Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (10 page)

Riley did the eyebrow cock. "'Fels up, Gabby. What's going on? There's more to the story than that"

I brushed past them and sat down-hard-at the table. I refused to take the opportunity to rub my bum. "Nothing. Now, let's eat"

For the first time, Parker and Riley looked at each other as if they saw eye-to-eye on something.

The next morning, I finished up in the living room of Mr. Hermit's house. I ordered new carpet, by permission of the landlord. I purchased boxes from a moving company so I could begin packing. By the time I finished, I had to meet Chad.

I pulled my red sweater closer as I hurried out to my van, but it didn't stop the November wind from stinging my skin. Soon, I'd have to dig out my winter coat.

And start thinking about Christmas shopping.

Could it be that time of year already? Thanksgiving was only two and a half weeks away. Would Dad want to get together this year? It was hard to refuse him on a holiday. Last year, he'd invited me over to his place. He'd bought two TV dinners with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn. That was our Thanksgiving dinner.

My family is so classy.

I pulled up at the Ocean View Cafe ten minutes later. The restaurant was snug between a Laundromat and a pizza joint. Inside, the lights were low, the wood dark, and the people quiet. I could tell by the way everyone murmured to each other at the bar that the place had regulars. I wasn't one of them. Just ask everyone who turned to stare at me when I walked inside.

I spotted Chad sitting at a table in the corner. He waved me over, and my chunky black shoes clunked against the shiny wood floor. I pulled out a seat across from him.

"Thanks for meeting me," he started.

His hair looked wind blown, although he probably styled it that way. The bed head look-was that still in style? I wasn't sure. He had slow, lazy movements that fit his drawn-out surfer drawl.

I had to ask the question I'd been thinking about all morning-even though I already knew the answer due to a conversation with Detective Adams earlier in the day. "Level with me-do the police think you did it?"

His lips twisted into a messed-up frown. "No, the police don't think I did it"

"So, why are you still interested in this case?"

"Why are you?"

I jabbed my thumb into my chest. "Me? Because I'm nosy."

"If it's good enough for you, why not for me too?"

"Because I'm the weird one. Normal people don't do what I do"

He leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and grinned. "I heard about you"

My eyes narrowed. "Heard about me? Heard what about me?" The word couldn't be out about the matches and lighter fluid. Was it about the time I made my high school chemistry lab explode? Or maybe the fact that I always fell for the wrong guy? Or maybe even the embarrassing detail that my mom used to dress me just like Little Orphan Annie?

"I heard that you solved some big case a few months back. That's why you're on friendly terms with the detective. You're, like, legendary."

Relief.

"Legendary?" I laughed. "Me? Hardly."

Flattery. It was going to get him everywhere.

I fidgeted in my hard wooden chair before locking gazes with a possible killer who could single-handedly run me out of business. "Look, I'm going to go question someone, a suspect. Do you want to come?" I must be losing my mind.

I thought you'd never ask"

I stood up before my logic got the best of me. "You're impossible"

He grinned. "So I've heard"

"We're taking your car"

"Absolutely."

I flipped my keys in a circle around my index finger. "And I'm not reimbursing you for gas" I needed to save money every chance I could get.

"I would never expect it.

"And I left notes with your name on it scattered in several places so that if I turn up dead, the police will know where to look"

"I love a resourceful woman"

I stopped and turned around, causing him to slam into me. "And whatever you do, don't ask about my father"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say"

I pulled a piece of paper out of my purse. The first person of interest was Lynette Lewis, the woman having an affair with Elvis.

I took a quick inventory of Lynette Lewis as she pulled open the bright pink door to her house. Bleached blond hair that needed a root touch-up, like, yesterday. Yellow but straight teeth. Fake tan. Tight clothes on a skinny body. Premature wrinkles. I was sure she'd been pretty at one time in life. Now she just looked like she tried too hard.

I expected her tone to be obnoxious to match her looks, but she sounded surprisingly subdued. "Yes?" She blinked and looked from Chad to me.

I extended my hand, deciding to go the professional route. "Lynette, I'm Gabby St. Claire, and this is my ... colleague, Chad Davis. We're investigating the death of Darnell Evans and understand that you were the president of his fan club"

Water pooled in her bloodshot eyes. She quickly wiped the moisture away with the back of her small freckled hand. "That's right"

"Can we come in and ask a few questions?"

She opened the door. "Of course"

Inside, the house was decorated respectably in gentle hues of white and beige. This woman seemed like one big contradiction. Her neighborhood with its moderate-sized, two-story, brick houses that all mirrored each other looked respectable enough. But then she had to have a pink door and an artificial plant in the pot on the porch. And who could miss the clash between her cultured voice and her redneck appearance?

