Hazardous Duty

by Christy Barritt

  That’s how my dad had been before mom “captured his heart,” as he said. He’d been a professional surfer until a back injury grounded him. Then I was born and he’d tried to settle into the whole daddy/husband routine. He’d probably started drinking to help him forget his responsibilities.

  My mind jumped back to the fire, the gun. The amateur detective in me itched to get out, to learn about the investigation. I paced and twiddled my thumbs, trying to distract my thoughts. It didn’t work.

  Keep busy, Gabby. Keep busy.

  I called the insurance company, which took all of forty-five minutes—most of it spent on hold listening to Barry Manilow songs. Afterward, I placed a rush order for some new equipment, all of which would go to my charge card until insurance kicked in. Yuck.

  I couldn’t think about that. Not having a consistent income wasn’t good for the budget, but I wasn’t complaining. Instead, I started to ponder jingles. But my heart wasn’t in it and even humming music from Annie couldn’t distract me.

  I decided to wash dishes. I plunked a plate with hardened cheese from leftover pizza into the soapy water. Thoughts of the gun wandered back into my mind. I knew I was on to something. Why couldn’t the detective see the evidence right before his eyes?

  I shook my head, willing the thoughts to go away. I noticed I’d been washing the same dish for about ten minutes and decided I had to do something before I drove myself crazy. My apartment sparkled. I couldn’t work most jobs until the gear I’d ordered came. I didn’t want to help Sierra pick up nuts in the blazing sun. Before I could reason myself out of it, I charged across the hall and knocked on Riley’s door. Dust smudged his cheek when he answered.

  “Long time, no see.” He wiped at the spot, but only made it worse.

  “I decided maybe I should be neighborly and help you unpack.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  I shrugged. “Not really. I just need something to keep my mind occupied.”

  He pulled the door open farther. “Then by all means, come in.”

  For the next three hours I helped him fill a bookcase with hardbound volumes of many of my favorite books. We moved on to the kitchen and unpacked plates and silverware and dishcloths. We made small talk as we worked, chatting about everything from TV shows to favorite CDs.

  Halfway through the last box of kitchen stuff, my cell phone rang. I snapped it from the clip on my belt and brought it to my ear.

  “Gabby St. Claire.”

  A sniffle turned into a sob on the other end. My shoulders tensed. It wasn’t unusual that I turned into an unofficial counselor for victim’s families. “Hello?”

  “Gabby, this is . . . Mildred.”

  Harold’s wife. Had something happened to Harold? Several scenarios raced through my mind. Harold in an accident. Harold with a heart attack. Maybe one of his grandchildren had been hurt.

  “What happened, Mildred?” I abandoned the half-empty box and walked into the next room.

  “They’ve arrested Harold.” A sob echoed on the phone line.

  Whatever could dear, sweet Harold have been arrested for?

  “Where are you, Mildred?”

  “I’m at the police station. Oh, Gabby. They’re saying he burned down that house you two were working in. Come quick.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone and started toward the door. I had to set the police straight. There wasn’t any time to waste.

  I grabbed the doorknob, but a firm hand on my shoulder halted me. Riley.

  “What happened?” I glanced back and saw concern etched into the lines around his eyes.

  “I have to get to the police station.” I lunged forward. As I tripped, Riley’s hand grabbed my elbow, steadying me. Something rippled through out my entire body, making me temporarily forget the situation at hand.

  I shook my head to clear it. Harold. Dear, sweet Harold. “My employee has just been arrested.”

  Riley grabbed some keys from a hook by the door and followed me. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re in no state to drive. Besides, if I remember correctly, you don’t have a car.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  We thundered down the stairs. At the door, Riley placed his hand on my back, directing me toward an older model sedan. He opened the door, and I slid inside.

  “Which police station?”

  I gave him directions, but my mind was in a different world. Why in the world would they think Harold burned down the crime scene? It just didn’t make sense. It had to be a mistake.

