“That’s the spirit,” Chad said.
I stood up. “I’m going to call Garrett Mercer right now and tell him I’m accepting the job. For at least a week, I’m going to be an official P.I.—as official as you can be without the proper certifications, at least.”
Finally, I had a challenge I was looking forward to.
And a reason for my mind to escape the dark prison where “what ifs” chained me down.
***
On paper, the Mercer family had everything going for them, I mused as I cruised down the highway. They were wealthy, attractive, and well liked. Though they were British, they were living the American dream.
I was about to dig into that dream and try to find out what had turned it into a nightmare.
I’d left from Norfolk this morning at 7 a.m. to drive to Cincinnati. Garrett insisted on renting a car for me, and I accepted his offer as a job perk, along with a lifetime supply of GCI coffee. Garrett also gave me a wad of cash, more than enough to both cover my expenses and my overdraft bill.
Of course, Garrett hadn’t actually done most of those things. His assistant Lyndsey had set everything up and been the consummate professional. Like any good employee, she’d even thrown in a handful of GCI pens.
As I cruised down the road, I turned up the radio as “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey came on. One of my full-time friends and part-time employees, Clarice, had made a point to change my playlist on my smartphone. I’d programmed songs like, “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt, “Nothing Compares to You” by Sinead O’Connor, and “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” by The Righteous Brothers. Clarice changed my songs to “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor and “Firework” by Katy Perry.
Right now, it was nearly 6 p.m. The drive was supposed to take around twelve hours all together, plus I’d taken my time. I’d stopped for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d gone inside for each of those meals—and saved the receipts for Garrett. He had told me to do that, so who was I to argue?
If my map was correct, I was about an hour away from my destination. I was on what was called the AA Highway, and all around me the rolling hills of Kentucky made my spirit feel a little more relaxed and at ease. It gave me that peaceful, easy feeling the Eagles sang about.
Until I glanced in my rearview mirror. The same silver sedan had been behind me since West Virginia. It was probably a coincidence, someone else simply traveling to the same destination as me. But something about the car put me on edge.
Sometimes the car was right behind me. Other times, a few vehicles were spaced between us. Even after stopping for dinner, that car had still reappeared about twenty minutes later.
I should be able to rule out the person following me as someone connected with this case. I mean, I hadn’t even started investigating yet. Usually ominous, threatening things didn’t start happening until I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. I hadn’t done that yet.
The only hypothesis I could conjure was that Garrett had hired someone to tail me. The idea was kind of crazy, but maybe he wanted to make sure he was getting his money’s worth. Maybe he wanted to make sure I was truly investigating.
I tried to ignore the driver and concentrate on the case.
I mentally reviewed what I’d learned from pouring over those files. Edward Mercer worked his way up the corporate ladder, his final career move when he went from a consumer products company to the vice president of a drug company. His wife, Elizabeth Mercer, on the other hand, came from old money. People often said, especially in the early days of her marriage, that she’d married beneath her. In fact, she’d never worked, but was involved in some philanthropic endeavors. Garrett seemed a perfect mix of the two.
The daughter, Cassidy, had apparently gotten into some trouble for partying, once even driving her flashy sports car into a pole while under the influence of drugs. Even though she was only in high school, the party scene was a well-integrated part of her life.
I’d seen her picture and she had the sparkle in her eyes of someone who liked to try new things. But there’d also been an underlying loneliness. I didn’t even know the girl, but I wondered if her wild ways were all efforts to get her parents’ attention. For all I knew, they gave her plenty of attention. My gut told me they didn’t, though. People that successful had to spend a lot of time on the job. And people who looked as nice as Elizabeth probably spent a lot of time at the spa, shopping, and at the plastic surgeon.
Again, these were all my assumptions, my gut reactions from what I’d read in the files.
According to the police report, at approximately 11:20 on Friday night, November 12, ten years ago, an unknown person entered the Mercer residence through an open bedroom window. Cassidy was shot first. Edward was downstairs watching TV and was shot next. The mother must have heard the commotion and come from the kitchen. She was shot last.
There were no signs of struggle, and the only evidence left behind was a footprint indicating a man’s size 12 boot, which offered no leads.
Nothing was stolen, and the family had many things of value, including jewelry.
One witness saw a green Ford Ranger speed away, but police could never prove the vehicle was involved or connected to the crime. The nearest traffic light cameras were more than a mile away and turned up no evidence.
Phone records for the family revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
The local police had called in the FBI to help with the case. They’d profiled the killer to be meticulous, well planned, knowledgeable, and possibly someone who knew the family.
The contractor had been a suspect because of one rough encounter with Elizabeth. He’d been cleared, and he’d passed away from cancer a couple of years after the murders, so if he was guilty, we’d never know.
Edward apparently had some inappropriate relationships with several women. They were also cleared.
That left the police with the possibility, despite the FBI profile, that the crime had been committed by someone random, some crazy who just walked in off the street.
