Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (4 page)

I fixed myself some Lipton tea-nothing fancy ever saw the inside of my cupboards-with lots of sugar. I noticed no one else seemed thirsty. Was it the gravy pitcher?

"I'm pretty sure you've been a victim of identify theft," Riley said. "We just need to make a few phone calls, and hopefully we'll be able to straighten everything out"

She grabbed his hand. I always knew Mrs. Mystery had Riley on her romantic radar. She seemed like the type who would go for a younger man. "Really, Riley? Is it that easy?" She looked at him like he was the hero to her damsel in distress.

"Identity theft is very common nowadays, Mrs. Morgan. We'll get this straightened out. It may take a few days" Riley explained that she'd received a cell phone bill for an account she had never opened.

"How did they get my information?" The eccentric woman's whole body quivered with tension. Come to think of it, I'd never seen her look relaxed.

Riley explained that sometimes thieves went through trash cans. "It's important to shred any papers containing personal information."

Mrs. Mystery's eyes widened. "I don't own a paper shredder. I've never heard of such a thing"

You'd think Riley had asked her to perform heart surgery with a dull spoon. Perhaps it was an excuse for Riley to take her shopping?

Riley promised to go upstairs and make the calls for her. He'd been lured into her web of seduction. I just knew it. I would sit back and enjoy the show as it played out.

When I opened the door to let them out, I spotted someone about to knock at Riley's apartment. The man turned and grinned when he spotted the lawyer behind me.

"Hey, Riley. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I stopped by." The man had shaggy hair and a dopey grin, reminding me of, well, Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. "I can see I'm catching you at a bad time"

"You're fine" Riley stepped forward. "Randy, these are my neighbors Gabby and Mrs. Morgan. Ladies, this is Randy. He's the pastor at the church I attend"

We called out polite hellos. He certainly didn't look like any pastor I'd ever met. Of course, new churches were trying to appeal to a younger crowd, so I wasn't really surprised. Riley's church was supposed to be pretty cutting-edge, from what I understood. I still owed him a visit.

During a close call with death during my last investigation when I'd discovered the real killer-not the dead one in my kitchen-I'd promised God that I would attend church if I survived. Well, I still had blood in my veins and air in my lungs, but I hadn't been to church yet. Sometimes I felt guilty; then I justified it by thinking: Well, I didn't put a timeline on it. I still plan on going sometime.

"I was hoping I could talk to you later about some outreach events that might appeal to non-Christians in the area:' Randy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

I frowned at the pastor's word choice and stepped back into my apartment before I said something I'd later regret.

They all looked my way.

"I've got to get showered," I explained. "Spent the afternoon under a house with a dead body. A non-living body, you might say. I'll chat with you later"

Before they responded, I slipped inside and shut the door. Sometimes I liked working with the dead more than I liked listening to the living.

PAGAN. HEATHEN. Agnostic. Unbeliever.

Surprisingly, I could handle those terms. But non-Christian? The word made the skin on my neck crawl. I guess if people were going to label me, a few more titles could be thrown into the mix.

Non-Rotarian. Non-Chinese. Non-space alien. Non-senior adult.

"Can I take your order?"

"Nonfat latte" The barista wrote my order on a paper cup, and I moved to sit down. My morning ritual was going in full swing. The routine wouldn't be the same without a visit to the coffeehouse.

Non-senator. Non-Olympian. Non-vegetarian.

Randy's comment still lingered in my mind. And bothered me. A lot.

I mean, why would you label someone for what they're not? I worked stinkin' hard to become what I am. A student. The owner of my own business. A fan of musicals. Someone who could annoyingly quote the lyrics to more than one thousand songs of all styles and generations. A girl in the running to have the most extensive T-shirt collection in the Mid-Atlantic region. And an avid lover of flip-flops.

For that matter, maybe I'd start labeling Christians for what they weren't.

"Hi, Gabby."

Riley. This was his morning ritual, also. I forced a smile, wondering why I felt hostile toward him. He hadn't labeled me. Not directly, at least. Who knew what he said around his church friends?

"Hi, non-heathen. How are you today?"

His eyebrow shot up as he pulled out the chair across from me. "What?"

"Never mind. Just feeling a little sassy today."

"Today?" He sat down and gave me his full attention. I loved that about him. "What's on your mind?"

I sighed, never one to mince words. "Your pastor really bugged me yesterday"

"I wondered if he did."

"I just thought he was rude"

"He was"

"I mean, he was talking about me-the non-Christian-like I wasn't even there"

"I know."

I paused. "You do?"

"He didn't mean any harm. He just wasn't thinking. But that's definitely not the way that we're going to win the lost-"

I leaned closer. "To what?"

"To reach the unsaved-" He shook his head. "I'm falling all over my words, Gabby. What I'm trying to say is that we want people who don't know Christ to come to know Him. It's easy to get caught up in the jargon."

