Blooper Freak
The Worst Detective Ever, Book 5
Christy Barritt
River Heights
Copyright © 2017 by Christy Barritt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Complete Book List:
Season 1, Episode 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Coming Next: Flaw Abiding Citizen
Also by Christy Barritt:
The Worst Detective Ever:
Squeaky Clean Mysteries:
Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:
The Sierra Files:
Carolina Moon Series:
Cape Thomas Series:
Standalones:
The Gabby St. Claire Diaries:
About the Author
Complete Book List:
Squeaky Clean Mysteries:
#1 Hazardous Duty
#2 Suspicious Minds
#2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime (a novella)
#3 Organized Grime
#4 Dirty Deeds
#5 The Scum of All Fears
#6 To Love, Honor, and Perish
#7 Mucky Streak
#8 Foul Play
#9 Broom and Gloom
#10 Dust and Obey
#11 Thrill Squeaker
#11.5 Swept Away (a novella)
#12 Cunning Attractions
#13 Clean Getaway
#14 Clean Sweep (coming soon)
Squeaky Clean Companion Novella:
While You Were Sweeping
The Worst Detective Ever
#1 Ready to Fumble
#2 Reign of Error
#3 Safety in Blunders
#4 Join the Flub
#5 Blooper Freak
#6 Flaw Abiding Citizen (coming in November)
Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:
#1 Random Acts of Murder
#2 Random Acts of Deceit
#3 Random Acts of Malice
#3.5 Random Acts of Scrooge
#4 Random Acts of Greed
#5 Random Acts of Fraud
Carolina Moon Series:
Home Before Dark
Gone By Dark
Wait Until Dark
Light the Dark
Taken by Dark
Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:
#1 Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife
The Sierra Files:
#1 Pounced
#2 Hunted
#2.5 Pranced (a Christmas novella)
#3 Rattled
#4 Caged (coming soon)
The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a Tween Mystery series):
#1 The Curtain Call Caper
#2 The Disappearing Dog Dilemma
#3 The Bungled Bike Burglaries
Standalone Romantic-Suspense:
Keeping Guard
The Last Target
Race Against Time
Ricochet
Key Witness
Lifeline
High-Stakes Holiday Reunion
Desperate Measures
Hidden Agenda
Mountain Hideaway
Dark Harbor
Shadow of Suspicion
The Baby Assignment (coming January 2018)
Cape Thomas Series:
Dubiosity
Disillusioned
Distorted
Standalone Romantic Mystery:
The Good Girl
Suspense:
Imperfect
The Wrecking
Nonfiction:
Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music
The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel
Season 1, Episode 5
The case of real life being nothing like TV. Like, at all. Nada. None. Zero.
Chapter One
“So then I got all confused.” My hands flew in the air as I tried to explain what had happened. After all, why speak with only your lips when you could use your whole body? “He said, ‘tennis bracelet,’ and my mind went blank. Like, stressed blank, which is totally different than regular blank. I’m sure you’ve never had that happen.”
Jackson Sullivan—the gorgeous man I’d met for breakfast—never got flustered. Even now he casually leaned back and listened to my every word with a rock-solid demeanor that fascinated me.
“I mean, people think that because I’m an actress that I’m quick on my feet, but if you put me on the spot, I freeze,” I continued.
“I’ve seen that a few times.” Jackson took another sip of coffee.
Hollywood didn’t always get it right, but the whole cop in a donut shop thing? Yeah, it was so happening right now. Two of Jackson’s colleagues had come in since we’d arrived twenty minutes ago. And, just to set the record straight, coming here had been Jackson’s idea, not mine.
After all, I was on a raw food diet. Unless I wasn’t. Like now.
“So I looked at Steve Harvey, and I was totally like, ‘Tennis bracelet? But I don’t play sports.’”
Jackson threw his head back in laughter. “Oh, Joey, you didn’t?”
My cheeks heated just thinking about it. “Oh, I did. He thought I was joking, so I tried to play it off.” I did a face palm as dread pooled in my stomach. “Just wait until it airs next week. I’ll be the laughingstock of the country.”
I’d just done a guest spot on a new TV game show called Celebrity Truth or Dare. I’d totally blown it on question number five though. “My only comfort is in knowing that Mel B—of Spice Girls and America’s Got Talent fame—was on my team. I’m hoping they’ll edit my part out and focus on her off-the-chain antics instead.”
