Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2)

by Christy Barritt

  He turned to leave, when the emblem on Bert’s shirt caught my eye. Bert’s Storage.

  “Bert?” I called. “Did my dad ever rent storage space from you?”

  He froze and didn’t say anything.

  And I finally had my answer.

  “So, you can just drop me back at my car,” I told Jackson when we’d finished eating and went out to his truck. I kept my voice even so I wouldn’t raise his suspicions.

  Jackson stared at me and made no effort to start the truck. In fact, he crossed his arms. “How about if I go with you?”

  I feigned a ladylike blush. “To my house? That’s a little forward, isn’t it?”

  His head dropped slightly to the side in an I know your game expression. “You know that’s not where you’re going, Joey.”

  I dropped my act, realizing it wasn’t worth the energy. The situation was so complicated. I wanted to find out what Jackson knew. Yet I feared he was involved somehow with Dad’s disappearance. I could simply ask him, but then I might be putting myself at risk. I had trouble believing it, but my instincts weren’t honed. In fact, I doubted them. A lot. It was safer to keep what I knew to myself.

  I let out my breath, deciding to fess up to what he already knew. Denial would only end in an argument. “Yes, I’m going to the storage unit.”

  “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  Why won’t you tell me how you’re involved? I swallowed the question.

  “It . . . it just feels private.” It was a cop-out, but I couldn’t formulate a comeback quickly enough. Not knowing whom to trust made everything so complicated.

  “Joey, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  “Why would you say that?” What do you know? Why won’t you tell me? These questions are tearing me up inside, and you know that and remain silent.

  “I’m just basing that on everything that’s happened . . . and everything that keeps happening. I don’t want to see you in a situation that puts you in danger.”

  “I can’t seem to stop that.” Just like the fictional detective Monk couldn’t resist trying to have absolute order in his world, I couldn’t seem to resist danger—lately, at least. Tabloids, unflattering pictures, and bad reviews were no longer at the top of my worry list.

  He stretched his arm across the back of the seat, and I yearned for him to touch my shoulder again. He didn’t. Which was good. I just had to convince my heart of that. “I won’t get in your way—unless you try and do something illegal or that will harm you.”

  Did he truly want to help me? Or did he secretly want to see what was in that storage unit for ulterior motives?

  My emotions warred inside me. On one hand, it would be nice to have Jackson there. But that was only if I could trust him, and I wasn’t sure if I could or not. I wanted to do a face palm.

  Despite all my misgivings, I finally nodded. “Okay. But only since you said you wouldn’t get in my way. Break our deal, and you’re out faster than gluten from my diet.”

  Thirty minutes later we pulled up to Bert’s Storage. I’d had to stop by my place and get the key that I’d found in a bag my dad had left at the marina. My hands trembled the entire time—from the moment I’d told Jackson he could come until we pulled up at the storage unit.

  “What’s the number on the key?” Jackson asked.

  “Five thirty-four.” Please don’t let this be a mistake. Please don’t let this be a mistake.

  In between those anxieties, I feared what I might find. I anticipated it. I hoped for the best. I feared for the worst.

  My emotions were more confusing than 2001: A Space Odyssey.

  Jackson pulled to a stop at the unit and turned to look at me. “You ready for this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand, something he’d done a total of two times now. Each time made me want to squeal like a fangirl.

  A Jackson Sullivan fangirl? Ha! If he could read my thoughts, he would totally scowl.

  “It’s up to you, Joey,” Jackson said.

  “My hunch could be all wrong.”

  “Or it could be all right.”

  I did a double take. “You almost sound like you’re starting to believe in me as a detective. As Raven Remington.”

  “I never said anything about Raven.”

  Did that mean he could see me as a detective though? I didn’t ask. I would just believe what I wanted, and I chose to believe that was exactly what he was saying. It was more fun that way.

  I sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Before I could change my mind, I climbed from the truck and strutted toward the door. My hands continued to tremble as I held the key. Would it fit this unit? What if all this angst was for nothing?

  I slipped the key into the lock. It fit.

  I twisted.

  Turned the handle.

  Opened the door.

  And braced myself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The first thing I saw was my father’s grandfather clock. He’d made it with his own father, my grandfather. And it was a beautiful piece of mahogany and brass. I reached forward and touched it, running my hand across the ledge below the clock face. I had so many memories of this clock.

  I remembered lying in bed, counting the dongs on sleepless nights when I couldn’t wait until morning. I remembered waiting until it sounded six times, because I knew my dad would be home from work and my babysitter could leave. I remember getting in late from a date once and hearing twelve chimes, knowing I’d be in trouble.

  So many memories in one little sound.

  Beside it was the wooden trunk with rope handles that my grandfather had carried with him after the war. My dad had refurbished it, staining it a bright oak color and sealing it with varnish.

  My throat tightened as I flipped the tiny metal latch and opened it. Inside, there was an American flag, which had also belonged to my granddad. There was my dad’s well used Bible, my grandmother’s handmade quilt, and an old statue of a bull that my father, for some reason, had loved. Memories hit me like a tidal wave.

