’t grown up a lot, but that it looked like this back then. Pretty close, at least.”

  I squatted down on the aged, green-tinted planks, my mind again going to that night. “Margie’s blood was found in this general area. They believe she was shot on the pier and fell into the water.”

  “How about Ron?” Sherman asked. “Approximately where was he found?

  I left the pier and walked toward a sandy recess beside it. My feet sank into the soft ground surrounding the area. Tall grass filled with prickly briars clung to my shoes and jeans.

  “It appears that he was shot on the sand,” I said. “The tide had washed away a lot of the evidence, but there was a trace amount of blood spatter left on the sand. It matched Ron’s.”

  “So, someone shot Margie on the dock and then shot Ron?” Sherman asked.

  “Due to the waterlogged nature of their bodies, it was hard to determine who died first, but police believe they died within minutes of each other,” I said.

  Evie tapped her black lace-up boot. “I looked at the medical examiner’s report. The angle of the gunshot wounds was different. I’m still trying to figure out why. But Ron was shot head on. The killer was facing him. Margie appears to have been shot from the side. Maybe she was struggling with the killer, which caused the gun to fire from an angled position.”

  I imagined Ron and Margie out here. They’d left the restaurant at nine. I would guess they’d gotten here at ten or eleven. It would have been dark. Really dark. Was the moon beautiful and romantic as it reflected off the water? Were they talking about the future together?

  Or had they come out here to rehash whatever it was they’d been arguing about earlier? Could it have been the ten thousand dollars Margie had withdrawn? Or was there something else we hadn’t even touched on yet?

  I still had so many questions.

  “What now?” Evie asked, tapping her foot again.

  “Now we visit where their bodies were found. I doubt it will tell us anything, but we should be thorough.”

  “I like thorough,” Evie said.

  “Then a thoroughling we will go.”

  Evie stared at me. “What?”

  “Like a caroling we will go, using thorough instead,” I explained.

  “Thoroughling isn’t a word, though.”

  She was so concrete-fact based. Whimsy mystified her. Silly perplexed her. Kindness was an unneeded formality.

  I mentally sighed. “Let’s go.”

  Thoroughling, I added silently.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The rocky area where the bodies had been found told us nothing, just as expected. But at least the secondary crime scene had given us a chance to offer a moment of respect to the couple who’d lost their lives ten years ago. I felt as if I had a better feel for the whole situation now. The groundwork and foundation had been laid.

  However, this was our third day investigating. I knew we wouldn’t solve this overnight, but we did have a deadline. None of us could afford to stay for more than seven days. It had been advantageous to think we could even knock it out that quickly. But sometimes all a person needed was a good, challenging goal to get the juices flowing. Or they simply needed to put the “dead” in “deadline.” Using those words in a murder investigation gave everything a whole new perspective.

  Doing all of this put us right at dinnertime. Apparently, while I was taking my car into the shop and while Evie and Sherman were getting a ride back to Evie’s rental car, the Banks had invited us over. I was glad Evie and Sherman had said yes because it would give us another glimpse into Jessie’s life.

  We had just enough time to run back to our rental house and get cleaned up before leaving again.

  I did have a grease stain on my butt, briars on my jeans, sand in my shoes, and I was pretty sure that I smelled like a mix of motor oil and rotting seafood.

  No one would mistake me for someone who had it all together. I was more Anne of Green Gables than Wonder Woman. More Rizzoli and less Isles.

  Talmadge and Carol had seemed pleasant enough, and I was interested in learning more about them as well as asking more questions. I especially wanted to know more about Jarrod. He was on my list of people to talk to, as were Ron and Margie’s friends, Steve and Shelli Watford.

  I only hoped Evie behaved this evening and didn’t offend our hosts. I could see that happening as easily as the Jackson Five reuniting to sing “ABC.”

  When we walked inside, the scent of the sea hit me yet again. This time, the smell was savory and pleasant, stirring up visions of butter and parsley over freshly broiled seafood.

  “I hope you like paella,” Carol said, emerging from the kitchen with a pale-yellow apron on. She seemed a little warmer this time than last.

  “It sounds wonderful,” I said before Evie could share her opinion.

  “I’m so glad you all could come,” Talmadge said, slicing some French bread on the kitchen island. “I’ve been curious if you’ve found anything out. However, I understand that you’re just beginning here.”

  “That we are,” I said. “But I think we have a solid start.”

  “I look forward to hearing more about it.”

  We all sat down at the table twenty minutes later. We sipped on sweet iced tea, and I tried to learn the ins and outs of eating various kinds of shellfish. I’d never been very graceful at the whole eating an oyster without chewing it thing. But, for the sake of comradery, I’d given it the old college try again. I only gagged twice. Okay, three times. Not that I was counting.

  Finally, the conversation turned to the case, and we shared a little about what we’d learned.

