Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3)

by Christy Barritt

  “I see.” I rubbed my hands—which were sweaty—on my pants. I felt like I should tell Jackson I’d met Elrod, but I couldn’t. I knew how it would sound. “So we’re staying in the office all day?”

  I couldn’t lie. That idea did not excite me. I wanted to be out in the field. I wanted to be in the middle of things. A small part of me wanted to be Raven. Just for now, at least. Until I had some answers.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I have an idea then.” I rubbed my hands on my pants again.

  A sparkle flicked in Jackson’s eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

  I remembered the awful, no good, very bad idea that I’d suggested to Zane last night. It suddenly seemed brilliant and like the perfect way to get out of this office. “We could lure the photographer out.”

  “How do you suggest we do that? We don’t even know who he really is.”

  “We have someone pose as a wannabe model, offer this guy money for some pictures, and see if he bites.”

  “Interesting idea. Dangerous but interesting.”

  “It’s only dangerous if you don’t put the right boundaries in place first. With the proper planning and the right person—”

  “It’s not going to happen, Joey.”

  “Why not?” I felt halfway offended that he’d so easily dismissed me.

  “There are other ways to draw this guy out.”

  “No, you need a goat.”

  “A goat?”

  “Yes, like in Jurassic Park. The goat that lured the dinosaur out.”

  He did a quick headshake that clearly indicated I’d sent him into flabbergastion. Which wasn’t a real word, but it should be.

  “The dinosaur ended up devouring the goat, Joey.”

  I replayed that scene in my mind. Daggonit! He was right. “Minor detail. And it doesn’t matter. I volunteer to be the goat.”

  “That’s a terrible idea. The worst idea I’ve ever heard, for that matter.”

  “Who else do you have who wants to wear a mermaid outfit in March?” I didn’t care what he said. I knew the answer: no one.

  “If we were to do something like that—and that’s a big if—we’d get Jenny to do it.”

  Jenny was the only female police officer here. “I’ve seen Jenny, and she’s a lovely person. But I’d make a way better mermaid. I just need a couple of days to do a juice cleanse first so my abs will look good.”

  He stared at me. “You’re serious?”

  “Oh, for sure. Juice cleanses are very important—”

  “I’m not talking about the juice cleanse, Joey.” He blinked several times, as if holding back his annoyance.

  I shifted. “Sure. I know if I did this that you guys wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

  He swung his head back and forth. “Putting a civilian out there is a terrible idea.”

  “What if I do it on my own?”

  “That would also be a terrible idea. And you’d be charged with obstruction of justice. I could have you arrested.”

  “For setting up a modeling gig? That’s ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as George Clooney’s paycheck per movie, which could feed an entire third world country for a week.”

  “When you’re in handcuffs, we’ll see how ridiculous it is.”

  “What do handcuffs have to do with George Clooney’s paycheck?”

  Jackson started to correct me, when I smiled.

  “Just kidding.”

  “Of course.”

  I leaned back and crossed my arms. “I still think it’s a good idea. I could pull this off. Who better to do it than an actress? Besides, we can’t just sit around researching and comparing websites on a computer. A woman is missing. Her life could be in danger. We need search parties. Crusades. Candlelight vigils.” Tonight Show appearances.

  Jackson just gave me the look.

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  He pressed his lips together. “You do realize we didn’t bring you on to help. We brought you on to observe.”

  Ouch! “I’m pretty sure the mayor said to consult.”

  “Consultants bring a certain set of expertise to the table.”

  Double ouch! “And my area of expertise is acting. So there’s your answer. This is why I’m here.”

  He chuckled—not in an amused way but in a dumbfounded one—and ran a hand over his face. “You’re a piece of work, Joey Darling. I can tell you that.”

  “I’ve never been a hundred percent sure what that means, but I’ll just assume it’s a compliment and say thank you.” I stared at him. “So do you want me to email this photographer or not?”

  In the matter of an hour, I’d gotten in contact with one of my old Hollywood friends who was an expert in Photoshop. He could make me look ten pounds lighter with just a few strokes on his keyboard. He was a miracle worker. His talents made me feel slightly guilty, considering people’s body-image issues and the rightfully unreachable standards of beauty in Hollywood, but that was a battle and discussion for another day. Today, the alterations worked in my favor and for the good of humanity.

  Today, in ten minutes flat, Moon Zowie—yes, that was the moniker my Photoshop miracle worker went by—transposed my head to the body of a mermaid impersonator.

  He’d also changed just enough of my facial features that I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. He’d made my face a little longer, my eyes a little farther apart, and my lips a little plumper. Then he’d sent me the image.

  I showed Jackson my phone.

  “Not bad,” he muttered.

  That might be the closest he got to giving a compliment. I wasn’t sure.

  I was careful before asking my next question. “So what do you think?”

  “What’s your alias going to be?” Jackson asked.

  “Ari White.” Ari was short for Ariel. Of course. Was there any other name for a mermaid? “I’ve already set up a fake email.”

  “You’re better at this than I thought.”

