Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1)

by Christy Barritt

  As if to appease Billy, Zane looped his arm through mine and did a little leprechaun kick as we walked out.

  “You’re crazy,” I told him.

  “I’ve been told that before, believe it or not.”

  “Believe it.”

  He paused outside, crossing his arms and acting like it didn’t bother him that Old Man Winter was breathing down our necks. “What now?”

  I should totally know this, yet uncertainty stained my voice. “I guess we go to the Oceanfront Inn Express?”

  If I did that, maybe I’d feel like I’d really earned that five thousand.

  “Sounds like a plan.” He started walking back toward my car.

  Yes, I’d driven. I did mention that Zane only drove some kind of van that pulled out into an RV, right? In fact, that was what he lived in during the summer months when the rent around here skyrocketed.

  “So can you tell me now? Who is this guy? An ex-boyfriend? Your former agent? Another actor I don’t recognize?”

  I hit unlock on my car fob and sighed. “It’s a long story. But someone wants me to find him. It’s a case of mistaken identity because this lady kind of thinks I have more in common with Raven Remington than I actually do.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  In the car, Zane’s scent filled the space. Even though I doubted he’d been on the beach today, somehow he still smelled like coconut-infused sunscreen, salt water, and surfboard wax. It was a scent I was quickly getting used to.

  But it wasn’t because I was interested in him. No, it was because I needed a friend, and Zane seemed more than willing to take the position.

  End of story.

  A few minutes later, at Zane’s direction, I pulled up to the hotel. I looked up at it in surprise. Simon was supposedly an attorney who was dating the daughter of a prominent judge. Yet this hotel was one of the cheaper, older ones at the beach. It had no special amenities, none that I could see at the moment, at least. No doubt the rooms were small and probably not updated. This wasn’t at all what I’d expected for a man like Simon.

  “You ready for this?” Zane asked.

  “The staff isn’t exactly going to let us go up to his room.”

  “How are they going to know if we’re guests or not?”

  I shrugged. “True that.”

  “Besides, if worse comes to worst, my friend works here. She can help us out.”

  “If she’s on duty.”

  We climbed out, and I scurried toward the front door, desperate to escape the cold. Zane was right behind me. As soon as we stepped into the lobby, warmth enveloped us. Blessed warmth.

  Zane moseyed over to the desk, his eyes lighting.

  “Hey, you!”

  Great. The pretty blonde behind the desk was one of his flavors of the week. One whose name he’d forgotten. Couldn’t he at least look at her name tag?

  “Zane!” Her voice rose with excitement. “How are you today, magic fingers?”

  Magic fingers? My gut churned. I didn’t want to know what that meant.

  And it apparently didn’t matter that Zane only referred to her as “hey, you!”

  “Listen, my friend is up in room 288. You mind if we zip up there real quick and pay him a visit?” He made a little walking motion with his fingers.

  She giggled. “He’s your friend, you said?”

  “Yeah.” Zane drew the word out as he leaned against the desk, with that charming sparkle in his eyes. “You mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  He motioned for me, and I started to follow him, simply amazed that his tactic had worked.

  “Let’s get together again sometime, Zane!” Sweetheart called behind him.

  “I’d love to!”

  Most people like Zane would turn my stomach with revulsion. But Zane seemed like such a puppy dog that it was hard to hold his womanizing ways against him.

  “That was easy,” he said as we waited for the elevator.

  “Easy.”

  “It’s such a small world around here.”

  “Small world,” I repeated.

  “So what are we going to do if we find this guy?”

  What were we going to do, Raven?

  “I need to document the fact that he’s here and that he’s okay. I’ll tell his girlfriend, who’s looking for him, and this case will be solved.”

  “That’s so hot, you know.”

  “That’s my goal in life.”

  Even though my voice was riddled with sarcasm, he didn’t seem to notice. He smiled and nodded instead.

  The elevator came, we stepped inside, and we rode it upward an entire floor. We should have taken the stairs. They were more energy efficient and better for our health.

