“Easy. See if the mayor will let you work with Jackson to solve the case. You could be a consultant and bring some good PR to the area. People would eat it up.”
“There’s only one problem with that: I don’t want to work with Jackson.”
“Sure you do. If it means getting answers, you do.”
I mulled over his words a moment. He had valid points, but I had more reservations about this than my aunt and uncle on their cross-country campground tour. “I don’t know, Zane.”
“I’m sure the mayor would be happy to oblige you. He’s always wanted to put the Outer Banks on the map.”
“But the Outer Banks is on the map. People come from all over to vacation here.”
“Tourism has climbed under his reign—er, leadership here. Tourism is what keeps this area alive. Without it, no one would survive. We depend on that income from out-of-towners. It’s just a way of life here.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about that one, Zane.”
“I think it’s got gold written all over it. In the meantime, there’s only one way I can think to cheer you up.”
“What’s that? Let me guess: Bob Ross?”
“Not this time, although my man Bob is almost as awesome as the beach on a cloudless day—no, make that a nearly cloudless day. Let’s add some happy little clouds in there for good measure.” Zane reached behind him. “But I have a better idea: pillow fight!”
He hit me with one of the pillows from the window seat.
I sat stunned for a minute. Then I grabbed a pillow and swung it back at him.
And I remembered again why I was so glad Zane was my friend.
I woke up the next morning with more questions than answers.
I had a lot of want but so little know-how. I was like a novelist wanting to create the next great American novel but suffering a terrible case of writer’s block. How did I figure out who the dead guy really was? Because that was the first step in figuring out his connection with my dad.
Did I drive aimlessly all over town? Question random people in stores and restaurants? Go the Castle and Beckett route? That last one was tempting. Very tempting. If it weren’t for Jackson, that was. I supposed I could suggest working with other detectives in the department, but my gut instinct told me that I would still end up working with Jackson.
The thoughts continued to circle my mind all day on what was supposed to be a lazy Sunday morning. I had been attending my father’s church, but today I had to help Dizzy with wedding party updos at Beach Combers.
“Do you realize that our murder rate here in town has gone up since you arrived?” Dizzy took a break from humming Christmas music, which blared from the overhead—in February—and stared at me, her oriental folding fan in hand. She always had that thing in hand. Hot flashes, she claimed.
Dizzy owned the salon where I was temporarily working until I could find my dad. It was a long story, but yes, I had to work and earn some cash because of some bad decisions and naïveté on my part. Long story short: the IRS was garnishing my wages.
Dizzy had been married to my uncle, but only for a few years. I’d been in California for most of those years, so I hardly knew her. She was in her late fifties, wore her hair piled high on her head, and loved her blue eye shadow that stretched all the way to her brows.
Unfortunately, she was also a suspect because, of the few items I’d found of my father’s, an oriental fan was one of them. And it had blood on it. I hated to suspect the woman, because she truly did seem kind, but I couldn’t look past the evidence.
“I do apologize for the fact that crime is skyrocketing since my arrival,” I said, holding the curling iron on my client’s hair. That should totally be the opening line in a movie. And it should be said with a British accent. And the lady who’d played the lead role on Supernanny should star in it.
“So are you going to track down the bad guy again?” Dizzy put her fan down and began rearranging our stock of shampoos and conditioners.
I remembered the foolish challenge I’d thrown out to the TV camera and frowned. I’d backed myself into a corner, hadn’t I? “We’ll see.”
I continued to curl the hair of the woman in front of me. The mother of the groom remained quiet, but I could tell she was listening to every word. The rest of the party was gone, but she’d volunteered to go last, claiming the bridal party talked way too much.
“But you did so well with that last case!” Dizzy said.
“I had no choice but to get involved in the last case since some psycho was threatening me.” I frowned at the memories, holding the curling iron in place a little too long in the process. I only noticed because I smelled the stench of burnt hair.
I released it and held my breath. Whew. The woman’s hair was still intact. Hopefully, when I touched it, the strands wouldn’t disintegrate like ashes from a cigarette.
Just then my cell phone rang. I glanced down and saw the name of my manager. Interesting. He’d actually tried to call a few times before, but I’d always let it go to voicemail. I knew I had to answer it now, thanks to an upcoming movie release we had to discuss.
“Could you finish up for me, Dizzy? She just needs some hairspray.” I held up my phone. “I really have to take this.”
She nodded.
I thanked the mother of the groom, and then I scurried toward the back room.
“Hi, Rutherford.” Rutherford James Seamore III, to be exact. And his name fit him to a T. He was slick. Literally. As in, his dark wavy hair was slicked back from his face like a wannabe GQ model. Pockmarks belied his nerdy past before he’d transformed into a hotshot manager to the stars, including Jennifer Lawrence, Emma Stone, and Betty White.
He’d been at my beck and call until the Great Implosion of 2016. And by implosion, I was referring to myself.
“Joey Darling. I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth. To hear Eric talk, you have.”
