Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak

by Christy Barritt

  “Beautiful family.” I had a feeling I already knew a lot of what he was going to say. I had the sense that Garrett needed to talk about it, though.

  A sad smile feathered across his face. “Thank you.”

  I pointed to the teenage boy in the photo. “This you?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Same grin.” He was handsome even back then. He was already tall and lean. He’d filled out as he’d gotten older, but part of that filling had been muscles. With time, the stupid arrogance in his eyes had turned into real confidence that came with being proven and successful.

  Beside him was a blonde, teenage girl who looked picture perfect. She had bright, shining eyes and glossy hair. The girl took after the mom, who looked exactly like her except twenty years older with a more sophisticated hairstyle and a few more wrinkles. The dad looked like Garrett.

  “Cassidy would have been twenty-five this month.”

  The familiar pang of loss resonated inside me. I knew the feeling all too well. “I’m sorry.”

  He put the picture down. “If I’d only come home earlier that weekend as I’d told my family I would, maybe none of this would have happened.”

  “Or you could have died, too.”

  He sighed. “I used to think that was a better option than living with loss.”

  “What convinced you otherwise?”

  “I don’t know. Soul searching. Looking outside of myself. Faith.”

  “Faith? Are you a Christian?” I was curious now.

  “I believe in God,” he answered easily. “I’m not sure which one. But I like to pray to him.”

  His statement didn’t settle well with me. “You’re not sure which one?”

  He shrugged. “I think all religions have good and bad qualities. I want to embrace the good things and have nothing to do with the bad things. The hatred religion causes. The moral absolutism. The holier-than-thou attitudes.”

  “Interesting,” I mumbled, when in reality I thought his statement was quite ludicrous. Maybe I should say something and argue the merits of a relationship with God. But my reasoning wasn’t my most dominant quality at the moment. Besides, the man had hired me. I’d always heard it was a bad idea to mix work with religion. “Maybe we could talk about it more another time.”

  “What I’m hearing is that you’re looking for excuses to spend more time with me?”

  I waved my finger in the air. “No, what I’m saying is that I really would like to hear more of your thoughts on God, in exchange for listening to my story about how Jesus has changed my life.”

  He stared at me a moment. I couldn’t read his expression, but finally he nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  I smiled. “Great. Now, in the meantime, I’d like to ask you a few questions about this case. I want to hear the answers in your own words.”

  He leaned back. “I think I can handle that.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Garrett ordered another beer for himself, mumbling something about taking the edge off. “You sure I can’t get you something?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Really? Just one more fascinating quality you have.”

  “Nothing fascinating about it. My dad is an alcoholic. I’ve seen the effects of alcohol on not only the person drinking, but also on the people around the person who drinks. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  He stared at me a moment and then set his drink back on the table. “What were those questions you had? I’m an open book.”

  I settled back in the booth. “Tell me more about your family. How did they adjust to being here? Was it really just a better job offer that brought you across the pond?”

  He didn’t flinch. “My mum and dad were having some marital problems. They needed a fresh start.”

  “Define marital problems.”

  His gaze darkened. “My dad had taken on some lovers.”

  I tried not to visibly cringe at the word “lover.” How I hated that word. It made me squirm every time I heard it.

  Garrett continued. “I don’t think his indiscretions meant anything to my dad, but they meant the world to my mum. Broke her heart. But she didn’t want to give up on the marriage. My dad agreed to move, if that’s what it took to keep the marriage together.”

  “Were your father’s …” I squirmed again. “ … lovers investigated?”

  He grinned. “Why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re uncomfortable. Does the idea of a lover flummox you?”

  I scoffed. “I’m just collecting data here. You’re the one reading into things.”

  He leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. “You’re funny. Perplexing sometimes. But funny.”

  “I just want to keep you guessing.” Had I just said that? The last thing I wanted was to flirt, to lead him on. On the other hand, the attention felt good. I knew I was headed to treacherous waters if I didn’t remain cautious. “Besides, why do I have a feeling that you fall back on being charming and flirtatious so people won’t see the real you sometimes.”

  He twitched his head to the side. “You could be right.”

  “I’ve been through some stuff, too, you know. Not like you have. But I’ve been through enough. Don’t feel like you have to cover up your pain around me.”

  “You’re certainly plainspoken. I appreciate it.”

  I cleared my throat, realizing I’d just gotten personal—something I had no intentions of doing. “Any other indiscretions I should know about?”

  “You mean professionally? No. My father was at the top of his game. He was a fair, honest man … except when it came to marriage.”

  “Did your mom ever retaliate and have any affairs of her own?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I know of. I can’t imagine my mum doing that. She was dedicated to the family.”

  “But probably lonely.” I shook my head. “I could unearth some skeletons best left alone.” The Watcher had indicated that much.

  “I’ve thought about that, and I’m prepared to face the facts, no matter how unpleasant they might be.”

