Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak (13 page)

The truth was something I didn’t want to admit.
I huffed and turned away. “I don’t have to discuss this with you.”

“No, you don’t. But if you want to, I’m a pretty good listener.”

I pulled back my emotion. Of all the people I’d talk to about Riley, Garrett Mercer was the last on the list. Well, at least he was down there with my ex-boyfriend Chip Parker and my dad. That was pretty low.

“We should just stick to the task at hand
,” I insisted. “Finding a killer.”

“Very well then.”

“Any friends who were suspects?”

“Not that I know of.”

“This case really is perplexing. There are just no good leads.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

I didn’t know what else could help me up here. “Can we go back downstairs again? Would that be okay?”

He
nodded.

A moment later,
I paced the kitchen. I pictured everything that happened. The images caused me to blanch. The crime was clear; the motives, however, were not. Garrett stood against the wall, watching.

I stopped pacing,
hoping the pieces would magically fall into place. They didn’t. A new question did pop into my mind.

“Is it a coincidence that you hired me right before the ten year anniversary of their deaths?”

He shook his head. “The gods smiled down on me. I’d been thinking about it, and then I met you. It was providence.”

“The gods, huh?”

“Why do I think you’re judging me again?”

M
y neck twitched. “I’m not judging.”

“It wa
s just an expression. Why does it matter to you?”

Why did it matter? It was a good question. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and let out a long breath.
“I think I’ve met people who go to church, but it makes no difference in their lives. They live unchanged lives; there’s no transformation. Then there are other people who go to church and they live sold out lives for Christ.”

“So the only people who are really Christian
s are the ones who carry their Bibles everywhere and preach on the street corners?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just don’t want to
be complacent.”

“And by me saying there could be more than one god …”

“It insults everything I stand for, which probably doesn’t sound very hip.” I shook my head. “I think this boils down more to me than it does you. I apologize if I seem harsh. The truth is that, when my faith was tested recently, I feel like I failed. I chose to have faith in everything except God. I realized that to truly be a Christian means to be transformed. To truly live it out.” The fact just then became clear to me.

“
Look, Gabby, I may not be a theologian, but I’ve heard that the Christian God is supposed to be a God of grace. Maybe you should have more grace for yourself.”

I swallowed hard. “Maybe I should.”

I hated to admit it, but maybe Garrett Mercer was pretty wise.

Just then, something crashed upstairs.

This nice little talk about believing was going to have to wait.

CHAPTER 15

I reached into my purse
and pulled out my gun.

“A gun?” Garrett
’s eyes widened.

Impressed or scared? Scared, I decided.

Why were so many people uncomfortable with guns? More likely, they were uncomfortable with
me
having a gun. Knowing Garrett, he was probably anti-gun. Of course, I had to stop being so judgmental.

“Stay here,” I ordered, sounding braver than I felt.

“You were hired to be a P.I., not my bodyguard.”

“I’ve got this.” My
insides felt like gelatin, though. I kept thinking of Milton Jones. If I was ever going to conquer my fears, I had to face them.

That meant I had to
confront the boogieman.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m coming with you.” Garrett
quickened his pace until he was beside me.

I hesitated at the stairs. What would I
find up there? Did I really want to know? Would a smart girl turn and run the opposite way right now?

Probably.
But playing it safe rarely got me anywhere.

I held the gun in fro
nt of me, trying not to tremble, trying not to show my weakness.

Garrett started to talk again, but I shushed him. We needed to listen, especially if there was someone
in the house.

We reached the top of the stairs. I didn’t know where the sound came from. But
I had a feeling it was Cassidy’s room. I went there first.

I stared at the door with trepidation.

Lord, I don’t want to be stupid. Guide me. Stuff like this has gotten me in trouble before.

The door was
half open. I saw no signs of movement inside.

Slowly, I nudged the door
the rest of the way open.

After lifting up another prayer, I peered around the door.

I held my breath, expecting the worst.

Instead, e
verything appeared just like we’d left it.

Except that the
French door leading to the balcony was wide open, a November wind whipping inside. We definitely hadn’t left it like that. Was that the sound we’d heard? The wind smashing the door into the wall?

