“At least whoever acted first would know exactly how to clean up the evidence.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Riley was beginning to pick up on my sense of humor. He’d been hanging around me too long, obviously.
“That’s awfully considerate of you to let Chad off the hook.”
I shrugged. Did Riley know the real reason? Ever since I’d told Chad I couldn’t date him, things had been awkward between us. Working the jobs by myself was just as well…other than the fact that there could be a serial killer out there with my face plastered to his practice target.
Chad really was a great guy, though. When he found the right girl, he was going to make someone really happy. And that would make me happy.
“Did you tell Chad about Sierra?”
I cut a sharp glance at Riley. “No, why?”
Riley shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“I figured that would only want to make him come home early. What good would that do?”
Riley pulled up to our apartment complex. “Right. What good would that do?” He patted my knee. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
***
Raymond Morris was known in the world of contractors as “the plaster guy.” How ironic was it that I had to pick parts of a plaster-guy’s bones from the once-smooth plaster? Had he spread this plaster himself? How unfair that not only had a gun taken his life, but it also ruined his beautiful work all in one fatal shot.
As I carefully used my tweezers to get bone fragments from the wall, Riley stood behind me watching. We’d already washed down the walls and removed the carpet. The gore was mostly confined to this one small space.
I turned my head toward my friend. “This is really a one-person job, Riley. I’m sorry that your time is being wasted.”
He shrugged, handsome even in the hazmat suit. “It’s not wasted. It’s with you.”
There he went again with those sweet little things he kept saying to me. What was up with that? If it was anyone else, I would have straight-up asked them. But not Riley. I’d rather believe that maybe there was something more to his words than have those dreams crushed by reality.
“Someone’s being killed because of these construction projects,” Riley blurted.
It was just the sweet nothing I wanted to hear. Only it wasn’t nothing. I paused with tweezers in hand. “Come again?”
He began pacing. “Think about it. Housing development burned. Developer’s office bombed. The crime scene we were at last night—didn’t that man work for a solar energy company? This man is a plasterer. That’s the connection.”
I abandoned the tweezers and rocked back to a sitting position as his words settled in my mind. “It does look like ecoterrorism, doesn’t it? Like someone’s trying to send a message?”
Riley shook his head. “I think ecoterrorism is too easy, though, Gabby. They usually take credit for what they do. No one has taken credit for these things.”
An eerie feeling crawled up my spine at Riley’s implication. “These things? Riley, do you think this man is connected too? You think these murders—that seem random—are actually connected with the fire and the bombing?”
He stopped pacing and shrugged. “It’s a thought.”
My gaze scanned the man’s house. I left my task for a moment and walked around the perimeter of the room. Was there something in this house that would offer a clue to whatever was going on? Would I know it if I saw it?
The man was a hunter. I saw deer heads and lots of camo gear and even some books on hunting. But nothing that would give me a clue as to whether or not he was involved in this whole Sierra/bombing/crazy fiasco.
Riley watched me. “When was this man shot?”
“Friday night, I think. They just released the scene.” I stopped at a picture of the man holding a deer he’d obviously just shot. He stood beside another man who also wore camo gear. I squinted at the picture, but finally shook my head. No, neither of the men in the picture were familiar to me.
Riley’s pacing began again. “Do you know anything else about this man?”
“From what I understood, he was shot on Friday by an unknown intruder. The man’s brother is being investigated because I guess they were seen arguing earlier in the week. That’s really all I know.”
Riley nodded, obviously still deep in thought. “Who called about the job?”
“The man’s estranged wife.”
Riley paused. “Estranged wife? So she doesn’t live here anymore?”
“That’s my understanding. Why?” What was Riley getting at?
He pointed to the room behind them. “There are brownies on the kitchen table.”
“Brownies? What’s so strange about that?”
His gaze nearly tinged her. “Most single men aren’t going to bake themselves brownies.”
I had to give Riley props for that one. I walked over to the table and leaned down for a better look at the chocolate treats. When I looked closer, I sucked in a breath.
“Do they smell that bad?”
I shook my head, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Riley, Sierra made these.”
His eyes widened as he approached. “How do you know?”
I pointed to the top, where an acorn had been carved into the icing with a knife. It was Sierra’s signature. She made acorn brownies and recently she’d taken to sculpting an acorn on top for flourish. “These are hers. I’m sure of it.”
“So Sierra was here? What has she gotten herself into, Gabby?”
I shook my head. “Whatever it is, it’s huge.”
Chapter Eleven
I rubbed my eyes the next morning, yawning as I stepped from my apartment. I’d spent most of the night searching the Internet for environmentally friendly ways of cleaning homes. I’d spent the other half of the night mixing the proper solutions together, organizing my supplies and printing new business cards before I cleaned Bruce Watkins’ house. I was surprised when I stepped outside, bin of cleaners in hand, and spotted Riley leaning against my van, sipping on some steaming coffee. Another cup rested atop the van.