Lynette instructed me to have a seat on a cream-colored leather couch. I perched on the edge, careful not to relax too much or the cushions would swallow me whole. Chad stood beside me, and Lynette wrung her hands together as she walked to a chair across from us. Her big brown eyes blinked rapidly, their watery surface mirroring the shine of the glass coffee table separating us.

"What do you do for a living, Mrs. Lewis?" I pulled out a notepad and pen from my back pocket. I clicked the pen and sat poised to take notes.

"I sell Avon"

I stared at her a moment, waiting for more. When she said nothing else, I simply nodded and jotted "freeloader" on my notepad.

"Are you married?"

"Divorced:"

"Children?"

"Grown."

Was her husband paying her big-time alimony? Otherwise, how could she afford this house? This wasn't a living quarters that someone who sold makeup out of a catalogue could buy. Believe me.

I cleared my throat and moved on. "When did you first meet Darnell?"

She smiled, somewhat sadly, and pulled her arms across her chest. The too-long sleeves of her bright blue sweater covered her hands. The action made her seem young and vulnerable, but I doubted both.

"Five years ago. I saw him at a concert down at the beach. Then I started going to all of his shows. A year later, I'd started his fan club and became his manager"

"How long have you been divorced?"

"Three years"

Ah-ha. Had Darnell been the reason for the divorce? I needed a tactful way of finding out.

"Did you get divorced because of Darnell, ma'am?" Chad asked.

Well, that was one way.

"I can't say that didn't have something to do with it, but honestly, my husband and I were just drifting apart. It was inevitable"

I tried to mirror her motions so that she'd open up. I'd learned about it in class the other day. I brought my hands together in my lap and hunched over. "Mrs. Lewis, I heard that you and Darnell were having an affair. Is that true?"

She collapsed into tears. "Yes, it is" Her voice broke. "Or was"

Chad crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Not that I'd noticed those pecs or anything. I mean, I wanted to be an investigator. Being observant was simply par for the course. He eyed Lynette. "What happened?"

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and left a streak of mascara on the blue wool. "Darnell was wonderful. He treated me like gold"

I had to point out the obvious. "He was married"

Lynette looked at her fingers as they twiddled in her lap. "I know. I knew it wasn't right. But when you meet the person that's right for you, you just know."

I leaned forward. I'd always wondered if that was myth or not. "You just know when you meet that person? Really?"

Chad nudged me, breaking me from my fascination with her answer.

I cleared my throat and regained my focus. "Go on"

"We were going to move to Vegas. He was going to be the next big thing, the top tribute artist in the country."

Not bad. Eighty million Elvis impersonators, and he was the king. Pretty ambitious. "And you were going to be his Priscilla?"

"I would have followed him to Antarctica"

It would have been sweet, had the woman not been having an affair. "When were you supposed to move?"

"Today"

I bit down, not wanting to feel sorry for the woman. Regardless, I did feel a surge of compassion as she wiped away tears. Poor sweater. I glanced around for a tissue before drawing in a deep, nonjudgmental breath. "Lynette, do you have any idea who might have killed your ... boyfriend?"

Her eyes cut straight to mine, all sadness erased. "His wife. She couldn't stand that he was cheating on her"

"Did he ever mention anything about her? That he was afraid she might hurt him?"

She shook her head, back to being solemn. "No. He would have never spoken ill of her"

I stood and snapped my pad of paper shut. "We're almost finished here, but would you mind if I used your restroom? I have a sensitive stomach" I tried to look embarrassed as I said it.

"Second door on the right"

Was this the oldest trick in the history of snooping? Probably, because it worked. I bypassed the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway. The first room was painted brown and blue. Nothing remarkable there. Just a spare bedroom, it appeared.

The next room had a lacy white bedspread and matching curtains. Very Victorian. Probably the master bedroom.

Lynette seemed so normal except for her bad taste-in fashion and in men. My gut told me she wasn't guilty.

There was one more door on the hallway. Another bedroom? Just to be sure, I pushed the door open.

I gasped at what I saw inside. The room was wallpapered with pictures of Elvis-not the real Elvis, the fake one. The dead one. Well, they were both dead, but the most recently dead one.

A mannequin in the corner wore an Elvis outfit. A model of a pink Cadillac remained parked on a table. A handkerchief rested in a glass encasement.

Was this woman really dating Darnell? Or was she delusional?

"I'M TELLING you, that woman was obsessed with Darnell"

Chad threw his hands in the air and off the steering wheel as he drove down the road. "They were dating. She was his manager and the president of his fan club. It's not that unusual"

I waved my finger in the air, wanting to make my point and to make it clearly. "You didn't see the room. It was a shrine"

His hands went back to the wheel. "She was, like, mad crazy about him"

I rolled my eyes. "When you're, like, mad crazy about a girlfriend, do you decorate an entire room with all of her things?"