Hazardous Duty

by Christy Barritt

  Without gloves.

  I pounded on the window.

  He glanced up and closed his cell phone. His window rolled down. “Everything okay?”

  “You shouldn’t be touching that without gloves.” I pointed to the box.

  He looked down at the evidence and pulled his hand back as if he’d touched fire. He ran his fingers through his thick light brown hair. “My prints will be ruled out when the crime scene unit tests it. No big deal.”

  He glanced up with a level gaze.

  I stared at him, my mouth starting to gape open. “That’s not proper procedure. Your sloppiness could compromise a piece of evidence that could change the entire direction of this case.”

  He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Things like this happen all the time. I know to a young idealist this seems like the worst thing that could happen, but believe me, it’s not.”

  A young idealist? He didn’t know anything about me. And if he thought I was going to let this slide, he was wrong. But it would have to be dealt with later. Now I needed to get home before I passed out from exhaustion.

  “There’s nothing I can do about your blunder,” I said, silently adding “for now.” “The whole reason I came over here was because I need a ride home. My van isn’t drivable.”

  His shoulders seemed to sag in relief. “Give me a few minutes here and I’ll take you myself.”

  He stepped out of the sedan. “Why don’t you stay in the car and relax? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Nothing sounded better than shutting out the world around me and trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. I nodded and slid into the passenger’s seat. As soon as the noise from outside muted, I dropped my head back on the headrest.

  My temples throbbed. Maybe a trip to the hospital wasn’t a bad idea. My body suddenly felt fragile and weary. I closed my eyes, trying to block out everything that had happened. But with a curiosity like mine, that would be as impossible as buying oceanfront property in Arizona.

  Chapter Four

  The sound of the door opening and a whiff of smoky air jostled me awake. Incessant beeping told me the keys still hung from the ignition.

  “Sorry. That took longer than I expected.” Parker slammed the door and glanced over at me. “You sleeping?”

  I stretched, wishing it was all a nightmare. My gaze swept over the scene outside. Only two vehicles were parked near the house now. The orange glow of timbers arched like massive dinosaur bones against the black sky. Puddles in the ruined lawn reflected the flames that still clung to life.

  I pulled my gaze from the scene. “I guess I was more exhausted than I realized.”

  “I’ll get you home.”

  I fought a yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Just past midnight.”

  A few minutes later we were cruising down the road. I mumbled out directions to my house, and we pulled out of the lush Virginia Beach neighborhood, heading into the neighboring city of Norfolk.

  The area had several larger cities all back to back that made up Hampton Roads. It was mostly suburban, with the exception of downtown Norfolk, where I lived. Hampton Roads was the perfect blend of southern hospitality and Northeastern briskness, a mix of liberal and conservative. People with southern accents, but quick beats between words.

  Only minutes from the hustle of the business district in Norfolk, Ghent nestled, an artistic, eccentric area where students and creative bohemians lived. How I’d ended up there, I wasn’t sure. There was nothing creative about me and heaven knew I’d failed as a student the day I’d dropped out of college never to return.

  Something about the area charmed me, and one day I found myself looking at an apartment. To most people, the bruised Victorian would have been nothing special. To me, I felt like I’d found my home. I signed a contract for one-fifth of the old house. With Ghent’s steady influx of patrons who visited the antique shops, pubs, and delis, life never got boring.

  As Parker came to a quick stop at a traffic light, I reached for the dashboard to steady myself. My hand ached on contact, a reminder of my blisters. I leaned back, trying to clear my head.

  “Did you think of anyone yet?” Parker asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Anyone who’s an enemy?”

  “I already told you—I don’t have any enemies. At least none that I know about.” I turned toward him, taking in his perfectly proportioned profile. A streetlight illuminated his chiseled cheeks and square jaw line. “You really think this was against me?”

  “Can’t rule it out.”

  “I heard glass breaking as I was leaving, like a window got shattered or something.”

  He drummed his index fingers against the steering wheel, nodding to some silent beat. “I guess that’s how they got inside. The initial opinion is that they poured gasoline all over the downstairs. That’s why the house went up so quickly.”

  Had someone really tried to kill me? My stomach tightened at the thought. It just didn’t make sense. “Here’s my apartment building.”

  He pulled into the lot, put the car in park, and turned to face me. “Don’t worry, Gabby. I’ll track down whoever did this. You can count on me.”

  I thought of Parker touching that box and decided I’d be better off counting on only myself. I got out of the car, watched him drive away and then sank onto the steps outside my apartment building. The air had finally cooled and the breeze felt like a balm on my face.

  What a night.

  I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a forensic specialist. Things would have been different tonight if I was. Parker would have respected my opinion instead of looking at me like a janitor. I would be at the lab right now, testing the evidence for fingerprints and trace particles.

  If I had finished that last semester of college, I would have the career I wanted. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting enough jobs to pay the bills, or about getting all the blood out of the carpet. But sometimes responsibilities dictated your life, and you just had to make the best of what you had.

