Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1)

by Christy Barritt

  “It looks like your persistence paid off, Hollywood,” he said. “We found Lily here.”

  “Dead?” The word escaped before I could stop it.

  A wrinkle formed between Jackson’s eyes. “No, but almost.”

  I let out my breath. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

  “She’s not out of the woods yet,” Jackson said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Where did I start? “Two things. Someone left this.” I handed him the note, holding it with a napkin, mostly so I wouldn’t get another lecture from him.

  He read it and grunted. “No idea who sent it?”

  “No idea.” I decided to rush ahead before he could ask too many questions. “And also, the same neighbor who said she’d seen Lily’s car here said she saw Lily with someone last night. A man. Around midnight. She said the man grabbed Lily’s arm and led her inside the house. She’s not sure if he was forcing Lily or not. It was dark.”

  He nodded. “That’s helpful. Thank you.”

  Just then two paramedics hauled Lily across the sand on a stretcher. My heart panged with grief for the woman. Crime in real life was so much different than crime on TV. In real life, lives were affected and people were hurt and the future was changed. It was nothing to be taken lightly.

  “I can’t believe she almost died. Can I ask . . . how?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “I understand.” I nodded. Raven would have never left it at that. She would have pushed until she had answers.

  But I wasn’t Raven. And I wanted out of this investigation. I didn’t want anything else to do with this.

  “Joey, you remember what happened next on Episode 304, right?” Jackson asked, forcing me to face the truth.

  I paused, trying to recall the episode. Except we hadn’t watched it all this morning. Jackson had taken it with him. “No, actually I don’t.”

  “The killer attempted to kill Raven.”

  I closed my eyes. Would whoever was behind this continue in this same pattern? I hoped not.

  But I had to separate reality from fiction, and reality said that I was in danger.

  “I know how Lily Livingston almost died,” Zane announced in the car.

  I stared at him. I did that a lot. At least he was handsome, because that made him very pleasant to stare at. But usually the reason I gawked was because I was perplexed by either his statements or actions.

  “How?”

  He stared at his phone screen. “Alcohol poisoning.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, apparently if you drink too much, your body can go into shock and even a coma. That’s what happened to Lily.”

  “What about Simon? I assume someone forced him to take pills, but . . .”

  Zane squinted at the screen. “He was given a fatal dose of an antianxiety medication.”

  Antianxiety medication? Was that what happened in Episode 304? Was that how Zane knew? “Really?”

  He shrugged and glanced up. “That’s what my friend says.”

  “Who is your friend?”

  “He’s one of the cops.” He nodded to a uniformed officer at the perimeter of the scene. The cop looked back and nodded ever so slightly.

  “And he’s texting you sensitive information?”

  “We’re bros.” He hit his fist against his chest. “So . . . yeah, he is. Is that okay?”

  “I . . . don’t know what to say.” I was positive the man was breaking protocol. But maybe small-town ties ran deeper than I assumed. Maybe the chief was so crooked he didn’t care about protocol. “Did your friend mention anything else?”

  “No, not really. Do you want me to ask him something else?”

  Did I? I had an inside source, yet I felt guilty, and no detective worth her weight would feel guilty about obtaining information, right? That was one more reason I was terrible at this.

  I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. Not now, at least.”

  I drove back to my place, mulling things over as I did. We got there just in time. It was getting dark outside, and I was tired. I had a lot to process.

  A woman stood at the door. Zane’s door. Another pretty blonde.

  My stomach twisted when I saw her. I didn’t even know why. Because I didn’t like Zane like that. But getting to know him today, he’d seemed different than the guy I’d assumed he was—the player.

  Zane waved to her, told her it would be just a minute, and then turned to me. “Maybe I should check out your place? If what Jack—I mean, Detective Sullivan—said is correct, you could be in danger.”

  I glanced at the girl on his porch and remembered that Zane was just like every other guy who’d ever broken my heart. They found more pleasure in the game than they did a long-term prize.

  Zane and I were friends, but that was it. Now and forever. Besides, I still hadn’t recovered from being burned by Eric. Maybe I never would. And if I didn’t, it was better that way.

  “I’ll be fine, Zane. I’ll call if I need you.”

  “Just knock three times on our shared wall, and I’ll be right over.” He grinned down at me, his eyes glimmering like the ocean on a clear day. “It was really fun chilling with you today, Joey.”

  I nodded and looked at the perky girl again. “Yeah, it was. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  “Totally.”

  I escaped inside my house, hoping a hot bath would solve all my problems.

  “Are you okay, sweetie? You look distracted.” Dizzy plopped herself down in the twirly chair across from me at Beach Combers the next day.

  “I’m fine. Just a lot going on.”

  She frowned, the action nearly as dramatic as her eye shadow. “I heard about the dead guy. And the almost-dead girl. It’s just horrible. Things like that don’t happen around here very often. And it’s the woman who came in here on Wednesday, right? She’s connected with all this?”

  I nodded.

  She pulled out her fan and began waving it in front of her face. “We could have a killer here in the Outer Banks. I won’t sleep well at night knowing that. Nor will any of my friends once I tell them what happened.”

