Suspicious Minds

by Christy Barritt

  My cell phone rang, a digital rendition of the song "Love Shack" by the B-52's. I smiled each time I heard the tune. "Excuse me" I grabbed it from my purse and answered. "Trauma Care."

  "Gabby, this is Detective Adams. Do you have a minute?"

  "For you? Any time" Really, I wasn't a suck-up or anything.

  "Listen, I need you to do something for me. It involves the body you found yesterday. Think you might be game?"

  "Is Elvis the King of Rock 'n' Roll?"

  "I'll take that as a yes. This is what I need you to do. . An hour later, I'd changed into some respectable black pants and a fitted red shirt. Yes, it's true. I might be the only redhead who actually likes to wear the color of love. I pulled up to the house where Elvis's widow lived. Okay, his name was actually Darnell Evans, but calling him Elvis was much more fun.

  The house was average, a brick ranch in a fairly well-kept neighborhood about twenty minutes from Ghent. The yard could have used a little maintenance, but compared to Ocean View, this neighborhood was upscale.

  I approached the front door and pressed the doorbell. I heard nothing, so I rapped against the wood. A few minutes later, a woman with circles under her eyes and dried, frizzy black hair answered. She reminded me of an older, ghetto version of Priscilla Presley. Weird.

  "Can I help ya?"

  "Hi, Mrs. Evans?"

  She looked me up and down, a cigarette smoking between her fingers. "Depends on who's asking."

  "My name is Gabby St. Claire. I'm the one who found your husband's body."

  She frowned, not necessarily in a sad way. "Yeah?"

  "I wanted to offer my condolences"

  "Thanks" She started to close the door.

  I had to think quickly. "Wait!"

  She paused. "Yeah?"

  I just wondered what happened. Have you heard anything?"

  She sneered and took a long puff of her cigarette. "Who are you again?"

  "I'm a crime-scene cleaner. I was supposed to take care of some mold under a house in Ocean View, but instead .. " I pointed back at her car, which had a magnetized sign on it. "I see you're a house cleaner"

  "It pays the bills"

  Keep her talking, keep her talking. "I understand how that is. How long have you been working that job? I've been at it three years now."

  "Too long. Long enough that the fumes have gone to my head and made me a little loopy."

  So I wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "I know of a great cleaning solution you can try out. It's unscented"

  She nodded with a raise of her chin and a puff of smoke. "So why are you really here? I'm assuming you didn't come by to offer me cleaning advice"

  I contemplated what to say. Detective Adams had wanted me to bond with the woman, said I might have better luck than the police did. So far, I guess they didn't have any leads in the death of the plumber-by-day and Elvisimpersonator-by-night Darnell Evans. The detective had shared that the man was forty-five and had been dead approximately a week. That was it.

  Gabby the Truthful Gabber plunged ahead. "I want to help figure out what happened"

  She eyed me. Took another puff. Flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "Why?"

  I shrugged. "Because I'm weird. Because I like helping people. Because I found the body"

  The chin nod again. "You're the chick who helped break that case with the guy running for senator a few months ago, aren't you?"

  The detective said that sometimes people were more comfortable talking to people who weren't in uniform. At least I had that going for me. And the one mystery I'd solved. "That's me"

  "Call me Jamie. Whatcha wanna know?"

  "Did the cops tell you how he died?" I remembered the gunshot wound, but I figured the question might get her talking.

  "He was shot, that's what they told me"

  `Anything else?" Okay, I was supposed to be finding out information for the cops, not for myself. I might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

  "Yeah, there were some other suspicious signs. His throat was constricted, and he was swollen"

  "Dead people swell up" I hated to break the news that the swelling wasn't all that suspicious.

  "Yeah, there's more to it than that, honey. The police are doing some tests. The autopsy should be able to tell us more"

  "More about what?"

  "More information as to whether or not he ate a peanut before he died"

  "HE HAD a peanut allergy? Didn't Elvis ... ?"

