I started to ask her about it, but a shadow crossed me at that moment.
I looked over to see who’d arrived.
Chapter Eight
Jackson. It was Jackson.
I’d programmed myself to think everything was dangerous when in reality it wasn’t. It was the nature of the non-job I was presently doing.
Jackson pulled his truck into the driveway behind my Miata. He climbed out and joined us, looking from me to Crista with a polite nod and then rubbing Ripley’s head.
“Have you been a good boy today?” He gave the dog a stern look, seeming to read Ripley’s rambunctious eye sparkle.
Ripley barked and sat like an angel.
“Oh, he’s been great,” Crista said, her voice climbing in pitch and becoming more animated with every word. “I took him down to the sound. Did you know he likes to play fetch there?”
“Yeah, he likes anything that gets him attention.” Jackson shifted his gaze from Crista to me again. “I guess the two of you have met?”
I wanted to scowl, but that would make me seem petty. And you know what they say? Petty is as petty does.
No, that wasn’t right.
Either way, I didn’t want to be that person. So instead I nodded.
“We sure did,” I said, utilizing my acting skills and sounding pleasant instead of irrational.
“I’m such a huge fan,” Crista said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I love Family Secrets.”
“Thanks.” I was pretty proud of my work in that movie. There’d already been talk of an Oscar nod.
“And I plan on watching Celebrity Truth or Dare this week,” Crista continued. “I heard you’re going to be on.”
I remembered my blooper and blushed. “It’s really not that exciting. The best part is that all the money won that week went to a charity of our choice. I chose Lone Heart, an organization that supports single parents.”
Could I get a lawyer involved and somehow have them not air that episode? Or that part of the episode?
Probably not.
In the meantime, I’d just have to pray that no one would watch. Or that Mel B would get all the attention.
“Well, Ripley is doing great.” Crista gave Ripley one more pat and then straightened. “Let me know if you need me to let him out tomorrow.”
Jackson smiled warmly. “I’ll do that, Crista. Have a great evening.”
Something about the way he said the words made another wave of jealousy wash through me.
I had to get a grip.
Once Crista was back on her property, Jackson turned toward me.
“Just let me change, and we can go,” Jackson said, almost as if that whole exchange hadn’t just happened.
Because he hadn’t thought anything of it. Of course. Only neurotic people like me overthought things. The last thing I needed was to go all Fatal Attraction. Nope. Nope. And noper.
“You want to wait inside?” Jackson asked.
“I’ll stay out here with Ripley.” For some reason, I felt like I needed to get on the dog’s good side. Ripley needed to like me more than Crista.
Mature, Joey. Really mature.
“Sure thing.” Jackson disappeared inside.
As soon as he was gone, I leaned down toward Ripley. “Hey, boy. You still like me, right?”
Ripley licked my face, helping my fears dissolve.
I supposed once you’d been cheated on and told by an ex-spouse that he wished he’d never married you, that other women were prettier and better, and that no one would ever want you once they got to know you, it played with your emotions.
And this was why Jackson and I couldn’t date right now. He’d recognized how much baggage I carried, and he knew I needed to move past some of these issues before we’d be ready to date.
But what if he changed his mind? What if Jackson didn’t want to wait, especially if he met someone else—someone more perfect? Someone like Crista?
I pushed those thoughts aside. Dwelling on those insecurities wouldn’t make anything better right now. In fact, it could spiral into destruction—a place I didn’t want to go.
Jackson reappeared a few minutes later wearing some gray shorts and a black T-shirt. He paused in front of me, his eyes glimmering and all those earlier signs of conflict gone.
I supposed it went back to separating his personal and professional life—something he was immensely good at.
Me? Not so much.
It was all personal to me.
He leaned one hand against my car and lingered dangerously close—dangerous for my heart, at least. It thumped out of control at his nearness.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His voice sounded low and intimate, the kind of tone that made my bones turn to gel.
I considered my response. There was so much I could say. About the case. Crista. Us.
“I’m fine,” I said instead.
He stared at me another moment. I saw the green flecks in his eyes. His sexy stubble. The curve of his soft lips.
“Good.” He offered me a grin—one I thought was reserved just for me. Then he nodded toward his truck, and the moment broke like a spider web in a hurricane. “Let’s get going. Come on, Ripley. You’re coming too.”
I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Jackson did something to my heart that I didn’t remember anyone else ever doing. Whatever the reaction, it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Ripley jumped into the backseat, looking ready for whatever adventure awaited.
Somehow, being in the truck with the two of them felt like home. It felt right, like what weekends and time off should be. These moments encompassed what I considered to be the good life. Island life. The perfect life.
Jackson pulled out, and we started down the road. Our windows were down, and a gentle country tune played on the radio. Not only that, but he’d brought out an Izze for me to drink. It was my favorite—a carbonated fruit juice that let me get my soda fix without any soda. He’d been paying attention.
Should I keep things nice and not bring up Zane or the case? Or should I speak what was on my mind?