I
turned quickly and searched behind the door. There was no one.

I inspected the perimeter of the
room, leaving no space unchecked.

It was clear.

A movement outside caught my eye. I hurried to the balcony just in time to see a man wearing all black running through the yard toward the woods.

“What is it?” Garrett asked.

I nodded outside. “Your intruder.”

I raised my gun. Should I shoot?
Not to kill, but to slow him down, to find out his identity? The moral dilemma caused me to pause.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not when I wasn’t in immediate danger.
Besides, I was a lousy shot.

Garrett rushed beside me, his gaze following the man outside.

“Someone
was
up here,” he muttered.

Just
then the intruder turned. Raised his gun.

Without thinking, I pushed Garrett down, just as a bullet hit the wall behind us.

***

Time
froze as I waited for whatever would happen next.

I prepared myself for more bullets, for more of an attack.

Instead, there was silence.

That’s when I
realized that I was lying on Garrett’s chest. I scrambled off of him and pulled myself to my feet, shaking off any dust, as well as feelings of discomfort.

I tried to snap back into professional mode as I reached for Garrett’s hand.
“Are you okay?”

“Thanks to you I am.”

I peered over the balcony. The gunman was gone. There was no hope of catching him now.

Garrett stood and brushed the dirt from his
elbows and pants. He stared at me, a look in his gaze that I hadn’t seen before. “You just saved my life.”

“That could be an exaggeration.”

He touched the bullet hole behind him. It was at chest level and had hit right where Garrett had been standing. “Seriously, that could have killed me. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

A raise would be nice. I kept that t
hought silent, though. I wasn’t that desperate for money. Not yet, at least.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He stepped closer.

I ran through a mental checklist of symptoms. “I think I’m okay.”

He touched my forehead. “You’ve got a little cut. We should get you cleaned up.”

I willed him to stop touching me.

I craved love and affection so much. I had for my entire life. But I should be able to fill myself up with God’s love for me.  I didn’t want to fall back into old habits.

I loved Riley. I hoped he still loved me too, despite what my emotions were telling me right now.

I quickly took a st
ep away and started toward the stairs. “This place still have water?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, it does.”

“Great.” I hurried down to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel, wet it in the sink, and dabbed my forehead.

Garrett
—who’d been at my heels—took the towel from me and held it at my hairline. “There. All better,” he insisted.

I scooted back
, not liking how close we were. “We should call the police. They need to know what happened.”

Finally, he nodded. “Okay
then. I can’t very well say no to the woman who saved my life.”

***

Three hours later, Garrett pulled his gas efficient hybrid to a stop in front of my car. “Here you go.”

I opened my door.
“Thanks, Garrett.”

“No, thank you.
I really mean that, Gabby. You continue to impress me.”

I felt my cheeks heating, which was a sign that I should immediately change the subject.
I stepped onto the sidewalk. “I’ve got to run.”

Garret
t rolled down his window. “You know, you looked pretty sexy with that gun.”

I ignored him and unlocked my door.

“Gabby?”

I paused, bracing myself for what he might say next. “Yes?”

“I have an event coming up where I’m the keynote speaker. One of my friends will be there. She owns a company that makes the products crime scene investigators use. Everything from evidence bags to more advanced stuff like blood testing kits and UV lighting. It might be a long shot, but perhaps you’d like to meet her? It would be a great connection for you.”

I
stared at Garrett, trying to measure his sincerity. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would. It would be nothing really.
Besides, it’s the least I can do after you saved my life. Sometimes finding the right job is all about networking.”

Garrett seemed like the networking type. I, on the other hand, wasn’t.
Not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, sometimes I thought I did the opposite by being too in people’s faces and isolating.

“I’d love to meet her
.” I could brush up on my social skills and maybe make a good impression. Maybe I could end this hideous bad luck streak I was going through.

Garrett’s grin widened. “Great. The event is tomorrow evening. Dress is semi-formal. That a problem?”

I’d guess that Holly would let me borrow something. “That will be fine.”

“
Great. I’ll pick you up at your place at six.”

