Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak (7 page)

“He’s doing good things and seems happy,” I offered. As much as the man got under my skin, I couldn’t deny that he was making a difference in the world.

“Good to
hear. It’s hard to know if it’s all an act.” The neighbor nodded toward the distance. “I gotta keep running. Good chatting with you both!”

After she left, I turned to Holly.

“I want to peek into the windows.” If Holly weren’t with me, I would have marched right up to the house without thinking twice about it. But I barely knew the woman, and it was too early to offend or shock her.

Holly looke
d at me a moment before shrugging. “I always say that life is too short to be afraid of taking risks. Don’t you think?”

I nodded. “I think.”

“Then let’s go for it.”

CHAPTER 7

“Are you always this adventurous?”
I couldn’t help but ask as we approached the house.

Holly shook her head. “No, I usually play it pretty safe. But sometimes things happen in life that change your perspective.”

I didn’t know her well enough to ask any questions about her statement. But her eyes misted over for a minute, and I wondered what emotions were hidden beneath her smiles and social graces.

“I know all about life changing moments
,” I offered. “If I were a drinking woman, I’d toast you over that statement later.”

Holly laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Just out of curiosity, I tugged at the front door. It was locked. Of course.

Instead, I moved to the window and peered inside.

From what I’d read, the intruder had come in through the window in Cassidy’s room. She’d been shot first.

Garrett’s father had been in the living room. The TV was on when the police arrived, so most assumed that he’d bee
n watching football. He was shot next, right beside his chair. Elizabeth Mercer was found in the kitchen.

As I peered inside now, I could see a chai
r and a TV beyond that.

Had Garrett left the house just as it was? Was this place
some kind of shrine for the family now? I didn’t know.

I wondered what I’d do if I were in
Garrett’s shoes. I had no idea. It was easy to jump to conclusions. Maybe this house was all he felt like he had left of his family.

“Do you see anything?” Holly asked.

“I’d bet that everything has been left just the way it used to be.” Except the crime scene had been cleaned up. Someone had done a most excellent job. At least, they had from my vantage point at the window.

Holly shivered. “I just can’t imagine.”

I had to remember that not everyone had been surrounded by the things I had. I wasn’t immune to death’s sting or the mourning that came with the loss of life. But I didn’t blanch at death the way others did. Death had become part of my job, both as a medical legal death investigator for the Commonwealth and as a crime scene cleaner.

We walked around the back of the house. Sure enough, there was a tennis court, as well as a large garden with a fountain in the middle. There had been a swimming pool at one ti
me, but the area had been filled in. Probably for insurance purposes, if I had to guess.

I stood there a moment, trying to figure out my next move.
“I don’t know what else we can do here. I just wanted to see the place, you know?”

She nodded. “I guess we
should get back and report those slashed tires, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so
.”

We climbed into her car
, and she cranked the engine. Well, she tried to crank the engine. The Stang whined and moaned. I was sensing some kind of theme here involving animosity between cars and me.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered. She climbed out and popped open the hood.

I joined her, though I had no idea what I was looking for. Fixing cars wasn’t my thing. I was more of an expert when it came to picking skull fragments from walls.

She wiggled s
ome wires or hoses or something before shaking her head and muttering, “Why does this always happen at the worst times?”

“This has happened before?”

She frowned. “Every few months, I think.”

“Should we call a tow truck?”

Her frown deepened. “No, there’s someone else I can call.”

She dialed a number and stepped away from me. I let her have her privacy, wondering if she was
calling an ex-boyfriend or something. That’s what I would guess based on that frown.

I crossed my arms as
I waited. My gaze scanned the woods surrounding the property. Suddenly, I shivered.

There were two different kind
s of shivers: the kind you got because you were chilly and the kind you got because your gut told you something was off.

Something was off.

I continued to scan the woods, but I saw nothing. Not even the jogging neighbor from next door.

I scooted closer to the car, remembering the phon
e call from earlier. What had that man called himself? The Watcher? Not the most original threatening name, but threatening enough that a touch of fear spread through me. Was the Watcher here now? Had he followed us?

Holly came back over and rolled her eyes. “I have someone coming to help me out.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“I …” She
ran a hand through her hair. “I just don’t want to lead him on. That’s all.”

“I figured there was a story there.”
Unrequited love. I was usually on the other side of that equation.

She
leaned against the car. “He’s the guy that everyone thinks I should date.”

“Everyone but you?”