I didn’t believe that. I’d bet the police didn’t either. I was going to have my work cut out for me.
Another glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the sedan was right behind me again. The tinted windows didn’t give me any glimpses as to who was behind the wheel. I didn’t have to see a face; I already didn’t like this.
Spontaneously, I pulled off into a gas station. Just as I got to the pump, the driver continued past. I spotted the license plate. Virginia.
Hmm … coincidence?
Maybe. I had learned that some times there was such a thing. But it was too early to conclude whether that was the case or not right now.
Until I knew, I was going to have to keep my eyes open.
CHAPTER 4
An hour later, I pulled up to a moderately sized Tudor style home. With its neat flowerbeds, cheerful autumn flag, and welcoming wreath, the place was a diamond in an otherwise rough area of town.
Even in the darkness, I could make a few observations about the neighborhood. I based my conclusions on the number of people loitering on the street, the care of the buildings, and the types of cars along the curb. I’d been around bad areas of town before, and this classified as one. However, there was a stretch of homes that seemed to retain the glory of olden days. This was one of them.
Supposedly—if my directions were correct—this was where Chad’s relatives lived. Garrett offered to pay for me to stay at a hotel, but I figured I’d be better off here. At least if I disappeared, someone would miss me this way.
I parked around the corner, on what appeared to be a quieter, less busy street. As I stepped out of my car and grabbed my suitcase, I noticed the change of temperature from Norfolk to Cincinnati. It was probably twenty degrees cooler here. I’d actually brought an old, black leather jacket with me. My friend Sierra was an animal rights activist, and I’d always felt guilty wearing the coat around her. I had no shame here, though. Based on the shiver
that shimmied through me, I was going to need it.
I knocked on the door and, a moment later, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair answered. “You must be Gabby! I’m Holly, Chad’s cousin. I’m so glad you found the place okay.”
She smiled a huge Julia Roberts type of smile—one that consumed her whole face, but in a nice, toothy way. Smooth curls cascaded halfway down her back and she wore a red dress that was fitted at the top and flared at the bottom.
“The one and only. Thanks for letting me stay.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad we can help. Come on in.” She extended her hand behind her.
I gripped my suitcase with one hand and my laptop with the other as I stepped inside, onto glossy, cherry wood floors. The place smelled like lemon and orange and vanilla. At first glance, the whole place could have been featured in Better Homes and Gardens.
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. Probably something a little more down to earth and homey. But this place was nice, showing an almost upper class kind of care.
She took my suitcase from me and led me inside. “I’m the only one home right now. My mom’s planning one of those big fundraisers for a local nonprofit.” She paused for long enough to lean closer, as if conspiring—even though no one else was around. “I can’t keep track of which one, she’s involved with so many. So you’re stuck with me for the time being.”
“I think it’s the opposite. You’re the one who’s stuck with me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Any friend of Chad’s is a friend of mine.” She stopped in front of a staircase and put my suitcase down. “Can I get you some tea?”
I didn’t really want anything except to be alone, but I didn’t want to be impolite either. “I’d love some.”
“I know you must be tired, so I’ll fix you some and then I’ll let you settle in for the night.” We walked into the kitchen, and Holly nodded toward a little café-style table in the corner, a nook that was surrounded on two sides by an embankment of windows. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
I set my purse and laptop down by the suitcase and did as she asked. My gaze wandered as far as my eyes could see. “Nice place.”
Holly smiled as she put a kettle of water on the stove. “My mother is an interior designer and my dad was locksmith by trade, but he did carpentry in his spare time. They were a nice match and redid most of the house together.”
“They did a great job.” Everything looked clean and coordinated and cheerful. I decided right then and there that if I ever had my own house—and enough time and money—I wanted to hire her mom to decorate for me.
“Did you have a nice drive?” She turned and leaned against the stove, waiting for the water to boil.
I remembered the driver following me. I hadn’t seen him again after I’d stopped at the gas station. Maybe all of it was just a coincidence, and I was reading too much into this. Maybe I was so used to danger that I saw it even when it wasn’t there.
Ever since Milton Jones, I’d been jumping at the smallest sounds. I’d even bought a gun and taken shooting lessons. I hoped and prayed I never had to use it. But the 9mm Smith & Wesson was in my purse. I had a carry permit. And I would use it if my life was on the line. Or a friend’s life for that matter.
I remembered Holly’s question. “The drive wasn’t too bad,” I finally answered.
“I’m glad to hear that.” The kettle whistled, and she poured me some tea, set it on a tray with some cream and sugar and cookies, and delivered all of it to the table.
For a moment, I felt like a queen.
Holly set a crisp, white porcelain cup on a dainty saucer in front of me before sliding into the seat across the table. “So, I understand you’re here to investigate something?”
I added some sugar and milk to my tea. “I’ve been hired to look into a cold case.”
“That sounds so exciting. Is that weird to say that?”
