Clean Getaway (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 13)

by Christy Barritt

  Of course not. I stared outside, though all I saw was darkness. I’d been hoping for some good news, but I should have known better.

  “How long will it take to find out if the other contract falls through?”

  “It’s hard to say. It could be weeks.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment bit at me. I couldn’t hold it back.

  “You sound bummed, Gabby. What’s going on?”

  How much did I tell him? He was my husband. I should be able to talk to him and let him carry my burdens with me. I just didn’t want to go overboard in the complaining department.

  That said, I decided to give him a rundown of what had happened today.

  “I think this case is getting to me. Evie is getting to me. Being sick is getting to me.”

  “You have to be back at work in a couple of days. The end is in sight, one way or another.”

  “That’s true. I’m not used to having a deadline with these things. I usually meander along until I figure things out.”

  “Meander?” Riley questioned. “That’s not the way I’d describe it. You usually sprint like a bloodhound on the scent of a rabbit.”

  I chuckled. “You’re right.”

  “Either way, I’m not used to hearing you sound so down.”

  “Maybe I’m just exhausted.”

  “Well, you have to take care of yourself. You’re no good as an investigator if you’re sick and tired. You won’t be at your best, and you won’t be doing yourself any favors.”

  Maybe he was right. Maybe pushing myself through my food poisoning hadn’t been wise. It was all catching up with me now because I just wanted to crawl under a rock.

  “I can’t wait to see you in two days,” Riley said, his voice low.

  “Me too. I miss you.” And I did. I felt like such a hopeless romantic, but I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  Because maybe taking on this cold case had been a bad idea.

  After taking several minutes to compose myself, I finally wandered from my room to see if I could find some crackers or toast. Maybe it would help my headache.

  As I walked past the living room, I spotted Jessie sitting cross-legged on the couch looking through some photo albums. She’d lit a couple of candles and had a glass of wine in front of her.

  I abandoned my plans and walked toward the couch.

  “May I?” I nodded toward the seat, silently asking if I could sit down.

  She nodded and scooted over an inch or two.

  “Aunt Carol kept these albums on the bookshelf for me instead of packing them away,” Jessie explained “Every so often, I like to look through them and be reminded of what my life used to look like. It was beautiful, and I didn’t even realize it.”

  I pointed to a photo of a woman posing at the top of a hill. Her smile lit up everything around her, and her body language showed both confidence and fun. “Is that your mom?”

  She nodded. “That’s when she worked at the golf course—in the summers between attending nursing school. She was such a goofball.”

  “I knew your aunt worked there. I didn’t realize your mom did also.”

  “Oh, yes, they were quite the crew from what I hear.”

  “It’s too bad that there was a rift between them.”

  “I know. And over a boy, at that.” She rolled her eyes.

  I leaned back, ready for a good story. “What boy? Did she ever tell you what happened?”

  She shrugged. “I never asked. It was a sore subject, and I didn’t really want to know about their dating lives, especially not at thirteen. Thinking about my mom being young and hot is just gross.”

  I pointed to another picture. “Who are these people?”

  “These are pictures from high school. I guess my mom was something else back then. She was the girl everyone wanted to date, according to what people have told me.”

  I looked more closely at the picture. It was taken on a high school football field. Everyone had wide smiles that were full of hope. It almost looked like they were on the homecoming court, based on their dresses and sashes.

  Sure enough, I recognized Margie looking as vibrant as ever. Mark Miller stood beside her, also smiling, while Dewey stood in the background, watching everything like an outsider. Another picture showed a younger Detective Hanson as quarterback.

  Jessie flipped the page and stopped by a picture of Ron, Margie, and herself. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “I wonder if they would be proud of me,” she whispered, her finger tracing over their images.

  “I’m sure they would be. Look at how you’ve turned out.”

  She wiped away the moisture beneath her eyes using a tissue that was crumpled in her hands. “When I realized just how bad doing drugs was for me, I decided to devote myself to my studies. I think subconsciously, I wanted to make my mom and dad proud and make up for my other bad choices. I imagined them up in heaven looking down at me, watching everything I did, and their hearts breaking at my poor decisions.”

  “You’ve done a lot to make them proud.” I reached for the photo. “May I see?”

  “Of course.” She handed the album over to me. “Here you go.”

  I stared at the picture with a bit of sorrow coursing through me. I’d lost my mom, so I understood what that was like. And I’d practically lost my dad. Alcohol had consumed his life and made him into someone I had no desire to be near. He was slowly turning his life around, but I feared he’d relapse. He always relapsed.

  “You look so much like your mom,” I said, staring at another picture of Margie and Ron, probably when they were in their early twenties. They both still looked young as they faced each other on the bay. I noted how Jessie had her mother’s nose and figure.

  “That’s what everyone always said.”

  I looked more closely at another photo, pinpointing the similarities and differences. “Except for the hair. Did your dad have auburn hair?”

  She shook her head. “They say I got that from my great uncle or something.”

  “I see.”

  She glanced at the album then at her hands, which were now folded in her lap. She no longer looked like a professional young hopeful, but more like a little girl. My heart went out to her.