I frowned. Rutherford had always liked Eric, which was one of the reasons I’d chosen to distance myself from my manager. That, and the fact that it just wasn’t Rutherford’s hair that was slick.
“No, I didn’t disappear. I’m still alive and kicking.” The kicking part was important. Kicking had kept me alive.
“Excellent news.”
He didn’t really think my blasé update was excellent news. He was just going through the formalities before getting to his point, because he always had a point, and that point usually had something to do with his paycheck. Me no worky meant him no payee.
“Listen, we really need to talk about your career.” His voice changed from friendly to business in 2.5 seconds.
And there it was: the reason for this call. “I’m taking a break.”
“You know what ‘break’ spells in Hollywood, don’t you? It spells failure. Remember Miranda Meadows.”
He had to bring Miranda Meadows up again, didn’t he? He kept dangling her in front of my face as an example of how to have a great fan base via her Fiona the Werewolf Hunter show and then ruin everything.
“I’ll have you know Miranda wrote a very successful cookbook recently. And I understand your concerns, but . . . I can’t go back right now.” The mere thought of going back caused tension to grow in my chest, stomach, back, and everywhere else in between.
“I had a feeling you’d say that. That’s why I’m not coming to you with any movie auditions. But Dancing with the Stars has expressed interest.”
“Talk about kiss of death. The dancers are usually more famous than the stars.” Was this really where I was at in my career?
“True, but it could be a good opportunity. There’s also a new version of Celebrity Survivor coming up. Your name was tossed around.”
“Over my dead body.” Seriously. I’d probably die if I went on that show. For starters, there was no coffee. And you had to eat bugs. No, thank you. It would be like the Polar Plunge, only on a tropical island. In other words: torture.
“You
haven’t forgotten about the press junket coming up for Family Secrets, right? You and Jessica. It’s part of your contract.”
I frowned. “I haven’t forgotten. But I still have a few weeks until that kicks off.”
“I’ll email you the details. I think the movie is going to be a hit. You and Jessica Alba? How can you go wrong? Viewers are going to eat it up. Your fading star power is going to become a thing of the past.”
Wasn’t that what I wanted? For my star power to fade so I could disappear into obscurity? Yet a part of me craved fame and everything that came with it. Me being in Hollywood was like an alcoholic being in a bar.
In the movie, Jessica Alba and I starred as sisters who were secretly competing spies. I’d filmed it over a year ago, but the release had been delayed. My agent thought it would thrust me back into the spotlight and secure my position as a rising A-lister.
“Between this and the fact that you made one of People magazine’s ‘50 Most Beautiful People’ last year, you’re going to make a comeback. You do need to work on bulking up your Facebook followers.”
“I have four million.”
“Jessica has five.”
“Is that why you called?” I finally asked.
“No, it actually isn’t. Maria Salvatore from ABC News contacted me. She heard something about you solving a crime a few weeks back in that little beach town where you’re living now.”
“Nags Head.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, they want to do a story on you.”
I was going to politely decline this one. “That’s okay. The whole murder-solving thing wasn’t a big deal.”
“Well, actually, Maria called me, and then she called the mayor, and then she called me back, trying to arrange this interview. She’s a shark, I tell you. A fierce but beautiful shark. Apparently the mayor pretty much already said that you and the detective that helped you—”
The detective that helped me? Jackson was going to have a fit if he heard that. Jackson had tried to stop me.
“. . . are available for the interview and the town would love to welcome ABC News. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Suddenly my whole day just got a whole lot worse. I sagged against the wall, nearly knocking down several bottles of hair dye. “Are you serious? I do have a say in this.”
“Of course you do. But talk to the mayor. He said something about you owing him one.”
I sighed and rubbed my temple. I could totally see Mayor Allen pressing this. In fact, he probably already had a plan as to why I had to do this. I wasn’t sure what was worse: having to bring attention to myself by doing the interview or working with Jackson to do so.
“I’ll be in touch,” Rutherford said.
I had no doubt he would be.
As soon as I stepped out into the salon area, someone else stepped inside.
I cringed when I saw Jackson there. Scowling. Of course.
I braced myself for our conversation, knowing, without a doubt, it wouldn’t be a pleasant one.
Chapter Four
“Can I have a word with you?” Jackson asked.
Dizzy let out a soft but loaded “oh” in the background and continued to sweep up hair to the tune of “Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree.” She thought my life was a soap opera, and she loved soap operas. Especially Christmas-themed soap operas. In February.
It was too late to disappear, and with no clients in sight, I couldn’t feign being busy. “Of course.”
“In private.”
“Ya’ll go on back to the office. I’ll stay out here and hold the fort down,” Dizzy said, sounding suspiciously affable and almost like a blue-eye-shadowed Cupid. Her overzealous wink only added to the melodrama.
“Thanks.” Without waiting for my approval, Jackson took my arm and pulled me toward the back. As soon as the door shut, the fire in his eyes grew to an inferno. “What were you thinking, Joey?”
I tried to figure out what exactly he referred to, because I had a rather long list of actions that question could apply to. “What do you mean?”