  “There was a time I had to dodge paparazzi by pulling stunts like this. It’s all good.” I’d worn disguises, made reservations under fake names, rode in discreet cars. I’d had to be like that, since the paparazzi were brutal. Who knew those skills would come in handy now?

  “What makes you so sure he’ll fall for your email and not ours?” Jackson asked.

  “You probably sounded like the police.”

  He made a face. “Of course we didn’t.”

  I made a face back. “Let me read it.”

  He let out a sigh but, surprisingly, pulled something up on his computer. He turned the screen toward me, and I read the words there.

  “Hi, I’d totally love a photo session,” I read aloud. “Can we meet? Love your photos.” I looked up at Jackson. “This screams law enforcement. Maybe I can give you guys some acting classes.”

  Jackson stared at me another moment. “Okay, send him the email you wrote, and see if there’s a response. If this Andre guy is behind the disappearance of Cora, he may not be interested in coming out of hiding.”

  “You mean, if he’s a predator?” The word actually gave me a chill.

  “Exactly. I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

  Of course I had no idea, but I hit Send anyway. I’d already typed up the message, crossing my fingers that I might get a response.

  Hello. My name is Ari White, but I’m also known as the White Mermaid. I want more than anything to be discovered and do this full time so I can not only do what I love, but also work to save marine life as well. The ocean is like a second home to me, and I care for the creatures there as if they are my people. I saw your portfolio and think you’re ah-mazing. Can we please set up an appointment so my dreams can come true? ASAP, preferably, as a talent scout is wanting to meet me this weekend. I’ll pay double. Peace out. Ari White.

  Thirty minutes after I sent the email, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen, and my eyes widened with surprise. “He emailed me back.”

&n
bsp; “Who did?”

  “The photographer. The supposed Andre Delacroix.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  My hands trembled slightly as I looked down at the email.

  “He said he can meet. Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Six

  Police Chief Lawson stared at Jackson and me after we told him how quickly things had unfolded.

  The truth was, I didn’t know much about the man. He was a quiet presence, hands off unless he needed to be hands on. He seemed to run things behind the scenes, only stepping into the limelight when necessary. All in all, he seemed honorable. Now that I knew he hadn’t hurt my dad.

  He was in his fifties, on the shorter side, with gray hair he kept short. His head was a pleasant oval shape, and the skin across his face was amazingly tight and unwrinkled for someone with a stressful job.

  “You can do this,” Chief Lawson finally said. “But I insist that Jackson is with you.”

  “You mean as a bodyguard? In the woods? Hiding?” More outlandish things rushed through my thoughts, things like undercover snorkeling operatives. Agents buried in the sand breathing through a straw. Parasailing watchdogs parading as tourists.

  I’d been in Hollywood too long.

  Thankfully, I’d kept those thoughts silent.

  The chief shook his head. “No, he’s going to be your boyfriend.”

  I froze in my little padded seat. “My boyfriend? Is that necessary? I mean, this guy may not want to meet if I have someone with me. He seems squirrelly.”

  “It’s a risk we’re going to have to take,” Chief Lawson continued, his hands on his hips. “I can’t send you out there alone. It’s not wise and too much of a liability, even with a waiver.”

  Jackson remained unusually quiet, letting the chief fight this battle.

  “But—”

  “Put a cover story together,” he continued. “And we’ll set some ground rules.”

  “Understood.” I could tell by his voice that there was no room for argument. If I pushed too much, he’d pull me off the case altogether.

  “We’ve got to find this girl,” the chief said. “I’m sure you both know the statistics about her odds of being found alive decreasing as more time goes by. They’re not good. We’re also going to need to talk about location. We can’t do the preserve again. It’s too obvious. I have someone working on that.” He paused and looked at me. “Can you handle this?”

  “Me? Yeah, I can totally handle this. Acting is what I do. It’s Jackson I’m worried about.”

  “You’re worried about me?” Jackson’s lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

  “I mean, can you act?”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, Joey.”

  I raised my hands. “I didn’t say it was. I just have a hard time picturing you pretending to be someone you’re not.”

  “I assume you two will work this out?” Chief Lawson asked.

  “Of course,” Jackson and I said at the same time. Jackson said it with a dull, no-nonsense voice. I said it with a little too much enthusiasm.

  Either way, the chief stared at both of us before finally nodding. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Awkward silence fell between Jackson and me as soon as the chief left.

  I was the one to break the quiet. “So . . . I guess we need to talk.”

  “I guess we do.” He pressed his lips together and grabbed his keys. “While you’re thinking, I’ve got to run home and let Ripley out. Do you want to come?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. The reaction was irrational. I knew that. But I’d never seen Jackson’s place. I had no idea where he lived. If he had a house or an apartment or camper. I wanted to know if he was a slob or if he was neat. If he had sports posters posing as decorations and furniture that used to belong to his grandmother.

  But I was way more excited than I should be.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll come.”

  “Great. We can rehash some things while we’re there.”

  My awareness of Jackson was way more than I wanted it to be as we rode to his house. I shouldn’t feel anything. I had no reason to.

  But I did. Like it or not, I was excited. So excited that I rambled on and on about the best detoxes. I’d mostly wanted to pass the time without awkward silence, so I decided to make awkward conversation instead.