  She snortled, as my best friend, Sierra, liked to say. "Yeah, Elvis loved peanut butter ... with bananas, usually. Darnell knew better than to get close to the stuff, though. He had one bad attack as a child and never ate the stuff since then. Real pain in the butt if you ask me. Do you know how much stuff might possibly contain nuts?"

  "A lot, from what I understand."

  "You're telling me a lot. I had to read all the labels, trying to make sure he didn't get sick. Go figure that's the way he'd die"

  I'd expected a grieving widow. This woman wasn't even pretending to be sad. Of course, her husband hadn't been reported missing, and he'd been under that house for at least a week. "How long were you married?"

  "Twenty long years. I saw him singing `Love Me Tender' at an old folks home I worked at, and that's what I vowed I'd always do-love him tender."

  "Sounds like you were a big fan."

  "I know I look young for my age, but I was alive to see the real Elvis in

  concert several times. I even have one of his handkerchiefs that he threw out when I had front-row seats. That man could capture anyone's heart."

  I shifted. "Elvis or your husband?"

  Snortle. "Elvis, sweetie. Elvis"

  "I'm sorry if I seem insensitive but-"

  "I don't seem sad?" She took another drag and slowly blew out the smoke. "I'm not. That sucker was cheatin' on me. I thought he'd run off to Vegas with that tramp. It's what he said he was gonna do"

  "You knew the woman?"

  "She's the president of his fan club"

  "He had a fan club?"

  "'Course he did. He was only one of the most popular Elvis tribute artists in this area. People called on him all the time to come and entertain. Lots of women wanted him." She threw open the door. "Come on in, sweetie. I like you. I'll jabber all you want about that loser"

  I stepped inside the filthy house. The place smelled so strongly of cigarette smoke that I wished I had my respirator. You know what they say about secondhand smoke ...

  "Have a seat. Can I getcha a beer? Wine cooler?"

  It wasn't that I opposed drinking, but my father was an alcoholic. I'd stayed away from the stuff since I was old enough to drink legally. "No, thank you"

  She plopped onto a worn, blue sofa. "So, fire away. I'm all yours. Whatcha wanna know about dear old Darnell? You want to know about his snoring problem? Or how about the way I had to make him cut his nose hairs?"

  I sat in a well-used La-Z-Boy across from her, repulsed by the thought. I had to get control of this conversation and fast. "Did your husband have any enemies?"

  Snortle. Jamie looked at the ceiling. The yellow ceiling, I couldn't help but notice. Didn't this woman realize her lungs looked worse than that plaster?

  "Where should I start? Let's see. There's Lynette, the woman he was sleeping around with. You see, I thought they were moving to Vegas together. Apparently, he wanted to go without her. I just found that out today, though"

  "What's Lynette's last name?"

  "Lewis. You want her phone number?"

  Wow. Was it ever this easy? Detective Adams sure was going to be jealous. "Sure"

  She grabbed a piece of junk mail from the end table and jotted something in the corner. "And who else? Well, then there was Hank Robins. He's another Elvis tribute artist in the area"

  "There are more than one?" Call me naive but I don't keep track of the imitators.

  "Oh yeah, sugar. Those two were always real competitive, but last week Hank and him got into an argument. Not sure
what about, but I could hear em screaming from across the house"

  "Hank came over here, to your house?"

  "Yeah, looked real angry. And not a thing like Elvis. I always said he was an impersonator of an impersonator, that being my Darnell. My husband, he was the real deal. He even had the grin down" She poised her pen. "I'll write his name down too, just in case you want to check him out"

  "Great"

  "Let's see. Oh, there's his boss, Rodger Maloney. I called him Phony Maloney. He's a real pain"

  "Why Rodger? Why was he an enemy, besides the being a pain part?"

  "Darnell threatened to start his own business. Rodger was afraid he'd take away too many customers"

  "When did that happen?"

  "Oh, Darnell's been talking about going out on his own for years-but that's all it's been: talk. He mentioned it to his boss a month or two ago, just to get under his skin."

  "What kind of guy is Rodger, besides phony?"

