Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13)

by Christy Barritt

  “It doesn’t matter.” Evie pounded the steering wheel with her palms. “We’re stuck here. We can either wait in the car for him to use his blade to cut us out and eat us alive or we can face this head on.”

  Okay, when she put it that way . . .

  He knocked on the window again and raised his empty hands.

  I looked at him again. Maybe he didn’t look like a killer. I mean, his eyes were rather kind, if not a touch confused right now. Then again, Ted Bundy had also been unassuming.

  I wished I could put down my window just a notch, but I couldn’t. Not in a car like this. The entire vehicle had shut down, due to the unfortunate run-in with the tree stump. The wonders of technology.

  Everything had quit working, thanks to the computer system running the car.

  I was the fearless leader of the Dead-End Division, I reminded myself.

  “I got us into this,” I said. “I’ll handle the situation right now also.”

  I drew in a deep breath before opening my door. Then I stepped out . . . with my gun raised.

  “Who are you?” I eyed the man with what I hoped was an intimidating look.

  His gaze locked onto my gun. “Look, I should have explained a little better in my voice mail. I’m not going to hurt you guys. I was just trying to trim some of this underbrush.”

  “Who uses an ax to trim underbrush?” I asked.

  “Look, I really am Mark Miller. You must be Gabby. I take it you got my message.” He raised his hands higher. “Please put the gun down. I’d love to talk to you about Ron and Margie Simmons. But not like this.”

  I stared at him another minute. He seemed sincere. Soft-spoken. Even-tempered.

  Finally, I conceded and lowered my Glock. I hoped I didn’t regret this.

  “Sorry about that. You can understand coming way out here to meet you has us a bit rattled,” I said. “We were expecting a house and not something that looks like a scene from an Exorcist remake.”

  He looked back at the old church building. “I bought this place a few months ago. I’m going to turn it into a house. I just couldn’t let this old beauty go to waste.”

  “A house?” I questioned, my fear turning into curiosity.

  “That’s right. The building is beautiful inside, but there’s no congregation around here who’s going to buy it. Churches are closing their doors left and right in this area. But it seemed like a shame to let this treasure sit here and rot.”

  “I can see that.”

  “So I read this article in a magazine about some people who’d bought old places of worship and turned them into new places to live,” he said. “I thought, why not? Life is short. I may as well do something a little off the beaten path.”

  That was fascinating. I loved the idea, actually. And I believed him. This man wasn’t a literal ax murderer, just a man who’d made a poor choice to greet us with an ax in hand.

  It was a mistake anyone could make . . . right?

  Besides, he didn’t talk like someone who was backwoods. No, he had the smooth articulation of someone well-educated. Mark Miller was an accountant.

  “I guess you just started?” I said, motioning for Evie and Sherman to join me.

  He looked back at the church in the wildwood. “I actually started more than a month ago. You’d be surprised at what I’ve done. It’s quite a bit, but it hasn’t even made a dent in all this. Before I can get any big trucks out here, I’ve got to tear out some underbrush. Thus the ax.”

  I supposed that made sense. There were saplings and broken branches and that fallen oak tree in the distance.

  Evie and Sherman appeared on either side of me, and quick introductions went around. I slapped a fly away as we stood there in the overgrown field with a brittle sun shining on our shoulders. It was an unconventional meeting, to say the least.

  “Is there anywhere we can talk?” I asked.

  I really didn’t want to stand here in the brush beside a car with a crumpled hood. Speaking of which, we needed to call a tow truck. Another vehicle had bitten the dust.

  We were on a roll.

  And speaking of biting . . . the flies out here were terrible. I had no idea flies were even an issue in January, but apparently they were. I slapped another one away. I didn’t need another insect to add to my bite collection currently on display on my back.

  At the thought of it, another round of itchies captured me, and I wiggled my back, trying to avoid scratching myself like a dog with fleas.

  “Why don’t we go inside the church?” Mark nodded toward the front door. “It’s a little warmer there. Plus, it’s got character and charm—and not as many flies.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  We tromped across the thick grass. I kept thinking of that cottonmouth snake and wondering what lived beneath these thick piles of dry grass. I shouldn’t even entertain the thoughts because they only caused my anxiety to spike.

  “Yeah, this is the church where I grew up,” Mark said as we walked beside him. “It’s hard to believe it’s come down to this.”

  “When did it close?” Evie asked.

  “I’d say it’s been twenty years. It dwindled down to a couple of families. Eventually, there weren’t enough people to even pay the bills.”

  I waited for Evie to make a sweeping statement about the state of religion in the country, but she didn’t. Kudos to her.

  Mark climbed the red steps leading to the double front doors. He gave the right door an extra hard tug, and it finally opened.

  I glanced at my comrades before starting up the steps myself. I felt like this was all on the up and up, but one never really knew in this line of work. Thankfully, my gun was still in my purse at my side, and Mark’s ax was still near the car. I could take him if I had to.

  As I stepped closer, the scent of rot and mildew drifted from the open door. My anxiety ricocheted up another notch.

  Whenever I approached a scene and thought “this could be a horror movie,” it wasn’t a good sign. Not at all. I could practically hear the Friday the 13th soundtrack playing in the background.

