Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5)

by Christy Barritt

  If I stayed much longer, Jackson would read me something also—the riot act.

  And nobody had time for that.

  As I left the police station and walked toward my car, I felt a bit dejected. I wasn’t sure why. I supposed it was that Jackson and I were usually on the same side. Unless I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. And I supposed this situation counted for that.

  So that still didn’t explain my gloomy feelings.

  I shouldn’t be walking to my car alone right now. I should be with Jackson.

  But a good friend had been accused of murder by another good friend, so I supposed that did put me between a rock and a hard place. I never realized what a lonely position that was to be in until now.

  The good news was that it was possible to climb out with just a little bit of effort.

  And that was exactly what I planned on doing right now.

  I shoved my shoulders back and slipped my aviator sunglasses on. Dejected or not, I had to prove that Zane wasn’t behind this.

  Except . . . what if he was? I nearly stumbled on a pebble as the thought crossed my mind.

  This was all too confusing. Why couldn’t it be like it was in the movies, where everything seemed so cut and dry?

  Real life was never quite that simple. Everything couldn’t be wrapped up in 130 minutes with all your questions answered and every relationship coming into absolute and complete clarity. Real life was much more winding and twisty with no time limits on your challenges and obstacles.

  I continued toward my car. It was June, and it was hot here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Not only was it hot, but it was humid. Once you stepped past the dunes toward the ocean, a nice offshore breeze cooled you off—on most days, at least.

  But right here in the middle of asphalt, there was no relief. Heat sizzled from the dark ground beneath me, promising to burn my feet if I dared to step on it barefoot.

  I paused, and the skin on my neck crawled.

  I glanced around, looking for the source of my unease. Multiple cars and police cruisers were in the lot. A mailman passed and waved on a side street to my left. Some seagulls swooped overhead, threatening to dive-bomb me if I didn’t drop some food.

  My gaze stopped at a man in the distance. He stood on the sidewalk near the highway, stretching his quad muscle and sporting running gear.

  Even though he was wearing sunglasses, I could tell he was staring at me.

  As soon as our gazes met, he dropped his leg from stretching position and jogged away.

  Was that . . .

  I squinted and shook my head.

  It almost looked like Leonard Shepherd, a man who’d stalked me in California. I’d gotten a restraining order against him, and I thought we were done. But he’d shown up here a few months ago, saved my life, and then disappeared again.

  Certainly that wasn’t him.

  But the two men had such similar features . . .

  I shook my head again.

  Everything was just messing with my mind.

  Despite that logic, I quickly climbed into my car and locked my doors. I cranked the engine and waited for the AC to do its job. As the seconds ticked by, I tried to think everything through.

  What would Raven Remington do?

  She’d start by putting together a timeline. She’d question other people who’d been around Zane. Maybe try to put together Morty Savage’s final hours. She’d follow one lead and decide it was either worthwhile or not, and then she would proceed.

  That was what I’d do as well.

  I let the cool air wash over me. So where did I start?

  I’d go to Abe’s place, where Zane had been staying. Where that package of cocaine had been found. With any luck, Abe would be home, and he’d have some insight. A friend of Zane’s would be a friend of mine also. Right?

  I would do this with or without Jackson.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out where Abe lived—it just took a quick Google search. To say I had a lot of reservations about the man would be an understatement. But like any good detective, I pushed aside my fears and ignored every flaming instinct as I walked up the steps toward his front door.

  Um . . . right?

  This was beach country, which meant every building that anyone with good sense had constructed was up on stilts in case of tidal flooding. Somehow the height also seemed more imposing, especially when I considered all someone had to do was give me a good shove and I’d topple over a railing, plunging a story to my death—or at least a mighty good injury.

  Abe was waiting at the door by the time I got to the top. The man was probably in his late forties. He was lean, athletic, tatted up, and he wore his salt-and-pepper hair back in a ponytail. Like many aging surfers, his skin was sun wrinkled.

  All the moisture left my throat when I saw him.

  Zane, I reminded myself. I was doing this for Zane. He’d been a good friend to me, and now I would be a good friend to him. Even if it meant talking to people who made me uncomfortable.

  Like Abe.

  “What brings you here?” A toothpick dangled from his mouth, and he gave off a cocky vibe.

  He didn’t actually open his door, but instead he spoke through the screen, his beady eyes watching my every move.

  I raised my chin. “I think you know.”

  His eyes sparkled with some kind of sick amusement. “Where’s your little friend?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Zane? Certainly Abe realized where Zane was. He was up a creek that was quickly rising.

  “The cop.”

  I cringed. He was talking about Jackson. The man had obviously been paying attention, and that thought left me unsettled.

  “I’m not working with him right now,” I said.

  Take that, NHPD Blues! I’m going solo, Joey Darling style.

  “So you’re alone?” Something gleamed in his eyes.

  Okay, solo Joey Darling style wasn’t seeming all that great right now.

  I took a step back, and the aged deck boards beneath my feet groaned, as if this entire structure knew that me being here was a bad idea.