“No, not at all. But I have to say that this is my first time doing something like this.” I tilted my head. “Speaking of which, have you lived in Cincinnati long?”
“My entire 27 years.”
I grabbed one of the shortbread cookies, unable to resist them. “You ever hear about the murder of the Mercer family?”
Her eyes got even larger. “Everyone around here has. It’s the kind of thing that gives you nightmares.”
“What do you remember about the case?” I nibbled on the cookie and buttery goodness nearly had me closing my eyes with bliss.
“Well, you had this picture perfect family who had it all. A nice home, good looking kids, prestigious jobs. Then one day someone walks into their house, shoots all of them, and is never seen again. It’s spooky really.”
Spooky was one way to describe it. “Are there theories floating among the locals here?”
“Theories?” Her eyes drifted up in thought until she sighed, her bangs ruffling with the action. “I guess I’ve heard a few. I have to be honest, people still talk about the case and every once in a while some new lead seems to pop up and gets people all excited. It’s almost like an urban legend at this point. The whole scenario has people playing their own real-life version of Clue … she said perhaps insensitively.”
I smiled at her commentary on her statement. “So what were some of those theories … she asked curiously?”
“Oh, there were some crazy ones. Some people said it was like a Manson thing. Others said a cult had done it. A few thought the Mercers were spies from across the pond and that the government did it.” Holly shrugged. “I don’t know. To be honest, most people just think that a random crazy off the street—probably drugged up—walked in and let out his aggressions. Too many violent video games, too many drugs in his system, too little of a past for him to be on anyone’s radar.”
“Those are quite the theories.”
She nodded. “I know, right?”
I took the last sip of my tea. “This was perfect. Thank you so much.”
She grinned again. I had a feeling grinning was second nature to her. “Glad you enjoyed it. Let me show you to your room and I’ll let you get some rest. If you have more questions tomorrow, just let me know.”
She led me upstairs, I politely said goodnight, and then I fell back on the four-poster bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
As always, my thoughts went to Riley.
I hadn’t told him yet that I was doing this. Somehow, I feared he’d think this news was justification for him moving and I didn’t want him to think that.
I frowned as I thought about it. The doctor had said it was really important to keep his stress level low and not upset him. It would hinder his recovery or something.
I still couldn’t believe he was gone. Coming to Cincinnati may have been the best thing for my psyche because staring at Riley’s empty apartment and realizing he wasn’t there would break my heart again and again.
Lord, give me Your wisdom. Shape my perspective. Remind me how to love and push away these insecurities.
Just then, my phone rang and my heart rate doubled. Was it Riley calling to tell me how he was doing? To say that moving was a mistake and that he was coming back? I yearned so much for just a touch of my old life that I was becoming delusional.
But I already knew that it wasn’t Riley. The ringtone was all wrong. When I glanced at the screen and recognized Garrett’s number, my heart fell.
I put the phone to my ear anyway. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“You made it to Cincy yet?”
“Just got here an hour ago.”
“Love that town. I think you will, too. You sure you don’t want a hotel room? I could hook you up somewhere nice.”
“No, I’m staying with a friend of a friend. I’m good.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’re ready to dig in. Listen, I wanted you to know that I’m headed into town later this week.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
“It’s for a benefit gala. The speaker backed out
at the last minute, and I’ve been asked to fill in. I’m their second choice, but I’m okay with that. I would have probably said no, but I figure the timing is providence, considering you’re in town investigating.”
“The timing is uncanny.”
“Not to sound full of myself, but I do get these invitations quite often. And, like I said, I would have said no except for the fact that you’re there … investigating. I’d like to connect with you while I’m in town.”
“Sure thing, Boss.” Who was I to argue? He was the one paying me.
“Looking forward to it. I’ll call you closer to the time.”
I hung up and stared at the phone a moment. Should I call Riley? No, I decided. He was the one who wanted some space. I’d wait for his call.
I wished the waters were clear, but instead they were mucky.
I remembered the verse that I’d read last week. It had stayed with me since then.
Seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.
I had the seeking justice thing down pat.
But when it came to my relationship with Riley, I was going to need a lot of mercy and humility, it seemed.
***
In the bright morning light, I noticed that my room at the Paladins’ could have doubled for a bed and breakfast—not that I’d ever stayed in one. But the space was decorated perfectly with everything coordinated.
After I showered and got dressed, I pulled out my notebook. I figured every good private detective should have one. I searched my memory, trying to recall if Magnum P.I. had ever carried one. I couldn’t remember.
I checked my list of people to chat with. I was waiting for the lead detective to return my call. Garrett had also given me the name of one of his father’s coworkers—Vic Newport—and the contact information for a fellow polo enthusiast named Sebastian Royce. I hoped to track them down while I was in town.
I leaned my back on the headboard. I honestly felt like I had no idea what I was doing, which was unusual for me. Usually, I started with a crime scene and moved from there. But I’d never worked a cold case.
Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak Page 3