  Poor, Mildred. She must be beside herself.

  There’s no way Harold would have set that house on fire, especially not with me still inside.

  The idea was absurd.

  It didn’t make sense.

  I fanned myself against the thick humidity of the car. Riley put his hand over the vent as warm air blew out.

  “The AC’s been acting up. It takes a while to cool off.”

  “It’s fine.” I continued fanning my face. Cold air was the least of my concerns.

  The wheels turned against the road. A motorcycle revved past, weaving in and out of traffic. A fire truck squealed two lanes over. The air conditioning finally began to add its chill to the car.

  We finally pulled off the interstate and, two traffic lights later, into the parking lot. Before Riley cut the engine, I jumped from the car.

  Inside, Mildred sat on a bench, her eyes red and puffy. She stood when I came into sight, and we embraced.

  I lowered my friend back into her seat and grasped her hand. “What happened, Mildred?”

  She dabbed her eyes. “They just came over and arrested him. Said he burned down that house and would be charged with attempted murder.” Her water-rimmed eyes met mine. “Gabby, you know he loves you like a daughter. He’d never try to hurt you.”

  “I know.” I patted her hand. Harold had all the qualities I’d always wanted in a father—honesty, a good work ethic, a genuine smile. Most importantly, he seemed to truly care about me. “I just can’t figure out why they would think he’s guilty. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Another sniffle. “It happened a long time ago, Gabby.”

  I mentally heard the record screech to a halt. “What happened a long time ago?”

  “The arson.”

  “What arson?”

  “Oh, Gabby. Harold was arrested twenty years ago for burning down a church. He pleaded guilty and served his time.”

  I pulled back slightly. “That would have been helpful to know when I hired him.”

  “It’s so hard to get a job with a criminal record. Everyone thinks the worst of you. He just wanted a chance, Gabby.”

  “Mildred, I would have hired him with a criminal record. You know I love Harold.”

  “He didn’t do this, Gabby. He didn’t do it.” Sobs wracked the woman’s body, and I hung an arm around her shoulders, trying to find the right words.

  “We’ll figure out a way to prove he’s innocent, Mildred.” I tried to soothe her, though I could hear my pitch going high. “I don’t know how, but we will.”

  “The police can’t hold him without probable cause.”

  I jerked my gaze to Riley, who stood at a distance. I’d nearly forgotten he drove me here.

  “Probable cause?” Mildred asked, dabbing the corner of her eyes again with a rumpled tissue.

  Riley stepped closer. “Probable cause is a fact or circumstance sufficient enough to justify someone has committed a crime. Past crimes themselves aren’t enough. There needs to be evidence that will connect them with a current crime.”

  “There’s evidence of Harold all over the crime scene. We were working there all day.” I thought of how Harold worked downstairs by himself for most of the day. He would have had plenty of opportunity to stick a few things in his car. I admit, trust isn’t something I give out easily. But I had to give Harold the benefit o
f the doubt. “What there isn’t, is motive. Why would Harold do something like this?”

  “What was his motive for the arson he was arrested for?” Riley asked.

  “It was part of a robbery, only Harold didn’t know that going in. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd and before he knew it they’d poured gasoline all over the church and lit it on fire.”

  “What was he charged with?” Riley asked.

  “Being an accessory to a crime.”

  My shoulders wanted to slump, but I refused to give in to despair. “Where’s Harold now?”

  “Being interrogated. Has been for the past two hours. He was close to tears last time I saw him.” A new round of sobs began. I patted Mildred’s back, trying in vain to comfort her. My gaze met Riley’s, and I could tell he wanted to help. But what was there to do?

  “There’s a good chance they won’t be able to hold him.” Riley sat down on the other side of Mildred. “As long as he’s being cooperative and they don’t find evidence of anything stolen from the property in your possession, they’ve got nothing. They’re probably just covering all the bases.”

  Or trying to pin this on someone. I’d already seen firsthand that Detective “Pitt” was capable of that.

