Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5)

by Christy Barritt

  “I’m not sure we can pull it together quickly enough,” Jackson said. “It takes time to either master an accent or find an officer who’s already trained for this.”

  I stepped into the room and cleared my throat.

  “Good day, mates. I know just the person who speaks with a perfect Australian accent.” I said those words, of course, with an Australian accent. And a dramatic flair of my hand, as if I was presenting myself to the world.

  Everyone in the room turned to stare at me—everyone being Chief Lawson, Jackson, and Gardner.

  For a moment, I felt like the center act at a three-ring circus. I lowered my hands and tried to look a bit less dramatic, just for credibility’s sake.

  Finally Jackson spoke. “That’s the worst idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “We can’t put a civilian out there,” Lawson said.

  “It doesn’t sound like you have much choice.” I said it again with my accent. Of course. “I trained for three months to perfect this accent for my role in Wildflower Summer. My vocal coach says I’m spot on.”

  It had been a small indie film I’d done in between filming Relentless Seasons 1 and 2. Almost no one had seen it, but the whole production had been a good experience.

  Especially when I thought about the payoff now.

  “It’s about more than having the accent down,” Jackson said, disapproval darkening his gaze. “What if these people were to ask questions about life in Australia?”

  “Well, I know they have studios Down Under that can do the best CGI technology work in the world.” That was something, wasn’t it?

  Jackson crossed his arms, obviously unconvinced. “Even if everything else fell into place, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a civilian.”

  He did not like this idea. Not one bit.

  “You let me go undercover as a mermaid,” I reminded him.

  “That was different.”

  I raised my chin. “Not really.”

  He scowled. “You have no idea what’s involved with this, Joey.”

  “If I’m wired and you guys are close by, what difference does it make? You’ll keep me safe. And I’m guessing that as soon as these people fess up to wanting illegal goods, you’ll swoop in and arrest them, right? Because that’s what this is about. You need to catch them red handed.”

  “She might be onto something,” Chief Lawson said.

  “What will the mayor think when his favorite citizen dies while working with the police? It would be a PR nightmare.” Jackson glanced at me and softened his tone. “Not to mention that it would just be tragic, in general. I don’t like the idea. Not at all.”

  “Well, whoever these guys are, it sounds like you don’t have any other good leads,” I said. “Let me just remind you that if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s acting. I can do this for you. I can pull it off.”

  Jackson and the chief exchanged a look.

  “We need to talk,” the chief finally said. “If you’d excuse us, Joey.”

  “Of course.”

  Whoever these guys were, they were involved in something bad. Something connected with Zane? Morty? My mom?

  I didn’t know.

  But I sure hoped I had the chance to find out.

  Against all odds, Chief Lawson and Jackson had agreed to let me do this. There was a whole set of rules and protocols they’d had to go over with me. And when I said go over, I meant over and over and over.

  Jackson had been quiet and tense since the decision had been announced. He didn’t like this, and I couldn’t blame him.

  Two people were already dead, and it was difficult to know exactly what I’d be facing.

  I looked in the mirror in the single-person bathroom I’d taken over and shifted uneasily. I could do this. I just needed to pretend I was in a movie.

  I felt like I was in a movie. I wore a wig, fake tattoos had been painted onto my arms, and a magnetic nose ring graced my nostril. I’d donned an outfit similar to the one I’d seen Sydney wear: khakis and a black shirt.

  None of those things mattered as much as selling my accent did. I’d been mentally practicing for the last hour. This was the role of a lifetime, wasn’t it?

  I jogged in place and wiggled my arms to get the tension out, feeling a bit like a boxer about to go in for the big fight.

  Hands came down on my shoulders and squeezed them. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Jackson.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmured. “No one would blame you if you backed out.”

  I nodded. “I’m totally sure. How else are we going to find out anything?”

  My mom’s picture played in my mind. She was the real reason I was so gung ho about this, wasn’t she? I already knew the answer. Yes.

  “You’re not to make any moves. You just get the information, and you’re done.”

  “I can totally do that.”

  Jackson turned me around until we were face to face. “Joey, I don’t like this.”

  The look in his eyes was pure concern and . . . love? No, not love. He didn’t love me. It was too soon. Right?

  Something about the look in his eyes captured me. Drew me in. Made me want to never look away.

  But I had a job to do first.

  “I’m in my element, Jackson. I have to do this.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” His shoulders slumped. “Say the key words, and we’ll extract you.”

  “Is it hot in here?” Yep, those were my key words. I just hoped I remembered them, and I didn’t freeze up like I did with the whole tennis bracelet debacle.

  “It’s time to go.” Detective Gardner tapped at the door.

  “Be right there,” Jackson said. Before we stepped away, he pulled me into a hug. A long hug. A hug that really said more than any words ever could. I was taking up residence in Jackson’s heart also, wasn’t I? The thought thrilled me.

