Hazardous Duty

by Christy Barritt

  He smiled. “I wanted to.”

  Before the conversation could go any further, the door swung open and Detective Parker stormed in. He disregarded Riley and positioned himself by my bed.

  I scowled and rested the flowers over my chest. I glanced at them. Switch them to calla lilies and I was doing a good imitation of a laid out corpse. Not liking the image, I dropped the flowers to my side.

  “Detective,” I acknowledged.

  “I heard what happened.”

  “And came to gloat?”

  “No, I came to see if you were okay.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m fine. The third time wasn’t a charm, what do you know?”

  He frowned. “That wasn’t how I meant it.”

  I stared at him, biting my tongue against a few insults. If the detective had listened to me from the start, I wouldn’t be in this mess now. But no-o-o, he refused to believe anyone other than William Newsome or Harold were guilty.

  “I’m Riley Thomas.”

  I diverted my eyes to Riley, thankful for the distraction. Riley held out his hand to the detective who hesitantly shook it.

  “Chip Parker.” He glanced back at me. “I’m going to be working with the Norfolk police to figure how who’s behind these attempts on your life.”

  “That’s kind of you.” I knew I should be nicer, but all I had was sarcasm. I wanted to say, “Welcome to the party, Einstein.”

  “I mean it, Gabby.” Something in his gaze told me he was sincere, though I didn’t want to believe it. “I don’t like this anymore than you. Is there anything else you can tell me about your attacker?”

  I decided today was a Dr. Jeckyl day. Mr. Hyde would be along soon enough, so I decided to cooperate. I went through all the details I could remember. My head hurt and I just wanted to go home.

  Parker snapped his notebook shut. “That should be a good start.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, I know we got off to a bad start. But I really am working on this case, trying to figure it all out. You hang in, okay?”

  I nodded, unsure of his sincerity. At least he was making an effort.

  Parker straightened and nodded toward Riley. “Take care of her, would you? I’m doing everything I can to resolve this case. In the meantime, someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

  “Got it.” Riley’s gaze followed the detective out before falling on me. “He’s a piece of work, huh?”

  “I can think of other ways to put, but yes, he is.”

  Riley grinned. “So, did they tell you when can you go home?”

  “They want to keep me overnight, just to make sure there’s no long-term damage. I told them I’m fine, but they keep insisting on these tests.” I offered a weak smile.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  My voice turned serious. “Me too.”

  Sierra stuck her head in the room. “They’re saying we have to go now, that Gabby needs her rest.”

  Riley looked at me. “I’ll be here in the morning to pick you up, okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  With one more glance, he followed Sierra out the door. My gaze remained on them until they disappeared. I had two of the best friends in the world.

  Grimly, I pulled the daisies corpse-like onto my chest again.

  Unfortunately, I also had one of the world’s worst enemies.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Why do people think this is fun?” I asked, a prisoner to my couch, with Riley as warden. My sentence: a one thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that Riley found in my junk closet.

  An old college roommate had given me the puzzle several years ago as her way of saying thanks for finding out who copied her term paper and sold it to college students across the country. I knew the only person capable of hacking into her hard drive was computer nerd Jeff Gates. I’d tracked him down in an off-campus arcade and creamed him at Mario Brothers until his ego was so low, he had no choice but to confess.

  Puzzle pieces scattered across my coffee table and the edges finally began to take shape. Riley insisted this was the only mystery I needed to worry about solving today.

  “I need to call Mildred and find out how Harold’s doing.” I started to stand, but Riley prodded me back onto the couch.

  “I talked to him today.”

  “And?”

  “He’s anxious to come home.”

  “When can he? Did they set bail?”

  “They did set bail, but the case is going to the Grand Jury soon. We’ll find out then if he’ll being formally indicted.” Riley set a mug of coffee on the end table. “I have to figure out how those items got into the trunk of Harold’s car.”

  “Cunningham.”

  I connected a corner piece with a long row of edge pieces. A strip of red formed. This was one of those mystery puzzles that contained no picture for a guide, only a riddle and colorful pieces that the makers insisted formed a scene. At the moment, I just knew it was a conspiracy and there really wasn’t any mystery picture, only a mangled blob we’d never figure out. I could see the game executives laughing deviously from their high rise offices.

  “How would Cunningham get Harold’s keys?” Riley added a piece to the row.

  “He picked the lock?”

  “Not a skill your average senatorial candidate possesses. I don’t see it.”

  I sighed and tapped a puzzle piece with yellow flowers against the couch. “There has to be some explanation. Maybe Harold left his keys on the table and someone borrowed them while he was working.”

  “It’s a possibility.” Riley shoved pieces around with his index finger, sorting and matching colors.

  “What’s the possibility it was Cunningham who tried to kill me last night?” I turned toward Riley, watching his expression closely.

  “Not possible. He was giving a press conference at the same time of your attack.”

  “Convenient.” I shuffled pieces around. It had been years since I’d even attempted to figure out a jigsaw puzzle, not since the days of Barbie dolls, Cabbage Patch Kids, and make believe crime scenes. “Is Cunningham still running for office?”

