by Sam Cheever
I shook my head and sat down in the hard chair across from Ruthie. “I just wanted to let you know that I managed to finish out all of my tasks for the assignment, despite some real challenges.”
She shoved the glasses up her nose and sniffed. “That’s good because I just sent Alex Mitner a bill for the full spectrum of services.”
I nodded. “He’ll pay it. I don’t expect any issue there.”
She cocked her head and I wondered if it hurt to have her cheeks yanked backward into her hairline by the sturdy twist of hair on the top of her head.
Then I figured all the nerves in her face had probably succumbed to stress injuries years ago.
“But there was an issue, wasn’t there?”
I nodded. “Several, actually. I told you about being accused of killing Josh myself and subsequently spraying my accuser with mace...”
Ruthie nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
She nodded but surprisingly didn’t look all that concerned. After an unknown number of years in the funeral faker business, she’d probably heard it all. Her next words confirmed it. “It’s happened before.”
“Good.”
“You convinced him otherwise though, right?”
“Um…”
Ruthie pursed her lips. She would have been the one to do the research and put together the information in the dossier she gave me. “Everything I learned about Josh Mitner said he was a player. It wouldn’t have been unusual for him to date a woman and not tell anybody.”
I shrugged. “I must have a shifty look about me.”
I didn’t get the smile from Ruthie I’d hoped for. That wasn’t unusual though. Ruthie rarely smiled about anything except the receipt of money. The bigger the payout, the wider her smile.
“But at least he knows better now, right? You set him straight?”
I hesitated a bit too long.
“MayBell?” The warning in her tone was clear.
I flinched. “I did. Multiple times. But he didn’t buy it. He’s a naturally suspicious person.”
She sighed. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“No. He understands I was just doing a job. He won’t say anything to anybody.”
She lifted a graying blonde eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”
Again, I hesitated a beat too long.
She sighed. Long and hard. “What am I going to do with you, May?”
I tried a smile. It was a weak attempt. “Trust me?”
“You can’t be having relationships with mourners, May. You know this. It’s rule number one.”
“Number three, actually.” Ruthie had a lot of rules and she sometimes got them mixed up.
When she glared across the desk at me, I flinched. “Sorry. It’s not like that. We’re not involved. He just asked me to help him prove Josh was murdered.”
Ruthie’s face turned chalky. She wobbled a bit as if she was going to pass out. I wasn’t fooled. Her fakers weren’t the only ones who tended to embrace drama. “You’re working with him? As a PI?”
I decided a partial truth was better than an outright lie or, gasp, the ugly reality. “I told him I wouldn’t help.”
She sat back hard in her chair. “I’m lost in the maze that is your mind.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I was helping him because I found myself in the crosshairs of a killer. “I’m not working as a PI. I’m just a sounding board for him. He knows I have a police background.”
She lifted both brows on that one. “Background? Either you neglected to mention that on your resume or I’m losing my mind. I don’t remember the bullet point in the Experience section where it stated you’d been a cop.”
“Obviously, I haven’t. But I’m surrounded by them. I’ve kind of picked up some stuff over the years. You know,” I finished weakly. Things were not going well. At that point, I figured the best thing I could do was get out while the getting was good. I stood up so fast my chair wobbled. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know the assignment was complete and Alex Mitner seems pleased with the results.” Of course, I didn’t tell her that Mrs. Mitner was far less than pleased. No sense digging the hole any deeper.
Said the girl using a rhetorical backhoe to rip a car-sized hole for herself to fall into.
“May…?”
I waved jauntily. “I need to go prep for my next assignment. Talk to you later.”
“You’d better not be investigating a murder!” Ruthie yelled after me as I hightailed it out of the office.
I hit the sidewalk and stopped, one hand on my twirling stomach and the other on the warm gray brick beside the door. The way my heart was pounding, I was pretty sure investigating a murder wasn’t going to be a problem.
I was going to drop dead of a heart attack well before I investigated anything.
My phone rang as I was sliding back into Betty. I looked at the ID and saw it was the Lieutenant. I quickly hit Ignore. The last thing I needed was to have a repeat of the conversation I’d barely survived with Ruthie. And if Robard had spoken to him as he’d threatened, my standing was going to be even weaker with my dad. He’d adult-ground me into the next decade if he found out what I was doing with Deitz.
As if thinking his name had conjured him up, my cell rang again and Deitz’s name popped up. I answered quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Are you okay?”
“Fine. Why?”
“I’ve been a little uneasy about Robard showing up. I contacted my sources in APD and the news isn’t good.”
I laid my head on the steering wheel. “Really? What’s wrong?”
“He’s known as a bit of a rebel. Likes to color outside the lines. And once he gets his teeth into something he never lets go until he’s figured it out.”
“Awesome.”
“Yeah. I was thinking we maybe should try another tack.”
“I’m listening.”
“I might have a job for you. But I’m warning you. You’re probably not going to like it.”
“You want me to what?” I shrieked in a decidedly unladylike manner.
