She shifted, and I knew the conversation was about to turn. “You excited about working with Jackson as a consultant, or whatever you’re calling it?”
“The question should be: How much is Jackson dreading working with me?” Jackson and I couldn’t see eye to eye on many things, especially when it came to police work. I got in his way. He saved my life. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I took a long sip of my smoothie, the fruity goodness euphoric on my taste buds.
“You really should give him more credit.”
Oh, I gave him credit. He was a saint to put up with me. Or perhaps he was just obedient to his superiors. After all, Mayor Allen loved me. He was the one who’d kept me out of jail and who’d twisted Jackson’s arm, allowing me to work with the police.
“I’ve only made his life miserable. Believe me. That’s more than apparent.” Replays of his scowls, his reprimands, his sheer disappointment filled my thoughts. Add some cheesy music, and I could have a Thursday night television drama on my hands.
“He just doesn’t want to see you get hurt. He takes his oath to protect people very seriously. He’s the type who plans everything. You throw him into a tailspin because you’re so . . . unexpected.”
She was being kind. I was impulsive and flighty, and all the good intentions in the world wouldn’t make up for my often irrational actions any more than a new director had been able to ensure the newest Fantastic Four remake was a blockbuster.
“I suppose.” I stood. “Well, it was fun chatting, as always.”
“Come down and visit again sometime soon?” She lived on Hatteras Island, which was a thirty-minute drive from here on a breathtaking National Seashore.
“I’d love to.”
“Next nice day we’re going paddle boarding again.”
“It’s a deal.”
I started to walk away, when Phoebe called to me again. I paused.
“And whatever you do, stay out of trouble.” She smiled. “And give Jackson a chance.”
I went home and did the next logical thing I could think of. Research.
How did I do research? By watching Episode 423 of Relentless. Of course.
Since Hollywood never got it wrong, I decided to watch the episode where Raven Remington discovered how someone was killed by examining blood spatter—and yes, that was spatter and not splatter. I’d made that mistake already. On camera. It was on the outtakes, if anyone wanted to watch.
With Zane by my side, I fast-forwarded to the part I was looking for and then pressed Play. I watched carefully as I—Raven Remington, I meant—came upon a body in a back alley. She began a monologue about blood spatter and what it meant and how to interpret it. It had been a bear to memorize. I’d stumbled and fumbled over those lines until I finally got them.
This is evidence of a blood droplet in flight. It possesses the shape of a sphere. If you look, the edges aren’t smooth but have some scalloping from the force of gravity.
Based on what she’d said, I’d guess the blood spatter I’d seen on the mermaid tail was, indeed, not life threatening. It looked like it had dripped there from a secondary source. Maybe that wasn’t comforting after all. But I hadn’t seen any additional blood spatter. That didn’t mean that Jackson hadn’t found something.
I paused the show and leaned back on the couch.
“What do you think?” Zane popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
That was a great question. “I’ve got to figure out who that photographer was who took Cora’s picture. I asked Elrod for his name, but he didn’t know.”
“How do you propose to find out who he was then?”
“That’s a great question. I have no idea.” I paused, asking myself: What would Raven Remington do? And then I knew. “I could put out an ad seeking a mermaid photographer.”
Zane froze with a piece of popcorn in midbite. “I’m rarely the voice of reason, I know—but I must say that sounds dangerous and risky. And are there actual mermaid photographers?”
“Good point.” I tapped on my lip in thought, barely hearing him. “And I’m not quite ready to wear a mermaid outfit . . . unless maybe I do a juice cleanse. But it would still be a few days.”
“Um . . . I don’t know what to say. I think you’d look great in a mermaid tail . . . which sounds a little weird. Aside from that, you would definitely need some backup. Maybe a gun. And I don’t even like guns. But you should really think this through. Besides, didn’t you say your stalkers sent the boyfriend a note? Whenever those guys are involved, it’s not good. They could be setting you up.”
Lexi’s image flashed in my mind again. “We don’t have a lot of time, Zane. Someone could have grabbed this girl. Every minute she’s missing is another moment she could die.”
I’d stolen that line from Raven. But it was a good one. And it was true.
This was where I always struggled: Where to start. How to begin.
But this time I knew.
I had to head to the 7-Eleven, where the police had found a receipt in her purse.
Chapter Four
I had no cover story, and I should probably come up with one beforehand. The last time I’d decided to wing things when questioning someone, I’d ended up with the plot from Men in Black. It wasn’t pretty. If I was going to draw on my vast movie database knowledge, I had to at least pick a movie that made sense with this situation and didn’t involve aliens of some sort . . . right?
Yet the only interrogation scene that came to mind was from Toy Story, where the mean kid questioned Woody by shining a magnifying glass on him, thus scorching him with the intensified sun rays. I didn’t really think that was a possibility as how to handle this. Now that I was really thinking about it—was that appropriate for a children’s movie?