"I can see that"

"The last thing I intended was to offend you. I know I've done enough of that in the past"

"It's true" I saw Riley's lips twitch at the harsh honesty of my agreement, and I smiled. "You have to admit, I don't have all the virtues of those in `the Lord's army, but at least I'm truthful."

"I'll give you that one, Gabby. And I'd never want to change it"

Why did he have to say sweet things like that? Didn't he know how his compliments tortured me?

My cell phone rang, a digital rendition of the song "Love Shack" by the B-52's. I smiled each time I heard the tune. "Excuse me" I grabbed it from my purse and answered. "Trauma Care."

"Gabby, this is Detective Adams. Do you have a minute?"

"For you? Any time" Really, I wasn't a suck-up or anything.

"Listen, I need you to do something for me. It involves the body you found yesterday. Think you might be game?"

"Is Elvis the King of Rock 'n' Roll?"

"I'll take that as a yes. This is what I need you to do. . An hour later, I'd changed into some respectable black pants and a fitted red shirt. Yes, it's true. I might be the only redhead who actually likes to wear the color of love. I pulled up to the house where Elvis's widow lived. Okay, his name was actually Darnell Evans, but calling him Elvis was much more fun.

The house was average, a brick ranch in a fairly well-kept neighborhood about twenty minutes from Ghent. The yard could have used a little maintenance, but compared to Ocean View, this neighborhood was upscale.

I approached the front door and pressed the doorbell. I heard nothing, so I rapped against the wood. A few minutes later, a woman with circles under her eyes and dried, frizzy black hair answered. She reminded me of an older, ghetto version of Priscilla Presley. Weird.

"Can I help ya?"

"Hi, Mrs. Evans?"

She looked me up and down, a cigarette smoking between her fingers. "Depends on who's asking."

"My name is Gabby St. Claire. I'm the one who found your husband's body."

She frowned, not necessarily in a sad way. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to offer my condolences"

"Thanks" She started to close the door.

I had to think quickly. "Wait!"

She paused. "Yeah?"

I just wondered what happened. Have you heard anything?"

She sneered and took a long puff of her cigarette. "Who are you again?"

"I'm a crime-scene cleaner. I was supposed to take care of some mold under a house in Ocean View, but instead .. " I pointed back at her car, which had a magnetized sign on it. "I see you're a house cleaner"

"It pays the bills"

Keep her talking, keep her talking. "I understand how that is. How long have you been working that job? I've been at it three years now."

"Too long. Long enough that the fumes have gone to my head and made me a little loopy."

So I wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "I know of a great cleaning solution you can try out. It's unscented"

She nodded with a raise of her chin and a puff of smoke. "So why are you really here? I'm assuming you didn't come by to offer me cleaning advice"

I contemplated what to say. Detective Adams had wanted me to bond with the woman, said I might have better luck than the police did. So far, I guess they didn't have any leads in the death of the plumber-by-day and Elvisimpersonator-by-night Darnell Evans. The detective had shared that the man was forty-five and had been dead approximately a week. That was it.

Gabby the Truthful Gabber plunged ahead. "I want to help figure out what happened"

She eyed me. Took another puff. Flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Because I'm weird. Because I like helping people. Because I found the body"

The chin nod again. "You're the chick who helped break that case with the guy running for senator a few months ago, aren't you?"

The detective said that sometimes people were more comfortable talking to people who weren't in uniform. At least I had that going for me. And the one mystery I'd solved. "That's me"

"Call me Jamie. Whatcha wanna know?"

"Did the cops tell you how he died?" I remembered the gunshot wound, but I figured the question might get her talking.

"He was shot, that's what they told me"

`Anything else?" Okay, I was supposed to be finding out information for the cops, not for myself. I might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

"Yeah, there were some other suspicious signs. His throat was constricted, and he was swollen"

"Dead people swell up" I hated to break the news that the swelling wasn't all that suspicious.

"Yeah, there's more to it than that, honey. The police are doing some tests. The autopsy should be able to tell us more"

"More about what?"

"More information as to whether or not he ate a peanut before he died"

"HE HAD a peanut allergy? Didn't Elvis ... ?"

She snortled, as my best friend, Sierra, liked to say. "Yeah, Elvis loved peanut butter ... with bananas, usually. Darnell knew better than to get close to the stuff, though. He had one bad attack as a child and never ate the stuff since then. Real pain in the butt if you ask me. Do you know how much stuff might possibly contain nuts?"

"A lot, from what I understand."

"You're telling me a lot. I had to read all the labels, trying to make sure he didn't get sick. Go figure that's the way he'd die"

I'd expected a grieving widow. This woman wasn't even pretending to be sad. Of course, her husband hadn't been reported missing, and he'd been under that house for at least a week. "How long were you married?"