Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

  I frowned, remembering what she’d said earlier. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure. But thank you. I got a text from someone about dog sitting, so I should probably go follow up.”

  “Of course.”

  After saying goodbye, I slipped inside my duplex and changed. Then I went back out.

  I didn’t want to take any more guesses. Not when answers about my father could be so close. This situation called for a conversation, and I planned to have one.

  That was why I went back to Richard’s house. But I didn’t park in the neighbor’s driveway this time. No, this time I pulled right under his house. I got out and sat on the steps leading to the door I’d seen him leave from earlier.

  And then I waited.

  Two hours later, Richard came back. He paused midstep when he saw me, blinked several times, and then grinned. “Joey Darling?”

  “The one and only.”

  He blinked again and shook his head, as if in disbelief. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  I stood, careful to remain cool and aloof. “I need to ask you some questions.”

  His face lost a bit of its glow. He wasn’t going to have quite the story to tell his friends that he’d hoped. “Okay . . . You want to go inside to talk?”

  “No, I think it would be better if we stayed here.”

  He crossed his arms, suddenly appearing nervous. “What can I do for you, Joey?”

  I pulled off my aviator sunglasses. They were the kind Raven always wore. I’d also donned all black, just for good measure, as well as high heels. Yes, I’d taken a moment to both change and look up what kind of medication Richard was taking. Sure enough, it was for a heart issue.

  “What was Douglas Murray’s real name?” I asked.

  His face paled, and he shoved his hand in his pocket.

  Classic body language that showed nervousness. It was Basic Acting 101.

  “Who’s Douglas Murray?” he asked.

  “Don’t play stupid, Richard Williams.”

  “You . . . you know my name?” He almost sounded flattered.

  “You’d be surprised what I know.” I shifted. “You were both visiting from out of town, but you have a connection from the past.”

  His head bobbed back and forth with excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning. “I thought you only played Raven Remington. I didn’t know you actually were Raven Remington.”

  Illogical satisfaction surged through me. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now . . . tell me what you know.”

  He let out a breath and lowered his gaze in defeat. “His real name is Max Anderson.”

  That had been easier than I thought. “How do you know him?”

  Richard’s eyes widened. Was he actually scared? I couldn’t believe my tough-girl act had worked!

  “Are you going to do your baloney move on me?” His voice trembled.

  “Not unless you give me a reason to. I’d suggest staying on my good side by answering my questions.”

  He raised a hand to placate me. “Okay, okay. Max was a private detective based out of Pittsburgh. He investigated me for worker’s compensation fraud.”

  “Is that right?” A PI . . . I needed to let that sink in. I hadn’t expected that little tidbit.

  “He was watching me, trying to prove that I was committing fraud and hadn’t really been injured on the job. Except I caught him and confronted him. It wasn’t pretty. I did nothing wrong. But because of him, my civil suit was thrown out.” He frowned.

  “What happened?” I needed more details here.

  His gaze darkened. “I work in a factory, okay? Or I used to, at least. Nothing exciting. Blue collar. I hurt my back while loading some boxes on a truck, and I’ve been out of work for the past four months. I’ll probably have surgery.”

  “I suppose that made you have some hard feelings toward Max.” I planted my feet. Another pose I’d learned from Raven. Who knew pretending to be a fictional character would pay off one day?

  He raised his hands in the internationally known sign for innocence and backed up. “Look, maybe I didn’t like the guy, but that doesn’t mean I killed him. It was all just one big coincidence.”

  “I’m sure.” I crossed my arms and kept my voice hard.

  “It’s true! I’m not a killer. Maybe an exaggerator, which is what’s gotten me into this whole mess. But I really did hurt my back. There’s no way I could have killed him.” He paused. “Why are you looking into this anyway?”

  “Personal reasons.” I didn’t owe him any explanations.

  “Sounds . . . awesome.”

  “Crime in real life isn’t as fun as it is on TV. Believe me.” I narrowed my eyes, not finished yet. “Where’d you get all that cash?”

  He tugged at his collar. “Cash? You know about my cash also? I . . . that’s my insurance payout. That’s where I got it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

  I suppose that made sense.

  He released his collar and drew in a deep breath. “So why are you here? Did you see me at Willie’s last night?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  His face lit up again, like I’d handed him the biggest compliment in the world. “Have you? Why were you following me? How’d you know my name?”

  I ignored his questions and slid my sunglasses on. “And I really hope you’re telling the truth. Because I’d hate to have to come back and find you again.”

  “I am. I am!”

  “Good. Now I’ve got to run.”

  Back at home, I collapsed onto my couch. I pulled my fake-fur blanket around me—after making a cup of coffee. The TV was off, and silence permeated the atmosphere.

  Until Zane knocked on the door.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, coming inside and making himself at home.

  I pulled the blanket up around me again. Earlier I’d vowed to keep my distance. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t talk, right? Because I really needed someone to talk with right now.