Thankfully, when Zane and I walked into the gas station/convenience store, Zane knew the man behind the register. There were advantages to small-town living, I supposed. I wouldn’t have to use any magnifying glass—not that I had one.
“If it’s not Dillan, my man.” Zane raised his fist. “What’s up?”
Dillan was in his late twenties with dark hair he wore long and curly. He had a lean body and an I don’t really care style of dressing that included old jeans, a T-shirt with a rip in the belly, and some hemp necklaces.
Surfer, I decided. He screamed it.
“Getting through the shoulder season,” he said, crossing his arms behind the counter.
I’d just recently learned that shoulder season was the period between peak and off-peak times here on the Banks.
Zane rested his hand on my arm. “Listen, my girl Joey here needs your help.”
Dillan’s gaze lit when he looked over at me. “What can I do for you, Joey? Any friend of Zane’s is a friend of mine.”
I offered my most winning smile—ask People magazine, and they’d agree—and held out a picture of Cora that Elrod had given me. “Did you, by chance, see this woman in here yesterday?”
He squinted and then nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah, yeah. The police came in here yesterday asking about her too. She must be the missing chick. Am I right?”
“You are correct.” I leaned closer. “This is on the down low, but I actually have a personal connection with her. I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
He raised his eyebrows as exaggerated understanding rolled over his features. “I totally get that. Yeah, I’ll help in any way possible. However . . . I didn’t see much. She came in here, bought some water and an umbrella stand holder.”
“A what?” I hadn’t intended on interrupting, but that was kind of weird and totally unexpected.
“I didn’t ask any questions. People get them all the time in the summer. Obviously, it wasn’t my business.”
“Did she say anything?” I asked.
“No, but she looked a little nervous. She glanced around a lot.”
It could be that she was nervous about her photo session. But what if there was more to it than that?
“What
was she wearing?” I asked.
“Uh . . . a sweatshirt and yoga pants. I think she had something else on underneath. Something sparkly. Not that I was checking her out or anything.”
I resisted an eye roll. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
He pursed his lips in another exaggerated expression: deep thought. “I guess I’ll tell you what I told the police. When she went out to her car, there was a man on the sidewalk, waiting for her. They started talking. It looked heated.”
My pulse spiked. Maybe that was just the clue I needed to get this investigation going. “Can you describe him?”
“That’s the problem. I can’t. I wasn’t really paying attention. Not to him, at least.” Dillan had the decency to blush. “Didn’t think I needed to. All I remember is that he was wearing a baseball cap low over his face. He was probably in his twenties. Maybe early thirties.”
Was it the photographer? Had he met her here at the convenience store for some reason? Or was there someone else Cora was having a squabble with?
“How about his vehicle?” Zane placed a lollipop on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “Did you notice anything about it?”
“Only because I looked at the security video with the detective in charge. But mud covered the license plate, so it’s not going to be much help. I can tell you that it was a white pickup truck. One of the smaller kinds. Maybe an old Ford Ranger or something.”
“Did he leave after Cora did?” I asked. Had this person followed her to Nags Head Woods?
Dillan shook his head. “No, he left before that. He stormed off like he was mad or something. Left her standing on the sidewalk.”
Interesting. “Thanks for your help.”
He winked. “Anytime.”
Chapter Five
This was the day.
The day.
Yes, today I was participating in my first official ride-along with Jackson. Or was I acting as a consultant? Wouldn’t Jackson love that? Either way, I still wasn’t sure how this arrangement would shake out.
It was all part of my plan to try and gather more information about my dad’s disappearance. Every lead I’d found had dried up. All I knew right now was that he’d discovered an international crime ring operating out of Shipwreck Bay Seafood in the neighboring fishing village of Wanchese.
My dad had connected with an international student worker from the Ukraine who had apparently discovered the dirty goings-on taking place there. The girl, Anastasia, had been murdered. Not long after that, my dad had disappeared. Numerous agencies were supposedly involved in trying to pinpoint what had happened to him. So far, it was all to no avail.
I parked at the police station and wandered inside, stopping by the front desk. I’d even worn one of my black suits so I could look professional. I was determined to sound that way also.
I’d considered doing an impression of Meryl Streep from The Devil Wears Prada but had decided she was a little too intense. Instead, I’d decided to go with my Olivia Benson impression from Law and Order. Warm but confident. Kind but determined. Stunning even into her fifties.
“Hi there,” I told the woman at the front desk. “I’m here to see Detective Sullivan.”
I had the voice down pat. Seriously. Not too high pitched. Not too low. Not too fast. Not too slow.
I was a living and breathing Dr. Seuss book at the moment.
The middle-aged woman’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, Joey! It’s so good to see you. Let me run and get him for you.”
I frowned as she walked away. There’d been a hint of amusement beneath her greeting. Just what were people saying behind my back here at the station? Did they feel sorry for Jackson?
Most likely.
Did they think I was a joke?
Also most likely.
Did they resent the fact that the mayor had strong-armed them into doing this?