She nodded. “Yeah, everyone but me. The thing is, there’s nothing not to like about him. He’s a great guy. I should want to date him. I just don’t feel that spark, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know about the spark.”

“Have I let Hollywood movies infiltrate my thinking too much? Maybe I’m holding out for something that doesn’t exist.”

Not that I was one to give advice on relationships, but …
“Look, romance isn’t always like it is in the novels or in the movies. But love and romance can be great. You should have chemistry, have a spark. There’s nothing wrong with holding out for that.” My voice cracked.

That’s what Riley and I had.

Had.
I’d thought in past tense. Was our relationship really over? Or was its impending demise just in my mind? Was I preparing myself now as a way of protecting my heart when things definitively went south?

The only comfort from this conversation was that
for a moment I’d forgotten about that feeling of being watched.

“I get what you’re saying, but …” Holly’s voice drifted off, until she finally shook her head. “Never mind. It’s a long story.
I guess it boils down to the fact that I’ve always wanted one of those great loves. You know, I want to find someone and be one of those couples who just seem like they belong together.”

I nodded.

“My mom and dad had that. They were always just so happy together. My mom told me once that you don’t find great love, though. You create it. You cultivate it. You decide on it.”

“Makes sense. A lot of sense actually.”

My skin crawled again, and I reached into my purse. My fingers wrapped around my gun.

I prayed every day that I would never have to use this. But sometimes God didn’t answer prayers in the way you wanted. He had other plans.
Better plans. Even if it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

“What’s wrong?”
Holly asked.

I scanned the woods.
“Does anything around here look strange to you?”

“Besides the fact that this house is like a shrine to a deceased family?” She surveyed the landscape. “Not really. Why?”

“I keep feeling like something is off. Like someone is watching.”

“Like, the phone call off?”

I nodded. “Yeah, like the phone call off.”

Just then, a car rumbled down the road.
A black Mercedes appeared a moment later.

“Here he is
,” Holly announced. “His name is Brian.”

A shorter man climbed from the car. He wore a tailored business suit, had a neat haircut and a head full of hair.
He was stocky but fit, but his thick jawline made him appear heavier than he was.

His eyes lit up when he saw Holly.
He reached forward, gripped her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. Holly smiled and thanked him for coming.

He extended his hand as he approached me. “You must
be Gabby.”

“Word gets around.”

He laughed, deep and hearty. “Anything with the Mercer family sparks interest with people around here.”

“I can imagine.”

“Let me check this out.” He pulled off his jacket and asked Holly to hold it, then he approached the car. “So, more car problems? You sure you don’t want to trade this baby in for something a little more reliable?”

“But with much less personality and character,” Holly quipped.
“I like to think about where this car has been, what it’s done. It’s like a piece of history.”

“An unreliable piece of history.” He stuck his head under the hood.

I tuned them out and scanned the woods again. This time I saw the fading sunlight reflect on something in the distance.

Something shiny.

Like binoculars.

I hadn’t been imagining things after all.

CHAPTER
8

“Gabby?” Holly asked.

I snapped back to my immediate surroundings. “Maybe we should leave your car here and have someone pick it up later.”

My mind began replaying my encounter with Milton Jones. He was a serial killer, and I’d been his captive for a few days. It had felt like a lifetime.
I still remembered the darkness, the fear. I still couldn’t look at a bucket of water without wanting to throw up. And, as a crime scene cleaner, I saw a lot of buckets.

“Gabby?”

My gaze found Holly. “Yes?”

“You’re as pale as a ghost.”

I searched for the source of that reflection again, but it was gone. That’s when I pulled my gun out. “We really need to go.”

Holly’s eyes widened. “Wowzers
.”

At that moment, the hood
slammed down. Thankfully, my finger wasn’t on the trigger. I was jumpier than a flea on a trampoline.

“All fixed
,” Brian announced. “One of the cables leading to your battery came unplugged. Kind of weird but fixable. You should probably bring this over for a tune up sometimes, though.”

“Like you don’t have enough on your plate.”

“I always have time for you.” He shrugged. “At least take it into the shop.”

I
’d much rather pay attention to their little soap opera, but there was a potential crazy person out there. I had to keep the bulk of my attention focused on the distance.

“Whoa
,” Brian suddenly said. “That’s a … gun.”

“A girl can never be
too careful,” I mumbled, sounding tougher than I felt.

“You want to be
careful somewhere else?” Brian asked. “I’ve got a campaign to run. Ralph doesn’t stand a chance without me.”

“That’s not true.” Holly scowled.