  “I hope so. I need him at home to help me take care of Keisha and Donovan. I’m too old to raise those grandkids alone. I’m just too old for all of this.”

  Mildred suddenly sat up straighter. “The grandkids. How could I have forgotten? They’re supposed to be home from school any minute.”

  “We can go meet them.” I met Riley’s gaze. He nodded slightly, letting me know it was okay.

  “Are you sure?” Mildred asked.

  “Positive.” I rose. “We’ll take good care of them. I promise.”

  With one more hug, we started to the car.

  “I feel horrible leaving her alone at a time like this,” I whispered.

  Riley pushed the door open, and it felt like opening an oven. Waves of heat washed over us. “I would have offered to pick them up myself, but I didn’t think that would go over well.”

  “I just hope they release Harold soon and realize this was all one big mistake.”

  Riley opened the car door, and I slid inside. My gaze roamed the interior. A straw wrapper stuck up between the seat and console. Dried grass wove its way into the floor mats. It seemed like Riley: simple, down-to-earth, attractive.

  “You okay?” Riley asked, waiting in the driver’s seat.

  “I just can’t believe this. It seems like a bad dream.”

  Riley waited for a minute and then cranked the engine. It gently hummed as we pulled away from the station, leaving Harold in the hands of one of the most ignorant people I’d ever encountered—Detective Parker. I’d call Sierra later and see if she wanted to interview him for her “Stupid People” book.

  “Were you pretty close with Harold?” Riley asked.

  “He used to be a janitor, but he retired and wanted to do something to make a few bucks. I hired him after our first interview. He just seemed like such a gentle and kind man.”

  “Things will work out, Gabby. Even though it might not look like it now, they will.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance.” I leaned the crown of my head against the cool window. “How do you know so much about police procedures? You sounded like an old pro in there.”

  “Just things I picked up here and there.”

  I didn’t ask any more questions, though my gut told me more details existed to the story.

  I directed Riley into an older, rundown subdivision. A few turns later, he pulled the car up to a small, well-maintained brick house, with bright blue shutters and colorful mums dotting the flowerbed.

  It reminded me of my house growing up. Dad sold it when mom died, and he moved into a trailer. He said he couldn’t maintain the property. I believed him—he couldn’t even maintain his shaving routine. Of course, he’d always gone for that beach bum look. I always told him the look was a total wipe out and it didn’t send good vibrations.

  Riley and I climbed out of his car and sat on the porch to wait for the bus.

  “So, I’ve been wondering—what made you decide to be a crime-scene cleaner?” Riley asked, his elbows resting atop his knees. Those eyes turned all their attention on me. He really should be an eye model, if such a thing existed.

  I turned and leaned against the post beside me. The thick heat covered me like a sweater. Should I tell him or not? The last thing I wanted was anyone feeling sorry for me. But those eyes beckoned my trust.

  “You want the long version or the short one?” I finally said.

  “Whichever one you’re willing to give me.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “I went to college to be a forensics specialist, but my last semester I had to quit. My mother passed away and my father couldn’t support himself. There was just too much going on to go back to college. It seemed like every time I planned on it, something else happened. I had to come up with a plan . . . so here I am. A college dropout, but a proud business owner.”

  “What did your dad say? He didn’t care you dropped out of college?”

  I snorted. “All my dad’s ever cared about is himself, believe me. I didn’t grow up in a Leave it to Beaver household. It was closer to the Osbournes.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “Yeah, it was. But I needed to make some money, and I wanted to do something that would keep me close to my career goals. I remembered hearing about crime-scene cleaners and decided to see if there were any in the area I could work for. There weren’t.”

  “So you went into business for yourself?”

  “I sure did. It’s not an easy job, but it just makes me feel like I didn’t give up everything, you know? Of course, half of my equipment is now ashes and my only employee might go to jail.” I sighed at the irony of it all. Maybe dad was right and life was a beach.