  “Yep, and, with all of this extra media attention, he’ll probably win. People feel for him.”

  I straightened. “Maybe that’s why he killed his wife. To get the attention, the sympathy of voters.”

  “There are simpler ways to gain sympathy, other than this plan that could totally backfire.” He shifted to face me. “Why would he kill his wife?”

  “She knew something she wasn’t supposed to, something that would hurt the election?”

  “Maybe. Killing someone is still pretty drastic.”

  “Being in office means power, prestige. Some people would kill for that.” I watched as Riley pieced together an entire section, revealing a barn door. Finally, the picture started to take shape.

  “What if Cunningham is telling the truth? What if Newsome killed Gloria and had one of his friends come to burn down the house?” Riley asked.

  “It goes back to motive again. Why would Newsome want to risk so much to burn the house down?”

  “To conceal evidence.”

  “But the only evidence was the gun I found.”

  “Which was in a metal case.”

  “Which wouldn’t have burnt.”

  “But would have been revealed for the police to find.”

  We looked at each other, realization dawning between us.

  “So, it was someone who knew the gun was there. Someone who knew Cunningham was the killer.” I leaned into the couch and could hardly breathe. “Cunningham didn’t start the fire.”

  “Someone who wanted him found out did. They couldn’t tell the police about the gun or they would look guilty. So they burned the house down, realizing the evidence wouldn’t burn.”

  I sat up straight. “What if they didn’t realize I was inside? My van was parked out back and the only light on in the house was in the bedroom. They could have assumed it was empty.”

  R
iley nodded, abandoning the jigsaw also. “But that still doesn’t explain why Cunningham was at the house that evening and why he’s denying it.”

  “Burning down the house would only implicate him.”

  “This is even getting more tangled.”

  “Maybe his opponent knew about what was happening. Maybe he set the house on fire.”

  Riley let out a quick laugh. “Senator Ed Laskin? No way. He’s straight-laced.”

  I leaned toward Riley, curious. “How do you know so much about local politics? You’ve lived here less than a week.”

  That brooding expression I saw all too often settled on his face. What exactly was this weight he carried?

  “I try to stay up on the local political scenes.”

  “Obviously.” I waited for him to say more, to offer an explanation, but he remained silent. “Laskin would have the best motive.”

  “It wasn’t Laskin.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to check out his alibi.”

  He stood and started toward the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want a muffin?”

  I followed him. “What’s wrong, Riley? Is it something I said?”

  He grabbed a banana nut one from the cake dish displaying them. I had gotten something out of working at the coffeehouse—I’d had a crash course on Martha Stewart presentations.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think that?”

  “You’re acting strange.”

  “Nothing strange about getting a muffin.”

  I placed my hand over his arm. “Riley, you don’t have to talk to me. But I’m here if you need to.”

  He started back toward the living room. “Nothing’s wrong, but thanks.”

  Men. I sighed and followed him.

  “So, what’s next? Who are our other suspects?” I asked.

  “We have to figure out who else was at the house that evening. That will tell us who the arsonist is.”

  We worked on the puzzle in silence for a few minutes. I marveled as the scene began to take shape. If only Gloria Cunningham’s murder was as simple as this jigsaw. In essence, it was. All the pieces were in front of me. I just had to fit them together.

  “Go to church with me tomorrow,” Riley said.

  My gaze jerked to Riley. “Church?” I shook my head. “I don’t do church.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a mythical god has no appeal to me.”

  Riley popped another puzzle piece in place. “What if He’s not mythical?”

  “What if he is?”

  “Then what have you lost?”

  “Time and energy. Believe me, Riley. If there is a God, he must severely upset with me because my life has been anything but ideal.” I leaned back into the couch. “It’s like everyone’s looking for something to fill a void. Some people pour themselves into service clubs and others pour themselves into church. If they’re a little more self-destructive, they try drugs or drinking. It’s all the same in the end—just another empty pursuit as people try to find meaning in life.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “Me too,” I answered, doing my best to ignore the void that hollowed me out inside. “Me too.”

  I looked down at my pink T-shirt. It read, “Waiting for my Happily Ever After.” It could have been my mantra. But I wouldn’t find my happy ending in a church building.

  ***

  Riley stayed at my house until five o’clock, playing board games and drinking coffee. He was playing bodyguard and I was too shaken to run him off. Finally, I’d insisted he could go home, knowing he had work to do on Harold’s case. I missed his company the moment he stepped out the door.

  I shuffled across the room, staring at the puzzle as I passed. Riley and I had completed half of it and the picture finally began to emerge. I’d enjoyed working on it more than I expected, but had no desire to piddle with it anymore today.

  Instead, I headed toward my bedroom to find a book to read. As I passed a mirror, my reflection stopped me. A gash slashed across my forehead. A burn mark reddened my other temple from where I’d maneuvered across the carpet last night. The bandage was gone from my hand, but huge blisters remained from my run in with a hot doorknob. It really had been a tough week.