  I should feign an excuse and get out of here. But then how would I get any answers? It was a conundrum. A Joey Darling conundrum. I had a lot of those.

  Choose wisely, little Raven.

  My mentor on the TV show had always said that. His deep, gravelly voice echoed in my head now.

  “Can I ask you a few questions?” I raised my shoulders, trying to look tougher than I felt.

  He pushed the door open, and it let out a rowdy squeak. Even Abe’s house didn’t like him. It was confirmed.

  “Sure, come on in.”

  Without the screen muting his image, I could see a sardonic smile on his face.

  Oh no. I would not be ignoring my instincts on this one. “I’ll stay here.”

  “In the heat?”

  Now that he mentioned it, it was hot. Sweat was trickling down my forehead and my back. I hoped it didn’t become unsightly. If it did, a gorilla reporter from the National Instigator would certainly appear and document it for the world to see.

  But going inside Abe’s place would be a mistake. A big one.

  “I like the heat.” Oh, I sounded like Raven when I used that tone. Right now that was a good thing. If he sensed my weakness, no doubt he would prey on it.

  His eyes glimmered with a touch of salacious malice. “Good to know.”

  What did that mean? This guy was creepy. How could Zane be his friend, and what did it say about Zane that he was?

  But if that was true, then what did it say about me that I was Zane’s friend?

  My dad had always told me we’d be judged by the company we kept.

  Maybe he was onto something.

  “What do you need to know, sweetheart?”

  “How did that package get in Zane’s room?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “You’d have to ask Zane that question.”

  “I did.” I couldn
’t let it go that easily. “Who’s come and gone today?”

  “No one.” He crossed his arms, and his tattoos stared back at me. Naked women. Anchors. A compass.

  I pulled my sunglasses down, in full-fledged Raven mode. Man, I’d missed acting like her more than I realized. “Well, obviously someone left it.”

  “Or maybe Zane brought the package himself, Little Miss Smarty Pants.”

  My mouth dropped open—both at the name and his statement. The sound of waves crashing on the shores in the distance helped calm my pulsing nerves before I did something I regretted.

  “What kind of friend are you?” I finally asked.

  He remained unfazed. “I’m just telling the truth.”

  “Well, while you’re telling the truth, what’s been going on with Zane? How long has he been staying here?”

  “He came in four days ago.”

  “Did he say what was going on? Why he came back? Why he came here?”

  “He said he ran into some trouble.”

  I was getting irritated now. Why did I have to pull details from people like a sadistic dentist pulling teeth? “What kind of trouble?”

  “Just this morning he told me he thought he saw someone murdered. Not sure if it’s connected or not.”

  My eyes widened, and I stepped back again. As I did, my foot hit something, and it clattered down the stairs.

  I gasped, turning to see what happened.

  A crushed beer can fled from Abe—which was exactly what I wanted to do.

  Had Zane seen Morty’s murder? That was a game changer.

  Why hadn’t Zane told me that earlier?

  There was obviously a lot more to this story than I assumed. The challenge would be figuring how to fill in all those small but important details.

  Chapter Five

  I stared at Abe, trying not to show my rising anxiety. He continued to stare back, still chewing on that toothpick and acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A TV blared behind him.

  Was that Relentless I heard?

  My anxiety climbed even higher.

  This man wasn’t right.

  “Did Zane say anything else?” I pressed, knowing I was just scratching the surface of this.

  I was blowing dead grass off the sidewalk when I should be trying to get to the center of the earth. But a girl had to start somewhere. And unlike Raven Remington, I was an amateur at this.

  “He didn’t want to talk about it,” Abe said. “He wanted to chill out and process.”

  I could hear Zane saying that. While drinking an Izze. And watching Bob Ross.

  I suddenly missed my friend with a vengeance.

  I cleared my throat, trying to choose my words wisely and not give up any information that I shouldn’t. I’d like to think that I’d learned from my past mistakes, but that was still debatable. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.

  “Did Zane say who he saw get killed?” His story seemed so outlandish that it really threw me for a loop.

  “Nah. It happened when he was out of town.” Abe stared at me, waiting for my next question, almost as if he thought this was a game.

  “Out of town?” So it wasn’t Morty.

  I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him, even though I was sure I was missing something. I had a feeling Abe knew more than he was willing to say. A wiser, more savvy detective would know how to finagle the information out of him, but I was drawing a blank.

  Which made me feel like a failure.

  Finally, I nodded, realizing I just needed to wrap this up and regroup. “Okay then. Good talk.”

  “I heard about Morty.” Abe still leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time fathomable. Like he was one step ahead of me—ahead of the world, for that matter.

  That kind of arrogance always set me on edge. But sooner or later, things caught up with people who were cocky like that. My ex-husband, Eric, was a case in point.

  “How’d you hear about Morty?” Seriously, how had he heard? Had the police said something when they’d picked up Zane? I hadn’t said anything during this conversation . . . had I?