“You’re an actress. You can pull this off,” Eddie told me.
“It’s one thing to act a part, and quite another to pluck one off the carpet and put it into a bucket.”
“You won’t be plucking any parts off the carpet, May. By the time you arrive on the scene the police will have already removed all the…erm…parts.”
“Tell that to Allie Landon and her brother.”
“Come on, work with me here.”
I sighed. “Okay, but this is a one-time deal. One crime scene. If it’s necessary. And hopefully it won’t be a grisly one.”
He arched a brow, his lips compressed. “What do you consider grisly?”
“Guts, excessive blood, any type of bodily fluids, and definitely no severed fingers or random brain parts.”
“Okay,” his very pleasant looking mouth finally gave up the fight to stay neutral. “…you’re thinking something along the lines of death by tiny cut?”
I fought to hold my outrage, but it was getting harder by the minute. I was even amusing myself. “As long as the cut is really tiny.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Here.” He handed me a dossier that looked suspiciously like the ones I got from Ruthie. “I’ve created everything you need…resume, customer testimonials, website…”
“Wait, you created a website?” I was impressed despite myself.
“Just a landing page really. But it will do the trick. The phone number on the site is for this phone…” He handed me a burner phone. “I’ve already gotten you an interview. It’s in an hour…”
“An hour!” I squeaked. “I need time to get into character.”
“Go scrub a toilet or something. Really, all you need is to have experience cleaning. They won’t expect you to know the finer points of crime scene cleaning. They have special cleaners and methods they’ll
teach you.”
“Scrub a toilet?” I asked, appalled. “I’m not sure I’m up for this assignment.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never scrubbed a toilet.”
I winced. “My own, yes. But somebody else’s…” I chewed my lip. “I have a slight case of porcelain phobia.”
Eddie barked out a laugh. “Well then, unless your victim was killed while reading the newspaper on the toilet you should be fine.”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” I had a sudden thought. “What about Mr. Mitner? If he sees me, I’ll be toast.”
“He won’t see you. I happen to know he golfs every Monday morning.” Eddie eyed my worried face. “Don’t look so grim. You’ll probably never even work a scene. I just want you to see if you can find anything out from the inside.”
“What about you? What are you going to be doing?”
“I’ll keep watch to make sure Mitner doesn’t return too soon. If he does, I’ll head him off and keep him busy. If I send you a text that says ‘Flush’ you need to skedaddle out of there, preferably through a back exit.”
“Flush?” I asked, hands on hips.
He grinned. “Just trying to speak your language.”
Shaking my head, I shooed him out the door so I could read quickly through the dossier before getting dressed and heading out to the local office of Crime Clean.
Which presented me the next problem. How did one dress to scrape blood and guts off carpet?
15
An hour later I entered the offices of Crime Clean and stood there, looking around. The office wasn’t exactly what I’d expected, but it was close. A single palm tree arched from a large pot in the corner, the room’s only spot of color. The furnishings were of good quality but sparse. Along one wall was a gray wood desk with a receptionist behind it. The opposite wall held four black leather chairs for guests. The walls and carpet were white, and the only paintings were enlarged photos of the Crime Clean team and some of the Asheville Police Department personnel they worked with. It occurred to me that Detective Robard might be in one of the pictures.
“Can I help you?”
My gaze jerked to the young woman sitting behind the desk. She wore white overalls with a hot pink tee shirt. Her hair was styled in shoulder-length black braids with beads interwoven through the braiding. She had a small gold loop through one nostril and a tiny tattoo of a rose on her throat, just above the vee neckline of her tee.
She stared at me as I sized her up and I realized I was staring back. Unlike her surroundings, she was nothing like I’d expected. “Hi. Um, I’m here to talk to Brad.”
Two lines appeared between the receptionist’s midnight brows. She looked at her computer screen. “Did you have an appointment?”
“Yes. Mabel Froth,” I winced internally at the name. Who called themselves Froth if they had a choice? I sounded like a bad mug of beer or the bottom half of a ballet tutu.
Eddie told me he’d chosen the name to be as close to my real name as possible so I wouldn’t get confused.
“Oh, there it is. Brad’s running a little late this morning. You can wait over there. Would you like something to drink?”
I didn’t recoil, but I wanted to. The last thing on my mind in that place was eating or drinking anything.
There might be blood-spattered porcelain in my near future.
The thought made my stomach twist with dread.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
While I waited for the elusive Brad, I scanned the pictures on the wall. Though I had no idea what I was looking for, I told myself I’d know it when I saw it. Sure enough, when I got to the third picture, I spotted Robard standing next to Alex Mitner, both men grinning widely.
“Miss Froth?”
It took me a beat to realize someone was talking to me. Taking a quick, deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the persona I’d cultivated slide over me.
I turned with a smile.
The man who approached me wasn’t very big. He was probably only about five feet seven or eight inches tall and had dull brown hair, worn just past his ears and ruler straight. It skimmed his wide brow in an unbroken fringe and hung over ears that poked out from his head, making the fine strands of hair stick out too.