  “A serial killer?” Talmadge paused, his utensils in the air as if he needed to mentally chew on the idea before he could literally chew any more food. “Now that’s an interesting theory. I’ve always found it strange that their vehicle was found on the side of the road, and they were killed so far away. It always made sense that they’d gotten into a car with someone else.”

  “The crime scene would have been a far walk,” I said, still visualizing that trek. I could only imagine them doing it by force.

  “I agree,” Carol said. “And, if anything, if they’d broken down, I’d think they would have walked back toward town. Someone they knew would have eventually passed them and given them a ride. And they didn’t call for help. It’s very strange to me.”

  “I do have a question for you,” I started, settling for some bread instead of a clam. It was much less awkward to eat. “Jarrod Hedges. What can you tell me about him?”

  Both Talmadge and Carol’s faces darkened, and I knew this was an unpleasant subject. But I also knew it needed to be asked.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Talmadge put his fork down like he’d lost his appetite. “Those drug problems that Jessie had? They were because of Jarrod. Her parents didn’t approve of their relationship, and we didn’t give our blessing either.”

  “I heard Jarrod was seen arguing with Ron a few days before the murder,” I continued. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “That’s what we heard also,” Carol said. “It was apparently over the two of them dating. He might seem guilty, but he had a solid alibi for the night of the murder.”

  Evie shifted, using her napkin to wipe her . . . teeth? “What was
that?”

  “Jessie didn’t tell you?” Carol stole a worried glance at Talmadge.

  “Tell us what?” I asked.

  The lines around her face deepened. “Jessie and her friend snuck out of the house the evening her parents died. Jessie was with Jarrod. So was her friend, Hope, and another boy named Easton.”

  “Really?” There was a lot Jessie hadn’t told me, apparently. Why was that? Did she not think it was relevant? Was she fearful it would cast her in a negative light?

  Evie’s cold stare latched onto Talmadge then Carol. “Can you see Jarrod hiring someone to do the murder?”

  “Jarrod didn’t have any money.” Talmadge let out a small, subtle laugh. “His parents were poor. Very poor. I don’t see how that would be possible. But I’ve always suspected that Jarrod might know something that he wasn’t sharing.”

  “If Jarrod was selling drugs, he could have used that as leverage to get someone else to do his dirty work,” I said.

  Carol and Talmadge exchanged a worried look.

  “It’s a possibility,” Talmadge said. “But good luck proving that.”

  When we got back, I escaped to my room to call Riley. The good news was that the house didn’t smell like gas this time. The other good news was that no one else’s tires had been slashed.

  I was counting my blessings one by one.

  It was now dark outside. I’d dimmed the lights in my bedroom and turned on Spotify. “Killing Me Softly” swept through the Bluetooth speaker I’d brought, a song that both soothed me and reminded me of murder. Win-win.

  My heart panged with regret when I remembered the fact that my plans today had taken a detour. I hadn’t been able to see that property Riley had told me about. But I couldn’t change those circumstances, so I just had to make the best of them. My dream house waited.

  “Any updates on the car?” Riley asked.

  “It will take two days to get the tires. I called the insurance company and started the claim. So now I just wait.” I paused long enough to lean back against the rattan headboard and cross my legs. “But enough about boring stuff like that. How was the house?”

  I’d told Riley to go look at it since we already had a showing set up.

  “Well, it really did have a white picket fence,” he started.

  I pictured it in my head. I pictured Riley and me there. With a dog. And a tire swing. And . . . kids?

  Hmm . . . that one surprised even me. “I had no doubts.”

  “It has a lot of potential.”

  Then I pictured that bonus building at the back of the property and possibilities—bad ones—slammed into my head. “Now there was one thing that concerned me—the in-law suite in the backyard. You’re not thinking my dad is moving in, are you?”

  “Um . . . no.”

  Another awful thought hit. “You’re thinking your parents? Because I don’t think they could live in that small of a space—”

  “No, Gabby.” He chuckled. “I’m not thinking of my parents either.”

  I let out a sigh. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Riley’s parents. I just wasn’t sure I’d ever feel like they accepted me for who I was, no matter how long I was in the family.

  “Okay, now that we’ve gotten past those two critical points, I can safely say that this is a good possibility,” I said. “However, the area of town is old. It’s surrounded by ghetto.”

  “Nothing that we’re not used to.”

  “True. But what will your lawyer friends think?”

  “I don’t really care what they think.”

  And that was just one more thing I loved about Riley. That and the fact that he didn’t incessantly post selfies with sun-washed backgrounds on Instagram.

  A surge of excitement rushed through me. “This could really be happening, couldn’t it? We can act like adults. We’ll have a mortgage. Next thing you know, we’ll get a landline and get excited over things like buying new towels.”

  He chuckled. “We’re not quite there yet. We haven’t made an offer. But I do think we need to act quickly if we’re interested.”

  My heart rate quickened. “Should we just go ahead and do it? I mean, if you think it’s a great place, then I trust you. I loved the pictures I saw.”

