Bubblegum Blonde (19 page)

I tried to stretch and was greeted with a sudden throbbing in my temples. It appeared moving at all was going to be a little harder as my aching body did its best to remind me of the previous night's activities.

I was about to pry myself out of bed and get the day started when my cat jumped up beside me. He nuzzled my cheek and began purring. I wrapped my arms around his slightly obese body. Hey, he likes people food too, and who am I to deny him? I pulled him close to my chest, and he snuggled against me like he had for the last twelve years that he'd been in my life.

"What a long night, Mickey," I said as he kneaded my forearm with his front paws.

I told my BFF (best furry friend) about my night, the case, and Tyler. Talking to Mickey always seemed to help me put things into perspective, probably because he didn't offer his opinion on what I should or shouldn't do. He just listened like a good friend should. Sometimes he gave me a look, but that was as far as his opinion went.

"So, do I back off and let Detective Smarty-pants have the case, or do I keep going?"

Mickey opened one eye and gave me a
what-the-heck-do-you-think?
look.

"That's what I thought." I smiled and patted his big belly.

Mickey decided he was finished with snuggle time, stood up, and made his way to the end of the bed. He trotted around in a circle a few times, then made himself at home among the rumpled-up bedding.

I got out of bed as quickly as my sore muscles would allow and made my way to the bathroom.

I turned on the shower and while the water heated up, brushed my teeth. I couldn't stop wondering who would try to kill me. It had made for a long, mostly sleepless night. All of the clues, as limited as they were, pointed to Lydia's murderer being my would-be killer. It couldn't be simple coincidence that I had questioned Robert Hatchett, the motel night manager, Melvin, and one of Lydia's studs and then was run off the road and nearly killed.

I was missing a lot of pieces to this puzzle. Pieces I needed to solve the case, put Mr. Hatchett at ease, free Jason, and rid myself of one would-be Barb killer.

I tossed my toothbrush into the cup I always kept it in and then stepped into the shower.

I stood there and let the hot water run over my body, massaging my muscles and working out the kinks in my neck for I don't even know how long. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. My body hurt, and my mind was still running on overdrive. Not only was I dealing with someone trying to kill me, but I had to deal with whatever was happening between Tyler and me.

There was something about that man that put me at ease and at the same time sent my nerves scattering. He was gorgeous, successful, and it was obvious that he was into me, according to Kelly anyway. Was I attracted to Tyler? Would I welcome his attentions? Yes. What sane woman wouldn't? But what did it matter? He and I would never see eye to eye about my career, not to mention it's not like he'd made any kind of move on me. Sure, he'd called me beautiful on a couple of occasions, but those were words any man could use to try to get his way. He wanted to keep me safe, but again, he was a cop. It was his job to keep everyone safe.

I washed my hair and body then stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I didn't have any more answers concerning Tyler and me than I did the murder case. I flipped on the blow dryer and set my hair to rights.

Mind made up, I put the idea of Tyler and me on the back burner. Whatever happened or didn't happen, I'd deal with it as it came along. For now, I had bigger fish to fry. Like how to get my purse back from the gigolo's cabin.

I still couldn't believe that I'd left my purse behind. I knew better. I was a professional for crying out loud, but here I was, acting like I hadn't been working this job for more than a few days. I wanted to kick myself. Knowing Kelly, once she heard what I'd done, she'd do the job for me.

I took a good look at myself in the mirror and cringed. The bruise that covered one side of my forehead was a dark, ugly purple/black mess. No amount of concealer and foundation would ever cover it, and I really didn't feel like putting on a full face of makeup anyway. My shoulder and chest were also a lovely shade of purple from the seat belt. But in the end, things could have been so much worse. I could totally live with a few bumps and bruises as long as I was alive.

Instead, I swiped on a coat of Flirtini lip gloss and mascara, which was generally the extent of my morning makeup routine.

Mickey had abandoned the bed and made himself at home on the floor just outside the bathroom door. I stepped over him and made my way to the closet.