  Finally, we pulled to a stop in front of a little cottage not terribly far from Jockey’s Ridge, a giant sand dune and state park where people skydived and flew kites.

  His house was small, up on stilts—but not incredibly high stilts, like some homes in the area—and clearly showed that the person living here liked to spend time on the water. There was a fish-cleaning station, weathered buoys hanging on the wall, and a small boat beneath the house.

  It fit Jackson. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but this was pretty close to what I’d imagined.

  “You like to fish?” I asked, not surprised.

  “When I can.”

  “It’s been a long time since I went fishing. My dad and I used to go.”

  Jackson stole a glance at me as we moved toward the door. “I just can’t see you fishing.”

  “Well, I can.”

  “Next time I go out, I’m going to call you so you can prove it.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “You’ve got to put a worm on the hook though.”

  “You’re not scaring me.” Okay, I actually hated those squirming, wiggling little creepy crawlies. But I’d done it before, and I could do it again.

  As soon as I walked into his house, I didn’t even have time to soak anything in. No, Ripley greeted me with circles and tail wags and playful barks. The rambunctious Australian shepherd always knew how to make me feel loved.

  I stooped down and rubbed his head, talking in soothing doggy tones to his very attentive, always adorable face.

  “Why do you love that dog so much?” Jackson asked, dropping his keys on the table.

  I stood and shrugged, one hand still patting Ripley’s head. “I don’t know. Unconditional love, I guess. What’s there not to crave about that?”

  Unconditional love was like a foreign concept in my world. My dad had been the only one who’d really loved me like that. Not even my mom had loved me enough to stay around. Most of my friends had disappeared when my marriage fell apart and my career seemed to sink.

  Most of the time I felt utterly alone in the world, and I hated that feeling. I hated it.

  “I think Ripley likes you better than he likes me,” Jackson said, shaking his head at the canine.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” I gave the dog one more pat and then straightened. I glanced around, trying not to be too obvious. At first glance, I soaked in the worn leather couch, the faded driftwood-hewn floors, the stone-faced fireplace. “Nice place.”

  Jackson walked toward the back, undoing the top button of his olive-colored shirt. “Thanks. It’s not fancy, but it gets me through. Let me put Ripley in the backyard. Feel free to grab a drink from the fridge.”

  “Got it.” I waited until Jackson and Ripley were outside before wandering into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and pulling out a water. I quickly noted that Jackson had a decent selection of leftovers. Closing my eyes, I pictured him cooking in this space. The image was just a little too appealing. A lot too appealing.

  I twisted the cap off and took a long sip to cool off.

  Just as I put the bottle onto the counter, Jackson strode back inside.

  “As we wait on Ripley, let’s talk about tomorrow,” Jackson said, pausing beside me.

  “First, I should order a costume, right?”

  “I have another idea, but we should look, as a backup plan.”

  “If someone is paying good money to have these photos done, they’re going to have a decent costume. My whole cover will be blown if I show up and don’t look legit.”

  “Let’s make sure you look legit then.” He walked across the room an
d brought his laptop over to the breakfast bar.

  Then he stood behind me—a little too close for comfort—as I searched through the various sites.

  “For the record, I still don’t like this,” he muttered, his breath ruffling my hair.

  Tingles burst up and down my spine. “For the record, I know. But just let me do something selfless for once. Most of my life I’ve lived for myself. It’s time I do something for others.”

  “I’d say you’ve done plenty.”

  “And I’d say I’ve left a trail of destruction in my path.” I cleared my throat, trying to halt my thoughts before they began to pummel me. I pointed to a costume. “Check out this one.”

  “It could work. Keep it in mind. It’s not cheap, is it?” Jackson leered at the price. “More than three thousand dollars. That’s insane. Can we rent one?”

  “The question is: Can we rent one that looks legit?”

  Jackson and I both stared at the screen. I leaned back ever so slightly, trying to think this all through. So many things could go wrong, but it was a chance I had to take. For Lexi’s sake.

  “You’re rubbing your scar again.”

  Jackson’s low voice pulled me from my thoughts.

  I looked down at my hand. Sure enough, I was touching the very area where a broken vase had cut me when Eric pushed me down the stairs. “Habit, I guess.”

  “You do that whenever you’re feeling anxious.”

  My throat tightened, and I forced myself not to look at Jackson. I was all too aware of his body heat next to me. Of the scent of his spicy cologne. Of how the man simply exuded masculinity in a way that was very appealing. Why did he have to notice how I constantly touched the reminder of my past mistakes?

  “Do I?” My throat hurt as I asked the question.

  “Just an observation.”

  Finally, I turned around. It was just as I feared—anticipated, hoped for, wanted? Jackson was close enough that I could easily reach up and touch him.

  “My father risked his life.” My voice sounded raspy with emotion as my gaze connected with his. “It’s the most selfless thing a person can do for another.”

  I shoved a hair behind my ear, wishing I didn’t feel so antsy. Wishing Jackson didn’t have this effect on me. Wishing men weren’t my weakness.