Miraculously, I arrived at the jail during visiting hours. Since I’d never really visited a jail before, I hadn’t even thought about the rules—other than knowing I couldn’t bring a cake with a file baked into it.
After going through the process, I finally got to talk to Zane. A piece of Plexiglas was between us, and I had to use a phone, but at least we could have a conversation.
I stared at him a minute. My friend looked awful.
Any tan he’d sported was now gone, and a pallor replaced it. His eyes didn’t have a sparkle. Even his hair had lost its bounce.
Immediately, I missed our times of talking about Bob Ross and drinking smoothies. He was my carefree friend with an adventurous spirit.
But all of that had been taken away faster than a riptide pulling someone to sea.
His bloodshot eyes met mine. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
I gripped the phone harder. “You’re my friend. Of course I’m going to come see you. How are you?”
He sat there stoically but didn’t say anything. I waited and then realized I needed to continue, with or without him.
“I heard the gun is yours,” I started.
“I bought it for protection.” His voice sounded listless and lacked its normal animation.
“I heard your hands tested positive for gunshot residue.” These were subjects I didn’t want to bring up, but I had to. I couldn’t pretend these facts didn’t exist when they so clearly did.
“I was at the range earlier that day. Jackson should be able to verify that pretty easily.”
I made a mental note of that information. “What about the brick of cocaine found in your room?”
“I have no idea. Maybe Abe left it.”
He said it like he wasn’t surprised. But I was. Why had Zane stayed with Abe if the man wasn’t trustworthy?
“With friends like him, who needs enemies?” I finally asked.
Zane remained stoic.
I drew in a deep breath. “Okay, how about Bianca? Are the two of you dating?” The words left a bad taste in my mouth since it wasn’t long ago that Zane had professed his undying love for me.
I didn’t really care, but it showed that Zane could be a bit flighty. And flighty wasn’t necessarily bad. I’d been accused of being flighty in my life. It was just that once you put everything together, the picture was . . . unflattering, to say the least.
“We’re just friends,” Zane said.
But were they? So much about Zane seemed sketchy right now. I hated to admit it—either aloud or to myself—but it was true.
“Do you have any idea where Bianca might be?” I asked. “She might have some info that could help us.”
“She’s probably at Julie’s house.”
“Julie who?”
“Julie Winders. Bianca likes to crash at her place sometimes. You can probably find her address online.”
It was a start, at least. But I still had more digging to do. I leaned back in my hard plastic chair and gripped the phone. “Okay, let me regroup for a minute. Who else could have gotten your gun?”
“Abe is the only person I can think of.”
“Why would he sell you out?”
“To take attention off himself, maybe.”
I remembered Phoebe’s words. Her warning to me about there being a side of Zane I’d never seen before. I didn’t want to think it was true, but I also didn’t think she would lie to me. I still needed to filter everything he told me right now with that thought in mind.
“Do you have any idea what kind of trouble Morty was up to?”
“No idea.”
I sighed, feeling like I was totally on my own here. And that wasn’t cool, because this wasn’t about me. Zane had asked for my assistance.
Something had to change.
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “I want to help you, Zane. I really do. But you need to talk to me and tell me the truth. You’re being evasive, and I’m one of the only people you have on your side right now.”
He dragged his gaze up to meet mine. “Sorry.”
An apology was a start. “Zane, why don’t you tell me the truth about why you came back here?”
The lines on his face drew deeper. “I went down to South Carolina. I was staying with my friend Benny, and I kept thinking someone was following me. Then these guys confronted me. Said I had something that belonged to them, and if I didn’t give it back, they would kill me.”
My heartbeat quickened. “What were they talking about?”
“I have no idea. I told them that. But they didn’t believe me. They just kept pressing me. Finally, they told me I had a week to find it and get it to them. To prove how serious they were, they shot one of the guys with them.”
I gasped. It sounded like something Hollywood would come up with.
“They killed one of their own?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever he was, he was on their bad side.”
“Did you report this to the police?”
“No, I ran.”
I bit back a terse response. “The items they thought you had that belonged to them—could it be the package that Morty tried to give you?” I asked. Were these two incidents connected?
“I don’t think so. I have no idea.”
I leaned back and shook my head, trying to make sense of what he was telling me. “Why’d you come back here to the Outer Banks, of all places? It seems like you might try to escape them by going somewhere unexpected.”
“What better place to escape them than here? I figured that they assumed I would run. So I went to Abe’s place and laid low.”
“And did you see them anymore?”
“No, but I felt like someone was watching me that night Morty died.”
I leaned back, still trying to make sense of everything. “So maybe one of these guys did it?”
“Maybe. I just don’t know who they are.”
“Do you remember anything about them?” Again, he was giving me so little to go on. How was I supposed to help him?
