MUCKY STREAK
Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 7
By Christy Barritt
Mucky Streak: A Novel
Copyright 2014 by Christy Barritt
Published by River Heights Press
Cover design by The Killion Group
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Seek justice,
Love mercy,
Walk humbly
With our God.
~Micah 6:8
CHAPTER 1
I brushed away my discomfort, instead trying to appear sophisticated and coolly in control. I felt neither of those things. My life at the moment felt about as frazzled as my curly red hair.
I brushed a piece of the thus stated hair behind my ear, sucked in a measured breath, and extended my hand. “Mr. Mercer.”
“Ms. St. Claire. I’m glad you could meet with me.” Garrett Mercer grinned, the ever-present sparkle still in his eyes as he circled from behind his desk and took my hand. His grip lingered a little too long.
As I pulled my hand back, his eyes remained smiling in a way that made me think he was more Irish than British. The man liked getting a reaction from me. I knew that much from my last encounter with him.
Garrett owned a company called Global Coffee Initiative that not only sold organic, free trade coffee, but also donated a good portion of the proceeds to build water wells for the less fortunate around the world. He was a textbook entrepreneur/prodigy, and he had a killer accent.
I lowered myself into the chair across from him and crossed my legs, trying to maintain an aura of professionalism. Lack of sleep and stress made common courtesies feel a little more challenging. I wished for a moment that I had the unruffled composure of the woman who’d just deposited me in Garrett’s office. I was pretty sure she was Garrett’s assistant—a neat and prim little blonde named Lyndsey. She probably wasn’t just his assistant, if I had to guess based on the glance they’d exchanged. Then again, all of Garrett’s employees looked liked they’d just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog.
I cleared my throat. “Your phone call certainly made me curious.”
He’d left a message two days ago, asking me to call him about a possible job. I had no idea what kind of job someone like the wealthy, world changer Garrett Mercer might want to hire a crime scene cleaner like me for.
I didn’t know the man that well, other than the fact I’d met him during my last investigation. One of his employees had been a suspect, and Garrett and I had chatted a couple of times. After the case was closed, I figured Garrett would be gone from my life for good. Yet, here I sat.
Garrett leaned against his desk, his ankles crossed and his arms now resting to his side. “Anything I can do to get you thinking about me.”
He winked. The man was charming. I’d give him that. Probably one of the many qualities that helped him build his successful enterprise in the coffee world, and landed him on several “most desired,” “most beautiful,” “most interesting” and any-other-positive-superlative-you-might-want-to-include lists. He had this certain kind of demeanor that made women clamor for a chance to be around him. That made employees eager to please him. That made the media swoon.
But not me. I was immune to the man’s charms. I was … wait for it … I was all professional.
Barely holding it together was more like it.
What I really wanted to do was take a nap. Maybe escape to the Bahamas for a while. Maybe lose myself in a musical. None of those things were an option.
Instead, in the overhead music of my mind, I continued to blare “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson. That’s right—I was determined that all these hard times were just going to make me more of a fighter.
Garrett studied me for a minute, not even trying to hide his curiosity. “You look tired. Can I get you some coffee? Maybe one of our new flavors like maple bacon or autumn harvest?”
Normally, I might refuse. But I could really use some coffee to chase away my chills and my crankiness. Escaping the man’s scrutiny for a moment also sounded delightful. “Actually, that sounds great. Just regular coffee, please. Two sugars and one cream.”
“I’ve got it.”
I should look tired. I’d been working myself to the bone. When I wasn’t working, I was taking Riley, my fiancé, to therapy as he tried to recover from a brain injury. I had to admit that everything—being abducted by a serial killer and almost dying, my busy schedule, the stress, the shock of life’s unexpected curveball—was catching up with me. I was just plain exhausted. My joy was slipping away, and life was beginning to feel like a chore.
It’s just a phase, I reminded myself. I could get through this. As long as I had God and Riley by my side, I could handle anything. In theory, I easily believed that. It was much more difficult to put into practice, though.
I glanced around the office as I sat there waiting for Garrett to return. Garrett’s company headquarters was located in an old warehouse turned office space. The floors were still cement, only sealed and polished. Open space, windows, and skylights made the area feel big and exuded a very urban, modern, and repurposed vibe.
Very much like Garrett.
Tall, sturdy, and stylishly underdressed, the man was considerate of the environment, responsible, and wealthy. Apparently, he’d nearly flunked out of college, only to turn his life around and create the successful business he had today. That’s what my best friend Sierra had told me, at least. I tried not to ask too many questions or appear too interested when Garrett and I spoke.
I glanced around at his office. Minimalist decorations. Large picture windows. An enormous aquarium with crazy looking fish inside. Pictures of him surrounded by kids with dirty faces but big smiles and barren landscapes behind them.
Gerard Butler, I decided. That’s who the man reminded me of.