His angular face was covered in freckles and his mouth was small, the bottom lip plumper than the top. With his slightly bulgy brown eyes, he looked like a puffer fish with bad hair.
“I’m Brad.”
I nodded, taking his offered hand. “May…bel Fr…”
He watched me like someone might watch a spider as it spins its web. Fascinated as I seemingly struggled just to give my name.
“…erm…Froth. It’s nice to meet you.”
Brad’s lips turned up the minimum amount needed to count as a smile. “Come on back to my office and let’s talk.”
I followed Brad through a door and into a hallway with linoleum floors and plain white walls. Though spectacularly unadorned, the space was pristine and the air smelled fresh, with a citrusy scent.
Brad’s office was hardly bigger than a good-sized supply closet. Most of the space was taken up by a metal desk, whose surface held several tidy stacks of folders with names and case numbers scrawled across the fronts. The floor and just about every other available surface was covered in cleaning equipment and supplies. There was a single black leather chair like the ones in the waiting room in the corner. Brad quickly removed a bucket filled with cleaning supplies from the chair and swiped a hand over the seat, glancing apologetically in my direction. “Sorry for the mess. It’s been extremely busy this week. I haven’t had time to straighten up.”
“Lots of crime in Asheville?” I asked with a grin.
To my surprise, he nodded. “Mostly domestic stuff, but yeah.”
He indicated the chair. “Sit. Can I get you something? A bottle of water or some coffee?”
“No thanks.”
He dropped into his desk chair and opened the file in front of him. I was only slightly alarmed that it looked just like the victim files since I gathered it was my resume and stuff. “You’ve had your own cleaning business for five years?”
“Yes.”
“With three employees?”
“That’s right.”
He looked up from my stats. “Why have you decided to join Crime Clean?”
Warming up to my persona, I gave him a sad smile. “I feel like I need to do something important, you know? I have friends who are police officers and the work they do is so vital. I respect them for it. Unfortunately, to be honest, I’m kind of a scared little bunny when it comes to danger. But cleaning, that I can do. In fact, I’m pretty darn good at it, if I must say so myself.”
He held up a sheet of paper. It looked like an email he’d printed. “Fortunately, you don’t have to say so yourself. I have a list of happy customers here.”
“My references?” I asked innocently.
“Yes. We like to get a feel for the type of people we’re hiring. The culture can be…difficult. But we’re a family. We help each other succeed and look out for one another. Only a certain type of person will fit into this climate.”
I allowed myself to chew on my lip a little as if I was worried they wouldn’t select me. I leaned closer, placing a hand with loosely clenched fingers on top of the desk. “I’d heard that. It’s why I really want to work here. This sounds like exactly my kind of place.”
Brad nodded, narrowing his brown gaze slightly. He sat back in his chair and looked me in the eye. “You said you have friends on the force?”
“Yes…” The next part was a bit tricky. Deitz and I had discussed it at length and decided it was worth the risk. “Do you know Detective Robard?”
Brad’s gaze widened slightly. His hand fell on my folder, fingers flicking the corners of my resume.
I held my breath, uncertain how to read his actions. Finally, he inclined his head and smiled. “I do know him. He happens to be a good friend of our owner’s. The detec
tive is our go-to when we need something from the APD.”
He looked down at my resume and I held my breath. Our ploy would only work if they didn’t contact Robard directly to ask him about me. I had no doubt they’d do it eventually, but I hoped I’d be gone by then. It was risky, but Deitz had done some preliminary checking and we’d discovered that Robard was generally off on Mondays so we hoped he’d be unreachable until the following day.
Still, I thought a little distraction would be a good idea at that moment. I leaned close, lowering my voice as if providing a tidbit of something confidential. “I ran into the Detective the other evening. I was walking my dog and he stopped to say hi. He mentioned he’s working the Tomlinson case. Did Crime Clean work that scene?”
If I’d been worried about generating suspicion on Brad’s part by asking directly about a case, I needn’t have been. He plumped up like a banty rooster. Clearly, he liked talking about his work. “We did. Between you and me, that one was a mess. I’m not even surprised the police couldn’t find the weapon. By the time they got there, Mr. Tomlinson had trod all over the evidence, touched just about everything there, moved the body, and puked in the bushes to top it off.” He shook his head. “It was Detective Robard’s worst nightmare.”
“I can imagine. That poor young woman. I heard her brother’s raising quite a stink.”
Brad’s lips curled. “We don’t get involved in that end of things, of course, but in this case, I can’t help feeling a bit protective. The brother all but accused the Crime Clean techs of removing the murder weapon from the scene.”
I let my eyes go wide. “Seriously? That’s so wrong.”
Brad nodded enthusiastically. “I know, right? But there’s nothing they can prove. The APD signed off on the scene before we went in. Ultimate responsibility falls on them. But if they did miss something, which happens occasionally. I mean, we’re all human right?”