  I nodded. “Okay then.”

  One thing was for sure: Focusing on someone else’s tragedy sure beat focusing on my own.

  “Garrett, could I see the inside of the house?”

  He wiped his mouth. “Of course. I would have given you a key if I’d known you were interested. There’s not much to see there.”

  “I’d still like to get a feel for your family, for the crime.”

  “How about if I take you then?”

  I nodded. “That sounds great.”

  He put his napkin on the table. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  I stood in the living room, trying to show my due reverence and respect. I’d been in plenty of scenes like this before. I’d been in scenes like this before with grieving family members.

  But the fact that an entire family had died here—minus Garrett—just made this even more somber than usual. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the hole this had left in his life. I thought my life had been hard, but my grief didn’t even begin to compare.

  Garrett’s shoulders slumped as we stood there. His hands were stuffed casually into his pockets, but I could sense his heaviness.

  Against my better instincts—or perhaps because of them—I squeezed his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  “I thought the pain would go away. But it’s always lingering there, you know?”

  I nodded and pulled my hand away, tucking it safely into my pocket. “Yeah, I know. Death is like that.”

  “Investigators say that my father was shot right there.” He pointed toward a recliner in the distance. “That’s not the original chair, but I bought one just like it to replace it. Strange, huh? Probably makes me seem a little off my rocker.”

  “Not so much. Sometimes people do things that seem unusual in their grieving process. Everyone grieves in different ways, though.” I tried to push
the memories away, but they came anyway. “I talked to my mom for a long time after she died, as if she was still with me. Sometimes I’d forget and think she would be coming home.”

  “I remember those days.”

  “My mom used to leave Tootsie Rolls on my pillow. She called me Tootsie sometimes. After she died, I would buy them. Sometimes I’d drop a couple on my pillow and pretend she’d left them there.” I shook my head. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

  I’d pushed away a lot of those painful memories. Memories of feeling alone and incapable of fixing my family. My mom had been the only one holding us together.

  He nodded at a picture of his dad. Garrett appeared to be a younger version of him. Both were handsome with sparkling eyes. “I’d still love to call him for advice sometime.”

  “Were you close?”

  “As close as you could be with a man who worked all the time. All the time. Never made baseball games or school plays or award ceremonies. My nanny was there.”

  “I take it nanny isn’t a name for your grandmother?”

  He shook his head. “No, my actual nanny. My dad was a good man. He was smart. But he wasn’t a family man.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If there’s one thing I learned from him it was that life had to be about more than business. That’s why I make an effort to treat my employees well. To know their names. To really listen when they talk.”

  I remembered his giggling assistant and wondered if I’d read too much into their interactions. Maybe he was just being personal and caring.

  “Your father would be proud of you, you know.”

  He shrugged. “I think he would be. I still feel guilty that I wasn’t here. Especially when I think about my sister. I’d always thought of myself as her guardian.”

  “Even if you were here, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything, Garrett. There would just be one more casualty to the whole situation. You.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I know. Maybe that would have been easier, though.” He drew in a deep breath, snapping out of his melancholy mood. He turned toward the kitchen. “My mum was in the kitchen. That’s where her body was found.”

  “And you saw the aftermath of all of this?” That would be completely awful.

  He nodded. “First one on the scene. After I found my mum and dad, my first thought was my sister. I prayed that she was okay, that maybe she’d gone out with friends. I prayed I wouldn’t find her.”

  There were no words. I simply nodded, knowing already what the outcome was.

  “I went upstairs and found her in her bedroom. Her music was still blaring.”

  “Can we go up to her room?”

  He nodded. Silently, we climbed a grand staircase, walked down the hall, and stopped in front of a bedroom. Garrett pushed the door open but didn’t step inside. “This is Cassidy’s room.”

  The room still looked like a teenage girl. Posters of her favorite rock bands, a sash with “Homecoming Queen” across it. A couple of tiaras, some old stuffed animals. Various pictures were shoved in the corners of her mirror.

  “Can I go inside?”

  Garrett nodded.

  I entered with reverence. The first things I examined were the pictures along her dresser. I’d yet to consider that maybe the killer was somehow connected with Cassidy. Could she have had an upset boyfriend? She was into the party scene. Could one of her friends been drugged out and committed the deed?

  “She always liked it cold in here.”

  Garrett’s voice broke me away from my thoughts. He walked over to the window and tugged at the latch.

  At the mention of the word “cold,” I shivered. It was cold in here now. The heat was probably on just enough that the pipes wouldn’t freeze.

  “I’d come in here to check on her and, in the middle of winter, she’d have her window up and would be wearing a hat and gloves. I never did understand that. Nor did my dad. He was the opposite. As soon as it was cool enough to start a fire downstairs, he would. When he was home, that’s where he was. In front of the fire, watching football—he’d become quite fond of the American version of the sport—and drinking a cup of coffee.”