Also very likely.
I had a lot working against me here. But that wasn’t going to stop me.
The Outer Banks was just a brief resting spot for me until I figured out my future. Was it back in Hollywood? Was it partly in Hollywood and partly somewhere else that would keep me grounded? Or should I leave Hollywood and its lures for good?
I didn’t know yet. But as soon as I found my father, I’d be gone from this area. It was never supposed to be permanent. And I definitely didn’t want to cut hair for the rest of my life. It was a noble calling . . . but not my calling.
I stood there in the lobby, pretending to study a map of the area that was posted on the wall. I’d tried to think everything through so I’d be prepared for today. I’d even done some juicing this morning, and now I had a water bottle full of green liquid in my purse, just in case I was tempted to eat a donut. Apparently, cops liked to do that.
Jackson opened a door into the office area. In an instant, I tried to read his shadowed expression. But I couldn’t.
He nodded toward me. “Joey. Come on back.”
He led me through a small maze of hallways until we reached his office. Then he pointed to a seat on the other side of his desk. I lowered myself there. Crossed my legs. Decided to uncross them and cross my ankles instead.
I wanted to study his desk. See what personal mementos he had here. Pictures. Awards. Anything that might give me a glimpse into what made him tick. But I had to stay focused right now.
He stared at me a long moment and let out a breath before saying anything. “So here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeated, unsure what else to say. What would Olivia Benson say? No, no, I should pretend to be Richard Castle. And he would say something witty. But nothing witty came to mind. Maybe I should just stick with being Joey.
“You’ve been over all the ground rules?” Jackson asked, his expression still as unreadable as War and Peace was to someone with ADHD.
“I even signed them.”
He steepled his hands together, and I felt like I was in the principal’s office. “And I understand you’ll be tweeting about this, as well as posting on social media?”
“That’s right. The mayor thinks it will help with publicity in the area.” It still sounded strange to me, but who was I to argue?
“But you’ll get our approval before posting anything?”
“Of course. I will use the utmost caution and reserve. They’re my middle names. Joey Cautious-and-Reserved Darling.”
His eyebrows flickered up ever so slightly. But I’d seen it. He was skeptical. As he should be.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” I asked, throwing in some innocently fluttered eyelashes for good measure. “I can’t wait to get to work.”
He straightened some folders on his desk. “Well, we’ll be investigating a missing person’s case.”
“Cora Day?”
He twisted his head. “How did you know her name?”
Uh-oh. Think quick, Joey. Think quick. “Wasn’t it on the news?”
“No, it wasn’t. We haven’t released the information to the media yet.”
“Weird. I heard it somewhere.”
He let out a skeptical “uh-huh” and pressed his lips together.
I shifted, reminding myself to be more careful. “Why haven’t you released the information on her disappearance?”
“We’ve heard that Cora is a bit flighty, and some of her friends and coworkers think she may have taken off for Hollywood or New York.”
“But the blood . . .”
“It’s not definitive. She could have simply cut herself. Plus, she’s taken off before. She thought she had a job down in Florida at one of the aquariums, but it didn’t pan out.”
“What about her family?” I continued, keeping my voice nearly as professional as my business suit.
“She aged out of the foster care system. No real family to speak of.”
My heart pounded. She sounded like Lexi. There was something about broken people that drove them to seek the approval of the masses. To think fame would fix things and make
their lives better. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“What else do you know about her?”
Jackson tapped a pen on his desk. “She was supposed to meet with a photographer, and we’re trying to trace who this photographer is exactly. We looked at Cora’s emails and text messages. However, the man she was meeting used an alias, as well as a burner phone. [email protected] doesn’t tell us much. And Andre Delacroix doesn’t exist.”
“An alias? That doesn’t sound good.” Not good at all . . .
“Usually people’s motives for concealing their identities mean trouble.”
“Makes sense.”
“He has a website, also registered under his alias,” Jackson added.
“You’ve tried to call and email, I assume.”
His eyebrows flickered upward with annoyance. “Of course. No response.”
“So what’s your next step then?”
“This is the nonglamourous side of detective work, I’m afraid. Since we’ve been unable to trace this guy’s IP address or registration, I’m actually researching area photographers to see if we can find anyone who’s a match to this Andre guy, who’s set up dual identities perhaps.”
Had he planned that specific boring course of action on purpose to discourage me? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“So this photographer is your main suspect? Your principal lead? Your numero uno person to watch for?”
Jackson paused another moment, as if it went against every fiber of his being to share information on an active case with me. “He’s a person of interest. Probably the last person she was seen with.”
“Anyone else a person of interest?” Not me, for once. I was thankful for that.
Jackson pressed his lips together yet once again. This really was painful for him. “We’re also looking into the boyfriend.”
“Is it because the boyfriend is always a suspect?”
“The two of them had a pretty tense conversation before Cora left. He didn’t want her to meet with this photographer, and he’s apparently the jealous type.”
Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3) Page 3