  “You’d want me to do that without you seeing it in person?” Surprise tinged his voice.

  “Like I said, I trust you. And we’ve been looking for a while. I’d hate to let this one slip by just because someone slashed my tires.”

  Stupid tire slasher. He’d caused me to lose perfectly good tires and my dream-home tour.

  “Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll make an offer, and we’ll see what happens.”

  A satisfied smile tugged at my lips. “Sounds good.”

  His voice changed to a lower tone. “I miss you, Gabby.”

  My happy endorphins switched to more serious ones. “I know. I miss you too.” And I truly did. I was amazed at how quickly I’d adjusted to sleeping beside him. I missed the feel of his arms around me. I missed waking up to see him next to me.

  “Anything else I should know about the case?” he asked.

  He was my sounding board, always an essential in my life.

  I rehashed the gas leak. The slashed tires. Reiterated that someone was trying to slow us down.

  “And here I thought I was going to have a nice relaxing mystery to solve,” I muttered.

  “You thought a murder was going to be relaxing?”

  I pressed my head back into the pillow. “Well, it’s a decade-old murder. I figured the key players would probably be long gone or would remain low-key so I wouldn’t notice him or her. Probably a him. That’s what Evie says.”

  “I have confidence you can do this. Just stay safe so you can return home to me and maybe our new house.”

  Anticipation surged through me. “I will, but I think I’m wearing out my guardian angel.”

  He chuckled again. “If that angel is anything like you, he’s got plenty of stamina. I just know it.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  I ended the call and leaned back in bed. As exciting as this case was, part of me missed my life back in Norfolk.

  But that wasn’t my circumstance right now. I’d promised to do my best with this case. And that was exactly what I intended to do.

  Thoroughling it all the way.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next morning, my little cold case squad split up so we could divide and conquer, not to mention make the best use of our remaining time.

  Evie wanted to talk to the medical examiner. All of it would be like a different language to me. So, instead, I was going to track down Jarrod and maybe Steve and Shelli Watford. Sherman had decided to go with Evie, which was no surprise. She’d looked slightly annoyed, but I had a feeling she was secretly happy to have him along. He was one of the few people unaffected by both her attitude and arrogance.

  And I was secretly happy to have some time by myself. The only thing that would make it better was if I had my own car. But, since I didn’t, I borrowed Sherman’s rental instead.

  He’d called and added me on his plan with the rental agency, in case anything happened. Since I was involved, there was a good chance something would happen.

  The first thing on my agenda was visiting Jarrod Hedges. I knew he worked at Graceland Vineyards, and I wasn’t going to announce the fact that I was coming. Sometimes, it was better to catch people off guard and see their reactions. If people had too much time to think, then they had time to formulate their excuses and become more calculated.

  The vineyard was thirty minutes north from where we were staying. I’d turned off the main highway and meandered down a country road. There were farmhouses surrounded by acres of property. I spotted little brick ranches with chicken coops in the back. Occasionally, there was a set of three or four trailers together.

  Everything was so vastly different out here, evidence of the different kinds of people who lived in the area—everyone from those
who were wealthy and retired to those who were poor and struggling to make ends meet. Whereas, in the city, different people groups were generally separated by neighborhoods, the only things that separated the classes out here was the land. It was fascinating to me.

  The area was like a patchwork quilt. Parts of it were made from both new and old material. Some squares were composed from well-used, worn pieces that had been witness to toil and heartache—that had wiped tears and sweat and blood. Others were made from untouched swatches fueled with promises and luxury and comfort.

  It felt a bit like my life—a hodgepodge of events and milestones. Some were glamorous, others embarrassing. Then there were the deeply moving occasions, the gut-wrenching times, and hopeful moments. Stitch all of them together and they made up Gabby St. Claire Thomas.

  Finally, I saw a sign that said “Graceland Vineyards.” I turned down a long gravel lane and could see water beyond the symmetrical rows of grapevines.

  If I wasn’t investigating, then this would be a fascinating trip. I wasn’t much of a vineyard aficionado. The only rows I usually saw while choosing a beverage of choice were those that served as the aisles of local grocery stores. Usually cheap grocery stores at that.

  I finally pulled to a stop at the end of the lane and climbed out. Dirt kicked up by my car tires still billowed in the air, stinging my eyes and making my teeth feel gritty. I stepped away from the plume and walked toward the three-story brick house beyond the lane.

  Someone rounded the corner and greeted me before I reached the front door. It was a man, probably in his fifties, and he wore dusty jeans along with a royal-blue North Face parka, and a baseball cap.

  “Unfortunately, we’re not open at his time of year,” he said, several posts propped on his shoulder.

  “I was actually looking for one of your employees. Jarrod Hedges.”

  He blinked. “Jarrod? Yes, he works here.”

  “I’m investigating—”

  “The murder of Ron and Margie Simmons,” he finished, realization washing over his gaze.

  Another wave of surprise washed through me. “Everyone in this area knows about that, don’t they?”