Joke and Dagger
The Worst Detective Ever Mysteries, Book 8
Christy Barritt
Copyright © 2019 by Christy Barritt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Complete Book List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Also by Christy Barritt:
Other Books in The Worst Detective Ever Series:
You Also Might Enjoy: The Lantern Beach Series
The Squeaky Clean Mystery Series
Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:
Fog Lake Suspense
About the Author
Complete Book List
Squeaky Clean Mysteries:
#1 Hazardous Duty
#2 Suspicious Minds
#2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime (novella)
#3 Organized Grime
#4 Dirty Deeds
#5 The Scum of All Fears
#6 To Love, Honor and Perish
#7 Mucky Streak
#8 Foul Play
#9 Broom & Gloom
#10 Dust and Obey
#11 Thrill Squeaker
#11.5 Swept Away (novella)
#12 Cunning Attractions
#13 Cold Case: Clean Getaway
#14 Cold Case: Clean Sweep
#15 Cold Case: Clean Break (coming soon)
#16 Cleans to an End (coming soon)
While You Were Sweeping, A Riley Thomas Spinoff
The Sierra Files:
#1 Pounced
#2 Hunted
#3 Pranced
#4 Rattled
The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a Tween Mystery series):
The Curtain Call Caper
The Disappearing Dog Dilemma
The Bungled Bike Burglaries
The Worst Detective Ever
#1 Ready to Fumble
#2 Reign of Error
#3 Safety in Blunders
#4 Join the Flub
#5 Blooper Freak
#6 Flaw Abiding Citizen
#7 Gaffe Out Loud
#8 Joke and Dagger
#9 Wreck the Halls
#10 Glitch and Famous (coming soon)
Raven Remington
Relentless 1
Relentless 2 (coming soon)
Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:
#1 Random Acts of Murder
#2 Random Acts of Deceit
#2.5 Random Acts of Scrooge
#3 Random Acts of Malice
#4 Random Acts of Greed
#5 Random Acts of Fraud
#6 Random Acts of Outrage
#7 Random Acts of Iniquity
Lantern Beach Mysteries
#1 Hidden Currents
#2 Flood Watch
#3 Storm Surge
#4 Dangerous Waters
#5 Perilous Riptide
#6 Deadly Undertow
Lantern Beach Romantic Suspense
Tides of Deception
Shadow of Intrigue
Storm of Doubt
Winds of Danger
Lantern Beach P.D.
On the Lookout
Attempt to Locate
First Degree Murder
Dead on Arrival
Plan of Action
Lantern Beach Escape
Afterglow (a novelette)
Lantern Beach Blackout
coming soon
Carolina Moon Series
Home Before Dark
Gone By Dark
Wait Until Dark
Light the Dark
Taken By Dark
Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:
Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife
Fog Lake Suspense:
Edge of Peril
Margin of Error
Brink of Danger
Line of Duty (coming soon)
Cape Thomas Series:
Dubiosity
Disillusioned
Distorted
Standalone Romantic Mystery:
The Good Girl
Suspense:
Imperfect
The Wrecking
Sweet Christmas Novella:
Home to Chestnut Grove
Standalone Romantic-Suspense:
Keeping Guard
The Last Target
Race Against Time
Ricochet
Key Witness
Lifeline
High-Stakes Holiday Reunion
Desperate Measures
Hidden Agenda
Mountain Hideaway
Dark Harbor
Shadow of Suspicion
The Baby Assignment
The Cradle Conspiracy
Trained to Defend
Nonfiction:
Characters in the Kitchen
Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music (out of print)
The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel (out of print)
Chapter One
“Oh, Joey. You look hideous.”
I cast a dirty look at Alistair King as I stepped out of the trailer where I’d just had my makeup done. “I’m supposed to look hideous, so I take that as a compliment.”
My dad had taught me that life hack. When someone insults you, don’t let them know it bothers you and they’ll leave you alone.
I paused on the steps, waiting to hear what else Alistair had to say. Because, whether I wanted to or not, I was going to hear it. As director and producer, he was officially my boss for the next two weeks. The good news was that the only people who would see me like this were the cast and crew of A Useless Ending to a Hard-Fought Life.
Otherwise, this location that had been chosen for filming should keep me isolated from the rest of the world and safely away from the vultures I called the media.