  “I finally have some answers,” I started.

  “Please share.”

  “Let’s see. Douglas Murray, also known as Max Anderson, the Mark Hamill look-alike, was a PI. He’d worked an insurance case involving Richard Williams—”

  “Who’s Richard Williams?”

  “Richard Williams is a man with white-blond hair whom Max Anderson investigated. He also happened to be in this area.”

  “Good job finding that out.”

  “People don’t mistake me for a detective for no reason.” I flashed a halfhearted smile. “Anyway, if I was a betting woman, I’d say my father hired this guy Max.”

  “What?” He blinked. “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe to keep an eye on me. But why was he killed? And by whom? Did he see something? Say something? Make someone mad, or make them feel threatened?

  “All good questions.”

  I could safely rule out White Blond, a.k.a. Richard Williams, as the killer.

  I could also rule out the punks I’d tracked down. They might be bad guys, but they weren’t connected with this case.

  “Who else are potential suspects?” Zane asked.

  “Great question.” Who else did I have to look at when it came to potential killers? Not many people. Actually, none that I could think of. That all meant that my already small suspect pool had shrunk to nothing. In fact, maybe I needed to look outside of my initial list of names I’d put together if I wanted to figure out what happened.

  For all I knew, someone had breezed into town, killed Max, and left. All my searching could be in vain. My viral threat may have gone unseen by the guilty party, who’d remained suspiciously quiet.

  I yawned.

  “You getting tired?” Zane asked.

  “But I’m going to check my email real quick.” I grabbed my laptop and sat back on the couch. Immediately, one caught my eye. The subject read: Doll Face.r />
  “Doll Face?” Zane asked.

  “That was my dad’s nickname for me.”

  My hand trembled as it hovered over the mousepad. But finally I clicked on it. As soon as I did, a video filled the screen.

  I sucked in a breath as images captured my full attention.

  The footage was of me. Voicing my challenge to the reporter. It looped over and over.

  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.

  My blood went cold.

  Maybe my message hadn’t gone unseen.

  Just when I thought this was all there was to it, a crackly voice sounded on the screen.

  “Challenge accepted. Be careful what you wish for, Joey Darling. And be careful, whatever you do. Look over your shoulder. Behind your back. Not even your shadows will be able to save you this time.”

  Okay, that was a threat. A direct threat. My hands trembled, so I sat on them. This was like a bad movie. Ghost in the Machine. Okay, not really. But my mind was drawing a blank.

  I was getting closer. Close enough that the killer was getting nervous.

  That reality made me exceedingly nervous and a little too excited for my own good.

  Despite my overwhelming fear, there was something I was missing, and I needed to figure out what.

  No more Ms. Nice Girl.

  I picked up the phone and called Mayor Allen. It was time to see if I could get an inside track at the police station. Doing the Castle/Beckett thing was the only solution I could think of.

  Now I had to keep my fingers crossed that it would work.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning, I showed up at a million-dollar rental house oceanside. The place was deluxe with huge windows, freshly painted dark-blue siding, and every amenity possible. All of that equaled one thing: the perfect place to do an interview for ABC News.

  I’d taken special care to dress presentably this morning in a black business suit. I’d smoothed my hair into gentle waves around my shoulders and painted my nails a lovely shade of pink.

  I knew that Eric, my ex, would probably either see this interview or hear about it, and I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition against me by appearing ragged or like the type who’d been arrested for solicitation, as the Instigator had proclaimed. Rumor had it he was already writing an unauthorized book about our marriage. I had to play this cool. No more missteps.

  “Joey Darling!” the producer said when he answered the door. “You’re looking even more fabulous than always. The beach must be good for you!”

  I smiled, wondering if we’d met before. I couldn’t remember, so I decided to avoid the subject. “The beach is good for everyone, isn’t it?”

  He led me inside, gave me a brief tour, and then took me to makeup.

  Afterward, I met Maria Salvatore, and we chatted for several minutes as camera crews worked on lighting and angles. She was a petite, perky woman who did entertainment stories for the network. I’d met her once before, and she seemed nice enough.

  “You remember that interview we did with you and Ryan Reynolds?” Maria said. “That was a hoot.”

  “It was fun,” I told her.

  Ryan and I had been voice actors for a cartoon about birds and airplanes called Into the Sky. For the interview, the network had set it up to take place on an actual biplane flying over the Caribbean. Memories.

  Someone walked into the room, and the air around me changed.

  Jackson Sullivan.

  I sucked in a quick breath. He looked incredibly handsome. Really incredibly handsome. Knock-your-socks-off really incredibly handsome.

  He wore a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and a green tie that matched his eyes. His beard looked neatly trimmed, and whoever had cut his hair had done a bang-up job. Ha!

  “Detective.” I nodded at him, hating how formal I sounded.

  He nodded back, just as stiffly. “Joey.”

  We awkwardly sat beside each other in two little armchairs.