I sighed and picked up my donut. Jackson was on duty, and I was tagging along like the Donkey following Shrek. Only I was a tweeting Donkey with ulterior motives.
“How’s your donut?” he asked. “Speaking of which, didn’t Raven Remington like donuts?”
“She did. And this is delicious. The donuts on the set were always stale by the time I ate them. Sometimes we had to do ten or twelve takes in one scene. To say I was sick of donuts would be an understatement.”
“That’s a lot of takes . . . and donuts.”
“For real. And you wonder why I’m always on a diet? I’m only thankful that it wasn’t ice cream. TV ice cream is the worst. You know what they use for ice cream, don’t you?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever paid attention.”
“It’s mashed
potatoes.”
He made a face. “Really?”
“Really. All those cute little scenes with characters outside on a hot day eating their ice box treats? They’re really licking mashed potatoes on a cone.”
He made another face complete with downturned lips and squinty eyes. “I’ll never view those scenes the same again.”
“You can thank me later for pulling back the veil for you.”
His phone rang, and he put it to his ear, mumbled a few things, and then his whole demeanor changed, morphing from relaxed to professional.
He ended the call and stood. “We have to go.”
The tone of his voice made it clear that this wasn’t just a call; this was a big deal. I just wasn’t sure what kind of big deal. Was it a big deal like Meryl Streep getting nearly twenty Oscar nods? Or was it more like being nominated for Harvard’s Hasty Pudding award?
I stood also, thankful I could finally walk without crutches. I’d been on them for two weeks after I’d stepped on some broken glass and sprained my ankle. By no means had I mastered the devices during that time.
“A break-in?” I followed Jackson toward the door, grabbing the last bite of my maple and bacon donut. I was now a convert. Bacon truly was good on everything.
“Nope.” He tossed his remaining coffee and his glaze-crusted napkin into the trash can.
I hurried behind him. “Traffic accident?”
“Not this time.”
“An alien abduction?”
That caused him to pause for half a step and look at me. “Really?”
I shrugged innocently. “Well, I’m running out of ideas.”
He shifted, and our gazes met. “If you must know, we’ve got a body.”
My pulse spiked, almost as if he’d said I’d been offered the role of a lifetime in a romantic saga that ended with a wash of Nicholas Sparks–worthy tears. “A body?”
Dead bodies weren’t all that common in the resort area of Nags Head, North Carolina. Well, they weren’t until I came to town five months ago. But this time, I was nowhere near whatever had happened. My life had been surprisingly calm the last three weeks.
Once outside, I climbed into Jackson’s police-issued sedan. I wanted to pepper him with questions, but I didn’t have the chance. No sooner had I closed and locked my door than Jackson was back on his phone communicating with other officers on the scene.
They used terms I had trouble translating. Ten thirty-five. Ten forty. Eight six seven five three oh nine.
Wait.
I didn’t think he’d used that last number, but all the numerals were now jumbled together in my head.
All I could do was sit there and listen—two things I wasn’t great at doing.
A few minutes later, we pulled to a stop in the driveway of an oceanside McMansion complete with weathered cedar shingles and cheerful yellow hurricane shutters. I followed Jackson over the sand dune, struggling to keep up with him.
“You have to stay on the other side of the police line,” he reminded me.
“Of course.”
“And try not to talk to anyone about what’s going on.”
“I would never.”
“And don’t take pictures or tweet anything.”
I acted offended. “Oh ye of little faith.”
Basically, I was there to observe. And like a good little girl, that was what I’d do. Of course.
I mean, far be it for me to ever stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Like, ever.
I was much more mellow than that.
And the Star Wars franchise was dying, Steven Spielberg would never have another hit, and Hollywood actors were forfeiting pay for the greater good.
Yeah, right.
As soon as we crossed the sand dune, I paused and sucked in a breath. I knew the shoreline had been eroding with the recent storms, but I hadn’t expected this. The sand beneath the McMansion had been washed away. The pilings there, which were normally visible, were now totally exposed—all the way down to the very bottom, like dinosaur bones at a dig site.
But immediately my attention shifted from the pilings to what was beneath the structure.
Yellow crime-scene tape sectioned off the area. For good reason. A hand, arm, and leg protruded from the sandy embankment.