“You don’t understand.” Alistair turned away from me, as if repulsed. “I didn’t expect Mindy to do such a good job. I mean, your startling bad looks are so realistic. You will not age well.”
I licked my teeth—my false teeth, which had skillfully been stained brown and yellow. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Oh, there’s nothing you can say. Absolutely nothing.” Alistair pressed his lips together, the edges of his mouth pulling back again in repugnance. Finally, he waved to the crew in the distance. “Let’s just get on set.”
I watched him as he walked away, and I shook my head.
Alistair King had curly dark hair that poofed atop his head. He reminded me somewhat of Prince. Or was it the Artist Formerly Known as Prince? You know, now that I thought about it, maybe he was now the artist formerly known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince.
I couldn’t keep up
with these things.
Alistair was the producer and director of the new movie I was filming here in Lantern Beach, North Carolina. The location was secluded—so secluded you had to take two ferries to get here. But it was beautiful, especially this swath of land. The area jutted out into the water, with an old lighthouse sitting on the tip of the weathered landscape.
As I took a step forward, my thighs rubbed together. Well, not my actual thighs. I was wearing a suit that made me look about fifty pounds heavier.
In truthfulness, at times my actual thighs did brush each other. Whenever I noticed, it usually triggered a crash diet.
I hadn’t been able to look at myself in the mirror since Mindy finished transforming me into a seventy-five-year-old woman who’d let herself go. I knew, deep down inside, part of me was more vain than I wanted to admit. I didn’t know if I could stomach seeing how I would look with all my newly added imperfections. On a good day—without the suit, the makeup, the added wrinkles, and the false teeth—I was my own worst critic.
Alistair had insisted he needed someone self-confident for this new role in his upcoming movie. I must have everyone fooled because self-confident was not the word I would use to describe myself.
I ignored the stares from the crew as I walked from the row of trailers set up on the perimeter of the space. I had my own moderately sized RV. Production also had one, as well as hair and makeup. The rest of the cast and crew had what was called a triple banger or honeywagon. Basically, it was like an RV that had been divided into hotel rooms—one for each actor and a bathroom for everyone else.
I strode across the sand toward the crew in the distance.
Today was the first day of filming for an indie movie about a retired spy who had moved to an isolated island to grow old and die alone. However, the CIA needed her help to track down one of her old informants—at least, until the bitter end. I won’t spoil it for you. Not yet, at least.
I was in between shooting new episodes of my hit TV show, Relentless, and my next big blockbuster-type of movie was still three months away from filming. Some people might call that a break and take a vacation. Me? I signed on to do this indie film.
Alistair was the man who’d first taken a chance on me when I was a nobody in Hollywood. He’d called to see if I would play this part in his upcoming movie and had sent me the script. After reading the first few pages, I knew this could be my breakout role.
This movie would never be a commercial success. But it would contain sweeping cinematography, thought-provoking dialogue, and a hopeless ending. In other words, everyone would hate it—everyone except the critics.
Doing a more serious role like this had been on my bucket list for a while now. Then again, so has having a pedicure where fish ate the dead skin off my feet. Not all my bucket list items were good ideas.
I paused near the production crew and breathed in the fresh air. It was October, but it felt like the summer—until the wind blew, at least. But the sun shone brightly overhead, the waves crashed in the distance, and the fresh scent of the ocean promised that it was a good day for a good day.
“Okay, we need the lighthouse in the background.” Alistair circled his hand in the air as he called us to order with the dramatic flair he was known for. “The structure plays an integral role in this story. Don’t forget that. It symbolizes how ugly things can be beautiful as well as useful in a society that values attractiveness and youth.”
No one could forget. Alistair had only repeated it about fifty times. The man was . . . exacting, to put it mildly. His head seemed to have gotten bigger since I’d last worked with him. Maybe it was because he was more experienced.
I took a quick minute to get myself in the zone. My mind fluttered through all the pages of script I’d tried to memorize. Alistair had sent an updated version last night, which hadn’t made me happy. But as boss he called the shots, so I’d do what he asked—to an extent, of course. Any self-respecting actor had boundaries.
I took my position on the steps of the lighthouse. In a moment, I’d burst inside and start my lines. No doubt there was already a camera rolling inside, waiting for my grand entrance.
“Everyone in place!” Alistair yelled, clapping his hands.
People scrambled around me, moving as if they were afraid to poke the bear.