  “I know.” I was all too aware.

  She swung her head toward me, her eyes hungry for gossip. “I need details. Do you think the killer followed them from Atlanta?”

  “That’s a great question.” It was the only thing that made sense to me, but what did I know?

  “Maybe the villain went back there. He did his job here and then left. That’s what I would do.”

  If that was true, that meant there was a good chance the police wouldn’t catch him. And did people in real life really call the bad guys villains? It sounded funny to my ears, but I didn’t say anything.

  I swung back and forth in a half circle in the chair, scraping my UGGs against the floor and noting how much clipped hair had stuck to the tacky edges of the peel-and-stick vinyl tiles.

  The thing that didn’t fit for me was the fact I’d somehow gotten pulled into this. I mean, I understood that Lily had asked me to investigate. But by the time I got up to the hotel room where Simon was staying, the scene had already been staged. And then someone had left the shoes. And then I’d gotten that note.

  Why play games with me? I had no connection with any of this. But someone was trying to draw me in. The only person I could think of who’d want to do that was Lily. She had asked me to investigate, and maybe she wanted to make things more interesting. Maybe she thought if she hired me, it would draw the attention off herself.

  Then who was the man at her house last night?

  I sighed. I supposed I wouldn’t have those answers unless she woke up from her coma.

  Then another thought hit me, one I should have thought of before now: Where was Simon staying? His residence could offer answers. I had a feeling the hotel room where I’d discovered his body was only a temporary meeting place, not somewhere he’d stayed long term.

  Yesterday, I’d said I was going
to give it up. But was that really wise? If I stopped investigating, would I become the next victim? Or would someone else? Wasn’t that what the note had implied?

  So many questions turned inside my head, and I had no answers.

  Raven? What do you think?

  I knew what Raven would think. She wouldn’t let someone get away with this. For the sake of justice, she wouldn’t give up, even if it meant putting her own life on the line.

  It was like Raven always said: leave every criminal undone.

  That was what I had to do also, whether I wanted to or not.

  At lunch, I sat down at the little tropical bar area intended for those traveling alone at Oh Buoy and ordered my favorite smoothie: the Coquina Crush. A new girl was behind the counter today.

  She had braided blond hair that was pulled over her shoulder. She wore hardly any makeup, and she didn’t need to. Yet she wasn’t intimidatingly beautiful. No, she was country-bumpkin beautiful. And better yet, she wasn’t wearing a tank top and jean shorts like every other employee.

  “You’re new here,” she said, placing a frothy glass of smoothie goodness in front of me. Her T-shirt had the words “Fruity Barista.”

  “So are you.” I shifted on the bamboo barstool so my mouth could reach the straw.

  She smiled, her teeth white and straight. “I only fill in when the owner needs help. I’m Phoebe. And I only ever agreed to work here if I don’t have to wear a tank top and shorts.”

  “I’m Joey,” I said. “And I like the fact that you’re taking a stand.”

  “My sister would have had my head on a platter if she thought I was sinking that low. Women are worth more than their measurements. That’s what she always said.”

  I smiled again. “She sounds wise.”

  “She was.”

  “Was?” I braced myself, unsure if I should ask the question.

  “She passed away two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged and wiped down the counter. “Me too. Breast cancer. But she’s not suffering anymore.”

  “Did she live around here?”

  “Up in DC.”

  “Women’s libber?”

  Phoebe twisted her head. “No way. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but that wasn’t Sarah. She was the sweetest person you could ever meet—not that women’s libbers aren’t. But I digress. You know what I mean, right? She was a schoolteacher and loved children. She believed in respect.”

  “She sounds like she was amazing.”

  “When she was diagnosed and the doctors recognized they couldn’t do anything else for her, she and her husband moved back down here. It’s where she wanted to spend her final days.”

  I remembered Detective Sullivan’s words when we’d spoken here. He’d said something about people liking to come here because it felt like being at the edge of the world, at the end of it all. Maybe his words were true.

  “Enough of that. You’re that actress that everyone has been talking about.” She turned to make another smoothie, keeping one eye on me as we continued our conversation.

  “That’s right. That’s me.”

  “Welcome to the area. You’re going to love it on the OBX. Well, you’ll love it or hate it, depending on your personality.” She giggled. “I like the seasons here, you know? I mean, it goes from crazy busy to remotely desolate, almost. I think it’s nice. Kind of like the tide coming and going.”

  I smiled, liking that description way more than Dizzy’s graveyard comparison. And I liked Phoebe also. She reminded me a lot of my best friend from high school. Sweet, spunky, and down to earth.

  “You been here long?” I continued.

  “Grew up in the area, actually. I don’t see myself ever leaving, even if it means I’m a professional jack-of-all trades.”

  “A lot of people around here claim that title, don’t they?”

  She laughed again. “Yeah, they sure do. I have a grooming and boarding business for pets down in Rodanthe during the summer. People love bringing their pets on vacation, but sometimes they need a little help with them. I walk dogs also.”