  Jackson’s hand covered my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  I rocked back on my heels right there on the concrete floor. “I think so.”

  Before taking anything out of the trunk, I glanced around. The space was otherwise empty. Just these two items. My father had wanted to ensure they were safe. If I had to guess, he’d probably paid in advance to guarantee that. How far in advance? A year? Longer? Just how long did he plan on being gone?

  I supposed the good news was that he had planned on it. I guessed this meant he hadn’t been taken against his will. He also hadn’t intended on me finding this, or he would have left some kind of clue.

  My thoughts all crashed together, and I tried to make sense of them.

  The thing was, if my father had left of his own free will and not told me, what did that say about our relationship? I’d said things I regretted during our last conversation, but my dad wasn’t the kind to just leave without telling me. Without saying a brief goodbye, at least.

  “Does everything look as you remember it?” Jackson asked.

  I stared down at the trunk again. Just at first glance, nothing looked unusual. But to be sure, I pulled some items out. One by one. Carefully, as if these could be the last memories I had of my father.

  At the very bottom was the metal container where my father had always kept important papers. I wasn’t even sure about the story behind it, if there was a history to it or not. I just knew he’d always used it, for as long as I could remember.

  I sat down on the floor, and Jackson sat beside me. Carefully, I opened the container and began flipping through the papers inside. Just as I’d expected, there were birth certificates and social security cards and insurance information. Anything that would need to be safe in case of a fire.

  But at the bottom, one thing caught my eye. One thing I’d never seen before.

 
A photo.

  “Who’s that?” Jackson knelt beside me.

  I stared at the woman there, and my chest tightened. “It’s my mom.”

  The words didn’t sound right as they left my mouth.

  “Your mom? You haven’t seen her since you were a baby, right?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but I’d recognize her anywhere. I used to stare at her picture for hours and wonder what it would be like if she’d stuck around.”

  Jackson’s hand came down gently on my back, as if he knew how hard this was for me emotionally. Because this photo wasn’t one of the ones I’d stared at as a child.

  No, this picture was new. It was a photo of my mom in her fifties. And based on the background of the photos, it had been taken here in the Outer Banks.

  When Jackson pulled up at the house where we’d been interviewed so I could pick up my car, I somehow felt reluctant to say goodbye. Which was weird. And unexplainable.

  Maybe I didn’t feel safe alone. Maybe when he’d admitted that his wife died three years ago today, it did something to my heart. Maybe it was because, if I was alone, I would dwell on my mother too much. I would think about how she’d left my father and me so she could pursue a career in modeling. How she’d never shown up again. Ever.

  How my dad had kept the hope alive that she might return someday. No, he’d never told me that. But I’d caught him looking at pictures of her. I’d heard him talking to my grandma. I’d seen the way he never dated again.

  And as much as I’d tried to prove that growing up without a mom hadn’t affected me, it had. While other girls had nice braids in their hair and pretty dresses, I had mismatched outfits and messy hair until I was old enough to learn to fix myself up. While other girls had gone to their maternal units for advice, I’d gone to teachers or my grandma until she died of a heart attack at the young age of fifty-eight. When I became a woman, I had to ask my father to buy tampons for me.

  My dad had done a great job. He’d been a father and a mother as much as he could. I’d relished our time together. But there had always been a small hole in my heart that my mom left behind. There would always be an underlying feeling of rejection.

  “Listen, I know that was a lot to comprehend,” Jackson said. “Do you want to talk?”

  I considered his words a minute before shaking my head. “No, I actually want to decompress. Do you, by chance, have any desire to look at the stars?”

  Jackson’s eyebrows shot upward. “The stars?”

  Fear of rejection stabbed at me, and I instantly regretted the invitation. But it was too late to take it back now. “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. And it’s not too cold. And the sky is cloudless.”

  I waited for him to say no. When he did, I’d quickly return to my car and pretend like this had never happened. This had all been a terrible idea.

  “Why not?” he said. “I could use some time to decompress also.”

  Surprise rippled through me. He’d said yes.

  I smiled, hating how satisfied I felt that he was coming. “Okay, great. Meet me at my house. I’ll make us some coffee—”

  “How about if I pick some up on the way?”

  A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Then again, why would I want to stop it? “You know me better than I thought.”

  “Well, I have tasted your coffee before.”

  “Ouch. You know how to hit where it hurts.” But it was true. “If you want to pick some up, that would be great.”

  “It might have to be from 7-Eleven. I think Sunrise is already closed.”

  “Even 7-Eleven coffee is better than mine.” Yes, I could ruin coffee. It was one of my many talents. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  He chuckled. I loved it when he chuckled. It was like a gift. It didn’t happen that often, so when it did . . . it was amazing. A reward.

  Back at the house, I gathered a couple of blankets so we could sit on the sand.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this excited. Maybe it was when I was offered the role as Raven Remington? No, that was ridiculous. If I was a smart girl, I’d never put my faith in a man again.