  "He always reminded me of a wife beater. You know the type. All macho and wearing his white T-shirts like he had something to show off. A beer gut. That's what he had to flaunt. He's like a big, fat, pregnant man"

  I pointed to the paper.

  "Of course." Mrs. Evans smiled and began writing. "I know his business and home numbers."

  I glanced around the house, surprised that no one was here to comfort the woman in her time of loss. Sure, the two had a weird relationship, but usually loved ones gathered after a death. Her living room didn't even have a box of tissues.

  "Are you planning the funeral, Jamie?"

  "Nah, his fan club is." Long drag. Long exhale. "Apparently, they want to have this huge shindig. They want the King to go out with some style, you know?"

  "Of course" I paused, desperate to figure out their relationship. She acted like she hated the man one minute and loved him the next. "Were the two of you separated?"

  "No, he still lived here. I mean, up until he left last week for Vegas. He was going to become world famous there, you know. I believed it. I always knew he would make it big time" For the first time, I saw a hint of sadness in the woman's eyes.

  "Mrs. Evans, if you were so unhappy with Darnell, why did the two of you stay married?"

  "Because, honey, he was Elvis. No woman can resist the King of Rock 'n' Roll"

  "GABBY? HELLO? You there?"

  I looked up at Parker as shadows flickered across his face in the candlelight. I made myself smile and forget about Lynette, Hank, and Rodger. Not to mention Darnell and Jamie.

  And Elvis.

  "I'm here" I pointed down at the fancy tile floor and nodded adamantly. "Right here. Nowhere but here in this lovely restaurant you've taken me to"

  Where I felt like at any minute I'd spill my water or trip or send some slippery escargot flying across the restaurant like Julia Roberts did in Pretty Woman. I'm not a five-star restaurant kind of gal.

  But at least my sparkly purse felt right at home.

  "You obviously have something on your mind" My boyfriend leaned closer across the dainty table, white linen cloth, and expensive china. "What's going on?"

  The two of us had a deal-we couldn't talk about work. I couldn't use Parker's position in the police department to get any additional information about cases that interested me, and in return Parker wouldn't ask me any details about bloody crime scenes. I'm not really sure why Parker couldn't ask me questions about my job. I think it was because he didn't want to hear about my job. It wasn't like he could compromise my cleaning job like I could compromise his investigation.

  Back to his question. "I just had an interesting day. I'm trying to get my mind off of everything that's happened, but it's hard"

  Parker leaned back, and the side of his mouth curled in a half smile. "You want to talk about work, don't you?"

  I shrugged and stared at the amazingly small amount of food on my plate for the price it had cost. I wondered how much blood I would have to scrub off walls to afford the meager portions. It's a good thing I wasn't paying. "Maybe"

  The curl turned into a full-fledged grin across his Brad Pitt-like face. "That's just too bad. Remember our deal"

  "How could you not want to know about my Elvis encounter?" I teased, batting my eyelashes. "I was thinking about selling the story to the National Enquirer. And when I make lots of money off my Elvis sighting, I'm not sharing any of it with you."

  "What does Elvis have to do with crime-scene cleaning?"

  "Well, since you asked ... 11

  He moaned. "You were involved with the dead Elvis, weren't you? I should have known" He tapped his fist against the table and shook his head. "Only you would find a dead body while doing mold remediation"

  I smiled, somehow feeling complimented. "What can I say?"

  "How about: I'm not going to get involved, darling. I'm going to stay out of it, honey. I don't like to get involved with police work since I'm not on the police force, sweetheart"

  I tilted my head in mock innocence. "You really want me to call you all those pet names, cupcake? I had no idea"

  The space between his brows narrowed. "You're impossible"

  `And that's what you love about me." The smile dropped from my face as my words echoed in my ears. "I mean, not that you love me. Don't misunderstand that I'm implying-"

  Parker grabbed my hand. "Gabby, has anyone ever told you that you're adorable when you blush? Your face turns the same color as your hair."