I started with safe territory. “How are you?”
“It’s been busy,” Jackson said.
What did that mean? What had he discovered? I so desperately wanted to know.
“So . . .” I twiddled my thumbs a minute. “Did you lock up Abe?”
“The Dare County Sheriff’s Department did,” Jackson said. “There just happened to be an outstanding warrant for his arrest for failure to appear in court on a disorderly conduct charge.”
“Is that right?”
“Plus, he ran from a police officer and resisted arrest, which could also result in a misdemeanor.”
“Shame on him.” I didn’t really care. I wanted to know about this case! “Did he admit to anything concerning Zane?”
“I can’t say.”
I didn’t want to pout, but I might have stuck my lower lip out just a little. “I see.”
Jackson glanced at me, his gaze as assessing as always. “You still think Zane is innocent?”
“Until proven guilty. Isn’t that what the law says?”
His jaw flexed, like it always did when his thoughts were heavy and serious. “It is. But it’s not looking good, Joey.”
Chapter Nine
Jackson stared straight ahead at the road, but I could sense his mental wheels were turning. Jackson was not only careful about what he said, but he was also careful about the progression of his thoughts and his assessments of situations. I could learn a few things from him.
“Who do you think we should look at?” he finally asked.
I didn’t have to think for very long. “Bianca, of course.”
Jackson raised his eyebrows, but his expression otherwise remained unchanged. “Morty’s ex-girlfriend?”
I nodded, remembering everything I’d learned about her. My mental review only solidified my suspicion she could be guilty. �
�The one and only.”
“And why do you think we should talk to her?”
That was another easy question. “Because she disappeared. That makes her look guilty.”
He remained quiet for a minute before finally saying, “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Of course I have.” I was Joey Darling. I might flub up a lot, but no one could accuse me of not trying.
Jackson stole a glance at me, his green eyes curious. “Anything else you’ve discovered?”
I shook my head, realizing exactly what was happening here. I crossed my arms to drive home my words. “Oh no. You want me to share what I’ve learned while doing all my hard work while you’re tight lipped? That’s not fair.”
He looked away, and a smile curled the edge of his lip. “I see.”
I decided to try a different approach. “How about this? You show me your clues, I’ll show you mine.”
He chuckled and ran a hand across his jaw and along the back of his neck. “Tempting, but no.”
I frowned. At least I’d tried.
Phoebe lived on the island of Hatteras. In the summer, she ran a dog-sitting and dog-walking business. She lived in a decent-sized house located right on the Pamlico Sound. I’d been here a couple of times before to paddleboard on the calm waters.
As soon as Jackson and I got there, he took Ripley to the water to stretch and play fetch.
I, on the other hand, knocked and then let myself into the mudroom. Phoebe greeted me at the top of the steps that led to the living area upstairs.
“Joey, you made it!” Phoebe gave me a quick hug.
It might sound awkward, but Phoebe was Jackson’s deceased wife’s sister. It surprisingly wasn’t weird at all, and that was mostly attributed to the fact that Phoebe was down to earth.
Phoebe was the epitome of beach life. She was a petite blonde who didn’t need makeup or any hair products—usually she just braided her hair and it looked perfect. She was slim, loved the beach, and had a laid-back attitude that made her easy to get along with but sometimes hard to read.
“I’m so glad you could come, Joey.” She ushered me toward the kitchen. “It’s been too long.”
I still saw her at Oh Buoy, the smoothie shop I liked to frequent and one of her places of employment. But I hadn’t been going there as often now that I wasn’t working at Beach Combers as much. This was also prime dog-sitting season for Phoebe.
“I’m going to grab everything, and we can head down to the beach.” She pulled out a cooler. “The rest of the gang is going to meet us down there. It’s the perfect time. The sun is just starting to set.”
“I’ve been wanting to do a beach bonfire. Glad we finally can.”
She’d told me earlier that she’d invited a few of her other friends, including Robbie, a guy I felt pretty certain liked her. I looked forward to seeing them interact. But until then, I turned toward the kitchen window and stole a glance at the Pamlico Sound.
The water looked choppy today with little whitecaps dotting the normally peaceful expanse. I wondered if the storm brewing out to sea had stirred them up.
Phoebe opened the fridge but paused and squinted at me. “What happened to your back?”
My eyes widened as I turned away from the window. “My back?”
She abandoned the fridge, turned me around, and narrowed her eyes. “You have these weird polka dots there.”
“What are you talking about? My shirt is solid black.” I tried to glance over my shoulder, but I didn’t have a great view of my backside. Phoebe was making me nervous.
“Not on your shirt. On your skin.” She leaned closer to examine the spots.
“I have polka dots on my skin? Like chicken pox?” Alarm raced through me.
She twisted her neck, as if confused. “No, these are light brown and dime shaped.”
“Dime shaped?” All of a sudden, it hit me. My stomach dropped at the realization. “Oh no.”