A moment later, I heard him in the hallway. He murmured something and a woman giggled incessantly. I glanced behind me. Lyndsey. His “assistant.”
He handed me a cup, made from recycled paper—of course. Our hands brushed, and I’d bet anything it was no accident. Garrett was a touchy feely kind of guy. He liked getting what he wanted.
“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you to meet with me.” He settled back in his normal position, leaning against his desk like he was posing for some random GQ photographer. He wore jeans that probably cost more than I made at one job site and a lush beige sweater that zipped up to his neck.
I took a sip of my coffee and let the warmth spread through me. “I am curious as to why you wanted to meet with me.”
“I’ll get right to the point, then. I heard about your work in the Milton Jones case. By all accounts, you were brilliant and brave. Your work helped to take a serial killer off the streets, and we’re all safer because of it.”
“What can I say? It’s all in a day’s work.” I didn’t mention that I’d almost died and that I was still having nightmares—night terrors were more like it—about the ordeal. I cringed whenever I saw a swamp or an old cabin or when thunder shook the walls of my apartment. Each caused strong memories to swell so fiercely that I could hardly breathe.
Milton Jones had probably made some lists himself—as one of the most horrific serial killers that America had seen this decade. Maybe in the past two decades. I wasn’t sure. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be a problem for an
yone else anymore.
“I understand that you worked for the medical examiner for a while.” He took a sip of his coffee, but his eyes stayed on me, watching my every expression.
“You’ve done your research.”
“I’m nothing if not thorough.” That smirk—it was becoming all too familiar—tugged at his lips.
I had no doubt that the man was as smart as a whip … or as sly as a fox. I wasn’t sure which one yet. “What’s all of that have to do with this meeting? You want details on how I tracked Jones down? Because, honestly, I have a million other things I need to be doing. No offense.”
Reporters had been knocking down my door, trying to get the inside scoop. Even a few national broadcasts had contacted me. I had mixed feelings on sharing my side of the story … mostly because my side of the story included almost losing the love of my life. I was so grateful Riley was alive, but so much had changed since he’d suffered from a gunshot wound to the head.
Though the doctors expected a full recovery for Riley, I was trying to accept the fact that things would never be the same. I was trying to be okay with that. It was easier said than done, though.
Like most things in life.
“No offense taken.” Garrett leaned closer. “No, I didn’t bring you here to waste your time. I want to hire you, actually.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hire me? You have a crime scene you want me to clean? Something you want to tell me? Let me guess: Entrepreneur by day, serial killer by night?” I wouldn’t have said it so lightly except I knew it wasn’t true. Well, I was pretty sure it wasn’t.
“No, I don’t need you to clean for me.” His grin slipped some, and he straightened the sleeves of his sweater. “I’d like to hire you as a P.I., Gabby.”
This was a new one for me. Sure, I’d solved a few crimes. But no one had ever hired me to do that. No, it was just because I was nosy and pushy and loved justice too much for my own good. “A private investigator?”
“Yes. A private investigator. Just one more confirmation that you’re good. Nothing gets past you.” He winked.
I scowled again. “Funny.”
“All right, enough playing, right? Yes, I want to hire you to look into a case. Law enforcement would call it a cold case. It will require some travel, but I promise to compensate you well.”
Compensation sounded good. Especially since I’d just overdrawn my checking account by more than three hundred dollars. “I’m listening.”
He stiffened and rubbed his chin. Instead of gushing out some story in the gregarious way I’d become accustomed to when it came to Garrett, he stood. He went to the other side of his desk and sat, a somber new expression on his face.
“There’s a part of my life that most people don’t know about. I try to keep it quiet because, quite frankly, it’s painful.”
He had my attention now. I supposed in my mind I pictured people like Garrett to have everything handed to them on a silver platter; to live charmed lives void of pain and heartache. I should know better than that by now.
“My family moved here from England when I was fourteen. My dad worked for a consumer products company, then moved on to a start-up before being offered a job with a pharmacy company in Washington, D.C. My mum and sister and I came along for the ride. Begrudgingly, I might add.”
I shifted, intrigued by his story already. “Okay.”
“We moved again three years later when a pharmaceutical company in Cincinnati offered my father an even more prestigious position. When I was 19, I came home from college for the weekend. I was late arriving. I’d decided to stay for a party the night before, so I came home on Saturday instead of Friday night as planned.”
I waited to hear what happened next.
His face tensed, as if the memories were painful. “Quite truthfully, my mum and dad had been quite argumentative the past several times I’d seen them, and I would have rather not been around them. They insisted they had something to speak with me about, however.”
“Go on.”
“When I walked into my house that morning, I found my family.” He paused and rubbed his throat. “They’d all been shot in the head execution style.”
I sucked in a deep breath, the horror of the event washing over me. “That’s terrible.”