“You know it is. I’m the man behind the man.”

“
Your conversation is cute and all, but there’s someone watching us.” I nodded in the distance. “He’s over there.”

A wrinkle formed between Brian’s eyebrows. “Someone watching us? For real?”

I nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Brian raised his hands in the air. “Look, I’m not going to pretend to be a hero here.
I’m only a superstar in the social media world. I think we all need to get in our cars and get out of here.”

Holly nodded.  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

I gave the woods one last glance before climbing in the Mustang. No way was I trying to chase someone down myself, especially since I didn’t know whom I was up against.

But this case was starting to leave a bad, bad feeling in my gut.

***

Holly
drove down the streets closest to Garrett’s property, and I looked for a suspicious vehicle parked on the side of the road, some kind of clue as to who had been in the woods. I saw nothing and no one. But I was sure someone had been there. He must have left when he’d realized we’d spotted him.

When
we got back to the house, I’d had dinner with Lydia and Holly, and then I’d excused myself for the night. I needed time to let my thoughts percolate.

R
ight now, I sat on my bed and stared at my notes.

W
hich led me nowhere.

After I stared at my notes, I stared at my
cellphone.

Which led me nowhere.

Riley still hadn’t called. Was my memory faulty or had he said he’d call every day? I was fairly certain that’s what he’d said.

The fact that he hadn’t
made an effort seemed like a prophecy of our doomed relationship. How could things have been so great just a few months ago? I would have never envisioned then that I’d be at this place now.

But I knew, deep in my heart, what had happened.
Milton Jones had happened. He’d rocked my world and Riley’s world. To think that we’d ever be the same would be ludicrous. But I could hope to move on, to be a better person.

If I didn’t
, then Milton Jones would win, even from his grave. I couldn’t let him do that.

As I stared at the phone, it rang. My heart raced for a moment. I knew it wasn’t Riley calling, but was it
the Watcher? I put the phone to my ear and answered.

“Gabby, it’s Vic Newport. You left me a message.”

I straightened. “That’s right. Thanks for calling me back.”

“I have time to meet with you tomorrow at ten. Are you available then?”

“Ten? Ten works. Yes.”

He gave me directions, and we hung up. At least I had that lined up. Maybe Edward Mercer’s best friend would have some answers for me.

I stared at the phone another moment before deciding to swallow my pride. There was no room for pride in relationships. That’s what my pastor had told me once.

My hands were shaky on the buttons as I dialed
Riley’s number.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

But Riley didn’t answer.

My heart fell. Had he seen my number and avoided my call? Could it truly just be a case of him not hearing his phone ring or being involved with something else? The thing was, it was seven at night. He
should be getting ready for bed. He’d been turning in early ever since he came home from the hospital. Simple, everyday routines left him exhausted.

I shook my head. I had to get control of my thoughts. I’d been down this who
le feel-sorry-for-myself road before, and I didn’t want to go there again.

Where did broken hearts go?
I silently asked Whitney Houston. She hadn’t figured it out in her lifetime. But I was determined my story wouldn’t end the same way as hers.

As the phone beeped, I found my voice. “Hey, Riley. Just calling to check on you. Call me back when you get the message. I’ll be awake.”

I hung up, tucked the phone beside my pillow, and waited, convinced I’d done the right thing. Now I just had to wait for him to call back.

In the meantime, I decided to call Sierra and check on things back in Virginia. Unlike Riley, she answered on the first ring.
Make that, Chad answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Gab. What do you think of the family?”

“I think they’re a hoot. They could have their own reality show, for that matter.”

“For real. Hey, listen. D
id you already bill the Batemans again? My records are showing it’s been a month since the first bill went out …”

We caught up on business for a few minutes. A moment of guilt panged through me. I should be there, helping to earn money. Chad seemed to read my thoughts.

“I’ve got everything under control. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Violent crime in the area seems to be down this week, so your timing in leaving was impeccable.”

“Good to know.”

“Alright, I know you didn’t call to talk to me. Here’s Sierra.”

“
Hey, you,” Sierra started. “Get this. Some company came out today and put a new ‘For Sale’ sign up. I guess the other realtor wasn’t aggressive enough.”

My heart thudded in my chest. “That’s too bad. I kind of liked the nonaggressive one.”

“Yeah, me too. I keep wondering where we’ll move, if it comes down to that.”

That apartment building was all I had tying me to Riley right now. If we were all displaced, I might never see Riley again.

But that was doomsday thinking. I tried to push it aside. “Let me know what happens.”