  She mixed up another smoothie, and the screech of the blender prevented any further conversation. But she picked up right where she left off as soon as she was done.

  “You having a smoothie for lunch? Nothing else?”

  I shook my head and played with my paper straw. “No, I try to eat only fruits and vegetables with the occasional ramen noodle.” And when prodded—even ever so slightly—I’d eat fried fish, crab legs, crab soup, and french fries.

  Story of my life.

  Phoebe made a face. “What fun is that?”

  “It’s a Hollywood thing,” I admitted. “I’ve been gluten-free. Raw food only. Paired food religiously. Truth is that every once in a while, I forget it all and gorge on a hamburger, fries, and a milkshake.”

  She laughed. “Now that I can relate to.”

  The door opened behind me, and Phoebe’s eyes lit. I looked back and spotted Jackson Sullivan stride inside.

  My gut clenched. Jackson. Again. Why did I have to keep running into him? Was this town really this small?

  Apparently it was.

  To make matters worse, he strode toward me.

  But then I realized he wasn’t looking at me at all. No, he was looking at Phoebe.

  “Hey, Jax!” She leaned across the bar and kissed his cheek.

  He kissed her cheek back.

  Phoebe and Jackson? I’d had no idea.

  I started to stand and leave with my smoothie so I could give them a minute. I really should get back to work anyway.

  Jackson’s razor gaze found me before I could. “Joey, I’m glad I ran into you. Can I have a minute?”

  I had no good excuse why I couldn’t—other than the fact I didn’t want to. At least he hadn’t called me Hollywood this time. “Sure.”

  He nodded toward a corner booth, said goodbye to Phoebe, and I followed him. We slid across from each other.

  I waited for a reprimand. Instead he asked, “How are you doing?”

  I blinked, lowering my guard slightly. I hadn’t been expecting that question. “I’m okay. A little shaken. But okay.”

  “Good. Has anything else happened?”

  I took a long sip of my smoothie before shaking my head. “No.”

  “I’ve requested an officer to drive by your place every hour until all of this blows over. Just in case any more threats are directed at you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” And it would make the threats seem way too real. I’d rather not go there.

  Jackson did the stare again. He was still trying to read me, wasn’t he? Good luck with that one.

  I decided to fill the void with questions of my own. “Any word on trace evidence on those shoes?”

  “The crime lab is pretty backed up right now.”

  “But it only takes a few minutes on TV.” I knew how inaccurate that was, but I wanted to aggravate him a little.

  “Don’t get me started.”

  “Wait, you’re saying that TV shows aren’t realistic?”

  He tilted his head. “I’m saying they can make criminals smarter sometimes. That’s never positive in my book.”

  I dropped my smile, thinking about poor Lily in the hospital. “Listen—I realize you already know this, that Simon wasn’t staying at that hotel where he was found dead. Where was he staying while he was in town?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I can’t talk about an active investigation.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He let out a sigh and pulled something from his pocket. It was a grainy shot—probably from a security camera—of a woman with long dark hair that had a touch of curl. “This is one of the reasons I wanted to meet you.”

  “You knew I was here?”

  “Dizzy told me.”

  I pushed a hair behind my ear. Dizzy had no secrets, did she? Except when it came to my father. “Good to know.”
<
br />   He held up the photo. “This woman. Do you recognize her?”

  I stared at the picture a moment longer before shaking my head. “I don’t. But Billy from over at Willie’s said that Simon met with a woman there on the night he died.”

  Jackson nodded. “That’s correct. She paid with cash, so there’s no way to trace her.”

  “What about Simon? Could you trace his credit cards?”

  He shook his head ever so slightly. “He hadn’t used them this week.”

  I tapped on the table, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Lily found Simon here by tracing his phone. When he figured that out—I assume, at least—he turned his phone off, got rid of his battery, whatever it was he had to do to make it untraceable. Simon didn’t want to be found, did he?”

  “He covered his steps pretty well.”

  My thoughts still charged full speed ahead. “But he had to eat while he was here, right? It’s not like he could have locked himself away in a hotel room without food all week. Someone here saw something. How many hotels are in this area?”

  I was talking like we were in this together, and we weren’t. But the thoughts were rolling off my tongue, and I couldn’t stop them.

  Detective Sullivan’s expression remained stoic—anything but chummy. “I’m not sure. Probably twenty.”

  Twenty? That would take a while, and it could be a dead end, considering the number of rentals around here. Still, I needed to narrow it down.

  “I could show his picture at the front desk and see where he was staying—”

  “You’re welcome to do that, but we already have. He didn’t stay at any of the local hotels.”

  My thoughts churned. I’d felt a moment of victory. Jackson had shared information with me. It was a start, right?

  “Of course. He probably rented a place. Maybe from a private owner. It would be much harder to trace that way, especially if he paid cash.”

  Jackson twisted his head, satisfaction in his gaze. “Now you’re thinking like a detective.”

  What would Raven do now? My favorite question as of late.

  She would put together a timeline. And that was exactly what I would do.

  Because my life might depend on it.

  Eleven