  I mentally reviewed our talk, but I didn’t think I’d given anything away.

  Abe smirked. “Word travels fast around here.”

  “I guess so.” I turned to leave, suddenly uncomfortable being alone with Abe. Though there were other houses around, I felt isolated.

  I probably shouldn’t have come here by myself.

  “Be careful out there, Joey.”

  Abe said it as if he knew me, and he didn’t.

  For some reason, that annoyed me. “Oh, I will be.”

  Starting with Abe. I was going to start putting him in the same category as Billy Corbina. Billy was too slick for his own good, and scaring people seemed to amuse him. Why else would he have worn a mask with my face on it and followed me?

  “No, really,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  I froze as the underlying meaning in his words swept over me. Slowly, I turned toward him, desperate to see his expression. “What does that mean? What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  He straightened and leaned toward me. “I don’t know nothing about this investigation. But I know Morty was involved with some rough folks.”

  “Rougher than you?”

  “A lot rougher than me.” He didn’t seem offended.

  I supposed that was a good thing. Except that it could mean he was proud of that fact.

  Some people . . . I mentally shook my head.

  “Who are these guys?” I continued. “Are they a part of the regular crowd I saw Morty with at Willie Wahoo’s?”

  He did a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?” Irritation burned at me.

  “Because I don’t want things to get back to anyone that I’m running my mouth, that’s why.”

  Just as we finished and Abe disappeared inside, a car pulled into the driveway. Jackson and another man—a sheriff’s deputy—stepped out.

  I held my breath and wondered how this would go. I walked down the steps and met Jackson with a terse nod. His partner stayed back at the car.

  “I should have known,” Jackson said, frowning at me.

  I could feel the tension crackling between us, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Hopefully, my sunglasses concealed the range of emotions cycling through me. Disappointment. Determination. Frustration.

  “I’m just asking questions,” I said.

  He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Asking questions could get you killed.”

  “I can’t just sit back and do nothing!”

  “Of course you can. You can let me do my job. And you shouldn’t have talked to Abe before me. What if you tipped him off in some way?”

  “How would I have tipped him off?” The idea was ridiculous.

  Just then, someone darted from the back of the house, running between the homes on the street.

  It was Abe.

  Yeah, I’d totally tipped him off. I had yet another blooper to add to my already long list.

  Go, Joey. You’re the Blooper Queen.

  Or maybe I should say, a Blooper Freak.

  Jackson easily caught Abe and tackled him.

  It was pretty impressive, especially when I considered that Abe was some kind of tri-athletic marathon runner and Spartan racer.

  My admiration for Jackson was short lived, however. I watched as he handcuffed Abe and dragged him back to the police car. Instead of letting me stick around, as he normally might, Jackson barked that I should go.

  Barking so wasn’t nice.

  And it wasn’t like Jackson.

  Maybe he hadn’t exactly barked. He’d just been . . . authoritative. And not much like the man who’d swept me off my feet with his incredible, head-spinning kisses not too long ago.

  I let out a mental sigh, realizing he was just doing his job, but I wished things didn’t feel so complicated.
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  “Joey?” he called before I climbed in my car.

  “Yes?” I asked hopefully.

  He closed his door—probably so Abe wouldn’t hear—and stepped closer. “I thought I’d let you know—between you and me—that Zane bought a gun two days ago.”

  My bottom lip dropped.

  “And his hands tested positive for gunshot residue,” he continued.

  My lip dropped even lower.

  “Maybe you don’t need to investigate after all.”

  He wanted me off this investigation. And if the evidence continued to stack up against Zane, he might get his wish. How could I refute that?

  “In other news, are you still going to Phoebe’s tonight?” Jackson asked.

  Phoebe’s? I’d nearly forgotten my friend had invited me to a bonfire there. “Yes, I’ll be there. You?”

  “I’m hoping I’ll be able to take a break from this case for long enough to make it. You want to ride together?”

  I smiled, some of my tension disappearing. “Definitely. I’ll meet you at your place. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great.” He smiled in return, and for a moment, the case wasn’t wedged between us like moldy cheese on a platter. “I’ll see you then.”

  So maybe he didn’t hate me after all.

  And maybe there was still hope for moldy-cheese platters.

  Chapter Six

  Jackson and Abe pulled away, and I remained in my car another moment. I knew whom I needed to talk to next—I just needed to do some research first.

  I pulled out my phone and found Morty Savage’s Facebook page. I searched his friends for a “Bianca” but came up blank. When they’d broken up, Morty had obviously removed her from his friend list or Bianca had removed him. Instead, I had to search through some mutual friends, but I finally found the person I was looking for.

  Bianca Martin looked, in her online pictures at least, like somewhat of a gypsy. Her hair was cut in a severe wedge. It was black underneath and a wicked blond on top. Her nose, eyebrow, and lip were pierced, and she seemed to have an affinity for heavy black eye makeup.

  I also saw that she worked for Slick Ocean Surf Shop. Zane had an endorsement deal with them and was paid to blog and feature their products in his social media.