  We stepped off and followed the numbered doors until we reached 288.

  Just our luck—it was cracked open. A Do Not Disturb placard dangled on the knob.

  I glanced at Zane, and he nodded, looking a little too excited.

  “It’s a sign,” he said, his voice deep and raspy with drama.

  What was it with everyone believing in signs? Made no sense.

  I knocked, wondering if someone was inside and had not realized the door was open. My gut told me that wasn’t true though. Something was wrong.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t on a set. When I walked into this room, whatever was inside was going to be real. Not an expertly designed scene laid out by a brilliant special effects team.

  Fiction was much easier to contend with than reality on more than one level.

  No one answered, so I pushed the door open. I needed to confirm that something was wrong. I couldn’t exactly call the police on a hunch. Detective Jackson already thought I was digging my own grave.

  “Hello?” I called.

  This was what the stupid girls said on those scary movies, wasn’t it?

  No, it wasn’t. There were no obvious signs of danger here. I was simply acting concerned. Besides, I had a big, strong, strapping man with me.

  Whom was I kidding? If there was a bad guy in here, Zane would probably find something in common with him and they’d start acting like best buddies. He was that type of guy.

  The overhead light was on. That was a good sign, right?

  I stepped past the dated bathroom. It was empty. Past an alcove for luggage. A suitcase rested on the metal rack. I’d check that out later.

  I could see the bed in the distance. The pastel coverlet was rumpled but in place.

  Someone had been here.

  My throat squeezed.

  “This is kinda creepy,” Zane said.

  “No one appears to be here,” I whispered.

  If no one was here, why was I whispering?

  I just needed to clear the edge of this short hallway, peer into the rest of the room, and then we could leave.

  Investigation closed. I’d done what I could.

  Enough to justify five thousand dollars? I wasn’t sure. But I had no leads after this. It was nearly a miracle I’d even gotten this far.

  I continued across the brown carpet, which felt sort-of moist below me. Gross. I paused as I reached the bed.

  I was almost ready to announce that everything was clear, when I saw shoes. Shoes that were attached to legs. Legs that were strewn across the floor and attached to . . . a body. On the floor.

  I gasped.

  Zane’s hand went to my shoulder.

  “Whoa . . .” he muttered.

  It was Simon Philips. He lay on the floor, a bottle of pills scattered around him, along with an empty glass beside him.

  There was only one problem.

  I’d seen this exact scene before, all the way down to the glass.

  Five

  As soon as Detective Sullivan saw me in the hallway of the hotel, he scowled.

  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it was annoying. I mean, I hadn’t done anything. I certainly hadn’t expected to find what I had found. Maybe a cheating boyfriend or a disillusion
ed lawyer needing a break.

  Not a dead attorney.

  “Stay right there,” Detective Sullivan growled in the hallway.

  No longer was he Jackson to me. No, he was a law enforcement professional, and I needed to address him that way.

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I stood outside Simon’s room, Zane by my side, and I waited as police swarmed into the room.

  “This is crazy,” Zane whispered. “Did you see that man?”

  I couldn’t get his image out of my head. The whole scene, for that matter.

  Was I losing my mind? Or was the setup of that scene straight from my TV show? I knew the truth. I just didn’t want to face it.

  Finally, Detective Sullivan stepped out. He immediately scowled again, his gaze solely targeted on me. “I need to get your statement. How’d you know to come here?”

  “Karaoke,” I croaked, my nerves getting the best of me.

  “What?”

  I shook my head, trying to come back down to earth. I explained to him what I’d learned at Willie’s and how we’d come up here, not knowing what we’d find. I told him what we touched, which was . . . almost everything.

  Shame filled me. It was true though. I’d touched the doorknob going in. I’d tried to revive Simon, wondering if there was a slight chance he could be alive. Then I’d thrown up . . . on Simon.

  I was a walking disaster.