  Maria Salvatore clapped her hands together. “Okay, we’re all here. I just want to reiterate that I think this is going to be a wonderful story. Thank you both so much for agreeing to this.”

  As if I’d had a choice. I hadn’t.

  “Okay, you two,” Maria said. “Let’s get this interview rolling. Joey Darling, is it true that you solved a murder, just like a real-life Raven Remington?”

  I cringed. My publicist would have told me to say yes. But that felt like such a lie, even though, by most standards, I supposed it was the truth. The truth was that I’d accidentally solved it more than anyone else.

  “That’s . . . that’s one version,” I finally said.

  “Well, that’s what we heard. You set a trap for the bad guy—”

  “A trap that went desperately wrong,” I pointed out. Why was I belittling myself? Sheesh.

  “But in the end, you did your baloney move and managed to escape, just as the police got there.” She shook her head in amazement.

  Who had told her all of this? It was a Hollywood-ized version, for sure. “I’m not sure I’d put it that way.”

  “Maybe we should start at the beginning,” Maria said.

  So we did. I told her about the woman who thought I was actually Raven Remington and who had hired me to track down her wayward boyfriend. How I’d found him dead in a hotel room and how the entire thing had been staged to look like an episode of my show. How a psycho had sent me notes, taunting me at first and threatening me later.

  When I was done, she turned to Jackson. “What did you think of all of this?”

  Jackson glanced at me, and I prepared myself to be reamed out. He didn’t approve of my involvement, and I didn’t think he ever truly would. I couldn’t blame him.

  “I think Joey did a fantastic job,” he said.

  Everything around me seemed to shrink, and all I heard were his words. Had he really said that? My heart pounded in my ears in shock and amazement.

  “However, I would never encourage civilians to get involved in police investigations,” he continued. “It’s just not safe, no matter how much fun it may look on TV.”

  “Did you ever watch the show?” Maria continued. “Relentless?”

  “I hadn’t before all this happened. I’m not much of a TV guy—no offense.”

  Maria laughed. “No offense taken.”

  “But I’ve since watched the series, and I find it fascinating. I’ve become a fan.”

  A fan? Everything shrunk even smaller. I couldn’t be hearing this right. It was like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

  “Well, there’s a lot to admire about Joey.” She turned toward me. “Joey, are you planning on coming back to Hollywood soon?”

  My throat tightened. I’d known this question would probably come. I just hadn’t decided on what was the best answer. Everyone thought I was here to research a role. Only a couple of people knew the truth.

  “I’m just taking it easy right now,” I said. “The past several years of filming have been grueling, and I need to take some time to take care of myself.”

  “I understand. You’re not worried that will hurt your career?”

  I shrugged. “I guess there’s always that worry. But life is full of risks, right? Raven wouldn’t have solved any of her cases without any risk.”

  “Maybe the two of you are more alike than you’d like to admit,” Maria said.

  I shrugged again, unsure what to say to that. “Raven’s a lot braver than I am.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Jackson said.

  “Oh, you two! I can tell you make a great team.” Maria lost her smile. “What do you say we go to the crime scene where everything came to a head? The mayor said it was okay.”

  The mayor. He was the one who’d given her all of this information. Of course. It wouldn’t surprise me if
she interviewed him later.

  I nodded and pulled out my keys. “That sounds good.”

  “Do you want to ride with me?” Jackson asked. “No need of everyone driving.”

  Would wonders ever cease? I nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”

  Then I wondered: Was this just an excuse to lecture me?

  Awkward silence fell as Jackson and I sat side by side in his truck. I was sure he had things to say to me. Not nice things. But instead, silence sat like a rock between us as he started down the road.

  All day I’d sensed that something else was wrong, something besides the fact that Jackson had been forced to do this interview with me. Jackson seemed to have a certain heaviness about him today. That realization made me desperately curious and concerned. Mostly concerned.

  “I’m sorry, Jackson,” I finally started.

  He continued to stare straight ahead. “Sorry for what?”

  “For assuming the worst about you.” I didn’t mention that there were some things I still reserved the right to believe the worst about, like his involvement or knowledge in my father’s disappearance.

  “You were led to believe the worst. There’s a difference.” His words were said without emotion, but his jaw flexed. The motion was a tell that Jackson wasn’t happy. I’d studied tells in acting—those unconscious actions that betrayed an attempted deception. I figured I knew about as much as a trained psychologist at this point. Too bad I often forgot to watch for them.

  I glanced down at my hands, which mangled together in my lap. “I should have thought the best, and instead I accepted the worst.”

  He finally glanced at me. “It’s okay, Joey.”

  “But is it? I want to make things right.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  For some reason, his words felt like a rejection. Like he didn’t care. Like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. Which was stupid. Of course I didn’t matter to him. We barely knew each other, and he owed me nothing.

  “Listen, we all make mistakes,” Jackson said. “We make assumptions. We don’t do things right the first time. I’m just glad you know the truth now.”