***

No one was home when I walked in the Paladins’ house, which was fine with me. I could use a moment to sort out everything that had happened today. I hurried up to my room and called Jamie. I wondered if she’d discovered anything about Mr. Newport.

“Hey, gi
rl. Do I have some news for you.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Vic Newport’s ex-wife was Rebecca Newport,” Jamie started. “She wasn’t embroiled in a scandal with Edward Mercer. At least, if she was, that news didn’t make the front page of any publications. No, Rebecca caused trouble when it was discovered she abused prescription drugs manufactured by Wimbledon Pharmaceuticals. The police never figured out how she got her hands on those drugs, though.”

“That’s interesting.”

“The woman was given two years probation, plus community service,” Jamie said. “That burns me up.”

“Why does it burn you up?”

“I think rich people can get off easy. They have connections and political reach.”

I wondered if Mr. Newport did have influence in the justice system or if this was simply
a matter of a first-time offender not being given jail time because of overcrowded prison conditions.

“Anyway, I know that’s not what you wanted to talk about,” Jamie continued. “I checked the timeline. All of that scandal with Rebecca Newport
happened four months before the Mercer family was murdered.”

“I wonder if she’s somehow connected,” I muttered.
It was a possibility, I supposed.

“Well, I found her phone number
and called her.”

“What did she say?”

“It went straight to voicemail. I left her a message, though, and asked her to call me back.”

“Good work.” I was seriously impressed.

“Remember, I’ve got some mad hacking skills, too. I meant it when I said to let me know if you ever want me to utilize them.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

We hung up, my mind still spinning with all the new information.

In the meantime, I found the phone number for Bradley Perkins, as well as some other pertinent information on the man.

He was still a P.I.—a professional one, at that.
He was based out of Pittsburgh, had expensive rates, and had endorsements from a couple of police officers.

On a whim, I called him.

He answered on the first ring. “Brad here.”

His voice sounded clipped
, and nasal. I instantly pictured the man as short, small, and fast paced.

H
e probably had a dimly lit office in a shady part of town and liked to smoke cigarettes. That’s what stereotypes would tell me, at least.

“Hi, Brad. My name is Gabby St. Claire. I was hoping to ask you a question about your invest
igation into the murder of the Mercer family.”

He grunted. “I’ve got pressing matters at han
d—matters that actually involve getting paid. You ever heard the saying that time is money? That’s my life.”

“I promise to be short. Please. I’ve been hired to investigate. As a P.I.”
The words still didn’t sound quite right.

“Really? You know every reporter around has been calling me lately, wanting some kind of scoop with the anniversary to their deaths approaching.”

“I’m not a reporter. I’m just like you.” Only totally green and not official. “Just trying to find answers.”

“Good luc
k with it.” His voice had a touch of northeastern briskness, and I wondered if he was from New York or New Jersey originally.

“Why would you say that?”

“I certainly didn’t get very far on the case.”

“Why was that? The case was too complex?”

He snorted. “B
ecause I valued my life.”

A chill brushed
my skin. “What do you mean by that?”

“Look, it’s been a while. Three years maybe? But Garrett Mercer hired me. I worked the case for about two weeks before quitting.”

“Why did you quit?”

“The threats started. I was married at the time. I didn’t
want anything happening to my wife. Couldn’t care less now that she left me for someone else. Looking back, maybe I should have kept going. But, at the time, I was head over heels. I backed off the case. My life was worth more than finding a killer.”

Surprise
washed through me. This was not where I’d expected this conversation to go. “Wow. Did Garrett know about this?”

“Yeah, I told him.”

Interesting that Garrett hadn’t mentioned those details to me, especially after everything that happened. “What did he say?”

“I don’t think he believed me. I think he thought I just wanted off the case, assumed I had a better opportunity.”

I’d have to mull over that theory longer. “How’d the two of you connect?”

“Look, lady, I don’t have time for all of these questions.
I’m in the middle of a stakeout. I’ve got to wrap this up because I actually have a paid gig. Earning a living is a beautiful thing. I highly recommend it. I also highly recommend that you be careful.”