Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play Read online

  FOUL PLAY

  (Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 8)

  by Christy Barritt

  Foul Play: A Novel

  Copyright 2014 by Christy Barritt

  Published by River Heights Press

  Cover design by The Killion Group

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Paulette Zollin.” I shook my head as I soaked in my former classmate. She hadn’t changed a bit, other than aging gracefully. “It’s been years. Years.”

  My old middle school friend smiled and reached out her lithe arms to give me a hug. “Gabby, you look great. Time has been good to you.”

  I bounced my head from side to side, pondering the truth—or absolute fallacy—in her words. The years had actually been both hard and rewarding. Lately, that seemed more apparent than ever. “I don’t know if I’d say that, but I try not to complain. What are you doing now?”

  Paulette’s father was filthy rich, and I imagined her spending her days drinking cocktails on the beach while being fanned by bronzed, shirtless men. If I closed my eyes and tried really hard, I might be able to imagine her working. But it was so much of a stretch that it required too much effort at the moment.

  Paulette hooked a silky blonde hair behind her ear and smiled demurely. She unlocked the door and we stepped inside the former Oceanside Middle School. “I’m actually working for my father. This place is my big project.”

  She spread her arms out to display the building before us.

  My gaze traveled beyond her as my mind voyaged back in time. Had it really been seventeen years since I was a middle schooler here at Oceanside? It just didn’t seem possible. The school had long since closed, replaced by a newer, more modern building about three miles away.

  “Look at this place,” I muttered.

  The school hadn’t looked great back when I was a student. It had been rather old and worn down and well used by the students who scurried from class to class. Now, after being abandoned for the past six years, the building seemed to have withered without students inside to keep it alive.

  Gone were the posters advertising extra curricular activities and after school clubs. The sports trophies had been cleared from the showcase display. There were no art projects. Instead, the hallway was bare, with no signs of life. All I saw was a light hanging haphazardly from the ceiling, a ladder propped against the wall, and a toolbox resting in the middle of the floor. In the distance, I spotted some graffiti spray-painted on the wall across from the offices.

  Paulette’s gaze followed mine. “My father decided to take on the renovations. I’m just overseeing the project.”

  Paulette was actually working and not just living off her family’s money? I would have never guessed it.

  My old friend had come a long way since middle school, when she seemed incompetent at doing anything except looking pretty. I’d always liked Paulette, and we’d helped each other out back in our tween days. I’d stuck up for her; she’d been a loyal friend. It had been an unlikely relationship that worked for both of us.

  “Tell me about this project.”

  “We’re turning this place into the Cultural Arts Center of Virginia Beach,” Paulette started. “The old classrooms will be used for community meetings, art classes, and galleries. The cafeteria will be redone and made into a restaurant. We’re going about all of this in phases. Two hallways here at the school are blocked off because we’re not even sure if we’ll use them again. At this point, there’s no need to heat and run electricity throughout the entire place.”

  We kept walking, past the principal’s office and the stinky bathrooms and my old English classroom. We paused at a set of double doors and Paulette opened one. I slipped inside and caught my breath.

  This room, I mused, was the crowning glory of the place.

  The auditorium, also known as the place where my career in theater had been made.

  Okay, my career really hadn’t been made here. I mean, I was a crime scene cleaner today. But I’d acted in every performance I could during my seventh and eighth grade years, and I’d felt like a star, even if I’d just been an extra.

  Being in theater had helped me have a place to belong, something I desperately needed at the time. The adolescent years were turbulent for most, but add to that the fact that my brother had vanished on my watch and my family had become the living, breathing definition of dysfunctional shortly after, and that time in my life had almost been torture.

  “This is what will kick off everything,” Paulette continued. “Our big opening for the entire center will be a musical done by local talent. It’s called The Music of the Specter. It was written just for us.”

  Just the thought of a musical taking place here made something wiggle through my blood.

  Excitement—that’s what it was. I couldn’t get my love for musical theater out of my system.

  “I’m sure you’re curious about why I asked you here.” Paulette rubbed her manicured hands together … nervously?

  “I have been curious.”

  Since she’d called yesterday, my mind had run through a million scenarios, including a possible middle school reunion or a flash mob organizational meeting she needed me to oversee. I’d even considered that maybe it was for no good reason at all except to relive the not-so-glorious days of old.

  I stared at Paulette a moment. She was beautiful—stunning, actually. She had pale, porcelain skin and glossy blonde hair cut in an expensive bob that reached her jawline. She was probably 5’ 8” and model thin. Her blue eyes were striking but troubled at the moment.

  Her father was one of the wealthiest men in the area. Growing up, kids had either made fun of her for being a bit of an airhead or they’d used her because of her family’s money. Even as a thirteen year old, I couldn’t stand for people mistreating others, so I’d taken her under my wing.