Sierra paused a moment
. “You talked to Riley?”

“Not yet,” I answered softly. “I left him a message. Hopefully
, I’ll hear back from him tonight.”

“Okay. I just wanted to ask. I’m sure he’ll call.”

I wished I felt that certain.

***

Riley had never called last night. I’d checked my phone several times to make sure I hadn’t missed something. But there was no denying the truth. He hadn’t tried to contact me, even after I left the message.

I pushed away the fear and anxiety that tried to grip me, that tried to occupy my thoughts.
I was going to turn over a new leaf. I was going to trust that everything that happened was for my good, even when my feelings didn’t match. My pastor always said that emotions could be used for good or evil. I was going to choose “for good.”

Holly
had some kind of appointment in the morning, so she couldn’t hang with me. But she did drop me off to get a new rental car. Thankfully, the police had come and taken a report. Then the rental company had told me—after nearly an hour on the phone—to have the car towed in.

Despite
my misgivings about trying to navigate this city on my own, I had no choice. Vic Newport was available to talk. He and Edward had apparently been BFFs.

I pulled
off the Interstate. Straight ahead, I spotted a six-story building with Wimbledon Pharmaceuticals stretched across the top in bold, blue letters. I’d heard of them before. They not only made general medications like pain relievers and acid reflux aids, but they also had created some groundbreaking cancer and MS drugs.

I’d done a little research on the company before leaving and had discovered that the
y generously gave to many charities, that they’d nearly gone under eight years ago when another company beat them at distributing a new chemotherapy medication, and today they were on the Fortune 500 list. The company was started by Reginald Wimbledon and taken over by Reginald Wimbledon, Jr. He ran the company until last year when he passed away. Since then, his son Smith Wimbledon had taken over.

I
found a parking space, then hurried inside. A receptionist ushered me upstairs, walking at such a fast clip that I was still trying to catch my breath when I reached a conference room.

The woman forced a smile and pushed the door open. “He’ll be here in a moment.”

I paced around the room, trying to cool my nerves. There was nothing to be nervous about. I’d done this a million times before. Just ask questions. Be nosy. Do what you do best.

Still, this felt different. I’d never been pai
d to ask these questions before, which seemed to raise the stakes.

I paced over to a marble topped coffee bar and ran my finger across it, staring at a stain there, just as the door opened.

“Ms. St. Claire?”

I
straightened myself, a little too quickly. So much for appearing professional. “Mr. Newport. Thanks for letting me come out. I know you’re a busy man.”

Mr. Newport wasn’t tall and wasn’t short. He had a severely
receding hairline and an expensive suit.  He must like jewelry too because he had a thick gold watch, a couple of bracelets, and even a necklace.

“Anything I can do to help Edward and his family.”

Maybe I could earn points with this man, just like I’d earned points with Detective Morrison. “In exchange for your time, I can give you a great trick for cleaning that marble top with just some baking soda and crushed chalk.”

He stared at me a moment and said nothing.

So much for earning points.

He pointed to
a stiff looking chair at the table. “Have a seat.”

I obediently sat down
at a long, glossy, conference table, rationalizing that I wasn’t the corporate type. Not with the sour faces, the stiff suits, and the office politics. Two other men filed into the room.

I froze.
I hadn’t expected anyone else to be joining us.

Mr. Newport must have noticed my confusion because he paused. “I also have
Smith Wimbledon here. Mr. Wimbledon’s grandfather founded the company and today Smith serves as the CEO. He knew Edward and thought he might add something.”

Smith nodded. He was younger than I expected. Probably in his mid-thirties, but he had a head full of hair, an easy smile, and kind eyes.

“My father was the CEO when Edward Mercer worked here,” he explained. “Unfortunately, he had a heart attack last year and here I am now, trying to fill big shoes.”

I nodded, trying
to calm my anxiety. “Thanks for being here.”

“And this is Gil Portman from our PR department,” Vic continued.

Portman, a forty something man who looked like he tried to be young and hip with his snug business suit and gelled hair, stood. “I’m just here to make sure the company doesn’t get any bad press. We’re not anticipating it, but we’ve had some experiences in the past where words were taken out of context, mostly with reporters. We don’t take any chances. Any interview taking place at Wimbledon is attended by a member from our department.”

“Understood.”

I bit back disappointment. I was counting on a nice private conversation where I could get this man to open up about the real Edward Mercer. Instead, this would be more like a board meeting where everything I asked was analyzed. Wonderful.