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Joey. Everything was a blur.” He grimaced. “I’m never getting out of here, am I?”
I was still chewing on what Zane had told me when I left the jail and headed back to the police station. Jackson had called and told me everything was ready to go. I couldn’t wait to dive in.
Maybe Jackson would even tell me who the Australian woman was.
In the meantime, I kept replaying my conversation with Zane.
He seemed sincere in his words and about his innocence. No matter how many warnings people gave me about Zane and his past, I still wanted to believe the best of him. I wanted to believe he was innocent.
I missed our conversations and adventures. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized just how much I’d come to depend on him as a friend, neighbor, and confidant.
I had to figure out who these guys were and what they’d wanted to get from Zane.
Maybe Jackson would open up since he was letting me be the Donkey to his Shrek again. I really needed a new comparison because that sounded stranger every time I thought about it.
I stepped into Jackson’s doorway and offered a big, bright grin that showed him how excited I was he’d finally come around to seeing things my way.
“Joey.” He straightened some papers on his desk and stood. “You’re here, right on time.”
I held my chin higher. “Of course. Reporting for duty.”
“That’s perfect.” He moved around his desk and stepped into the hallway. “Because Detective Gardner has been waiting for you.”
Confusion rippled inside me. “What?”
His hand circled my arm, and he led me to the hallway, where another detective was waiting. “I know you wanted to tag along so you could see police work in action.”
“Right, I wanted to tag along with you—”
Jackson didn’t seem to hear me.
“Detective Gardner is covering a very exciting se
ries of break-ins at the public beach parking areas, and that will be followed by a skimmer that was found at a local gas station.” Jackson winked. “It sounded exactly like something you would enjoy.”
“But—” This was not the way it was supposed to happen.
“The mayor already approved this,” Jackson continued. “He loved the idea, for that matter. Maybe Detective Gardner can help you hide some of those rocks.”
I crossed my arms and scowled. Jackson had gotten me. Here I thought I’d won, when all along he’d been ahead of me by three steps the whole time.
And now I was stuck.
Jackson winked again, looking entirely too satisfied that he’d figured out a way to appease me and keep me out of trouble at the same time. “You two have fun.”
I wanted to argue, but before I could, Detective Gardner turned toward me. “Okay, well, we need to get going. Did you bring your rocks? My kids love finding those things.”
Chapter Fifteen
I twiddled my thumbs. Car break-ins and skimmers weren’t nearly that exciting, and I couldn’t even think of any pithy tweets to share.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Jackson was doing right now.
He knew something about this case and was trying to keep me away. But what?
Where should I go next for this investigation? I couldn’t exactly scope out anyone with a potential Australian accent in the area. With all the tourists around right now, it would be like finding a diamond in the sand.
And the crime Zane had seen? No way was I driving to South Carolina and looking for trouble.
Why was investigating so hard?
“You ready to hide some rocks?” Detective Gardner asked, flicking a Troll doll he had hanging from his rearview mirror.
I’d never really worked with him before, and he was such a happy man. A happy detective. It seemed a little wrong that a detective could be this happy, for that matter.
They should be serious and tough, not overweight and laid back with an affinity for Troll dolls . . . right?
It didn’t matter though, because an idea hit me. “Actually, I would love to. I know just the place to start.”
“Just give me an address.”
I smiled, feeling rather satisfied as I did a quick Google search. A minute later, we were cruising down the road, and we pulled to a stop in front of Julie Winder’s house.
“You want to hide them at a residence?” the detective asked. “Isn’t it usually in public places?”
“Well, a lot of people pass this house—I mean, area—on their way to the beach. I thought I’d put a couple near mailboxes and stuff.”
He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I’ll only be a minute. I’m going to . . . uh . . . talk to the person who lives here first, just to make sure it’s okay.”
“It’s probably a renter.”
“You never know.”
“Sounds like your problem, not mine. I’m going to start some paperwork, so no hurry.”
I grinned again. “Great.”
I climbed out and hurried up to the front door of a seventies-style Nags Head cottage. Small, up on stilts, with a screened-in porch at the front. They’d produced these places back in the day like Girl Scout cookies during fundraising season. Like Thin Mints . . . because everyone knew they were the best.
I rang the bell, and guess who answered? Bianca.
And that’s Joey for the win.
“Can I help you?” The woman asked before I even said a word.
The same familiar scent of weed wrapped in incense floated out the front door. “I have some questions for you.”
“Are you with the city?”
I looked at my jeans and tank top. Did I look like I was with the city? I didn’t even have time to address that. “I’m trying to figure out what happened to your ex-boyfriend. I’ve been looking all over town for you.”
“Why do you think I’m here? I don’t want to answer any questions.” She started to shut the door.
I had to think of something to stop her, and quick. “Did you kill Morty Savage?”