  Right now, as I waited for her to gather her thoughts, I shoved my hands down into my jean pockets, feeling rather frumpy next to my cultured friend. Most of my fingernails had been broken, and I never bothered to paint them. Working as a crime scene cleaner, I literally had to get my hands dirty. Plus, I’d just come from one job and could possibly have sawdust in my hair.

  “As I mentioned, we’re working on a production of The Music of the Specter. It’s really the highlight of this whole center. It’s what we’re going to be known for.” Paulette leaned against one of the seats, still frowning. “We started rehearsal two weeks ago and, since then, everything under the sun has gone wrong.”

  I tensed, remembering the stage production of Oklahoma that we’d done here in seventh grade. Someone had tried to sabotage the play back then. In fact, figuring out the person behind the acts of vandalism had been one of the first mysteries I’d solved. I’d been hooked ever since.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  Her frown deepened. “It’s been a lot like that play in middle school. We’ve had falling spotlights. A section of the stage collapsed. One of the curtains fell and nearly clobbered the man playing the Specter. I’m afraid that if we don’t figure out what’s going on soon, this whole production is going to be shut down before it’s really even started.”

  “So Specter has its very own specter?” The thought amused me in a strange way, but I had a twisted sense of humor. I had to or I wouldn’t survive in my grim professi
on.

  She nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? I mean, since Zollin Industries bought this place, we’ve been in the process of updating everything in the building to bring it up to standard. I know that these things have happened because someone made them happen. Someone wants to ruin this production.”

  We started walking together toward the stage. I suddenly remembered the smell of greasy fries in the cafeteria and dirty socks in the gym. I remembered the taunts of my nemesis, Donabell Bullock. I remembered the sweet conversations I’d had with my best friend Becca while sitting in these very seats. Mostly, we’d talked about boys.

  Now here I was again, this time with Paulette. I hadn’t seen this coming.

  “I’m sorry to hear about what’s been happening,” I started. “But that still doesn’t explain why I’m here. To reminisce about old times?”

  Paulette cast a rueful smile my way. “No, I wish. It’s actually because I’d like for you to consider investigating for me.”

  “Really?” My pulse spiked.

  She nodded. “Really. I realize we haven’t spoken in years, but I’ve kept tabs on you. You’re like an urban legend among the old middle school gang—and my father. Every time your name shows up in the newspaper, he chuckles and says, ‘Hey Paulette, take a look at this. It’s our old friend Gabby.’ I think you’d be a great one to look into these disturbances.”

  “I’m honored.” For someone as successful as Mr. Zollin to even remember me gave me a thrill.

  Paulette’s eyes locked on mine. “I’d like for you to go undercover, Gabby. I’d give you a minor role in the play and, in the meantime, you would snoop around and try to figure out what’s going on. My father’s already approved the expense, and I think you’ll agree the compensation he’s offering is generous.”

  I paused by the stage. “Tell me about the play. Who’s in it. How’d you find the actors. When’s opening night, etc.”

  Something flashed in her gaze. “You’ll never believe this. Guess who’s directing?”

  I shrugged, not even having a good guess. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Baker.”

  My eyes widened. “Our old drama teacher? No way.”

  Paulette smiled. “It’s true. She stopped teaching when her baby was born, but now her daughter is in middle school and she has more time on her hands. As soon as Mrs. Baker heard about what we were doing, she volunteered to help.”

  “I’d love to see her again.” Mrs. Baker had been a huge influence in my life during a time when I’d been unsure about so many things.

  Paulette crossed her arms, turning to look back at the stage. “So, we had auditions about a month ago. Everything seemed flawless for the week after the cast was announced. We have a great cast, a wonderful set designer, and an experienced stage manager. All the pieces were in place to make this a successful play.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “It was at the first practice that things started going wrong. That’s when the curtain fell and nearly clobbered Jerome, who plays the Specter. The incidents have continued since then.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid this whole play will be ruined, Gabby. I can’t afford it—not personally and not professionally.”

  I wondered exactly what she meant, but I didn’t ask.

  “Did you have anyone check out the incidents? The curtain, for example. Did anyone inspect it to see if it was properly installed? Can you be sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Our maintenance man checked it out. He said he didn’t see any signs of foul play. It looked like the track holding the curtain in place separated from the plaster.”

  “Did you check out the company that installed everything? Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing.”

  “They’re professionals. They design auditoriums and stages for theaters across the country. I verified they were reputable by calling their references. I didn’t find anything suspicious.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Next a spotlight fell. Thankfully, no one was on stage at the time. After that, one of the actresses got locked in her dressing room. The door was totally jammed, and I didn’t think we were ever going to get her out. She was absolutely hysterical. Another night, all the lights went out in the auditorium. It was pitch black in here.” She shook her head. “It’s all been very strange.”

  “Strange is a good word for it.”

