Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1)

by Christy Barritt

  “I see. But giving out her location would be a breach of privacy. I’m not sure she’d appreciate that.”

  “I understand.” It had been a long shot, but worth trying.

  The woman didn’t say anything a moment. I was certain she’d hang up, but for some reason, I waited to hear a click of confirmation first.

  “She’s at a Seacret Escape,” the woman blurted. “That’s spelled S-E-A-cret. I don’t know where the house is located, but I know that’s its name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Lily wasn’t acting like herself when she left. I’m worried about her, and she’s not answering the phone for me either. Please check on her.”

  “I will. Thank you again.”

  Seacret Escape. I wasn’t sure if it happened everywhere or just in the Outer Banks . . . this desire for people to name their houses like some people named their boats. I personally thought it was kind of fun though.

  I turned to Zane. “Ever heard of a house called Seacret Escape?”

  He nodded. “I have.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Really?”

  “I am a Realtor. If there’s anything I know, it’s houses.”

  “True that. Where is this Seacret Escape?”

  “I’ll do better than tell you. I’ll show you.”

  “Don’t you have houses to show?” I asked. Or women to entertain . . .

  “In the winter? This is a terrible season to buy and sell.”

  “I see.”

  “So you’ve got me all to yourself today.”

  I didn’t remember asking him for help. But having someone with me could be nice, especially until I knew what was going on.

  It wasn’t exactly in my budget to hire bodyguards anymore.

  “Right now I’ve got to find Lily.”

  “Hi ho, Silver, away!”

  I stared at him, probably the way Detective Sullivan stared at me. “What?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s go!”

  Eight

  Zane and I arrived at the street outside Seacret Escape just as someone familiar pulled away.

  Detective Jackson Sullivan.

  He recognized my car and pulled to a stop right there in the middle of the two-lane road. Thankfully, we were in South Nags Head, which was farther off the beaten path where the town’s restaurants and entertainment venues were located. It was mostly residential down here, and most of the residents didn’t live here year round. That was what Zane had told me, at least.

  Detective Sullivan rolled down his window, and I followed suit.

  “You did know where Lily Livingston lived,” the detective started, that accusing glare in his eyes again.

  I shook my head. “No, like any detective worth their salt, I called Lily’s house in Atlanta and found out the information.”

  He let out a little grunt. “Well, she’s not there. We even searched inside the place, just to make sure she was okay. You have any other ideas about where she might be?”

  “Not really. I felt pretty lucky to have figured out this one.”

  “You should leave the police work to us, Hollywood.”

  Hollywood? Was that what he was going to call me now? For some reason, it seemed like an insult as it rolled off his lips.

  “She’s my client. I just want to make sure—”

  “Client?” Detective Sullivan interrupted.

  I paused only momentarily before nodding. “That’s right.”

  “Aren’t you overstating it a bit?”

  “She did hire me.”

  “But you’re not a PI.”

  “I am in California.”

  “You’re not in California.”

  “I’m aware of that.” My shoulders tightened.

  Detective Sullivan didn’t like me at all, did he? I hadn’t even done anything to him except give him a bad haircut. And ruin his crime scene. Maybe that was enough.

  I was becoming a thorn in his side, wasn’t I?

  “I don’t think you are, Ms. Darling. Please stay out of my investigation.” With that, he rolled up his window and drove away.

  I, however, didn’t. I sat there. There were no cars behind me anyway. And his words had felt like one big, bad insult.

  I’d endured critics and bad movie reviews and that lousy Melissa Rivers criticizing everything I wore to every awards ceremony and even to the grocery store. But somehow Detective Sullivan’s words stung even more, and I wasn’t sure why.

  “Wow. Jackson is uptight.” Each of Zane’s words had a different inflection, a mixture of passionately animated and someone attempting a really bad rap song.

  I didn’t know Zane well, but I already knew that he never said anything normally. No, every word was always punctuated with something.

  I supposed that made talking to him more interesting though.

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I finally said. “He’s about as humorless as a priest reading a eulogy.”

  Zane laughed. “I like that.”

  “Do you know him?” I put the car in drive and slowed as I passed the house. There were no cars at the houses on either side of the structure, so I figured there were no neighbors to question even.

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “What’s that mean?” I cut him a sharp glance.

  “We don’t see eye to eye. Too much water under the bridge, I suppose.”

  “I see.” I knew better than to ask more questions. It sounded like a sore subject.

  “Where to now?” Zane asked.

  I turned around and began heading back in the direction we’d come. I wasn’t far from my father’s landlord’s place. I wondered if I should stop by now . . . with Zane.

  Why not? I’d ask Zane to wait in the car. He was kind of nice company. He filled the empty silence in the car when I didn’t feel like talking. I wasn’t even sure what he said half of the time. Something about SUP yoga, and shredding competitions, and dressing like a pirate.

  We were almost starting to feel like old friends.

