Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (29 page)

"WHY DIDN'T you tell me you were having an affair with Darnell Evans?"

The Vaseline-coated-teeth smile disappeared from the big-haired blond in front of me. "Excuse me?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Darnell was not only going to leave his wife for you, he was going to leave his lover. How did you manage that?"

The receptionist glanced from side to side, as if making sure none of the residents were paying attention. "I don't know what you're talking about"

"I have a feeling you were the last person to see Darnell Evans alive. Explain that. Did you feed him some nutty Thai chicken? Some french fries cooked in peanut oil? Did you kiss him after eating a Snickers bar?" I pointed at her candy dish and all the empty wrappers littering her desk.

"I would never!" She shoved the glass dish under the desk where I wouldn't see it. "Never!"

"That's what they all say, lady."

She stood and began whispering, "Listen, I would never hurt Darnell. Never."

"No, really, that's what they've all said. All three of his women. Who knows how many more of you there are. You're really a disgrace to selfrespecting women everywhere, you know." Like I had any room to talk, but still.

The woman pouted. "We weren't like that. We weren't"

"You weren't having an affair?"

"We were. But it wasn't cheap and based solely on emotions. Darnell and I had the real thing. Realer than you'll ever know." "

Ouch. "So, why don't you tell me about the last time you saw him. The last time you saw him, I say?" If she could repeat everything at the end of her sentences, so could I.

I told you the truth when you came in before. He said he had to leave the nursing home early for some appointment. He wouldn't tell me what. He just said he had some business to deal with"

Or did he mean he had some pot to "deal" with? "Did you know your sweet Darnell did drugs?"

She shrugged and fluffed her hair using those long, jewel-tipped fingernails. "I told him not to. He said they helped him to relax. He'd been under some stress lately, with all his business issues and dealing with that mean Hank Robins and trying to get over the headache of that ID theft"

"Was he suicidal?"

Her head swung back and forth, her large hoop earrings hitting her cheeks with each motion. "Definitely not. He had everything to live for. Everything"

"Did you know he wasn't going to Vegas to be the next big thing?"

"Yeah, he turned it down to be here with me. He was going to start his own plumbing business here. We already had a location and name set up and everything. We were going to call it Down the Drain. Down the Drain. Isn't that clever?"

How appropriate.

"And how did you go from being a mole for Hank Robins to falling in love with Darnell, the man you were spying on?"

"Lynette was no good for Darnell, no good at all. He deserved better"

How about Jamie? What did she deserve? "Do you think Lynette killed him?"

"I know she did."

I leaned against the counter. "How do you know?"

"Because I was with Darnell on the day he left her. She screamed at us as we pulled away, screamed that she hoped Darnell dropped dead, dropped dead"

"It's just an expression. It doesn't make her a killer"

"Yeah, well the next day is when he disappeared"

I stored the facts away for later review.

"Ma'am, is there anything else you want to tell me before I go to the police with this information?"

"Yeah, Darnell loved me." She patted her stomach. "And he loved our baby. He would have never purposely ended his life, not with everything in store for him in the future."

AN HOUR later, after humming "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" for thirty minutes straight, I realized I needed my conscience to come over. I called Riley. Maybe he had some answers on murder, men, or his supposed Maker. Maybe he could help me find what I was looking for.

Riley's hair was still shower wet when he showed up at my apartment. He leaned in the doorway, but unlike Bob Bowling, Riley looked every bit the confident, handsome man. I noted that his grin appeared serious today.

"What's going on, Gabby?"

I urged him inside, where he sat on the couch. I plopped in the chair across from him and pulled my knees to my chest. Here goes nothing. "I'm confused"

"About?"

Where did I even start? I doubted he knew anything about Darnell Evans's murder, so I jumped to the next item on my list. "Everything, starting with my messed-up love life"

"You mean Chad? Why does he confuse you?" Riley should look into being a personal counselor if this lawyer thing doesn't work out. He had the questions down pat.

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." I rested my head in my good hand, which perched on my knee. "Here's the thing: I don't want to be alone. I'm so afraid of ending up like Mr. Hermit one day, afraid that I'll die and no one will want to plan my funeral."

"But someone did want to plan his funeral-you. 11

"But no one who actually knew him wanted to come" I locked gazes with Riley. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said at Richard's funeral. I know that being in a relationship doesn't equate to feeling complete. I mean, I have good friends-great friends. But people have come in and out of my life since I can remember. None of my relationships feel secure"

"I'll always be there for you, Gabby."

My throat went dry. I couldn't stop now, though, and ponder the implications of what he said. I had more questions. "I've been thinking about this whole God thing lately. I've reached some conclusions"

"Such as?"

I drew in a deep breath before blurting, "I want to help dead people. You want to help spiritually empty people. Bill McCormick wants to reform Democrats. And Sierra, she wants to save animals. Are any of us really that different? We all just want to make a difference"

Riley nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Those are good points"

"But?" I just knew there was a but in there.