“Riley? What are you doing?”
He grabbed the second cup and handed it to me. “I cleared my schedule this morning so that I can go with you.”
I jammed my key into the van door. “That’s incredibly kind of you, but I think my cover might be blown if you’re with me.”
“Why would your cover be blown?” He hurried around to the other side of the van.
“Because you don’t look like the cleaning type.” I climbed inside, taking a sip of coffee. Its warmth spread through me. Riley needed to be rewarded for his thoughtfulness. Going with me to the home of a possible ecoterrorist was no way to be rewarded.
“What does that mean? What does the ‘cleaning type’ look like?”
“Not like you. You look…cultured and well-to-do. You can’t help it. It’s just the way you were raised.”
His eyebrows drew together, as if he were offended. “I’m not above cleaning.”
I started the van and listened as the engine roared to life. “I didn’t say you were. I just don’t think Bruce is going to buy it. Besides, I think half of the reason he said yes was because he thought I was cute.”
Riley tilted his head. “You think?”
“Sarcasm’s my job.”
“Sarcasm is just anger disguised as humor.”
I tilted my head this time. “So you’re angry?”
He released the tight grip he had on his coffee cup. “I’m not angry. I’m just concerned. I don’t want to see you walk into a dangerous situation like this. If something happens to you, I’ll… I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”
His voice softened. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
Some of my anger faded when I heard the sincerity in his voice. “Okay, fine. You can come. But you’re going to have to wait in the van.”
“Really?”
“It’s better than nothing. You’ll be plenty close.”
&nb
sp; “Not close enough to see if something’s happening. You could be bleeding to death on the floor, and I’ll be sitting in the van twiddling my thumbs.”
“Okay, I’ll leave my phone on speaker. You’ll be able to hear everything I say. And the first thing I’ll do is open the curtains so that you can see inside, somewhat at least.” I looked at him. “Is it a deal?”
Finally, his statue-like stance broke and he nodded. “Deal. I guess. I still don’t like this, though.”
“Thank you, Riley, for caring. It means a lot to have someone watching out for me, even if I do grumble and complain about it.”
“Of course I care, Gabby. We’re… friends, right? That’s what friends do.”
My smile slipped. Friends. Of course. Why did my mind always go other places? I nodded. “Friends.” My throat burned as I said the word.
I pushed those thoughts aside and put the van in drive. We bumped down the road and finally pulled up to the townhouse. “I need you to put your phone on mute. I can’t risk any unexpected sounds coming out of my shirt pocket.”
“Got it.”
I dialed his number, put the phone on speaker, and stuck it in my shirt pocket. “If I say ‘hot mama’ that’s my code word for you to come help.”
“Hot mama?”
I shrugged. “Or if I scream like I’m being murdered. Either one of those things.”
He scowled. “For the record—”
“You don’t like this. I know.” I softened my words, seeing his obvious sincerity and concern. “Thanks, Riley. Here goes nothing.”
Bruce answered the door dressed in faded jeans and a dirty T-shirt. I wondered momentarily if he was a freegan, too, or if he had something against doing laundry. I asked neither. Instead, I offered my most winning smile, and in return he grinned back at me.
“I thought maybe it was just a scam and that you weren’t coming back.”
I stepped inside. “Now that wouldn’t have been very nice of me.”
He pointed to the bottles in the bin I carried. “I see you mix your own solutions.”
“Of course. What kind of self-respecting cleaner doesn’t?”
He stepped back. “Well, come on in. I just have to answer some emails before I leave for work. Do you need anything from me?”
I shook my head, staring at the untidy—and that was putting it nicely—place. I was going to have my work cut out for me. There was probably a reason I stuck to crime scenes and not general housekeeping. Where did I even begin here? It was kind of hard to clean due to all the messes around me. Nonetheless, I decided to start with vacuuming. He did have a vacuum, didn’t he?
I wandered down the hall in the general direction that he’d just come from and found Bruce sitting at a desk in what had probably been intended for the dining area. “Vacuum?”
He stood, setting down a stack of papers. “Oh, right, right. Let me grab it for you.”
As he hurried down the hallway, I took a quick glance at his desk. Making Bombs and How to Use Them by the National Federation for a Cleaner Earth. Something I hadn’t noticed before now stared at me from the paper.
Written by T. Watkins.
T. Watkins? Was Bruce’s first name really not Bruce? Or did he have a family member who was an ecoterrorist maybe? I knew enough to deduce that either Bruce or someone Bruce was affiliated with had written this bomb-making manual. And from the looks of things, he was busy writing some other manuals. What were these about? How to kill the masses and get away with it? How to blow up gas guzzling cars and make it look like a factory defect?
“Here you go.”
I startled, trying not to appear as if I’d been snooping. He didn’t seem to notice. He was probably too excited to have someone else clean up his filth. I forced a grin. “Thanks.”
I tried to make quick work of vacuuming any open areas I could find. When I finished with that, I started dusting. I took my time, hoping he would wander away from his office while I cleaned that room. I needed to snoop more.