  “It will all work out, Gabby.”

  “I know it will. But it’s still hard, you know?”

  His gaze warmed me. “I do know.”

  I felt him studying my face. Only I didn’t feel uncomfortable. There was something different about Riley. He seemed to truly care about the situation. How weird was that? He barely knew me, yet he’d gone out of his way to help. Maybe he was too good to be true. Better yet, maybe he really was an alien.

  “Have you ever thought about taking any classes locally to finish your degree?”

  If only he realized there wasn’t a simple answer to that question. “I’ve thought about it. They say once you quit college, it’s hard to ever go back. I can barely make ends meet as it is. And I basically have to be on call any time of the day or night. If I’m not, I might lose a job and I can’t afford that.”

  The roar of the bus coming down the road jarred us from the serious conversation. The gears ground until the yellow vehicle stopped and a set of elementary-aged twins ran to the front porch. They slowed down when they spotted me and Riley.

  “Hey, guys! How are you?” I stood and plastered on my best smile.

  “Hi, Aunt Gabby. Where’s Nana?” Keisha asked. The girl faltered. Her wide, perceptive eyes soaked in Riley and then turned to me. The emotions I saw there nearly broke my heart. Since my own childhood had been so screwed up, nothing pained me more than to see a child lose the innocence of youth.

  I saw it on my job often enough—when someone’s dad or brother or uncle died. The image of young tear-brimmed eyes and trembling chins always got to me. As much as I tried to forget about it, I knew it was because I’d been that child not so long ago. I’d been the one wondering why my brother was gone and when he’d come back.

  I softened my voice. “Nana had something come up at the last minute. She asked if my friend, Riley, and I would meet you. Is that okay?”

  Keisha nodded.

  “You mean, we don’t have to work on our homework now?” Donovan’s brown eyes lit up and his book bag slid from his shoulder.

  “Nope, we’re making
an exception today.” I touched the little guy’s head, as he pulled his arm back and muttered, “yes.”

  The next hour we played Ring-Around-the-Rosy, London Bridge Is Falling Down, and gave the two kindergartners twirls around the yard. The wrinkles of worry finally disappeared from Keisha’s forehead, and both of the children giggled with each new game.

  After a couple of hours, I took a break and perched on the steps. My heart thudded with sadness as I realized what these children might face in the coming months. I closed my eyes and tried to erase the mental picture.

  Someone plopped down beside me. I opened my eyes and spotted Riley leaning back on his palms, sweat trickling down his face. My gaze traveled to Keisha and Donovan as they chased each other around the yard, the sound of the laughter filling the air in a beautiful music.

  “Praying?” Riley asked, his gaze catching mine.

  A laugh caught in my throat. “No, I don’t waste my time with that anymore.”

  “I’m sorry you think it’s a waste of time.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I know it’s not.”

  I wondered why he was so sure. He seemed smart, not like the type to fall for the hocus pocus of religion. I couldn’t see Riley passing around a snake or giving all his money to some kook who promised to heal the sick on national TV. Before I could ask any questions, a familiar beat up Oldsmobile pulled into the driveway. I held my breath. Keisha and Donovan paused as if sensing something was wrong. When I spotted two heads in the car, my shoulders relaxed.

  They’d allowed Harold to come home.

  Keisha and Donovan ran to the car and jumped into their grandparents’ arms while Riley and I stood at a distance. I wanted to throw my arms around Harold, too, but didn’t want the kids to get suspicious with the unusual display of affection.

  Harold’s eyes met mine as he approached on the cracked sidewalk. They were full of emotions that Harold usually concealed so well. My throat burned.

  I patted his arm and whispered, “Good to see you.”

  “Let’s sit on the porch, Gabby. Mildred’s going to go inside with the kids so we can chat.”

  His tortured gaze shifted behind me, and I realized I hadn’t introduced Riley yet. “Oh, Harold this is my neighbor Riley. Riley, Harold.”