“Oh no what?” Phoebe popped her gaze back up to meet mine.
I squeezed the skin between my eyes as I reviewed the events leading up to this. “I wore this shirt with little holes in it today.”
“Little holes?”
“It’s a long story, but I was assured the top was very stylish.” I frowned, remembering my conversation with Miranda Worthington about it. It’s totally a new trend. You’ll be fashion forward, and the magazines will love it. You’ll do for this shirt what that crazy aunt of yours did for blue eyeshadow.
“Okay . . .” Phoebe said.
“But I was outside a lot today. I didn’t even think about putting sunscreen on.”
“So you got a tan wherever there was a hole.” A smile played on her lips. “Well, you’re making a statement. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I closed my eyes. And tonight of all nights, I’d worn a nearly backless shirt. It was another fashion piece that was stylish, something that Miranda had recommended. Little black straps ran across the middle and it gently draped, which would have looked elegant any other time. But not when I’d just given myself the weirdest suntan ever.
I was a walking disaster.
Phoebe continued gathering hot dogs and supplies for s’mores. As she did, she casually said, “I heard about Zane.”
My thoughts turned from picturing myself on the latest issue of the National Instigator to my friend. I frowned as I remembered everything that had happened. “Everyone has apparently.”
“I can’t believe it.” She added an ice pack to the cooler.
“Neither can I.”
She offered a side glance as she rearranged a few items so everything could fit. “I don’t like Zane—you know our history—but I don’t think he would do this.”
“Me neither.”
Her motions slowed along with her words. “Unless he was high at the time.”
That stopped my thoughts cold. “What do you mean?”
She paused. “You’ve never seen him high.”
“No . . .” Thank goodness.
“He’s a different person, Joey. He’s mean.”
I swallowed hard, not liking that thought. I preferred the happy-go-lucky Zane. “So you think he could have done this?”
Phoebe shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
I didn’t like where this was going, but it was good for me to know. I needed the facts, needed to keep them in mind.
But what if I was going out on a limb here and it turned out Zane was guilty? What if I ended up discovering evidence that helped put him behind bars? Justice and loyalty collided inside me.
This was all so complicated.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter, hoping we still had a few minutes before Jackson came back inside.
“Did you know Morty?” I asked.
“Everyone around here knows Morty.” She closed the lid of the cooler. “And in case you were going to ask, he’s trouble. Drugs do horrible things to people, and unfortunately for some groups of people, drugs are just a part of the beach lifestyle. You surf. You feel good. You get high or drunk to celebrate. I don’t get it, but it’s what I’ve seen repeated over and over again.”
“I see.” I followed behind her as she lowered the cooler—which had wheels—and began pulling it behind her toward the steps.
“And people always think they can break the chains of addiction in their lives. And they can. It’s entirely possible. But it’s hard. So hard. It takes a lifelong dedication to stick with it. One slipup, and you’re back to where you started.”
“You think that’s what happened to Zane?”
She paused before going down the stairs, her full attention on me and a somber look on her face. “I have no idea. I don’t keep up with him. I don’t want to know. No offense.”
“I’m not offended.”
“Back to your question about Morty. He and Billy Corbina were cut from the same cloth. You want to look into Morty’s life? Look at Billy.”
That wasn’t a good sign. “You thi
nk I’m looking into this?”
“Aren’t you?”
I shrugged, realizing she easily had me pegged. “Maybe. Well, yes. I am.”
“And what does Jackson think about this?” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other but remained in place.
I thought about our terse conversation earlier and frowned. “He’s not a fan.”
“Because it’s personal. You’re not going to be objective.”
“Nor is he,” I pointed out.
“But he will have an easier time putting his emotions aside. You know it’s true.” She gave me the one-raised-eyebrow look.
I couldn’t even argue. Jackson was definitely better at the whole self-control thing. I couldn’t even stick with my diet plan for one day. For example, I’d probably eat a hot dog tonight—even though every day I vowed to eat only raw food.
What if the hot dog was raw? Hmm . . . food for thought.
“Anyway, I’m sure Jackson doesn’t want you involved,” Phoebe said. “Not if Billy is a part of this. Billy is nothing but trouble. If I were you, I’d stay far away also.”
I’d heard that before.
But staying far away from things was so hard for me.
Chapter Ten
So far, the evening had been a blast. We’d played some low-pressure volleyball. I’d chased Ripley in and out of the waves. Then we sat down for hot dogs and conversation.
Yes, I’d eaten a hot dog. Actually, two hot dogs. I’d also made a s’more, licking every last ounce of gooey goodness from my melted marshmallows off my fingers—but only because I didn’t have anything to wash my hands with.
We’d ended by sitting around the campfire and chatting and telling stories. There were eight of us all together. Most of the crowd was new, though I’d seen some before.
Robbie was there. I hadn’t been around much until this evening, but I decided I liked him. He was kind of shy, but he was always stealing glances at Phoebe. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I couldn’t figure them out.
Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5) Page 5