  I touched my red curls and frowned. "And that's a good thing?"

  "It fits that heart-shaped face of yours"

  I flipped my hand in the air as if brushing him off. The man has a way with words. At least he'd stopped calling me Nancy Drew as of late. It had been his favorite name for me when we first met. "Now you're flattering me."

  His million-dollar smile flashed across the table. "You're a mess, Gabby. Not many men could handle you, you know."

  Yeah, like Riley. Oh, wait. I couldn't think about my neighbor when I was out with my boyfriend. Besides, I was over Riley. My broken heart had healed.

  And the Earth's ozone layer had begun to repair itself, even with all the pollution earthlings were creating.

  I sounded like my best friend, Sierra. Scary. Very scary.

  I leaned closer. "Well, I guess if I'm such a mess, then it's a good thing I've got you"

  His smile was all the response I needed. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his seat. "So, spill it. I know I won't have any of your attention unless you tell me what kind of trouble you've found"

  I was tempted to correct him about me finding trouble when trouble had so obviously found me, but I didn't want to miss my opportunity to share about my day. I began telling him, detail by detail, about my experience.

  "His wife actually gave you the names of all the people she thinks are suspects?" Parker's lip cocked back in what I could only call disbelief.

  I nodded. "I told Detective Adams what she told me, and he couldn't believe it. I guess she was tight-lipped with him"

  "And then after that, the good detective told you that you'd done your good deed and to let the police handle it from there, right?" He nodded as if hoping I'd agree.

  "I don't think he used those exact words"

  "Gabby, do I need to remind you what happened last time you got involved?"

  Images flashed, and I shut my mind's eye against them. "No, I don't need reminding. I need help forgetting, actually"

  "You don't need any more bad memories. So let the detective do his job, and you do yours"

  I picked up my fork and nabbed a tender piece of salmon. I couldn't make a promise I couldn't keep. I took a bite. "Good fish. This is a great restaurant"

  Parker's look let me know I hadn't fooled him for one second.

  That's why they paid him the big bucks to be a detective.

  I let the door to the apartment building slam behind me. Normally, I'm very careful to let it close quietly so I don't alert my neighbors that I'm home. The residents of the house are
like a freak show of social misfitswith the exception of Riley. My best friend, Sierra, was an animal rights activist. She lived on the first floor, right across from Bill McCormick, a conservative, radio talk-show host who never stopped talking about his evil ex-wife. On the second floor, there was Riley and I. And then in the attic apartment lived Mrs. Mystery.

  Normally, I crept up the stairs, lest doors fly open and problems pour out. Sierra would start telling me about some horrific animal brutality going on somewhere in the world, and Bill would bemoan the evils of his exwife ... and Democrats. Mrs. Mystery would proclaim she was stolen ... and Riley, well, just his very appearance could send me reeling.

  But I was over him. Really.

  Tonight, I wanted my crazy, lovable neighbors to distract me. I mean sure, I talk trash about them, but my neighbors are family. I don't know what I'd do without them, especially on nights like tonight. So I stomped up the stairs. Paused. Nothing. Where were my neighbors? Was there some kind of outcast convention going on that I hadn't heard about? Not a single door opened, no matter how many times I knocked into the wall or jangled my keys.

  Weird. Very weird.

  Maybe some kind of misfit rapture had occurred and all my friends had disappeared for good. Maybe the building had another bomb threat and everyone had been evacuated except me. Maybe I'd developed really bad BO and no one had the heart to tell me so they avoided me instead. But if they'd been eager for my company even when I smelled like rotten blood, then BO shouldn't be a problem.

  I turned the handle to my apartment door and twisted several times for effect.

  Nope, still nothing.

  I finally sighed and pushed into my apartment. Maybe being alone would be good for me. After all, if I were really desperate for company, I could have invited Parker up. He was my boyfriend, and he'd seemed interested. But I'd feigned a headache instead.

  What was wrong with me? Here I had a gorgeous man interested in me, yet every time I was with him, I thought about Riley.

  I needed to have my head examined.