  “As you can imagine, this has stirred up a lot of memories.”

  “I know. I hope it hasn’t been too tough on you.” My own voice sounded scratchy.

  “I’ll be okay. I always am.”

  “I know you will. I can tell you’re one tough chick.”

  That got a smile out of her. “Thanks, Gabby. I’m glad Garrett picked you to investigate this. As usual, he only chooses the best.”

  Her words brought me a strange comfort. Even if Evie had no confidence in me, at least someone did. I only hoped I didn’t disappoint her.

  I awoke that night and sat up straight in bed, almost feeling like I’d had a nightmare. But I couldn’t recall any bad dreams. I tried to draw in a breath, but my lungs felt stiff, like they’d turned into quick-drying cement.

  Focus, Gabby. Focus.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  It didn’t work. I needed air. Fresh air. I didn’t care if it was tinged with ice or if my nose would flash freeze in the process.

  I needed to step outside.

  Quietly, I threw some clothes on, sneaked down the hallway and to the back door. I pulled my oversized sweater over my arms and stepped onto the crisp grass.

  Breathe, Gabby. Breathe.

  I sucked in a deep breath, and cool air filled my lungs. My muscles relaxed ever so slightly, despite the temperature.

  I closed my eyes, tried to control my breathing with a simple counting technique. When I opened them again, I looked around.

  It was so quiet and still out here. The moon shone over the bay, and everything around me just felt so peaceful, despite the circumstances.

  What had caused that reaction?

  I knew. Stress.

  Stress that I’d fail this assignment. Stress and fear th
at I had bad leadership and people skills. Fear that I’d let people down who were counting on me.

  I began pacing the yard, trying to sort out my thoughts. Trying to give it over to God. To heed the “Do not worry” command.

  I’m trying, Lord.

  But then I thought about failing Him also, and my stress came back full force.

  This wasn’t over until it was over, I reminded myself. I could still solve this. We’d made a big discovery today, one that could lead to some answers. I shouldn’t discount that.

  I hoped the police would share any new information with us on the body we’d discovered. Either way, we’d played a pivotal role in this investigation.

  Everyone seemed guilty, yet no one did.

  Everyone had motive, means, or opportunity, but no one had all three.

  Then there was Evie’s profile.

  Who fit it?

  Dewey, Mark, Jarrod?

  I could most likely rule out Emilio and Ray.

  Dewey and Mark also appeared to be innocent.

  My list was dwindling. But what if the killer wasn’t even on my list? What if we’d been off track this whole time?

  I sighed and drew my arms across my chest. I’d reached the deck and, therefore, the bay.

  And what about Evie? Had this little foray into a crime-fighting trio ruined any potential friendship between us? What if I was better off working alone? It was less complicated that way.

  I paused and stared out at the water.

  I hated failing. Hated it.

  I feared failing at marriage or at being a mom one day.

  I had to get a grip.

  Lord, I’m going to do better. I’m not going to let these fears consume me. Help me to rely on you.

  I tensed as something banged in the distance. The sound echoed through the night. Just once—a lonely sound. A purposeful sound and not one from nature.

  I turned and scanned my surroundings, instantly on guard. As I did, I spotted movement by the garage.

  Movement?

  What?

  Maybe I should have brought my gun out here, but I hadn’t thought it necessary. Obviously, it was. It always was. Except when it wasn’t.

  The logical part of me said to run back inside. The nosy part of me knew I couldn’t do that. I had to know what was going on. The answers could lie with the person who was snooping out here.

  Was he plotting another attack? Quite possibly.

  But if I was going to be a stupid female, I had to be a smart, stupid female.

  Like that made any sense.

  Remaining low, I crept closer to the house, closer to the shadows.

  Had this person seen me?

  I had no idea. If he had, he wasn’t coming after me.

  Unless he had a gun, a gun that he was expertly pointing at me now as I moved through the field like a deer in hunting season.

  Totally exposed with nowhere to hide.

  Smart, stupid female, Gabby. You can do it. In fact, you’re an expert.

  Remaining in the shadows, I crept along the side of the house, toward the garage. I needed a better look. I wouldn’t confront. I would observe and take note. Just like any smart, stupid woman would do.

  I saw the movement again and . . . it was near my car.

  Someone was trying to sabotage it again, wasn’t he?

  Anger bubbled inside me, but I tapped into my astute self-control. Maybe astute was the wrong word, but it would only take one slip of my thoughts for me to go full-force beast mode on someone right now. I had that much pent-up frustration inside me from this investigation.

  As the man disappeared from sight, I darted across the lawn and blended in to the shadows near the garage. A bush scraped my ankles. Leaves crunched beneath me. A spider web tickled my nose.

  I didn’t even care.

  I needed a better look. The answers were so close right now. I needed answers like my lungs had needed air earlier.

  My heart thudded into my ribcage as I crept to the edge of the building.

  I peered around the edge.

  My eyes widened when I saw the person on the other side.

  I’d just found the killer, I realized.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jarrod Hedges. He was messing with my car again. Hopefully, he wasn’t slashing my beautiful—and expensive—new tires.