Jackson held up his phone. A video played on the screen. It was the reporter from yesterday doing a story on the murder during the Polar Plunge. Unfortunately, my face popped onto the screen.
“You mean Douglas Murray?”
I’d looked rather confused as I’d stared at the camera. I quickly noted how my makeshift outfit from the Polar Plunge made me look like I was wearing nothing beneath my coat. Almost like a stripper. That was just . . . awesome.
“Is that his name?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You said Douglas Murray. What else can you tell us?”
The blond reporter had conveniently left out my “don’t go smearing” response. Which could be good because it halfway made me sound like an idiot.
I nibbled on my bottom lip. “Oh that,” I muttered.
The Christmas music on the overhead did nothing to extinguish the chestnuts roasting in the open fire . . . of Jackson’s eyes. “Oh, that? Do you realize what you’ve done, Joey? You shared the victim’s name before we could even get in contact with his relatives.”
“It wasn’t his real name, I thought.” My argument was weak, at best.
“It doesn’t matter! What if he was living under an assumed identity with his family?”
“Then that would be bad,” I whispered as guilt crashed inside me. “I didn’t mean to say it, Jackson. That reporter cornered me.”
“I’m not denying that. But how about this?” He held up his phone again.
This time, my challenge to the killer scrolled across the screen. I’d looked fierce when I spoke into the camera. Like Raven Remington actually. It was totally a move she would have taken. A touch of satisfaction washed over me.
Until my words sank in.
“Whoever is toying with me, I’m not playing these games any longer. I have a message for you. Come out of the shadows and act like a big boy. Only wimps hide and threaten and antagonize from the safety of anonymity. Man up or shut up.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Jackson stepped closer, totally in my face. “Why do you look happy right now? You should look terrified.”
My satisfaction shriveled faster than a slug in a salt shower. “I’m not really sure what got into me. Except for the fact that this man is obviously connected with me and my father in some way. I need to know how. I’m tired of living under someone else’s rules. I’m taking the bull by the horns.” I fisted my hands and pretended to grab thus-said horns.
“When you take the bull by the horns, you end up either tossed across the arena or with a mortal wound in your gut! Whoever came up with that saying either had a wicked sense of humor or should be permanently silenced for giving that kind of advice!”
“Oh.” I frowned.
He lowered his voice and shifted. Though there was ample space back here, Jackson seemed to fill the entirety of it. “Joey, there are several things concerning me right now. For one thing, you put yourself out there. A lot of people know you’re in this area now, and that makes you a target. Secondly, whoever this person is who killed our victim has been given a challenge. And thirdly, you released our victim’s alias, which could hinder our investigation.”
I sat down hard on the rickety table behind me, which was meant for lunch breaks. A pile of magazines stacked there fell to the floor, but I didn’t bother to retrieve them. Not now. “I screwed up. I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make things right.”
“You can’t make it right. You just have to deal with the consequences.”
“Then I’ll deal. I’ll take the conses by their quences and show them who’s the boss.”
He swung his head back and forth before squeezing his eyes shut. “Did you really just say that?”
“I did. Look, I didn’t get paid to write scripts. I just acted. I’m doing my best here, but I have very little to work with.”
He ran a hand over his face and seemed to snap out
of his Joey-induced stupor. “Okay, you just need to stay low key. That’s all I can say. And please don’t talk to any more reporters.”
“I won’t.” I frowned and chewed on a fingernail. “Well, I won’t except for Maria Salvatore.”
Jackson’s gaze darkened. “I heard.”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“I heard that also.”
“You could decline and not take part in it,” I said.
“Have you met Mayor Allen?”
“True. Then again, Maria Salvatore is well documented to be a cheater who doesn’t respect commitment—in both marriage and TV network loyalty. Maybe you should get along just fine.”
What was I saying? Why were these repressed feelings popping to the surface now? Did I want to make a bad situation worse?
Jackson paused, and his hands went to his hips. “What’s that mean?”
“Nothing.” Another bad move on your part, Joey.
“What’s your problem, Joey? I thought we were . . .”
I waited, nearly holding my breath, which made no sense since I didn’t even like Jackson. “We were . . .”
He shrugged, his expression hardening again. “Friends. I thought we were friends.”
I resisted a harrumph and considered my words. I couldn’t show my hand.
My dad wasn’t the one who’d taught me that poker move. No, he hadn’t ever played cards. My ex-husband had taught me that wisdom, yet I’d been clueless to the reality that he actually had a poker problem. Despite those facts, the words seemed relevant now. I couldn’t let Jackson know that I knew he could be somehow involved in my dad’s disappearance.
I wanted to tell Jackson that everything was fine and I’d misspoken. But that wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t fine.
All because Zane’s words kept ringing in my ears. Jackson stole my girlfriend from me.
I raised my chin. Bull by the horns, even if you get tossed or gorged. “I know that you stole Claire from Zane.”
His eyebrows skyrocketed. “I stole Claire from Zane?”
I nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t think you were that type of person.”
Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2) Page 3