  “So you compromised the entire scene?” Detective Sullivan closed his eyes and pressed his lips together as if he couldn’t comprehend my stupidity.

  He knew my answer. I didn’t have to say anything. But of course, I was going to.

  “I had no idea I’d find someone dead inside. And then I thought—what if he’s not dead and I let him die? That’s a big burden to carry.”

  He raked a hand over his face.

  “She’s totally telling the truth,” Zane said.

  Detective Sullivan opened his eyes and turned toward my neighbor. “Don’t even get me started about the fact that you’re here.”

  Zane raised his hands. “Totally innocent. Just along for the ride.”

  What did that mean? Did Zane have a record for doing rascally, surfer-type things? That might explain the animosity between the two men. However, it didn’t make me feel better right now.

  Detective Sullivan’s eyes darted from Zane to me. “I guess our conversation earlier was pretty timely, huh? Murder investigations shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

  I licked my lips, trying desperately to tap into my inner Raven. For the life of me, I couldn’t. I’d just seen my first real dead body, and I was shaken to the core.

  But there was more.

  “Actually, check the water glass,” I finally said.

  “What are you talking about?” Detective Sullivan shifted, his annoyance growing by the moment.

  “Check the glass for lip prints.”

  Detective Sullivan continued to stare at me in disbelief. Finally, he called one of the officers and asked him to bring him the glass. The officer did. Detective Sullivan held the glass up to the light.

  “There are no lip marks on here,” he muttered.

  The color left my face, and my knees almost gave out on me. Zane cupped my elbow and helped hold me steady.

  Detective Sullivan’s hard gaze bore into me, and he stepped closer. “How did you know that, Joey? Did you wipe this down on your spree to compromise the investigation?”

  “Of course not!” I rubbed my throat, not wanting to say my next words but realizing I had no choice. “I only know because the exact same thing happened in Episode 304.”

  He squinted. “Episode 304? What are you talking about?”

  “On Relentless.” So much for not bringing attention to myself.

  “What’s Relentless?” he asked.

  “Dude, don’t you ever watch TV?” Zane said.

  As Detective Sullivan gave Zane the look of death, tension climbed up my neck and all the way to my forehead.

  “Actually, I don’t. I’d rather do something more productive with my time.”

  My muscles felt like they might snap. “I was on a detective show,” I quickly blurted. “This crime scene is the exact same setup as one of my episodes.”

  Detective Sullivan’s green eyes studied me as if trying to ascertain whether or not I was reliable and telling the truth. “Is that right?”

  “But I promise—I know nothing about this. Nothing at all.”

  I went home two hours later, still feeling dazed by the turn of events.

  “You okay?” Zane asked as we stood at our front doors. “If you don’t feel like being alone . . .”

  I raised my hand. No way was I becoming one of Mr. Magic’s flavors. “I should be fine. Thanks.”

  He nodded and raised his hands. “Okay then. It was just an innocent gesture made from the kindness of my heart. No strings attached. If you need anything, I’m next door.”

  Lines like that might work on other women, but not on me. “Thanks, Zane.”

  I used the keypad to unlock my door, then stepped into my temporary home. The place was nice. Not my style. Well, the ocean views were my style, but the overblown nautical theme inside wasn’t. But it didn’t matter.

  I dropped my purse and keys onto a table, double-checked all of my locks, and went upstairs to my bedroom.

  Only, I bypassed my bedroom, went into a guest room, and entered the large walk-in closet there. I tugged on the light in the center of the space, and a card table came into view, various objects littering its top.

  I had extra rooms, so why had I chosen to set this up in a closet? I wasn’t 100 percent sure, except that this room encompassed the deepest hurts of my heart. Parts I didn’t want anyone to see. To know about.

  Not yet.

  Not until I knew whom I could trust.

  So I’d set this up in the space at the far end of the house, in the place that was the easiest to hide away. I sat at the table, letting all of my body weight sag into the cheap metal chair that I’d snagged from a closet off the kitchen. Forefront on the table was a picture of my father.