I donned a pair of faded old jean shorts, a pink off the shoulder T-shirt, and slid my feet into a pair of black Converse.

I liked simple. Simple was good.

I walked to the kitchen, gave Mickey fresh food and water, and was halfway out the door before I realized that I didn't have a means of transportation.

I made a quick call to the insurance company, and they assured me that they had received my claim and that my car would be replaced, and in the meantime they would send a loaner car that would arrive within the hour. I was sure I had Tyler to thank for pushing the reports to the insurance company immediately after the accident to speed the process along. I'd find a way to thank him later. At the moment, I had more on my mind.

I settled myself at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper and called the office in hopes that Mandy would be in. Knowing her, she was already at the office.

"Jackson Investigations, this is Mandy. How may I help you?"

"It's Barb. How's everything going this morning?"

 "Aren't you supposed to be resting?" she scolded me.

"I am. I'm reading the paper and drinking coffee as we speak," I said, purposely leaving out the part where I was going to be coming into the office as soon as my car arrived. I knew she meant well, but I really didn't feel like being nagged after the night I'd just had.

"Everything here is taken care of. There's nothing for you to worry about. How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I feel fine. Just a little sore," I lied. I didn't see any sense in telling Mandy that I felt as though I'd been dragged behind a truck instead of just run down with one.

"You should take it easy for a couple of days. Kelly and I can hold down the fort." I could hear the smile in her voice. She was always smiling.

"Thanks, but I need to talk to the two of you, and it's pretty important."

"Really? What?"

"I don't want to get into it too much over the phone, but I found something last night that could bust this case wide open. I'll be in as soon as my car arrives."

"Now, didn't you just say that you were going to take it easy today?" Mandy scolded me.

"No. I said I was taking it easy right at this moment. I never said it was going to last all day." I grinned and disconnected the call before she could further state her objections.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and unfolded the newspaper. I'd covered all of my bases as far as questioning suspects. Robert Hatchett, as far as I was concerned, was still as innocent as the day was long.

I hadn't been run off the road until I'd visited Trinity Grove, and that was what had my mind in a whirl. I'd spoken to Melba, the night manager of the motel, Melvin Harris, the man who had sold Lydia the cabin, and much to my surprise, a gigolo, or stud as I'd dubbed him, who worked for Lydia.

I now had a
real
list of suspects.

My stomach churned at the thought of how close I'd actually come to being killed. If whoever the culprit was who forced me off the road had taken the time to get out of the truck and see if I was actually dead, I most likely would be. I shoved the unwelcome thought to the back of my mind.

I hopped up and set my Keurig. A few minutes later I grabbed my cup of coffee and retook my seat at the kitchen table. I skimmed the newspaper to see if I'd missed anything pertaining to the case in the media but found nothing.

Lydia's case was now two weeks old, and the "new" had apparently worn off, as there wasn't a single mention of her murder.

Two cups of coffee later I was getting antsy and made my way to the living room.

I peeked out the living room window and watched as two cars pulled up alongside the curb in front of my house.

I sent a silent prayer to The Man Upstairs that the first car that had pulled up wasn't my rental car.

I opened the door and stepped out on the front porch. A tall man with the most beautiful caramel-colored skin I'd ever seen in my entire life and pale green eyes approached me.

"Good morning, ma'am. Are you Barbara Jackson?" he asked.

"Um…" I peered at the hideous monstrosity he'd hopped out of and then back at him, unsure I should tell the truth. "Yes," I said, but it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

He smiled a brilliant white smile and handed me a digital box and plastic pen.

"Just sign here, and she's all yours."

I seriously hoped he was talking about the black Cadillac that had pulled up behind the car he'd just vacated, but I had a sinking feeling that he wasn't. My luck hadn't been the best as of late.

I signed my name and handed the box back to him. He tossed me the keys.

"Have a great day." He turned and hurried down to the car. To the black Cadillac.

I watched as it sped away then glared at the vehicle he'd left behind.