By all appearances, this person had been buried there, and during last night’s thunderstorm, the ocean had washed away the sand concealing the body.
I looked closer. The hand told me the victim was Caucasian. Based on the hair there, he was a man—or a very hairy woman. I was going to go with a man.
I also saw a gold watch that looked expensive. The fact that it hadn’t been stolen told me this wasn’t a robbery.
The skin was still intact and only slightly discolored, which probably meant the body was fresh and this crime was recent.
“Stay here,” Jackson reminded me.
I nodded obediently. My alter ego, Raven Remington, would never listen to orders at a crime scene. But I wasn’t Raven Remington, as I constantly had to remind people. Apparently, I needed to remind myself of that also.
Raven was the ace detective I’d played on my hit TV show. Unfortunately, the two of us were nothing alike. Everything I’d ever learned about crime fighting I’d learned from her. And Jackson.
Jackson slipped under the police tape to check out the scene.
I waited patiently. But the truth was that real police work was so boring, nothing like what happened on TV.
There were so many details and protocols to attend to in real life. And you know what else? DNA never came back in a day. Fingerprints could take hours—if not longer. Unglamorous paperwork consumed much of a cop’s time. If this was CSI, this crime would already be solved, the whole gang would be going out for drinks together, and there would have been six commercial breaks in between.
I lingered for what felt like hours. Hours.
At first I stood at the police line.
Then I sat in the sand.
I built a sandcastle with a little seven-year-old girl visiting from New York.
I constructed a tower of broken shells with a two-year-old.
I reenacted the Chariots of Fire running scene with a group of lifeguards in training. We even sang the wordless music as we did so.
Then I sat back in the sand and watched the beautiful waves wash ashore. They were big today—red flags were flying on the lifeguard stands, warning everyone against going in the water.
I watched dolphins frolicking in the massive waves.
Did I mention how long actual police work took? Hours. Hours and hours.
Then I glanced at my watch. It had only been forty minutes since I got here. What? That couldn’t be right.
I had to do something else to occupy my mind here.
So I thought back over the past several weeks and all the changes that had happened.
I’d moved out of my oceanside cottage because the owner wanted top dollar for the premium summer months. I was now staying in a condo on the sound—a condo that just happened to be owned by Winston Corbina, a man I suspected of being involved with my dad’s disappearance.
Please, no one accuse of me of not thinking ahead. At least, in this case. Career-wise, fashion-wise, and diet-wise were all up for grabs though.
My last movie was such a success that the IRS was able to take all my money and clear me of my debt to them. That meant I didn’t have to work at Beach Combers, a salon, anymore. I was now officially on emergency backup, but I did try to stop by once a week or so to help Dizzy and get my social fix with her and her Hot Chick friends.
My ex, Eric, appeared to be gone from my life permanently. Our debt no longer connected us, and I was pretty certain Jackson had scared him away from ever coming around me again. Win-win!
My manager, Rutherford, had been humbled enough during a recent life-threatening snafu that it saved our relationship. For now, I was still working with him. I still might fire him eventually. I just had to decide about my future first.<
br />
Yep, that about summed it up.
After another hour had passed—okay, it had been only five minutes—I made my way over to the police line again and watched the scene playing out in front of me.
Jackson took a brush and began to wipe away the sand near the body. Eventually a face emerged.
I sucked in a breath.
I recognized that face.
It looked like my streak of being noninvolved in crimes was coming to an abrupt and unfortunate end.
Chapter Two
It was Morty Savage.
Morty worked at a shady restaurant/bar called Willie Wahoo’s and was a good friend of Billy Corbina.
Billy was trouble, and I’d always suspected that he had something to do with my father’s disappearance—just like his father, Winston Corbina. I just hadn’t expected this . . . hadn’t expected one of his friends to be . . . dead.
For that matter, I’d seen Morty only a few days ago. I hated Willie Wahoo’s, but I loved trying to figure out what happened to my father. That required at least observing a bit of the area’s underworld. I considered Willie Wahoo’s part of that underworld. Only this underworld didn’t include Kate Beckinsale or any special effects. No, it was all body odor and rowdy drunks.
I desperately wanted more information about Morty’s death.
But from my little place behind the police line, there was no information to be found.
Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5) Page 1