  Jackson stepped back and looked away—as if looking into my eyes would make him forget his resolve or something. Instead, he took my arm, and we walked outside together. I climbed into the rental the police department had secured for me. Sydney’s rental.

  With a somber nod at Jackson, I took off. I didn’t want to be late.

  I drove to the address I’d been given, climbed out, straightened my outfit, and finally walked toward the door. Some evidence had been obtained from the Australian woman’s hotel room, and it was now in a briefcase I held.

  The good news was that a team of police officers had surrounded the house and were on guard to help at a moment’s notice.

  Including Jackson.

  I’d also been wired, so officers were listening to my every word.

  The house was large and oceanfront. Dunes surrounded it on either side, and the front door had been painted a peachy beach color that made the whole place look friendly and unassuming. I swallowed hard before ringing the doorbell.

  It’s show time.

  A moment later, a man I’d never seen before answered. He was of medium height with ruddy skin and buzzed blond hair.

  “Sydney, come on in.” He glanced behind me, as if making sure I wasn’t followed. He must have felt certain because he shut the door.

  Panic tried to kick in. I was totally on my own. Maybe this hadn’t been a great idea. But I couldn’t turn back now.

  He led me into the living room, where another man waited. This man was tall with dark hair. Both had a rough edge to them—more of a Billy vibe. They were guys who knew how to handle themselves on the street. Despite that, they still dressed like locals with their cargo shorts and boat shoes. I suspected that was part of their cover—to blend in.

  The second man stared at me. “You look familiar.”

  Tension pinched my muscles. I really hoped he wasn’t a Relentless fan. “I have one of those faces.”

  He stared at me another moment, and it took everything in me not to cringe.

  “So do you want to talk about my face or the real reason I’m here
?” I muttered, trying to maintain an air of cool.

  Finally, after another moment of thought, he nodded. “Do you have the goods?”

  He was obviously the leader of the two.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and remembered I was acting. If I showed any nerves, it would be a dead giveaway. “Of course. Do you have the cash?”

  Dark-Haired’s eyes narrowed. “I want to see the goods first.”

  “As you wish.” I opened the briefcase and showed him the skimmers he’d ordered.

  I hoped that was what these were, at least. We were winging it here.

  “These aren’t the ones I wanted,” he muttered, picking one up. “Currie promised me the nicer ones that are harder to spot.”

  My pulse spiked. This wasn’t something we’d rehearsed. But I could handle this. I had no choice.

  “You’ll have to take that up with him.” I was certain to keep my voice even.

  “It’s a little hard to do since we never meet with him.”

  Good to know. No one had seen Currie—a brilliant move on his part.

  “I’ll relay the message,” I said.

  Dark-Haired leered at me. “That’s right—you’re just a little courier, aren’t you?”

  “A little courier. You can call me that if you’d like.” I figured the best course of action was to be compliant and not make any waves.

  “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us.” The man stared at me with a gleam of malice in his gaze.

  “Why would you say that?” I scooted backward, trying not to show my nerves.

  “Tell us how to find Currie.”

  “I don’t know how to find him.” I wished I did. That would solve so many of my problems.

  He glared at me, stepping closer. “I don’t believe you.”

  This was when I needed to hit that panic button. The man’s body language screamed danger, from his fisted hands to his growling voice. What was my panic phrase again? My mind went blank.

  Tennis bracelet, tennis bracelet, tennis bracelet. It was all I could think about.

  “I can think of a way to draw him out.” A sardonic look stained Dark-Haired’s gaze as he continued to watch me, his gaze traveling up and down my length.

  His eyes clearly told me that the way involved me, and I didn’t like that thought.

  I swallowed hard, trying to think quickly.

  Which was something I was never good at.

  Finally, I said the only thing that came to mind. “I bet your feet smell really bad when you take those shoes off. Loafers without socks? It’s a nightmare.”

  “What?” Dark-Haired’s bottom lip dropped.

  They glanced down at their feet. As they did, I took off in a run toward the door. I reached it before they did and flung it open.

  When I stepped onto the porch, Jackson grabbed me and pulled me away from the scene.

  Police officers rushed in.

  And my job was done. A rush of adrenaline and elation swept through me.

  “That was a fair dinkum thrill,” I said.

  “A what?”

  “It’s Australian for genuine, matey. Now, what do you say we go have a Barbie?”

  Jackson’s face cracked into a grin. “Let’s just get you out of here instead.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “You did a good job, Joey,” Jackson told me later when he finally had a moment to step away from the investigation.

  I was hanging out in the lounge at the police station, an area where the officers reheated their meals or grabbed a cup of coffee. There was also a sofa, one that seemed especially comforting right now, despite the fact that it smelled like stale coffee.

  The sun had set, leaving darkness in its wake. It had been a long day. I’d been able to wash off my tattoos, and I hadn’t accidentally inhaled my metallic nose ring. Two for the win. The station was buzzing from everything that had happened though. They were seeing more action in the past few days than they usually saw in a month.