Her lips formed an O. “Of course I didn’t. I didn’t like him, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”
“Who did?”
“I have no idea. I’ll say this: he had some kind of new business going with Billy Corbina.”
“What kind of new business?”
“I didn’t ask for any details. I don’t know.”
“You have any guesses? Did it have something to do with drugs, by chance?”
“Drugs?” She snorted. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
I gave her a look, and she frowned.
“Sorry I can’t be of any help.” She started to shut the door again.
“Any other contacts for this business besides Billy?”
“You could try Evan. That’s my best guess. I just don’t want anything to do with any messes they’ve created.”
“Just one more question,” I pleaded. “Do you know what might have been in a package he was holding right before he died?”
“No, all I know is that he told me he wasn’t going to have to work again a day in his life.”
I got home and realized I needed to return the Corvette’s keys to Winston Corbina. That thought brought me both a measure of delight and distress.
I wanted the opportunity to chat with him more because I thought he had answers, but I also sensed danger about him. He liked power, and I doubted he let anyone stand in his way. That meant I had to be very careful when I dealt with him.
With a touch of trepidation, I marched to his door and rang the bell. He answered a minute later. I wasn’t sure what was going on in his place, but soft music was playing and the lights were dim.
Did he have a woman here with him? Maybe he was having a romantic dinner with someone.
I wasn’t going to ask.
He leaned against his doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his super-expensive khakis and way too much chest chair showing from his partially unbuttoned silk shirt.
“How’d you like the ride?” he asked.
I could feel him watching me and trying to read me, and I knew I had to be on guard. “It was great. And the car is still in one piece. As am I.”
He smiled, his gaze still too intense for my comfort.
“I should hope so. You might have to make another movie to pay for it, otherwise.”
Remind me never to drive a car that expensive again, especially given my track record. “Thanks for letting me use it.”
“Anytime.”
I glanced beyond him, trying to get a glimpse of who might be with him. Not that I cared. But I guessed I did care just a little. “Well, you sound busy. I should let you go.”
“I always have time for you, Joey.”
What did that mean? I didn’t want to know. Because it almost sounded . . . suggestive.
“Good night,” I told him. More like, good riddance!
“Good night.”
I stepped away when he called my name. I froze, my back muscles tightening as I turned toward him.
“Yes?” My voice cracked.
He was no longer leaning casually against the doorframe. No, he’d straightened and crossed his arms now. “Have you heard anything about your father, Joey?”
Something about the way he asked it made my skin crawl. Was he asking because he thought of my father as a friend? Or for other reasons? I wasn’t sure.
“No, I haven’t,” I said, trying to sound normal. My voice squeaked higher despite my efforts. “Why do you ask?”
“I think about him a lot.”
“So do I.” Why would he think about my father a lot? Even if I asked, I wouldn’t trust his answer. So I didn’t even try.
“It’s just so strange that he hasn’t come back yet, wouldn’t you say?”
His gaze latched on to mine again, and I knew he was searching for the truth. That he wanted to know what I knew.
&nb
sp; And I wanted to know what he knew.
And so this silent, unspoken game continued.
“I would say,” I finally told him.
He tilted his head, hardly blinking as he watched me. “No idea where he went?”
“I wish I knew.”
Tension stretched between us. What was he thinking? What did he know? Why couldn’t I shake the truth out of him? Raven Remington would think of a way to get answers . . . but it might include Chinese water-drop torture.
I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to try and employ that method. At least not as anything but a last resort.
Finally, Winston nodded. “Take care.”
I couldn’t help but feel spooked as I walked away.
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson stopped by my place at nine that night, just as he was getting off work. I wanted to ask him what he’d been doing, but I knew he wouldn’t answer. And then I’d feel insulted or irritated. So I didn’t even bring it up.
Instead, I had a different bone to pick with him. “A string of car break-ins, huh?”
I crossed my arms as we stood near the door, a swath of humidity that had crept in from outside surrounding us—along with a couple of mosquitoes.
It was a good thing for Jackson that I’d just spent the last hour under my grandma’s quilt and looking through my dad’s old Bible. Otherwise, I might not feel quite so calm and good natured right now.
“I wanted to give you a real-life look into crime in the area.” He kept his voice serious, but I could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that he was pleased with himself.
When he squeezed my arm, some of my irritation vanished. Why did he have to have that effect on me? He was in the same category as my grandma’s quilt and my dad’s Bible.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I needed to occupy myself with something other than wanting to throttle him and kiss him simultaneously.
“No, I’m good.”
I sat down on the couch, hoping he’d follow. He did.
I wasn’t sure how it happened, but he pulled my feet onto his lap and rested his hand on my calf, as if we’d done this a million times before. We hadn’t. But for some reason, it felt natural.
Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5) Page 8