  And having a friend seemed like a great idea, especially when I realized that the only person who truly loved me was nowhere to be found.

  I stared through my windshield at the large condo complex in front of me. It was one of the newer structures in the area, I’d guess, based on the dark-blue vinyl and the spic-and-span exterior.

  It was located on the water, soundside, not oceanside, near the causeway that stretched between Nags Head and the island of Roanoke. Slowly but surely I was going to learn my way around the terminology of this area.

  “Surprise pit stop?” Zane asked.

  “I need to run up here and talk to someone real quick. Would you mind waiting in the car?”

  “Sure thing. No problem,” Zane said, just as I expected. Nothing ever seemed to bother Zane.

  I liked that.

  I also liked that, with the exception of his supposedly innocent invitation last night, he wasn’t hitting on me. He seemed happy just to chill out together.

  Truth was, I’d always had an easier time with guy friendships than girl friendships. No, I’d never been one to have a gaggle of females with me. Maybe one.

  Like Starla.

  But I’d had enough bad experiences where I’d been stabbed in the back and gossiped about that friendships with other women came slowly and with much reserve.

  Guys, on the other hand? They took things at face value. They told you to your face what they thought. They made their intentions pretty clear.

  That was why when Eric and I got married, I felt so isolated. I couldn’t have any other guy friends. Even if I’d been okay with it, Eric wouldn’t have been.

  I climbed from my car, found the right condo number, climbed two flights of stairs, and stopped by a door numbered 302123. Why such a long number for such a small building?

  It didn’t really matter.

  I rang the bell, and Burt Reynolds answered a moment later. Well, not really Burt. But he could have been his younger brother.
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br />   “How can I help you?” He squinted, as if trying to place me.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Corbina.”

  “I’m Mr. Corbina.”

  I knew from my father that Mr. Corbina liked to buy real estate in the area and that he was the former CEO of some company—who’d retired young to move here and live the dream, as my father said. I’d bet that one of those huge boats docked on the other side of this place belonged to him.

  “Mr. Corbina, I’m Joey Darling. My father was Lewis Schermerhorn.”

  His eyes lit. “That’s why you look familiar. You’re Lew’s daughter. The famous one.”

  I rubbed my throat again. My acting coach would slap my hand. “He talked about me?”

  Honestly, I’d thought my father was ashamed. I figured that mentioning me was the last thing he’d do.

  My dad’s faith had been everything to him, and I’d gone on to embody everything he didn’t believe in.

  “Yes, yes, your father mentioned you. I mean, he was a quiet man. Didn’t talk much about himself. But he had pictures of you up at his place.”

  My heart lurched at the thought. Why did I have to be so selfish?

  “Could I ask you a few questions?” I started.

  “Do you want to come in?” He extended his hand behind him.

  I glanced back at my car. Zane rocked out to some music, looking totally content to be alone. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt, right? “Sure. But I don’t have much time.”

  “Is he with you?” He nodded toward Zane.

  Mr. Corbina had followed my gaze. “He is.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  “You know him?”

  He nodded. “He used to work for me part time.”

  “I had no idea.” Then again, I hadn’t thought to ask.

  “Most people around here know Zane. He’s hard not to notice. Life is never boring when he’s around.”

  “No, life isn’t boring with him. He’s my neighbor.”

  Mr. Corbina smiled. “I see. Does that mean you’ve moved here?”

  I stepped through the door and into his warm house. He pointed to the couch, and I sat there.

  The place was much larger inside than I’d anticipated. High ceiling. Spacious. Million-dollar views of the water.

  It might be a condo, but it was a mansion in the condo world.

  “I’m here for a little while at least.” I fidgeted. “I’m looking for my dad.”

  His face softened, and he sat across from me. “I see. You do know your dad moved out of the house he was renting from me.”

  I nodded.

  Dad had rented a small cottage with only two bedrooms here. Actually, I’d been pretty sure the place was modular, and it was definitely old. But my dad seemed happy there. I’d been here to visit twice, but I’d rented my own place with Eric since he and my father didn’t get along.

  I should have listened to my dad.

  “I know that. But no one has heard from him in two months now. I’m worried.”

  “I thought it was strange how your father moved out like he did. He seemed like he wanted to stay here forever. Next thing I knew, he was turning in his notice and handing in his keys.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Just that sometimes the wind changed directions and it was better not to fight it.”

  That sounded like my dad. “But he gave no hints as to how or why the wind was shifting?”

  Mr. Corbina shook his head. “He didn’t. I tried to find out, but he was tight lipped. Said he was still solidifying the details.”

  “Did he seem like himself? I don’t know how well you knew him, but—”

  “I didn’t know him well, but he was always very pleasant. The kind of renter I wanted to have around. I invited him over to play cards a couple of times, but he never accepted.”

  “My dad grew up thinking cards were the devil’s tool. That’s what his parents taught him. He said he really didn’t believe it, but he still couldn’t move past it. Sometimes the way we’re raised remains ingrained in us, whether we like it or not.”