His unwavering gaze met mine. "I want to help people by giving them the one true hope-Jesus. All other pursuits are empty"

I shifted positions, tucking my legs under me. "Isn't that rather intolerant of you to say?"

"It's not intolerant. I believe in absolute truth. Truth isn't relativeeveryone doesn't get to decide their own personal right and wrong. Can you imagine how chaotic the world would be if they did?"

"Pretty chaotic"

"There can't be many roads of worshipping many gods that will take us to the same heaven. If my God is true, then other people's gods aren't"

I studied that etched face of his, searching for the truth. "But Riley, why are you a Christian? Is it because your parents taught you to be? Is it because you're afraid of hell? Is it because you're desperate for hope?"

"It's because I believe that Jesus is truth, that he really walked on this earth and died for our sins. Why wouldn't I want to live for him?"

Food for thought. I'd have to chew on his words. I didn't want to believe in Jesus because I feared being alone or because the other alternatives didn't seem relevant. I wanted to explore the possibility of believing in a personal God for the right reasons.

Pounding sounded in the distance.

"Can someone open this door for me?"

Sierra.

Riley and I started toward the door. I grabbed his arm before he left my apartment. My throat burned as I looked up into his eyes. I had to look away before saying, "I'm not finished with this conversation"

"Good, I hope you're not" He placed his hand on my back and led me into the hallway. Downstairs, I spotted Sierra's face overtop an armful of groceries. She peered through the glass alongside the front door.

Riley helped her inside, and I slipped outside. The brisk wind cut through my long-sleeved T-shirt, but I didn't care. A few minutes later, Riley and Sierra joined me on the steps. Sierra shared her adventure in organic grocery shopping when Bill arrived home.

The meaningless conversation would have normally been okay. But not today. I couldn't get the haunting questions out of my head.

"I've been thinking more about this church thing," I announced.

Everyone got quiet.

Riley's gaze flicked up. "Okay"

I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. "If I were to `become a Christian,' would I have to wear cheesy Jesus T-shirts?"

He chuckled. "No"

"Put silly bumper stickers on my car?"

"Of course not"

"Memorize all the Christian cliches?"

"I'll knock you in the head if you do"

"Do I have to vote Republican?"

The chuckles disappeared, and heavy silence fell. I stared at the three people around me. Then, all together, they erupted.

"I wouldn't say that"

"Republicans aren't green. They're killing the earth"

"There are Republicans, and then there are idiots"

Can you guess who said what?

I thanked everyone and excused myself back up to my apartment. At my desk, I sighed, as confused as ever, and began to absentmindedly flip through some papers stuffed to the side of my computer. I came across the list of phone numbers that Jamie Evans had given me on that first day I met her. I stared at the names, at my possible suspects. Which one of these people had killed Darnell Evans? And why?

I flipped the paper over and over, trying to make sense of things, to get this case out of my head so that I could get on with life. As if.

Finally, I tossed the paper beside me on the couch and went to make some coffee. I stopped as soon as I'd risen from my seat. Carefully, I picked up the paper again. It was just junk mail Jamie had jotted the names on. I plucked apart the white tab that kept the paper closed and opened a brochure for a local computer servicing company. Why did its name sound familiar? I scanned the text. The company offered the standard services to computer users, both in the home and in the office. Networking setup, Internet help, security, upgrades.

Maybe I should have called them when I had all my computer problems.

Nah, Amy had done it for free.

When I went to bed, something nagged at the back of my mind.

THE NEXT morning, a fast-paced knocking drew me to my door. With a rap like that, it had to be an emergency. I yanked the door open, only to find Mrs. Mystery standing there with an antique, oversized typewriter bundled in her arms.

"Do you want to buy a typewriter?"

I cocked my head to one side, trying to restrain a snide remark. "Excuse me?"

She thrust her armload forward. "A typewriter. I'm selling one of mine."

"You have more than one?"

"Every good writer does"

I shook my head as Bizarro World thoughts began twirling again. "Thanks, but I have a computer:" I leaned against the doorway, taking note of the way she hugged the ancient machine like a long-lost love. "Why are you selling your typewriter, anyway?"

Her voice went high-pitched. "Because if I don't, I won't be able to pay my bills."

I tried to understand. Really. "Are you not getting any new book contracts?"

Her head swung back and forth, not unlike a pendulum. "No, someone keeps taking all of my money"

I let my head fall against the wall. "Please tell me you've had the identity theft resolved"

"No, someone keeps taking my money. Now they've opened a credit card in my name, and I keep getting the bills!"

"Have you gone to the police?"

"They say they can't do anything."

I couldn't stop myself-I sighed. Then I led her inside. I would have taken the typewriter from her hands first, but my injured shoulder put the kibosh on that.

"We've got to get this issue figured out. Did you call the credit card company and explain the situation to them? They're usually very good at resolving these things"

As she heaved the typewriter onto my dinette, the whole room shook. How had someone as fragile as Mrs. Mystery gotten downstairs with that beast of a machine? I'm surprised the weight hadn't dragged her down like an anchor.

"Can I see the credit card statement?"

"Of course. Let me run upstairs and get it"