  I’d become quite an expert in that area, if you asked me. Maybe I should just give up cleaning all together and start enrichment seminars all over the country. I could see it now—turning lemons into lemonade. Remembering that the sun will come out tomorrow. Climbing every mountain and fording every stream. Okay, so kill the musical references, I know. But I did have to constantly remind myself to look on the bright side. Otherwise, I might just turn to the bottle like my dad.

  When mom died, my father hadn’t been able to function. I’d quit college to support him, and since then I barely had time to breathe, let alone go back to school. Work had become a necessity and college a luxury I couldn’t afford. Sometimes, it was just a hard knock life.

  So maybe pondering a career change wasn’t such a good idea. Look, you can be just like me. Picking bones out of walls. Almost getting killed. Being laughed at by detectives. But hey, I could still smile. After all, you’re not fully dressed without one, to quote one of my favorite musicals of all times.

  Growing up, I bore an uncanny resemblance to little orphan Annie, from my curly red hair to the dash of freckles across my nose to my penchant for trouble. My mom didn’t make things any better when she bought sewing patterns for the actual outfits that Annie wore. She proudly made the dresses for me and I unknowingly wore them. Up until sixth grade, classmates had called me LOA—Little Orphan Annie. Luckily, I’d gotten older and learned to control my curls, my freckles had disappeared, and I’d developed better fashion taste. Well, the fashion taste was questionable, but I thought T-shirts, jeans, and flip flops made a statement.

  I stood and stretched, ready to go inside, take a shower, and fall into bed. It had been a long, long day.

  As I stepped inside the old house, the door on my left jerked open. Sierra. My neighbor stuck her head through the orange beaded strings hanging in the doorway. The small, second generation Japanese girl jerked back, a pierced eyebrow darting up.

  “
What happened to you?”

  I touched my frizzy locks with my bandaged hand and wondered what I must look like. “Long story.”

  Sierra pulled me into her apartment and led me to the rust-colored couch that rested against a brown wall. I melted against the cushions. My entire body cried out for sleep, yet my mind was surprisingly alert. Almost being killed would do that to you.

  My head fell back into the cushions as the musky smell of incense soothed my nerves. I normally didn’t like the scent and begged Sierra not to light them when I was over for our weekly gossip sessions, but tonight it covered the odor of smoke and blood that had seeped all the way into my pores.

  Sierra plopped down in the seat across from me, leaning in close and wrinkling her nose. “You look like you’ve been in a war.”

  I told her about the crazy night I’d survived, leaving out the part about the gun. I needed to keep that quiet in order to not compromise the investigation. I knew that much from watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote.

  “You could have been killed.”

  “I know.”

  “So, what are you going to do about all of your equipment?”

  “I guess I’ll call the insurance company and see what they tell me. I can still do small jobs, ones that don’t require a lot of equipment.”

  One of Sierra’s many cats rubbed against my leg. In the background, whales moaned as one of Sierra’s nature CDs played. Weird as it was, it did have a soothing effect. Although, the Les Miserables soundtrack would have been better.

  I glanced at the tiny woman across from me, deciding it was time to change the subject. Don’t get me wrong—I wanted to throw out theories and hypothesize what could have happened. I wanted to stick a pencil behind my ear, pull out a notepad and start talking like a PI, complete with a saxophone droning in the background and cigar smoke filling the room. Here, I’d have to settle for whales and incense, which just wouldn’t do.

  I cleared my throat. “So, were you waiting up for me?”

  My friend’s almond eyes lit up. “I had to tell you—we have a new neighbor.”

  She’d been waiting for weeks for someone to occupy the vacancy. Sierra had become an unofficial social director of the building. She knew everyone’s business and even their birthdays. It was slightly suspicious when you considered she was writing a book called “Stupid People.” Maybe we were all case studies for the animal loving vegan’s latest whim.

  “Have you met them yet?” I asked.

  “I’ve only seen him from a distance. He appears normal.”

  Someone pounded down the wooden stairs of the building. Sierra darted to the window and moved the curtain aside. “There he is.”

  “He must be a night owl.”

  Sierra pressed her forehead into the window, twisting her head at an angle that looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “What is he doing?” Sierra strained to see the man. “He’s just standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring at the sky.”

  “Maybe he’s talking to God or asking the stars for answers to life’s pressing questions.” I’d choose the stars over God myself. I’d long ago given up in believing a loving God controlled this messed up world.

  Growing up, my family had been strictly Christmas and Easter churchgoers. When I say “family,” I mean my mother, brother and I. My father said a certain very hot place would freeze over before he set foot inside a so-called “house of God” again. Funny thing was, my grandfather was a pastor when dad grew up. He’d died of a heart attack when my father was only eighteen. Dad hadn’t gone to church since then.

  I think my mother wanted to attend church more faithfully, but my father wore her down about it. That was my mom—worn down. I knew when she was young—before she met my father—she’d been bright-eyed and vibrant. But my memories of her, right up until she died three years ago, consisted of worn circles beneath her eyes, frizzy red hair pulled into a makeshift bun, and a wardrobe that desperately needed updating. Since she had to work full-time as an administrative assistant and part-time at a grocery store in order to make ends meet, it was no surprise she looked like a poster child for those down on their luck.