  With my throat clenched and dry, I stepped inside the church. What I saw there made my heart skip a beat.

  It was beauty in all forms of disarray. Old wooden pews were splintered and dusty. Trees grew through the floorboards. Gorgeous stained-glass windows were broken and shattered. Graffiti had been sprayed on the front of a massive pulpit.

  At once, I imagined the weddings and funerals and baptisms that had taken place here. I pictured life and community happening together. I imagined hope springing up like one of those saplings pushing through the floor.

  “This is both sad and amazing,” I muttered, stepping farther inside.

  “That’s what I thought also. This will be the great room once I fix it up. There will be a kitchen on one side, a dining area, and a living room. There will be a couple of bedrooms in the back, where the Sunday school classes used to meet.” Mark motioned to each area as he spoke.

  “And you’ll live here?”

  He released a breath, his hands resting on his hips, and paused thoughtfully. “I thought it would be nice to let ministers who are on the brink come out here and use it for a retreat. When it’s not booked with that, I’ll probably rent it out.”

  “Ministers on the brink?” Evie asked.

  “The burnout rate among ministers is extremely high,” he said. “I know because my brother was one. I thought in some way this could be a tribute to him also.”

  “I think that sounds nice,” I said.

  “I hope it will be. Now, if you can find a pew that feels stable, then I welcome you to have a seat. I have a thermos of coffee. I’d be happy to share.” He nodded to one on the platform.

  “We’ll be okay.” I made my way across the rickety boards and shook one of the more substantial-looking pews. It remained standing, so I figured it was okay, and carefully lowered myself there.

  Evie and Sherman did the same.

  We were in
a former house of God. I hoped that meant that Mark Miller would tell us the truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I understand that you and Margie used to date?” I started.

  The laidback look on Mark’s face disappeared, replaced with a touch of melancholy. “That’s right. We dated back in high school.”

  “Is that when Margie and Carol had their spat?” I asked. “Are you the man who came between them?”

  He pulled his chin back and chuckled. “Carol? No. No way. Carol always acted like she was above everyone else around her. No way would we have dated. Besides that, I liked athletic women.”

  Okay, so there went that assumption. Not that it pertained to this case. In fact, I was just trying to stimulate conversation, but that had been a dead end.

  I rubbed my hands on my pants and moved on. “Rumor is that you came back to this area and tried to woo her back.”

  He let out another chuckle. “Things were slightly exaggerated. I left the area after high school for college. I stayed away for a long time. I finally came back to visit, and I ran into Margie at the grocery store. She looked just as beautiful as always. She wasn’t wearing a ring, so I asked her if she wanted to catch up sometime.”

  “She wasn’t wearing a ring?” Evie leaned on the pew in front of her and peered over at Mark.

  “She later told me it was because she’d been out working the oyster beds and didn’t want to lose it,” Mark explained. “But I didn’t know that at the time. I thought it was a twist of fate.”

  My gaze pulled upward as I heard something moving there. A lone bird flew across the ceiling and paused on one of the rafters there. This was now a different kind of sanctuary—one for wildlife.

  “What did Margie say when you asked her about catching up?” I asked.

  Half of his lip turned down. “She told me she was married. Unfortunately, the town gossip was standing close by. Before I knew it, the story blew up. I was trying to steal her away from Ron. We’d been secretly seeing each other. I was in love with her since high school. It was nothing like that.”

  Gossip had a way of doing that.

  “I guess you didn’t keep up with anyone in the area,” I said.

  “No, I didn’t. I was ready to leave this small town behind and make something of myself.”

  “As an accountant?” I clarified.

  He smiled. “That’s right. But it turns out that an office job wasn’t for me. I gave it a good chance—no one can fault me for that. I got my degree, got a good job, even got married for a few years. And then I ended up here, right back where I started. Sometimes the Lord has a way of humbling you and bringing you back full circle. The good news is that I’ve learned a lot of lessons along the way.”

  Yes, yes he did. I liked Mark Miller, and I really hoped he wasn’t guilty.

  “Were you back in the area when the murders happened?” Evie asked.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was only here for a visit, and I left the day before it all happened. The police had the crazy theory that I drove back here from South Carolina just to do the crime. I suppose in the strictest sense of a timeline, it would be possible—although barely. I was at my office by 10:00 a.m. the next day, making their theory flimsy. I have witnesses and receipts to prove it.”

  “Did you hear any theories or have any ideas as to what happened?” Sherman asked.

  “It’s hard to say.” Mark let out another deep sigh. “The one thing that always stood out to me was something Bobby Smith told me.”

  “Who’s Bobby Smith?” I asked. Another new name. New names both excited and annoyed me. All these people should have been mentioned in the police reports.

  Surprise washed over his face. “You haven’t met Bobby yet? He lives in Cape Charles. He doesn’t take care of his house. He drinks so much that he falls asleep on the Main Street sidewalk sometimes. He’s not very reliable, which was probably why no one took him seriously.”

  “Took him seriously about what?” I asked, feeling—hoping—we were on the verge of something.