  I picked it up and studied his warm smile. He was fifty-one years old now. Traces of the young man who’d raised me as a single dad were gone, but in their place was a man whose eyes were full of wisdom that only a lifetime of pain could bring.

  And I’d caused so much of that pain. So many of those wrinkles and gray hairs.

  Tears formed in my eyes. If only I could go back and do things differently. There was so much I’d change. I would have come here sooner. I would take back the words I’d said to him. Take back our final conversation. I would tell him I loved him.

  But it was too late for that.

  My dad was gone. I would find him if it was the last thing I did. It was the only way to make things right.

  Because I’d screwed up more than my own life. I wiped away the moisture under my eyes.

  People wanted to be me. They thought I lived a charmed life. That fame was the ultimate achievement.

  If only they knew the truth. If they knew the pain I’d caused. That I’d endured. How I’d lost myself as I became addicted to the highs that stardom had brought.

  I shook my head, knowing this was no time to feel sorry for myself. Then I picked up the paper where I’d sketched some details.

  I’d left LA last Wednesday. Driven across the country with only whatever I could fit in my Miata. I’d arrived on Sunday, slept most of Monday, and then learned my way around the area when I woke up. On Tuesday, I’d driven past my dad’s old house. He wasn’t there.

  I went to his workplace, which was at the marina in Wanchese. He’d done dolphin tours. I talked to his boss, Charlie Evans, the man who owned the huge pontoon boat. That was when I’d discovered my first real clue. A bag my dad had left at the little shack where vacationers bought their tickets. Charlie had given it to me. I’d brought it here and laid out all the items.

  It wasn’t much. A key of some sort. It didn’t fit his
rental house. I’d tried.

  Some numbers that seemed super random scribbled on a torn sheet of notebook paper.

  And an “oriental” fan that had been torn and with something that looked like blood on the edge of it.

  Dizzy didn’t know I’d found that.

  And she wouldn’t until I knew if she’d played any role in my father’s disappearance.

  I couldn’t sleep. I had too much on my mind.

  That was why when my phone rang at 5:00 a.m., it wasn’t a big deal.

  My hand flopped on the nightstand, and I grabbed my cell and glanced at the screen. The caller ID said Starla McKnight. Though it was 5:00 a.m. here, it was only 2:00 a.m. in LA. Knowing Starla, she hadn’t given a second thought to the time difference. She’d probably just gotten home from one of her parties.

  “Hey, girl!” I forced myself to sound cheerful as my head hit the pillow behind me again.

  “It’s been four whole days, and I haven’t heard from you. How’s it going in Mule’s Hollow?”

  “Mule’s Hollow?”

  “Star’s Hollow?”

  “That’s Gilmore Girls.”

  “Mule’s Head?”

  I put her out of her misery. “Nags Head. It’s . . . it’s going okay.”

  “Did you find your dad yet?”

  As if it would be that easy. Not in my life. “No, I’m just starting the search.”

  “Did you go to the police? I’m sure they can help.”

  I pushed myself up, this conversation instantly washing away my groggy thoughts. “I can’t. I think they could be involved.”

  I’d just learned that two days ago while talking to Charlie.

  “No way.”

  “Way. I have to be very careful until I know whom I can trust.” I threw my legs out of bed and made my way into the kitchen. If I was going to have this conversation, I needed some coffee.

  “Well, did you get your cosmetology license transferred to North Carolina, at least?”

  “I did. My dad was right—again. Keeping my license renewed was a great idea.”

  “But you’re coming back here eventually, right? I know the past year has been rough, but you’re going to get more roles.”

  I grabbed a bag of java I’d picked up from a local coffeehouse. I was a bit of a coffee snob. “The IRS is currently garnishing my wages. My ex-husband is selling stories to the tabloids about me and how difficult I was. People would rather have me be Raven Remington than Joey Darling. I think you may be the only person who likes me, and you’re so busy with your hit TV show that I won’t even be able to see you.”