  “That’s how the shooter got inside, right? Through her window?”

  Garrett nodded. “That’s what investigators said.”

  I walked across the room. “She had her own balcony, though?”

  Garrett nodded. “Perk of living in a house like this.”

  “I’d say.” I’d been happy to have my own 8 x 12 room, furnished by things we’d purchased at a thrift store.

  “I always wonder what she would have grown up to be like.”

  I stared at the pictures of Cassidy on her dresser. There was one of her with some friends on the beach. Another of her with a boy. One of her in front of an elegant Christmas tree.

  I pointed to the guy in the photo. “Who’s he?”

  “Marty Alvin. Cassidy dated him for … I don’t know. Eight months?”

  “Nice guy?” I asked.

  Garrett shrugged. “He was okay, I guess. Cassidy liked him.”

  I made a mental note to see if I could talk to him while I was in town—if he even lived in the area still.

  I pointed to the Christmas picture. “Are holidays hard for you?”

  He shrugged. “I always get away. Go on vacation.”

  “Alone?” I couldn’t resist the question.

  I could tell by the look in his eyes that the man didn’t go alone. I’m sure he had a pretty woman at his side, basking in the luxury of going to a fancy resort with a handsome man and living the good life.

  The good life for me meant paying my bills.

  He shrugged again. “Not always.”

  “Uh-huh.” I said the comment with a little too much satisfaction.

  “What was that for?” He pivoted, soaking me in with a tilt of his head.

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “That little ‘uh-huh’.”

  I skirted away from him, uncomfortable with his closeness. As I walked toward the closet, I decided to play it straight with him. “I don’t imagine you to have a lack of companionship.”

  “Perhaps I’m a little pickier than you think I am.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re picky.” Tall, leggy blondes probably. Women like his “assistant” back at GCI.

  He stepped behind me, tugged at my arm until I turned, and looked down his nose at me. “You think you have me figured out, but you don’t. For the record, I don’t see myself having a permanent relationship—even a meaningful one, for that matter—until this killer is caught. I don’t want to risk a future wife or child’s life, knowing this killer could still be out there, might still be waiting to do something else.”

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly achy. “I see.”

  “To be honest, one day, I want to settle down and raise a family. Here. In this house. With the woman of my dreams. Someone who’s strong, but gentle. Someone who can be tough when she needs to be tough.”

  The way he looked at me caused my heart to beat double time. I swiped a hair behind my ear and looked away. “I hope you get that resolution.”

  “I hope I do, too.”

  Something in his gaze hinted at more. I could read the insinuations there.

  “I’m engaged,” I reminded him.

  “But there’s trouble in paradise. Am I right?” His eyes didn’t leave my face. I could tell he was watching for the truth.

  The truth was something I didn’t want to admit. I huffed and turned away. “I don’t have to discuss this with you.”

  “No, you don’t. But if you want to, I’m a pretty good listener.”

  I pulled back my emotion. Of all the people I’d talk to about Riley, Garrett Mercer was the last on the list. Well, at least he was down there with my ex-boyfriend Chip Parker and my dad. That was pretty low.

  “We should just stick to the task at hand,” I insisted. “Finding a killer.”
/>   “Very well then.”

  “Any friends who were suspects?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “This case really is perplexing. There are just no good leads.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  I didn’t know what else could help me up here. “Can we go back downstairs again? Would that be okay?”

  He nodded.

  A moment later, I paced the kitchen. I pictured everything that happened. The images caused me to blanch. The crime was clear; the motives, however, were not. Garrett stood against the wall, watching.

  I stopped pacing, hoping the pieces would magically fall into place. They didn’t. A new question did pop into my mind.

  “Is it a coincidence that you hired me right before the ten year anniversary of their deaths?”

  He shook his head. “The gods smiled down on me. I’d been thinking about it, and then I met you. It was providence.”

  “The gods, huh?”

  “Why do I think you’re judging me again?”

  My neck twitched. “I’m not judging.”

  “It was just an expression. Why does it matter to you?”

  Why did it matter? It was a good question. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and let out a long breath. “I think I’ve met people who go to church, but it makes no difference in their lives. They live unchanged lives; there’s no transformation. Then there are other people who go to church and they live sold out lives for Christ.”

  “So the only people who are really Christians are the ones who carry their Bibles everywhere and preach on the street corners?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I just don’t want to be complacent.”

  “And by me saying there could be more than one god …”

  “It insults everything I stand for, which probably doesn’t sound very hip.” I shook my head. “I think this boils down more to me than it does you. I apologize if I seem harsh. The truth is that, when my faith was tested recently, I feel like I failed. I chose to have faith in everything except God. I realized that to truly be a Christian means to be transformed. To truly live it out.” The fact just then became clear to me.