“To say the least. My life changed from that day forward. Tragedy does that to you.” He shifted, tugging at his pant leg now, a small tell as to how painful this was to him. “This is where I would like for you to come in. You see, the police never found the person responsible for my family’s death. I won’t have a moment of peace in my life until the person who murdered them is behind bars.”
“Where are the police at with this? Have they completely given up?”
“They say that they’ve followed every lead, and that every lead has dried up. They’ve got nothing.”
“I know it’s hard to get closure without all of the answers. Any of the answers, for that matter.”
“You’ve got that right.” He held up a folder stuffed with papers. “I was able to get my hands on the police reports. I have all the information on who they interviewed, who their suspects were, what evidence they found.”
I stared at the papers like a kid salivating for cotton candy at the circus. I wasn’t delighting in his pain; I was salivating at the chance for justice to be served, for answers to be found, for lives to be restored.
He pressed his lips together. “Are you interested in taking this on?”
I paused, trying to think through my response. Putting my brain into gear before my mouth engaged was my new resolution, and no, it wasn’t New Year’s. Big life changes could cause a person to rethink things. “What makes you think I can figure this out if seasoned investigators can’t?”
“Something tells me you’re different, Gabby. You’re spunky and determined. I have a feeling people open up to you more easily than they’d ever open up to one of those crusty old detectives.”
“I’m flattered.” I actually was flattered, despite how sarcastic my words might have sounded.
“I’m serious.” Garrett’s eyes met mine, all teasing gone. “What do you think?”
The offer was tempting. Very tempting. But I didn’t know if I could take it on right now. I had my hands full with my crime scene cleaning business and trying to help my fiancé. Taking Riley back and forth to therapy as he recovered from his brain injury seemed like a full-time job. Plus, I was cooking for him, cleaning his apartment, buying his groceries, and even doing his laundry. Small, molehill-sized tasks had turned into giant mountains for him.
“I’m not sure what to say,” I finally said. “To be honest, I have a lot going on in my life right now.”
He nodded toward my engagement ring. “When’s the wedding?”
I realized I’d been absently twisting and turning the jewelry on my finger, remembering the events that had played out over the past couple of months. I frowned. “I’m not sure.”
Garrett quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head compassionately. “That doesn’t sound good.”
My heart squeezed at his words. I wouldn’t let Garrett Mercer get the best of me. Things were fine between Riley and me. “It’s a long story.”
He stared at me again, and I wondered what was going on behind those green eyes. “I see. I won’t pry. Just promise me you’ll think about taking this job. Take these files. They contain the basic information. Look them through.”
“I will. I’ll be in touch.” I glanced at my watch. “But I should run now. I have another appointment.”
“I understand. But you should know that I’m not a very patient man.” He leveled his gaze. “I need an answer in a week.”
“I can do that.” I took the file from him, and something stirred inside me. Something I hadn’t felt in the last couple of months. Something I hadn’t felt since Milton Jones.
The longing to find answers. The excitement of a new mystery. The adrenaline surge of facing an engaging challenge.
Ga
rrett stood to walk me to the door. His hand went to my lower back to guide me across the room and, just as it happened last time, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I wasn’t sure why the man had this effect on me, but he did. And the fact had me steamed.
He seemed to realize this, too, based on the sparkle in his eyes. Maybe he could feel my skin tighten. Maybe he could hear the quick intake of my breath. I wasn’t sure.
But I didn’t like that, either.
“Good day, Gabby. Help yourself to another cup of coffee on the way out.”
I walked toward the reception area, hating the uncertain feeling in my gut. I hated the pull between two opposing desires: investigating an intriguing case or being a good, responsible fiancé. It appeared I couldn’t be or do both.
It didn’t matter right now, though. I had to pick up Riley from therapy.
CHAPTER 2
Ten minutes later, I sat in the parking lot of the hospital. Traffic had been miraculously light, so I’d gotten here earlier than I anticipated. Instead of going inside to wait, I decided to peruse the papers Garrett had given me.
The paper on top of the file appeared to be the most recent article about his family’s murders. The article was glossy, from a magazine. A nice magazine. I glanced at the bottom of the page. Time magazine.
Wow. This had been a big story.
The headline read, “Murder at the Mercer House.” As I skimmed the article, my gut clenched at the details.
Garrett’s dad, mom, and sister were all shot point blank. Nothing was stolen from the house, and nothing had been left except for a couple of footprints. It was almost as if a ghost had come in, done the deed, and disappeared.
The police had no motives and no real suspects.
Apparently, some suspected a contractor hired to renovate the Mercer’s bathrooms who’d been seen flirting with Elizabeth Mercer, the mother. The contractor had a criminal history and no alibi. But the authorities also had no proof that he’d been to the house on the night of the murders, nothing to tie him to the scene.
Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak Page 1