  I kept moving. I had a box of books that Mrs. Mystery had given me hidden somewhere in my closet. I opened the creaky door to the storage space, and my throat went dry.

  The light had burnt out, and I never bothered to replace it. Now, as I stared at the cave-like darkness at the end of the long narrow space, I flashed back to the trunk.

  As if someone rushed out of the dark toward me, I slammed the door and leaned against it. Gasping for breath, my heart pounded until I could feel pulsing in the burn on my face. Someone desperately wanted me dead. And unless I put an end to this, I’d be living la vida loca soon. How many attempts could be made on a person’s life before one started to get a little loopy? Some would argue I was already there.

  The phone jangled, and I grabbed it.

  “Gabby.”

  Speaking of father figures.

  “Hi, Dad.” I braced myself.

  “Did you ever think about calling to check on your old man?” His voice sounded three or four decibels too loud, like Jack Daniels turned up the knob on his volume control.

  “I figured you were enjoying yourself at Aunt May’s house. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “How are you doing?”

  I twisted the phone chord. “It’s been a rough—”

  “You should see the mountains here. You’d really love them, Gabby. Remember when we went hiking together that time?”

  It was one of the few fond memories I had of dad. Of course I remembered. My heart softened.

  “That was a fun—”

  “Listen, I don’t have time to chat. I’m using May’s long distance. You pay my rent yet?”

  The real purpose of his call. Money. Why would I ever think he was just calling to check on me?

  “Yes, Dad. I do every month.”

  We hung up and I forced my thoughts away from the conversation. Dad dealt with his grief over the past by drinking. I dealt with mine by taking care of dad. It seemed everyone did what they could to get by. Was this really all life was about? Getting by? Maybe Riley was on to something. Maybe God was the answer I’d been looking for. It would be so nice to have answers for a change, instead of just more questions.

  Science couldn’t readily explain the meaning of life, other than survival of the fittest. I knew deep inside there was more to life than simply surviving. There had to be . . . didn’t there?

  The phone rang again and I jerked it to my ear. “Yes?” I waited to hear my dad’s voice, to hear the request for more money.

  “Gabby? It’s Detective Parker.”

  I relaxed my shoulders. “Hello, detective.”

  “Listen, we’ve arrested a man for your attempted murder. Can you come to the station to identify him?”

  Blood pounded through my veins. “I’ll be there.”

  I quickly pulled my shoes on and grabbed my keys. As I stepped into the stairwell, I remembered my promise not to go anywhere alone. But I knew Riley wasn’t home, nor was Sierra.

  I quickly jotted them a note and then hopped in my van. As I drove to the station, I mentally ran through the possibilities of whom they may have arrested. Was it the mechanic and, if so, what was his tie with this case?

  Cunningham wouldn’t have done it himself, but he could have hired someone. That made the most sense. But would whomever he hired give him up? They’d be looking at attempted murder if they didn’t.

  I pulled up to the station and saw Parker waiting at the door. He looked as glamorous and camera-ready as ever. After I parked and hurried across the pavement, Parker led me inside.

  “We traced him through the car you cleaned for him,” he said. “He’s not talking, though. Looks scared to death.”

  He led me down a plain hallway, past offices and a water fountain. Finall
y, he stopped in front of a steel door.

  “You’re going to go into this room for the line-up. You can see the men, but they can’t see you.” Parker lowered his voice. “You ready for this?”

  My heart beat double time, but I was as ready as I’d ever be. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Inside, darkness and chilled air greeted me. Parker put his hand on my back as the door clicked behind us. I spotted Adams waiting in a lone chair in the closet-sized room.

  “Gabby, thanks for coming in.” Adams rose. “Don’t be nervous about this, but pay careful attention.”

  I held my breath as men walked into the viewing area. Each of them had similar features, but the last one caused me to draw a quick breath.

  It was him. The mechanic. No doubt.

  “Do you see him?” Parker asked.

  I nodded and pointed to the man.

  “Thanks, Ms. St. Claire,” Adams said. He jotted something with his pen and paper. I’d never seen the man without the two, though it made me think of him more of a reporter than detective.

  “Are you going to interrogate him?”

  “Yeah,” Parker said. “We’ll see if we can get a confession out of him.”

  “Can I watch?”

  The detectives glanced at each other, and Parker said, “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Please. I know about this case. I want to hear what he has to say. It might offer the clue we’ve been looking for.”

  Parker grasped my elbow and led me out of the room. “I’ll tell you what. You wait in the lounge while we interrogate him. Afterward, we can talk about it. Okay?”

  It was better than nothing. Parker settled me on a ratty brown couch with a cup of old coffee then disappeared down the hall.

  Chills raced across my cold skin. That man had tried to kill me. I shivered when I thought of how close he’d come to succeeding. What were the detectives getting out of him? Would they be able to make an arrest?

  I couldn’t sit still. I needed answers. I needed for life to return to normal. I needed my sun to come out tomorrow. I glanced down at my T-shirt. I needed my happy ever after.

  It seemed like hours had ticked away as I paced. Finally, Parker stuck his head into the room. I rushed toward him. “Well?”