Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (17 page)

"One word, happyeverafter"

I continued to press my eyes closed and waited for the laughter. And waited. And waited.

"Yep, someone's hacked into your system. This is going to take a while."

I popped an eye open. How could she not react to the news that my user name was the junior high equivalent of writing "Gabby V Riley" all over my notebook? It was sad, very sad. Yet she hadn't reacted. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I sat on the arm of the couch behind me and folded my arms over my chest.

"So, what do you do for a living, Amy?"

"I work for social services. I do all of their computer troubleshooting"

Social services. My mind jerked back to Mr. Hermit. Social services had to get involved with that case. I thought of the funeral I wanted to throw for him and wondered if Amy might have some information that could help.

"Do you know what happens if a person dies with no family?"

She glanced back at me. "Then the state handles it. They look for the next of kin. If no one claims the body, it's cremated. The state will hold onto any important papers for up to five years. After that, they're destroyed"

I thought of all of Mr. Hermit's pictures, of the smiling faces I'd seen posed next to him. Destroyed. A life ended like it was never even there. "It's kind of sad"

"Isn't it? I hate hearing about those cases" She stopped tapping away at my computer for a moment and looked up at me. "Is something on your mind?"

I shrugged, wondering if I should even go there. "I'm cleaning the apartment of a man who died without anyone. I'm thinking of planning a funeral for him."

"That's really nice of you" She nodded, her sincere-looking eyes focused on me.

"But I don't have a lot of money, so I'm trying to figure out how to go about doing so. Who I need to talk to, yada, yada, yada"

"Maybe the church could help out"

The church? I hadn't thought of that. Did I really want to get them involved? It would be much easier to have someone else-several someone elses-helping me. But then, I'd probably feel like I owed them something. At least a visit to church. "I wouldn't want to ask them for that"

"That's what we're here for-to help people. Besides, it can't hurt to ask, right?"

"I don't know .. "

"Just think about it. It might be the solution you're looking for"

I'M FINDING myself talking to God lately, yet I don't even believe in him.

What's up with that?

Take this evening, for instance. Long after Amy left and with my computer now working, I'd plopped down to check my e-mail. I got one from my dad. Since when did he have e-mail? Last I knew, he couldn't even pay his electric bill. In the note, Dad had actually admitted that he'd been a sorry father figure and that his life was spinning out of control. Even stranger, he ended the e-mail without asking me for anything. Not so much as a penny.

After I read it, I'd actually looked up to the ceiling and asked, "What's up with that?" In itself, the action wasn't strange. But I'd actually pictured a fatherly figure up in heaven when I asked the question. Then I'd actually imagined that fatherly figure listening to me.

I've been so accustomed to my real father being a hungover freeloader that I have no idea what to do with a dad who's actually making sense when he talks.

I stared at the screen for a long time, trying to figure out how to respond. Finally, I shut my computer down to pay Mrs. Mystery a visit. I needed to know her connection to Elvis. Maybe she could offer some insight on his murder.

I paused. Nah, that would be too easy.

Still, I wanted to know why she went to Darnell's funeral. Just call me nosy. I've been called worse.

I pounded on Mrs. Mystery's-aka Margaret Morgan's-door upstairs. A minute later, the door cracked open. One eye peered over the safety chain connecting the door to the wall. "Can I help you?"

"Ms. Morgan, it's me. Gabby. Your neighbor."

The door remained in place. "Yes, Gabby, I can see that it's you. I'm old, not blind."

I stiffened but continued. "I was wondering if we could chat"

"Sure, what would you like to chat about?"

I shifted, wishing she would open the door so we could communicate like normal people. Of course, normal wasn't a word that came up very often in reference to me. I cut to the chase. "About Darnell Evans"

I couldn't be sure, but I think her one eye lit up. "Darnell was a wonderful performer. I've been a member of his fan club for years now."

"Really?"

"Yes, I hardly ever missed his concerts"

"What do you know about him?"

"Not much, other than he can do a great rendition of `Can't Help Falling in Love."'

I shifted again, really wishing I could see more than her eye. "Ms. Morgan, could I come inside and talk? Is everything okay?" What if her peculiar behavior had been brought on by an intruder hiding in her house or something equally sinister?

"It's fine, just fine. I don't let anyone into my apartment, though."

"Why?"

"It messes with my feng shui"

Great, the woman knew about feng shui but had no clue about paper shredders. Did I unknowingly audition for an episode of The Twilight Zone? I focused my attention on her interest in Darnell Evans. Talking to her was just one more way of gaining insight on the man ... hopefully.

"What does being a member of his fan club include?"

"Let's see, I got an autographed picture and a monthly newsletter. Plus, we had meet and greets every once in a while. He did a special concert just for us last September"

I couldn't be sure, but I think the woman swooned.