  “Thank you.” I leaned back on the couch, my fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee, and reviewed everything I knew. “So there’s someone—he goes by Currie—who’s heading up this arm of an international crime ring. He’s selling credit card skimmers to criminals on the East Coast. Billy was one of his main contacts in the area. Billy then took the skimmers and sold them to other low-life criminals in the area.”

  “That sounds correct.”

  “But then Billy thought he’d be smart and find someone to make these skimmers for him. He’d eliminate this Currie guy and then get to keep more of the profit. He even talked Sydney, who worked for Currie, into coming over to his side. They were romantically involved with each other.”

  “You’re becoming more like Raven every day.”

  “The problem is we don’t know who killed Morty or who this Currie guy is or how Zane’s gun got into the hands of the killer—”

  “Unless he was the killer. There’s a possibility he was helping Billy.”

  “Did Billy say that?”

  He shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”

  “Then there’s also the matter of how that package got into Zane’s room.”

  “There’s one logical explanation.”

  I ignored him because I knew exactly what he was getting at: that Zane was guilty. I still wasn’t ready for that to be a reality. “Is Abe still behind bars?”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, he was released on bond.”

  “He had money for bond? I wonder how he got that?” I took another sip of coffee as I thought it through.

  Jackson stood and grabbed a granola bar from the cabinet. He tossed it to me before grabbing one for himself.

  As soon as I felt the crinkly paper in my hands, I realized I was hungry. But I wasn’t finished with this conversation either. “How do we find this Currie guy?”

  “We?” Jackson sat back down and raised his eyebrows.

  Great, I sounded like Dizzy. “How are you going to find him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  As I took a bite of my “dinner,” my thoughts continued to turn over everything we knew. “Did you talk to that neighbor who saw Morty and Zane talking?”

  “Not since that day at the crime scene. Why?”

  “I wonder if anything else has come to mind. Or maybe his wife saw something. When I looked up at the house, I saw her just standing there and watching. Did you ever talk to her?”

  “No, we didn’t,” Jackson said. “It’s somewhere to start.”

  A few minutes later, Jackson found the man’s information and gave him a call. The name he’d given Jackson at the crime scene was Matt Stephenson, from Baltimore, Maryland.

  The call didn’t go through though—an electronic voice said the number was no longer in service. Had Jackson written it down incorrectly?

  That didn’t seem like Jackson.

  “Let’s visit the realty company and see what number they have,” Jackson said. “Because talking to Matt again suddenly seems like a very good idea.”

  “We’re looking for information on the family who was staying here last week,” Jackson told a curly hair blonde at the front desk of Corbina Real Estate—yes, it was one of Winston’s many enterprises. “Could you help us?”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “No, but the number the man gave us isn’t working, and it’s of the utmost importance that we talk to them.”

  She stared another moment before finally nodding. “I suppose I can help, especially since he already gave you his information. What’s his name?”

  Jackson looked at his paper. “Matt Stephenson.”

  She typed something into her computer and let out a grunt. “I’m sorry. There’s no Matt Stephenson listed in our database.”

  Jackson looked at the paper where he’d written down the man’s information—straight from his driver’s license. “That’s the name he gave me.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. What addres
s was he staying at?”

  Jackson rattled it off.

  She typed in something else and let out another soft grunt. “No, I’m sorry. There were six college girlfriends staying at that address last week for a reunion.”

  Jackson and I exchanged a look.

  We both knew the truth.

  We needed to find Matt Stephenson. Or, should I say, Currie, the King of Fiends.

  “Where now?” I asked when we stepped outside.

  “There’s only one place I can think of: Blackbeard’s Pleasure.”

  We went back to the restaurant, found the busboy, and showed him a picture of Kevin James. Or Matt Stephenson. Or Currie. Whatever his real name was.

  And the busboy recognized him as the guy who’d met with Morty last week.

  Jackson and I didn’t speak until we reached his car.

  My thoughts continued to process everything.

  Now we knew—most likely—who Currie was but not his real name or where he was currently located. Also most likely, he’d killed Morty. Why else would he go through all this trouble?

  He fit the profile.

  “I need to get back to the police station and see if I can figure out who this guy really is,” Jackson said. “He’s obviously using an alias and even gave me a fake driver’s license.”

  “Okay. And I should . . .” I hated the thought of going back to my place.

  “I prefer that you stay close. Especially until we know where this guy is. Would you mind coming back to the police station with me?”

  “Not at all.” In fact, I was hoping he would ask me.

  Because I had a feeling this guy—Currie—was a member of the Barracudas. And I had another feeling that the Barracudas had something to do with my father’s disappearance.

  With every answer I found out about them, I was another step closer to finding my dad.

  “Any Leonard updates?” I asked as Jackson started down the road.

  “He’s gone totally silent,” he said. “He won’t say a word.”

  “It’s almost like he’s enjoying this.”

  “You and I both know that something isn’t right with him.”

  “No, it’s not.” I frowned. “I just wished he would give up something, you know?”