  “That it does. Your father seemed content to be by himself and live privately. So I didn’t push.”

  “Do you know what happened to his things?”

  He shook his head. “They weren’t in the house. Of course, the place was furnished, so he only brought his clothes and any other belongings he wanted to display. I just assumed he put everything in his car and left.”

  “He had an old trunk from World War II that belonged to my grandfather. And I know he brought a grandfather clock that he restored. Those things wouldn’t have fit in his car.”

  “I wish I could help you, dear. But I have no idea. Like I said, he was private. I just know that he paid me what he owed, and he left the place in pristine condition. I wish I could help you.”

  I nodded and stood. “I wish you could too. Is there anyone else you can think of who could have answers? Anyone you saw him speaking to?”

  “I know he liked to eat at the Fatty Shack. You might try there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Corbina.”

  Just as I stepped away, he called my name. I turned, and he pressed something into my hand. A paper.

  “What’s this?”

  He shrugged. “Look at it in the car. You’ll see.”

  Before I could ask anything else, he closed the door.

  I took a few steps away and raised my hand, ready to see what this mystery item was. Wait until I reached the car? No way.

  Before I could read the words scribbled there, the wind swept across the breezeway. The paper flew from my hands.

  I dove after it, desperate to catch it, to read the words there. But like a feather in the wind, the paper floated over the railing.

  I leaned over the barrier, trying to grab the note. It was mere fingertips away. But still too far.

  I watched it float on the air. Downward. Downward. Downward.

  Until it hit the water below. I watched as it sank.

  Nine

  “You just showed up at Winston Corbina’s doorstep?” Zane said.

  So maybe he had been paying attention. Had he seen the paper fly away? Had he seen me rush back to Mr. Corbina’s? Had he seen Mr. Corbina drive away?

  The man must have left right after we spoke. Out another exit. He hadn’t answered his door.

  And now I might not ever know what was on that paper.

  “I did.” I slammed my door closed.

  “You do know who he is, don’t you?”

  “Who is he?” I wanted to hear Zane’s interpretation.

  “He owns 180 properties in the Outer Banks. One hundred eighty. One of them is a hotel. The other is that condo complex. He’s loaded.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You don’t want to cross him.”

  “He seemed perfectly nice.”

  “He is . . . until you get on his bad side. Then he turns into Satan.” Zane made little horns with his fingers and put them at his temples.

  “Sounds like you know from firsthand experience?”

  “I worked for him for a while. Then he accused me of not taking my job seriously.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Beats me. I just told a few people that they shouldn’t buy certain properties.”

  “Properties that you represented.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But they were in flood zones. These people were green. They wouldn’t have been happy with the purchase. It’s one thing if someone from this area who knows what they’re getting into buys a property like that. It’s something else if it’s someone from Indiana who has no idea what tidal flooding is.”

  “I agree.” In one way, it was noble of Zane. In another, it seemed unprofessional.

  “He got mad and fired me. But that was okay. I went on to work for Seagull Properties, so we’re all good now.”

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  “No regrets, no worries.”

  Wouldn’t that be n
ice? My stomach grumbled, and I remembered I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I was starving. “Listen, are you hungry?”

  “Do dolphins love water?”

  “I take that as a yes.”

  “Abso-freaking-lutely!”

  Nothing was ever boring with Zane around. Not even a conversation about eating.

  I stared out the window. I needed to find Lily. I had no idea how. I needed to find my dad. At least I had one lead on how to do that. It was too bad I didn’t have a script to follow. It would make my life so much easier if my next steps had already been planned and written.

  “Ever been to the Fatty Shack?” I asked.

  “The Fatty Shack? It’s one of my faves.”

  “Want to eat there now?”

  “Are you buying?”

  Was I? I supposed I could put it on my credit card. I was only going to use it until I got back on my feet.

  My dad had never been a fan of debt. Never.

  This would be one more reason why he wouldn’t be proud of me now. But I had so very few options.

  “Sure, I’m buying.”

  The Fatty Shack was located on the causeway also, only a few minutes from Mr. Corbina’s place. The inside was dated and decorated with old crab pots and buoys. It smelled like fish and dirty cleaning solution.

  And I could totally see why my dad loved it.

  It wasn’t one of the overcommercialized places that tourists flocked to on vacation to get all-you-can-eat buffet deals. This place was small. Nothing on the outside was visually appealing. And it seemed like mostly fishermen were eating inside.

  A deeply tanned—and deeply wrinkled—waitress seated us by the window. Unlike Oh Buoy, this place actually had a view of something other than a dumpster. The Roanoke Sound stretched across the horizon outside, edged with wispy marsh grasses and rock-formed jetties. Across the water, I could see speck-sized pieces of Manteo.

  “There’s a jukebox! I’ve totally got to go pick a few songs,” Zane said. “Wanna come?”

  “Next time,” I told him.

  I needed a minute to get the lay of the place.