"Did you pay to be a part of the club?"

"Just twenty dollars a year. Very reasonable, don't you think?"

"Very. Thanks, Ms. Morgan." I told her goodnight and went back down to my apartment. That conversation got me nowhere-just like every conversation I seemed to be having about Darnell Evans. Why are any clues so elusive?

Back at my apartment, a place that set feng shui back a hundred years, I pulled out a piece of paper from my desk drawer. I needed to take my mind off my life. What was the best way to do that? By meddling into someone else's.

I wrote down my list of suspects, including Elvis's wife, lover, competition, and boss.

His boss. I still needed to talk to Rodger Maloney. Maybe he would have some answers for me. I flipped open my calendar. I could squeeze him in tomorrow morning.

And squeeze him, I would.

Ace Plumbing was tucked into a strip of shops in an older section of Virginia Beach. And when I say older, I mean it was built in the '70s. The business sign was a white rectangle with Ace in blue and Plumbing beneath it in red. A van with a matching logo sat in the parking lot, taking up a prime parking space.

I pulled my pleather coat closer around me. I really wanted black leather, the sleek sophisticated kind, not a biker-tough one. But of course, being friends with Sierra, I'd never hear the end of it, so I wore a fake plastic version instead. Some things just weren't worth it. If there's one thing my mom taught me, it was to choose my battles wisely.

A girl at the front desk barely looked at me when I asked to see Rodger. Instead, she drearily pointed with a mechanical pencil to an office across the hall. Then she went back to her Sudoku puzzle.

I approached Rodger's office just in time to hear him saying, "Get your lawyers involved if you want! We did nothing wrong, and I stand behind my work" Then I heard a beep. Not quite the same effect as slamming a phone on its receiver.

I peeked my head in the doorway in time to see a red-faced Rodger staring with obvious hatred at the black piece of plastic with an antenna that lay lifeless on his desk calendar. My gaze swept the rest of the room, where I spotted miscellaneous pieces of equipment like computers, monitors, and telephones. It appeared his office also acted as storage for the rest of the building.

The man's eyes flickered to me and narrowed some more. Then he straightened his shoulders, and his jaw seemed to twitch as if he were unable to move and his lips were unable to find anything polite to say.

"Mr. Maloney?"

His fingers laced in front of him, and he leaned back into his chair. I couldn't tell what kind of chair it was because his girth covered the piece of furniture in its entirety.

"Yes?"

"I was hoping I could ask you a few questions"

"Concerning?"

I opened my mouth, but suddenly the man was on his feet.

"Did that woman send you?"

I stepped back, though I didn't mean to. "That woman?" Jamie?

"I told her to go through my lawyers" He let out some not-so-nice words, muttering them while looking at his phone again. "She had to send her lawyer over, didn't she?"

He thought I was a lawyer? That was a first.

"I'm not a lawyer, sir."

His eyes widened. He looked at me some more. Then his face turned red again.

"Then you're from the Better Business Bureau-"

"Sir, I'm investigating the death of Darnell Evans."

He stopped cold. Blinked. Sat down. Laced his fingers again. "What can I do for you then?"

"I heard there was a rift between the two of you"

"He was leaving Ace to start his own business. He wanted to take half of my customers. I would have been put out of business if that happened"

Something wasn't computing. I pushed my thoughts aside and continued asking questions. I'd deal with my doubts later.

"Do you know why he wanted to start his own business?"

He shrugged. "Better money, I assume. He wanted to be his own boss"

"Did the two of you get along?"

"Until he tried to take my customers"

I leaned closer. "What happened then?"

"Then I fired him."

Fired him? Why hadn't I heard anything about that? "When did you fire him?"

"The day he died"

He got fired the day he died? Did Jamie know that? "So he didn't have any appointments that day?" I needed to find out why he left the nursing home early.

"No appointments on my end. I told him to turn in his equipment and get out" He paused and rolled his eyes. "Only I didn't say it that nicely."

I had a feeling this man didn't say anything nicely.

"Where were you on the day he died?"

I was right here in the office, taking care of these mountains of paperwork."

"Thanks"

I heard Rodger pick up the phone as I left. I stopped by the receptionist and closed her Sudoku book. She glared at me.

"Do you keep track of when Mr. Maloney is in the office?"

"Yeah, I have to know where he is when people call" She tapped her pencil on her puzzle book, clearly annoyed that I'd interrupted her "work"

"Can you check on the date of October 28?" From my calculations, which I'd figured and refigured, that was the day police believed Darnell died.

She shrugged and dropped her pencil. "I guess" She ran a finger across her desk calendar and stopped on the date. "He didn't come in that day. Says he was sick:"

Another suspect without an alibi. Perfect.

Now I just had to figure out why Darnell wanted to start his own business here when he was scheduled to headline his own show in Vegas.