  So anyway, every holiday she’d dress me up (like orphan Annie, of course) and we’d go to the services at the Baptist church down the street. I remember asking her about the big cross hanging behind the preacher. She explained to me that a man named Jesus—who was actually God in flesh—had died on one of those. She told me about creation and a flood and the first Christmas. I stored those stories right up there with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

  “Our new neighbor appears to be talking to himself.” Sierra looked over at me. “What do you think? Mental case?”

  “You never know.”

  “Should we go introduce ourselves?”

  My head pounded, and I pushed myself farther into the cushions. “I’m not really in the mood.”

  “We need to confirm whether or not a psycho is living in our building. This can’t wait.”

  “Sure it can. We already have some very strange people living here. One more won’t hurt.”

  “I’m going with or without you.”

  My silence caused a sigh to leak from her lips. She turned to me halfway out the door. “Call the police if I’m not back in fifteen minutes.”

  The door shut.

  Great, so I’m sitting around doing nothing while Sierra’s being abducted by the oddball in the parking lot.

  I forced myself to stand. My bones ached, and I felt twice as old as my twenty-seven years. Pieces of ash fell onto my shoulders like oversized dandruff. I flicked them off and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  I almost screamed when a monster looked back. Then I realized it was me.

  Smudges of black dirtied my face, matching the dark circles under my eyes. My hair sprung out like it didn’t want to be part of the whole “Gabby” mess.

  Shower? Save Sierra? It shouldn’t have been so hard to decide.

  I had to check on her but, unless the guy had antennae and was loading her in his flying saucer, I was heading for the shower as soon as I knew she was okay. Tonight of all nights I deserved some peace.

  Chapter Five

  I stepped into the breezy nighttime air, rubbing my sleeve over my face in a last ditch effort to get rid of any smudges. An exercise in futility if there ever was one.

  Across the parking lot, Sierra turned on her heel and charged toward me. Certainly the little pistol wasn’t losing her courage. She had more guts than a drunken womanizer.

  “I left my fondue pot on,” she muttered. “Last time I did that, it caught my tablecloth on fire.”

  Before I could argue, she whipped past. The door to the building slammed shut. For a minute I wondered if this was all an elaborate scheme of Sierra’s so that I would be the one abducted.

  I turned away, but, just then, the man glanced over and waved. I didn’t see any webbed fingers or any extra eyeballs. It wouldn’t kill me to say hello. The man would be living across the hall from me, and I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. I stepped toward him, soaking my new neighbor in.

  He was quite a bit taller than my 5’4” frame. Dark hair that needed a trim, brushed his ears and neck. His profile was strong, but pleasant. Not bad looking for someone from another planet.

  He rocked back on his heels. “Hey.”

  Intelligent blue eyes framed by long lashes greeted me as I got closer. The man had the lean build of a runner and an easy smile that made him seem approachable. Plus, he was wearing a Redskins sweatshirt. He couldn’t be that bad.

  I fingered my frizzy hair, remembering that a flirty smile from my sooty face would look like I was the center ring at a three ring freak show.

  I settled for, “You must be the new guy.”

  “That’s me.”

  His eyes grazed my appearance. I forced my shoulders back, determined not to feel inferior for not looking picture perfect. That had to be the understatement of the
year, I thought with a mental snort. I didn’t even look clean.

  “You must be . . .” he said.

  “Your neighbor across the hall. Gabby St. Claire.”

  “Riley Thomas.” He looked up into a nearby tree. “I was in my apartment trying to sleep when I heard something squawking outside. I decided to check it out and it turns out there’s a parrot up in that tree.”

  “A parrot?” A squawk cut into the moment. I looked up at the Bradford Pear tree beside me and saw a flash of red and yellow. “How in the world . . . ?”

  “I’m guessing he’s someone’s pet that, er, flew the coop.”

  Sierra must have deemed it safe to come out. The front door slammed and I saw her bobbing toward us in her typical bouncy fashion. Introductions went around and, as we filled her in on the bird, her eyes zeroed in on the creature.

  “I do believe that would be a parrot in a pear tree,” she said. “Seen five golden rings lying around anywhere?”

  I groaned inwardly, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. I had a feeling Riley and Sierra would get along just fine if puns amused them both this much.

  Sierra stared up into the leafy branches. I knew the way her mind worked. She was trying to figure out how to rescue the bird.

  “I’m going to go get my birdcage,” Sierra suddenly said, breaking out of her trance. She pushed her glasses up on her nose like Clark Kent about to transform into Superman. “I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the apartment and awkward silence had me squirming. What do you say to a stranger while standing in a parking lot in the middle of the night? My brain felt as fried as my hair, and social graces weren’t exactly my thing. Luckily, my new neighbor must have taken some Miss Manners classes at some point in life.

  “You must have been to a campfire tonight,” he started.

  Maybe manners weren’t his thing after all.