  “He told my brother—a minister—that he saw Ron and Margie get into a boat there in the harbor that night.”

  I sat up straighter. “What? Why haven’t we heard about this sooner?”

  That should have been in the police report also. Had I mentioned that yet?

  “Because it came from Bobby’s lips. Everyone takes what he says with a grain of salt. When Ron and Margie’s truck was found on the side of the road, I think everyone assumed Bobby had been seeing things. I always wondered if there was some truth to his words.”

  “Where can we find this Bobby guy?” Evie asked.

  “Ask anyone downtown. They’ll point you in the right direction.”

  Evie’s rental was towed to a rental company approved repair shop, which just happened to be the same one where I’d taken my car. While we were there, I was told my vehicle was ready, so we switched out one for the other.

  Afterward, we went back to the hotel and picked up Sherman’s car, with its recently repaired windshield. Then we split up.

  Evie and Sherman went to try and track down Bobby. I headed to the county sheriff’s office. I needed to touch base with Detective Hanson and fill him in on everything we’d learned. It seemed like a good way to develop comradery and trust.

  I called on the way, and he confirmed that it was okay if I stopped by. I was escorted into his office when I arrived, but he wasn’t waiting for me there.

  “He’ll be right with you,” a deputy said.

  I nodded and started to take a seat. But, instead, I paced over to some pictures that had been placed behind his desk. I wondered if he had any snapshots of him and Dewey together. What if they were close, even though he’d claimed they weren’t?

  I bypassed all his poop emoji paraphernalia, still wondering what in the world had inspired that collection. It was probably better if I didn’t know because my respect for him might diminish.

  Instead, I glanced at the pictures he had there. One was of him holding a diploma, maybe from his training academy. Another of him with an award, standing beside someone who looked like a politician. Another was of Hanson fishing from a boat with sparkling water behind him.

  It was the fourth picture that stopped me and made ice clog my veins.

  It was of Hanson. Holding a snake. Looking like he knew exactly what he was doing.

  Maybe that was because he did.

  Maybe Hanson was just the guy to handle snakes. Or to place a cottonmouth—or three—in someone’s house in order to stop an investigation. Or maybe he was just the type of guy to cover up his own botched search for answers.

  “Gabby,” a deep voice said behind me.

  I swirled around. Detective Hanson was standing there with a strange look in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I took a step back, my skin crawling.

  Or was that the bed bugs?

  “Detective Hanson,” I muttered.

  A flash of confusion rippled through his gaze as he paused in the doorway. “Glad you could stop by, Gabby. I’ve been anxious to hear if you have any updates.”

  Was that because he was involved in these murders? Was anything truly what it seemed?

  I set the photo back on the table, trying to gather my wits and decide what hand to play. Should I confront him outright? We were here in public. I doubted he’d harm me here.

  Or should I play it cool?

  I didn’t know.

  I licked my lips and decided to head to the middle of the road—a place where traffic headed from either side of you could clip you if you weren’t careful.

  Mental sigh.

  “You like snakes?” I asked, trying to look casual.

  His gaze flickered to the photos again. “As a matter of fact, I do. I have a couple at home.”

  “What kind?” Cottonmouths?

  “A corn snake and a python.” He squinted, appearing on guard. “Why do you ask?”

  I eyeballed him.
Why did he look so innocent? I skirted around the room, closer to the door. Just in case I needed to make a quick exit. He’d be foolish to make a move here. Then again, there were a lot of foolish people in this world.

  They were among us, and we needed to accept it.

  “As you know, someone placed three cottonmouths in my rental.”

  Realization washed over his expression, and he sagged in the doorway. “You think I put them there?”

  I shrugged. “If the shoe fits . . . or should I say the boot? The snakeskin boot.”

  “Why would I do that, Gabby?” He stood upright with his arms crossed, snapping out of some of his initial shock.

  I reached the doorway and paused there, totally not above screaming like a girl to get attention if I needed to. “You tell me.”

  He snorted. “I had nothing to do with these murders, Gabby.”

  “Are you covering for your half-brother? Trying to run us out of town before we can prove Dewey is guilty?”

  He laughed and moved toward his desk. Sat down. Leaned back. “Are you kidding? I’ve been looking for an excuse to lock Dewey up for years. Please, hand me some evidence. I’d love to put him behind bars. He’s nothing but a thorn in my side.”

  Okay . . . if he was telling the truth then Dewey wasn’t the reason Hanson might be behind this. But that didn’t mean there weren’t other reasons. “Are you guilty?”

  The word caused my throat to ache. It was a big accusation, and people didn’t always take well to being accused of things. Especially law enforcement.

  “I did not kill Ron and Margie Simmons, nor did I leave those snakes in your home.” His expression went from halfway amused to downright serious, reminding me of a storm blowing in on a sunny day.

  “Then who did?” I could be downright serious also.

  “That’s what I would like to know myself. You figure that out then you’re a step closer to finding a killer, aren’t you?”

  “I’d say.”

  He leaned forward on his desk. “Around here, anyone could get a cottonmouth and leave it inside your place. We’re a bunch of country boys out here, Gabby. Snakes are a part of life.”