  I couldn’t stand here and let him do that. I just couldn’t.

  But I was no match for the man physically, and no one knew I was outside. There were so many things that could go wrong here. So much stacked against me.

  Don’t do it, Gabby. Don’t confront him.

  My voice of inner reason was loud and clear. I needed to simply call the police and let them handle this.

  Yes, that was what I would do. I’d be smart. Not stupid smart.

  Before I could head back to the house, floodlights filled the area.

  I swung my head toward the house and saw Sherman step outside onto the deck.

  “Gabby?” he called, confusion tinging his voice as he cluelessly glanced around.

  Every muscle inside clenched tight.

  This was not supposed to happen. It wasn’t a part of my smart plan.

  I glanced back over at Jarrod, sweat trickling down my back.

  His head jerked up, and his gaze instantly—or instinctively—found me.

  His eyes widened, and he took off in a run.

  And I had a split-second decision to make: stay and report or chase down and question.

  I took off after him.

  This might be my only chance to get answers, and I couldn’t let him get away.

  My legs burned with every step. First across the grass. Then the driveway. Then on the grass on the other side.

  When I got within three feet of Jarrod, I knew this was my opportunity.

  I lunged toward him.

  My hands caught his legs, and we both crashed into the frozen grass.

  “What were you doing to my car?” I demanded, pressing my body weight onto his feet to keep him in place.

  He tried to army crawl away from me. He kicked and groaned and muttered some not-nice things.

  I held on to his feet with a bear-trap-like tightness. He dragged me for a few inches before stopping and collapsing on the ground, probably trying to get a second wind.

  “Jarrod?” someone asked.

  I looked up and saw Talmadge standing there. I glanced beyond him and spotted Jessie and Sherman on the deck, both looking dazed.

  The commotion must have woken them up.

  Jessie’s eyes widened, and she sprinted toward us.

  “Oh my goodness.” She dropped beside Jarrod. “What’s going on?”

  He turned over onto his back, propped up on his elbows, and didn’t try to hide the defiance on his face. His breathing was labored, and his hands were dirty with grease and soot. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “It looked like you were messing with my car,” I said, still strangling his ankles and pretending I was throttling his neck instead.

  Sherman joined us—almost. He paused by my car and examined it. I watched as he reached into the tailpipe and pulled something out.

  “A potato,” Sherman said. “He put it in your exhaust. It would have shut your car down.”

  I squeezed Jarrod’s ankle until he yelped, and I finally decided I could let go. Besides, my elbow was beginning to ache. I pushed myself to my feet and stood, brushing the grass from my jeans.

  But my gaze remained on Jarrod.

  My eyes shifted to his arm. Blood stained his sleeve.

  I sucked in a quick breath. That injury hadn’t happened tonight. There was no reason for his arm to be injured in this altercation.

  The truth hit me.

  “You’re the one who was shooting at us at the rental cottage,” I muttered. “I shot back and clipped your arm.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He adamantly shook his head back and forth.

  “You’v
e been the one who’s trying to run us out of town. Why?” I demanded.

  He sneered. “I’m not saying anything.”

  “When the police get here, maybe you’ll start talking,” Talmadge said. “I’ve already called them, and they’re on their way.”

  “Jarrod, you know how this makes you look,” Detective Hanson said.

  We all sat in the Banks’s living room. Jarrod was handcuffed and hunched over in an armchair. His eyes clearly contained depths of anger.

  At us? For catching him? Or something else?

  I didn’t know, but I had no sympathy for him.

  Carol was strangely absent, but Talmadge had said something about her taking some sleeping pills because she had trouble resting. Apparently, it was nearly impossible to wake her when she took them.

  Before Hanson started questioning him—really started, at least—Evie had stomped downstairs in her silk pajamas and slippers. She looked sleepy and more ticked off than anything. Sherman filled her in on what was happening.

  The two of us didn’t bother to speak, which was so incredibly mature. I know.

  Despite what had happened, Jessie stood beside Jarrod, acting as the faithful girlfriend.

  “Anything you want to say?” Hanson asked Jarrod.

  “I may have been behind the sabotage attempts, but I didn’t kill Ron and Margie,” Jarrod finally muttered through a clenched jaw.

  Hanson hulked over Jarrod, clearly practicing some intimidation techniques. “Why should we believe you?”

  “I have an alibi.” He nudged his chin higher.

  I glanced at Jessie, but she looked down at the floor and said nothing.

  Weird. She almost looked guilty.

  “Jessie was your alibi, right?” Hanson said. “That’s what you said earlier.”

  “Someone saw his car in town that night,” I said, remembering my conversation with Shelli.

  He scowled at me, and I expected him to deny it. Instead, he released a breath and said, “I did sneak away for a while that evening. Are you happy now?”

  “Jarrod!” Jessie said, her eyes wide.

  I couldn’t believe he’d admitted it, either. “Why would you do that?”

  Oops. I’d told myself I was going to stay quiet, but the question had slipped out.

  Jarrod’s jaw clenched again, and he looked away. “I had to get more drugs.”