  “Now do you see what I’m saying? All these things can’t be a coincidence. There’s something going on.” She turned to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “So, what do you say? Will you take the case?”

  Will you take the case? I liked the sound of that. Despite the rush of pride, I had to think about the offer for a moment.

  I still had a big workload with the business I co-owned. We’d called it Trauma Care for years but had recently renamed it Squeaky Clean when we’d expanded to do more than crime scene cleaning.

  I had to make sure I didn’t leave my business partner Chad holding the bag—or the mop, for that matter. I had to shoulder my part of the responsibility.

  “Practices are just in the evenings, right?” I mentally ran through my schedule.

  “That’s correct.”

  “So I can still work at my day job.” Day job was a bit of an understatement. The job consumed most of my time, especially when you considered I was on call 24-7. It had gotten a little easier in recent months since we’d hired a couple of part-timers to help carry the workload.

  “Of course.”

  I smiled wider than I had in a long time. The past couple of months had been relatively uneventful. I told myself that was a good thing, that I needed things to slow down. But I was itching to dive into an investigation again. “I’ll do it then.”

  She grinned widely. “Great! You have no idea how much I was hoping you’d say that.” She took my arm and pulled me toward the steps. “Come on, let me show you the stage and give you an overview of the play.”

  As I followed her, a strange lump formed in my throat. I reached the center of the stage and, at once, I felt like a thirteen year old again. I clearly remembered making my debut. I remembered seeing my mom and dad in the audience. I heard the applause, felt the rush of excitement that came after a performance.

  Beyond the stage experience, I was taken back in time to middle school. I remembered trying to straighten my curly red hair so I’d fit in with everyone else. I remembered the taunts from the resident school diva. I remembered my first crush. My first boyfriend. My first mystery.

  All those things, in some way, shaped me into the person I was today.

  Paulette cleared her throat. “So, the musical we’re doing is an original written by a woman named Arie Berry.”

  “Should I know who she is?” I asked, feeling a touch uncultured for a moment. The woman’s name didn’t ring any bells, however. With a rhyming, sing-songy name like that, certainly I’d remember it.

  Paulette shook her head. “Arie actually found me online and pitched the idea to me. I read the script and heard the music, and I was on board. It’s a fascinating storyline. I just knew that this was the play we had to do to launch our theater and introduce it to the world.”

  I couldn’t wait to see the production. I adored the theater, and it had been a long time since I’d immersed myself in that world. I routinely listened to show tunes and my friend Garrett had taken me to see Wicked when it came into town at Christmastime.

  Paulette walked behind the curtain—not the old dusty one we use to have. No, this one was black and shiny and didn’t make me sneeze when I got too close.

  Apparently, the broken one had been repaired.

  “Doesn’t all of this bring back memories?” Paulette tugged at the curtain.

  I tensed for a moment, waiting for the drape to fall again. Thankfully, it didn’t. “Does it ever.”

  “The woman I found for the lead part is really phenomenal.” She turned to me, and I saw the worry in her eyes. “Gabby, a lot is depending on this. It’s my chanc
e to prove to my father that I’m able to do more than ride his coat tails. I want to show everyone that I can stand on my own two feet, that I can be a success at something.”

  Something about her words clutched my heart. I’d always wanted to see Paulette succeed. It was obvious this was really important to her, as well. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “You were always such a good friend, Gabby.”

  We turned the corner toward the dressing rooms and stopped in our tracks.

  I looked down and gasped. I spotted some shoes. Attached to legs. Did they lead to … a body? A curtain blocked my view.

  I shoved the drape aside and felt the blood drain from my face.

  I knew a dead body when I spotted one. And, unless this was some elaborate prop, there was one behind the stage.

  CHAPTER 2

  The lifeless face of a young brunette stared zombie-like at the ceiling. Dried blood formed a crusty river from her nose. Her chest was morbidly still, absent the rise and fall of breath.

  “Scarlet,” Paulette whispered, her hand flying over her mouth. A half gasp/half cry escaped from her.

  “Who’s Scarlet?”

  “She’s Scarlet.” She pointed at the dead body.

  I gathered that. I kept those words silent.

  “But who is she?” I asked instead. “Stage manager? Actress? Custodian?”

  “The lead.” Paulette shook her head, her skin even paler than usual. “The one reason I knew this play was going to be a success. Oh my goodness. What happened to her?”

  Despair invaded my friend’s voice and she looked like she might pass out. Her gaze fixated on the corpse in front of us, and her hand traveled to her stomach.

  I squeezed her arm, trying to take her focus off Scarlet. “Paulette, I need you to go call the police. I’m going to stay here with Scarlet until the officers get here. Okay?”

  She nodded stiffly, pulled her gaze from the body, and hurried off the stage.

  As soon as she disappeared, I squatted down beside Scarlet. I didn’t have to feel her neck for a pulse to know she was dead.