It was green, and I'm not talking about a glittery emerald green. No, it was a pea green, as big as a boat Lincoln sedan like my grandmother used to drive.

Would it have killed the insurance agency to send a car that was a little newer? Perhaps one from this century? I wasn't asking for anything fancy like an Audi or a Corvette. I drove a bright red Volkswagen Beetle for crying out loud but this? This was ridiculous.

I closed the door to my house and locked it behind me.

I didn't have time to complain about the atrocity of the car I was stuck driving for the next two weeks. I had an investigation to wrap up. Not that I'd be very inconspicuous in the pea-soup wagon. I'd stick out like a sore thumb everywhere I went in that thing, but at the moment I didn't have a choice.

I opened the door and slid into the driver seat. The interior wasn't much more attractive than the exterior. The seats were a pale ivory vinyl, and the dashboard was a horrible faux wood-grain panel. I started the car, cringed at a squealing belt beneath the hood, and pulled away from the curb. I flicked on the air conditioner, but all I got in return was a loud squeal and rattle, and then a burst of dust exploded from the vents. I coughed and sputtered as I tried to navigate the car down the street and wave the dust out of my face at the same time.

Great. I was cruising around in a pea-green sedan with vinyl seats. It was inching upward of ninety degrees, and the air conditioner didn't work. I could feel the heat of the hot vinyl seat through my jeans.

After this case was over, I was seriously considering taking Kelly's advice and going on a long-overdue vacation.

In the last forty-eight hours I'd questioned a widower, a lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, a shifty motel manager, a construction worker, and a gigolo. I'd been run off the road and left for dead, not to mention I was dealing with a hunky detective who sort of acted like he might possibly have a little attraction to me.

I took a deep breath and pressed my foot down on the accelerator, then rolled down all of the windows in an attempt to let the dust dissipate. I steered the car toward the office. What I wouldn't give to have my little car back, I thought as the wind blew a stray hair that had come loose from my ponytail into my mouth, and I struggled to spit it out.

This day couldn't possibly get any worse…could it?

"She was a freaking pimp? Like a real-life, selling-some-man-booty pimp?"

"I think the correct term is madam," Mandy corrected.

"No, that can't be right. I thought a madam only applied if you were pimping women?"

"I don't think so. I think it works both ways." Mandy scrunched her nose. "I'm not sure. Isn't a pimp a man?"

I shook my head and immediately regretted the action as my brain pounded against my skull in protest. I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out an individual packet of Ibuprofen. While Kelly and Mandy debated what Lydia's proper title should be, I popped the pills into my mouth and chased them down with another much-needed coffee.

"As amusing as all of that is, it's beside the point." I held up a hand. "How in the hell could I have left my purse at that house? What am I? Some kind of amateur? What if one of those guys was the one who tried to kill me? What if one of them killed Lydia? Now they know where this office is and where I live. The killer could come after all of us."

I hung my head in my hands. What in the hell had I been thinking? The truth was, I hadn't been. I'd been so shocked by my little stud-farm discovery that I'd done the one thing I knew better than to ever do. I lost my cool.

"You don't need to worry about any of that. We won't hurt you…or I won't anyway. You didn't have to lie about who you really are though."

We all three looked up and spotted Silas standing just inside my office doorway looking every inch a sex god.

"I can explain." I stood and made my way around the desk.

"No need," he said. Then he approached me. He practically pressed his chest against mine as he leaned forward and set my purse gently atop the desk. His scent was a heady blend of spice and vanilla, and for a moment I wanted to lean in and inhale deeply. He must've known what I was thinking because he smiled down at me mischievously and then stepped back slowly.

"Now that I know who and what you are and why you left the house so quickly, I think I know exactly what you were doing at the house in the first place. I want to help."

He wanted to help? At this point I'd take any help I could get, even if that help came in the form of a six-foot-tall gigolo. I wasn't into objectifying men, but even if he couldn't give us any information that would help the case, he would at least serve as an excellent piece of eye candy.