When he left to go get another cup of coffee, I seized the opportunity. I noticed that he’d put away the bomb making manual before he left and everything else was left in semi-neat little piles. I also noticed his smart phone sitting there on the table.
I glanced up and into the kitchen. He had his back to me as he poured himself some cereal. But how long did I have? Did I dare try to look on his smart phone?
My muscles tightened at the idea. Casually, I swept my finger over the device’s screen. It lit up.
Bruce still had his back toward me. “So how long have you been doing this again?” he called over his shoulder.
“A few years,” I responded. I looked down at his phone and pressed the calendar button with one hand while feather dusting with the other.
“You from around here?”
“Grew up in Norfolk.” I glanced at last week. My gaze focused in on last Thursday. There. At 6 p.m. it said S.N.
Sierra Nakamura.
Bruce had met with Sierra before she disappeared. Did he know anything about her disappearance now?
“What are you doing?”
I gasped. I looked up to find Bruce standing at the table. “I’m just dusting.”
“My phone?”
“I must have hit it with my duster. Sorry.”
He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to gauge if I were trustworthy. Finally, he nodded and grabbed the phone, sliding it into his pocket. “The screen’s pretty sensitive.”
I had to change the subject and fast. I nodded toward the litter box in the corner. “Have you seen that new eco-friendly kitty litter?”
Kitty litter, Gabby? Really?
“Uh… no, I guess I haven’t. Tell me about it.”
“It’s supposed to be a lot better for the environment. It doesn’t contain carcinogens and burden our landfills. It’s amazing the products they’re coming up with.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You seem really into stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty passionate about it. Some people might call me over the top.”
“Why would they do that? They just don’t understand what it’s like to believe in something with your entire being.”
He nodded, warmth in his eyes. “That’s right. They just don’t understand. Everyone should be passionate about something. It helps us to discover our purpose in life, you know.”
“Absolutely.”
He leaned against his desk. “So, what are you passionate about, Gabrielle?”
Putting bad guys in jail. Probably shouldn’t go there. “Animals. I’m passionate about animals. I can’t stand to see them treated cruelly.” It was true. I didn’t want to see an animal suffer. But I sure did like to eat them.
“That’s a noble love.”
“I’m hoping to get plugged in with a local group. I’m interested in helping with petitions and picketing at events like that ludicrous circus that comes to town.”
“I might have some connections for you.”
“Do you? I’d love it if you could hook me up.” I finished dusting his desk. An invisible weight pressed on my chest each time I realized how he was watching my every move. Maybe Riley was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this.
“A friend of mine is real involved with stuff like that. Let me talk to her and I’ll get back with you.”
I pulled out one of my business cards, freshly made this morning on my computer. I pressed it into his hand. “Here’s my number. Let me know.”
He stared at it a moment. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. “It looks like it’s time for you to go. I didn’t get as much done as I’d hoped. Would you like me to stay a little while after you leave?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I’m not quite that trusting, even with someone with a face as sweet as yours.” He looked around. “It does look better. Smells better even.”
“Lavender oil. All natural.”<
br />
“I’ll be in touch.” He stood and nodded toward my supplies. “Let me help you take those to the van.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I pictured him opening the door and seeing Riley there. That would be no good.
“I don’t mind.” He pulled the tub from my hands.
I pulled it back, the solution sloshing wildly inside. “Really, it’s okay.”
He actually had the nerve to try and take them back again. “No really, I insist. My counselor says I need to put other people first more.”
My grip didn’t loosen. “And my feminist side says why let someone else do what a woman is perfectly capable of doing herself.”
He finally raised his hands in the air. He didn’t laugh good naturedly like most people might, proving his social skills still needed some work. “Fine, you win. I’ve got to run anyway. Can’t lose another job.”
Diversion, I thought. Diversion is always a good tactic. “Another one? Have you lost more than one?”
“Yeah, lost one just last week as a delivery driver for a bakery on Main St.”
“That’s too bad.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. They were all particular about their deliveries always having to be on time and all. Too serious for their own good.”
“Some people.”
A grin—one that was supposed to be charming probably—stretched over his ruddy face. “It’s been a pleasure, Gabriella.”
Against all sensibilities, I shook his hand. “You too, Bruce. Remember, if you know of anyone who needs a cleaner…”
He winked. “I’ll give them your information.”
I quickly gathered my things and rushed out the front door.
My gut told me that the man was off his rocker. Capable of bombing Harrison Developers? Definitely. Capable of harming my friend? It was a possibility.
It wasn’t until I pulled away that Riley popped his head up from the back. “You’re pretty convincing, you know. And your phone has excellent speaker capabilities.”
“Doesn’t it, though? Detecting 101 teaches me that I must try to relate to the person I want information from in order to build trust. You really thought I was convincing?”
“I did. I just wished that you’d opened the curtains.”
Organized Grime Page 8