  Just as I stepped outside, Jackson arrived with our coffee. My heart stopped for a moment when I saw the look in his eyes. Something looked different, and I wasn’t sure if it was different good or different bad.

  “You have to go to work, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Oh, you looked all serious, and I figured something bad had happened.”

  That same shadow crossed his gaze. “Nothing happened.”

  He didn’t offer any more information. So I didn’t ask, because I figured it wasn’t my business. That had never really stopped me before, but I needed a break from the drama that had been my life for too long now. Tonight I just wanted to enjoy the stars. Was that too much to ask for?

  “You ready?” I asked.

  “Let’s go.” He put his hand on my lower back as we walked down the stairs. It was such a simple, gentlemanly gesture. Yet it thrilled me beyond belief. Way more than it should.

  He turned a flashlight on as we reached the dune and helped me over the hard-to-manage sand. I didn’t know how everyone on TV managed to look so graceful while traversing over the sand, because I looked like a dunce.

  We found a spot near the dune and laid out one blanket. I saved the other one to wrap around me when it got cold. Because it was going to get cold. Then we sat there in the darkness.

  I was glad Jackson was with me out here. It was so isolated at this time of the year. Even though the town of Nags Head was full of life during the summer, right now this beach was abandoned and the perfect place for a crime to occur.

  I’d had enough of that happening lately to put me on edge.

  I stared out at the water in front of us. The waves crashed—the sound louder than I always expected—time and time again. Thankfully, there was no breeze, which made the night chilly but temperate.

  “Shooting stars, you said?” Jackson started.

  “That’s what they said.” I forgot about my coffee and lay back on the blanket. Diamonds sparkled overhead, decorating the blackish-blue canvas. It was extraordinary. “Do you ever get tired of it out here?”

  Jackson leaned back on his elbows and looked up. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? Thanks for reminding me of that.”

  “You forgot?”

  “I got preoccupied.”

  I glanced at him, saw him staring up at the heavens, and drank in just how handsome he was.

  I wondered if Claire had liked doing this. I didn’t ask. Why bring up the memories? I supposed they could be good, but they could also be really bad. He didn’t talk about Claire, so I didn’t either.

  “You like being a cop, Jackson?”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, since I was a little boy. I never thought I’d be a cop in a place like this, I’ve got to say.”

  “You wanted to work in the big city?”

  “That’s right. I did for a while. Up in DC.”

  “Why DC?”

  “I grew up near Baltimore. Being a capitol police officer was my dream.”

  “Was it as good as you thought it would be?”

  He smiled softly, still looking upward. “It was good. But family is the most important thing.”

  “I understand.” Guilt panged inside me though. Family should have been the most important thing to me also.

  “My family took vacations down here on the Outer Banks,” Jackson continued.

  My pulse spiked. He was opening up! It shouldn’t excite me so much, but it did.

  “Is that how you met Claire?” I wanted to slap my hand over my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to bring that up! Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “It is. She was from down here. We met on the beach. And that was that.”

  Their happy ever after hadn’t turned out the way they’d wanted. Things often didn’t in life. I knew that all too well.

  “
Look!” I pointed to the sky. “Did you see that?”

  “I missed it.”

  “It was a shooting star!”

  He lay back, settling down beside me. “I’m cold. I’m going to have to steal part of your blanket.”

  “Of course.”

  But something inside me was entirely too alert and too aware of the fact that we were sharing the blanket. I liked it too much.

  “Did you know that in Greek mythology, if you had a star named after you, it was called catasterization?

  “Castration?” Jackson asked.

  I laughed. “No, but it could be a form of honor or punishment. Cassiopeia claimed to be more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so Poseidon made her go live in the sky as a result.” I pointed upward. “You can see her right there.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Jackson asked.

  “My dad taught me. He was quite the outdoorsman. There was no place else he’d rather be.”

  “Your dad sounds like a good man.”

  “He was. He is.” I cleared my throat before Jackson could hear the emotion there, then pointed to the sky again. “Look, it’s another shooting star!”

  Thank goodness. Because I didn’t want to ruin this moment by talking about my dad and how much I missed him.

  “There’s another one,” Jackson said. “That really is amazing.”

  “They are, aren’t they?”

  “No, I was talking about you.”

  I looked over and saw that Jackson was now leaning on his elbow, facing me. “You’re really beautiful, Joey Schermerhorn.”

  My heart skittered into my throat. Or ears. Or took over my entire body. I wasn’t sure which.

  Because Jackson was gazing at me. His eyes mesmerized me, and that familiar pull consumed my body. The pull toward Jackson.

  Was it my imagination, or was he being pulled toward me also?

  Before I could find out, I felt something on my leg. Something spindly and prickly and moving.

  I gasped, shot up, and jerked the blanket away in record time. It was just as I feared. There was a . . .

  “Crab!”

  . . . walking up my pants leg!