Alistair quieted. Waited three seconds for good measure. And then yelled, “And, action.”
I instantly snapped into the mind-set of my character.
Washington George—yes, that was what he claimed was his real name, even though no one believed him—was my costar. The up-and-coming actor was only twenty-one, and he looked like a young Cary Grant. He’d yet to see me like this.
I wondered if on camera was the best time for it to happen. Then again, Alistair liked “organic acting” as he called it.
Fully immersed in the character of Drusilla Fairweather, I stared up at the lighthouse. Forcing myself to look pensive, I slowly climbed the steps.
I paused at the doorway, my hand on the handle. I took one last glance behind me, as if I feared being followed. I had a lot of real-life experience to tap into for that emotion.
Finally, after a moment of dramatic thought, where I’d actually found myself thinking about the plight of the seagull, I opened the door. I froze. Then I screamed and nearly tumbled backward.
Washington George lay at the base of the stairs.
Dead.
With blood pooling around his head and trickling from his mouth.
Chapter Two
I’d known I was going to see a dead body. But Mindy had done an excellent job making Washington’s death look all too real.
I took a step back, remaining in character. But before I could deliver the lines I’d been practicing all night, I heard Alistair behind me.
“Cut! Cut! Cut!” He stormed toward me, his cheeks red and sand flying up behind his shoes with every step. “What in the world is going on, Joey? Have you lost your mind?”
I stared at him, wondering why he was so upset. I hadn’t even said anything yet. “What do you mean?”
“This isn’t in the script.” He threw his hands in the air, his version of a volcano blowing its top. After the initial burst of emotion, he stared at me accusingly.
“Of course it is. I spent all night studying it. You added this scene here.” I’d re-read the revisions about a million times, my resentment growing with each new line I’d memorized.
“No, of course I didn’t. Why would you say that? Has that makeup done something to your brain?” He jammed his index finger into his temple and his eyes bulged.
My mouth dropped open, and I felt my chin—all three of them—bunch against my neck. “I could ask you the same question.”
Before Alistair could retort, Washington sat up from his place on the floor, looking like the dead come back to life. “She’s right, man. The new script you sent added this scene. I thought it was weird too.”
“What in the world are you talking about? What new script? I don’t change scripts like Zsa Zsa Gabor changed husbands.” Heat came off Alistair like waves vaporizing from a blacktop in the middle of summer. “This must be some kind of joke.”
Washington and I exchanged a look.
“You emailed it to us last night,” I reminded Alistair, keeping my voice calm. “It had changes that we needed to memorize by today. Or else.”
I resisted an eye roll. The producer/director was known for being dramatic. Those had been his words.
“Have you all lost your minds? I didn’t do that. Why would I do that? In fact, when have I ever done that?” Alistair threw his hands in the air, histrionics full-blown.
Alistair’s assistant, Sarah, stepped forward. “I got the revised script too.”
Maybe hearing a third person say it made the rest of us seem less crazy.
Alistair ran a hand over his face and took a step back. “Someone is trying to sabotage my movie,” he muttered. “That’s what it has to be. Nothing else makes se
nse.”
“Why would someone do that?” I wasn’t a professional detective, but people mistook me for one all the time. I had years of experience pretending to be someone who was brilliant. Certainly some of that had worn off on the real me. Maybe I could help here.
“There are people out there who don’t want to see me succeed,” Alistair said. “Need I say more?”
Actually, well . . . yes. He would need to say more. If he wanted answers, at least.
“Let me see this new script.” Alistair closed his eyes and held out his hand. I half expected him to tap his foot and demand a cigar while he was at it.
Sarah pulled out her phone and showed him the screen. He scrolled through. Grunting. Scowling. Scoffing.
Finally, he gave Sarah her phone back.
“I didn’t send this.” He pointed his nose up in the air.
He had said that several times. But the question was, if he didn’t then who did? Who had access to a digital form of this script as well as his email?
And why? Maybe that was the biggest question of all. It made no sense that someone would go through all this trouble. But they had.
I had a bad feeling in my gut—a feeling that this was about more than a changed script.
It all had the markings of a really extravagant joke.
Or a sinister plot involving a fake murder.
An hour later, Alistair, Washington, and I had gathered for a meeting with the local police chief. We’d met in the production trailer. The three of us sat on a long couch while the police chief sat across from us at the kitchen table.
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