Broom and Gloom: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 9 Read online

  BROOM AND GLOOM

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 9

  By Christy Barritt

  Broom and Gloom: 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.

  Other Books by Christy Barritt

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  #2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime

  #3 Organized Grime

  #4 Dirty Deeds

  #5 The Scum of All Fears

  #6 To Love, Honor, and Perish

  #7 Mucky Streak

  #8 Foul Play

  #9 Broom and Gloom

  #10 Dust and Obey (coming in 2015)

  The Sierra Files

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #2.5 Pranced (a Christmas novella)

  #3 Rattled (coming in 2015)

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a tween mystery series)

  #1 The Curtain Call Caper

  #2 The Disappearing Dog Dilemma

  #3 The Bungled Bike Burglaries

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries

  #1 Random Acts of Murder

  #2 Random Acts of Malice (coming in 2015)

  Carolina Moon series

  #1 Home Before Dark

  #2 Gone by Dark (coming in 2015)

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:

  #1 Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife

  Stand-alone Romantic-Suspense:

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet

  Key Witness

  Lifeline

  High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

  Desperate Measures

  Hidden Agenda (coming in March 2015)

  Standalone Romantic Mystery:

  The Good Girl

  Suspense:

  The Trouble with Perfect

  Dubiosity

  Nonfiction:

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music

  The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel

  CHAPTER 1

  I gripped the steering wheel of my economy-sized rental car and veered off the main highway, following the detour sign onto a small road through Oklahoma’s backcountry. “On the Road Again” blared on the radio, and the deceitful sun shone brightly in the distance, making the day look much warmer than it actually felt.

  A detour seemed a little too appropriate for my life. In fact, my life so far seemed to be defined by a series of setbacks.

  Not anymore.

  I’d just flown in from Norfolk, Virginia. At the airport, I’d picked up my rental car, and I’d hit the road. Before even checking into my hotel for the forensic conference I was attending, I’d decided to meet with my future stepbrother for dinner. I wasn’t sure what my schedule would be like for the rest of the week, so I wanted to meet him now while I could.

  His name was Trace Ryan, and he was an up-and-coming country singer. His mom, Teddi, was marrying my dad, and she’d insisted we meet. In an effort to keep the peace, I’d figured why not?

  But right now I was in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma, hoping for the life of me my GPS wasn’t leading me astray.

  I looked down at the paper where I’d scribbled some backup directions and stopped at the end of a lane. A large aluminum-sided warehouse stood in front of me, six vehicles parked out front. There was nothing else around. No houses or barns or stores. Just flat land with a few sprigs of dry grass and a dead tree in the distance.

  As soon as I stepped from my car, I could hear the whiny tunes of a steel guitar.

  I glanced at my paper again. This was the address Trace had given me. I started across the dirt toward the warehouse, the air dry and cold around me. I pulled my canvas jacket closer, wishing I’d brought something heavier. Going out west, somehow I’d expected things to be warmer. They weren’t. Of course, it was only March.

  When I stepped into the building, a wave of loud music hit me. I paused and spotted a cowboy onstage with a guitar strapped across his chest. I soaked everything in for a moment. The lights. The fog in the air. The loud music. Two rows of empty chairs in front of the stage.

  “Can I help you?” A short man who exuded nervous energy stopped beside me. He had a hipster vibe with his shaved head, trim build, and chunky glasses. His head seemed too large for his body, which only added to his whole offbeat persona.

  “I’m here to meet Trace Ryan,” I said, nodding toward the stage.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  “His soon-to-be stepsister.”

  The man raised his eyebrows, staring at me like I was lying. “Is that right?”

  “Talk to Trace. He’ll confirm that I’m supposed to be here, Mr. . . . ?”

  “I’m Jono, his manager. He would have certainly mentioned this to me.” He looked back at the stage and scowled again. “We’ve had a stressful rehearsal, and I don’t want to burden him any more before our big tour starts. This is make-or-break time, if you know what I mean.”

  “Is that you, Gabby?” Trace said from the stage, shielding his eyes from the spotlights.

  “The one and only.”

  “Fantastic. A few more minutes and I’ll be finished here. Jono, behave yourself. She’s with me.”

  “Sorry,” Jono murmured. “We get some people coming in here with crazy stories all the time. Can’t be too careful.”

  As he walked away, I settled against the wall and listened to the band as they finished rehearsing. They had a good sound. Trace’s voice was deep and not too twangy. Their songs were catchy, and their energy was infectious.

  As the guitar and drums finished out a song, Trace pulled his guitar off. “That’s a wrap, guys.”

  He hopped down from the stage and made his way toward me, a bit of Western swagger to his steps. I wondered if his walk reflected his attitude or if it was the boots and tight jeans that made him saunter that way.

  As soon as he was close enough to reach me, he pulled me into a hug. “So good to finally meet you, Gabby.”

  “Same here.” I patted his back, not expecting the warm greeting.

  I’d never met the man before, nor had we even talked, other than to set up this meeting. I’d figured Trace felt just as obligated as I did to meet. After all, we were both adults. It wasn’t like we’d ever live under the same roof or even spend a holiday together.

  He turned back to the band. “Let’s break for dinner and meet back here in two hours. Sound good?”

  They all nodded and began to put away their instruments.

  “I promise, I’ll introduce you to everyone when we get back. Right now I’m starving.” Trace put his hand on my elbow and led me toward the door. “I want to take you to this barbecue place not too far from here. It’s Oklahoma dining at its finest. Sound okay?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  Up close, Trace had that charisma that seemed necessary for celebrities to have in order to attain success. He had rugged good looks, eyes that were alive with mischief, a trim muscled body, and a voice that made women croon. His hair was light brown, he had a slight cleft in his chin, and he stood at least six feet tall.

  After talking to Teddi, I’d
formed the impression of him that he was a wannabe country star. He seemed like the real deal, though. He had an aura that garnered attention.

  I climbed into his truck, an older-model pickup that looked like it had seen better days. Empty cans of energy drinks clanked at my feet, and dust kicked up behind us as we began traveling down the road.

  “So your dad’s the lucky man marrying my mom, huh?” he said, glancing over at me. He had the perfect cowboy profile, especially with his oversized Stetson on. His shirt was a little too nice, too pressed and unstained to look like a real rancher, but I was sure women loved the image he portrayed.

  “My dad’s a very lucky man.” My dad was a louse, and I still didn’t see what Teddi saw in him. But the two of them seemed happy together. I didn’t get it, but it wasn’t my relationship, so I tried not to think too much about it.

  “It’s good to hear her happy again. After Dad died, I didn’t know if my mom would ever be the same.” We bumped down the road, a certain melancholy lingering in the air. “Has your conference started yet?”

  “Tomorrow.” The conference was my real reason for being here.

  “Forensics, right?”

  “You know it. It’s a highly glamorous field. Just watch CSI sometime,” I told him drily.

  “Sounds interesting. Especially for a girl.”

  “What was that?” I jerked my head toward him, certain I’d heard him incorrectly.

  A smile spread across his face, and he winked. “Just kidding. I like to give people a hard time. It’s my love language. If we’re going to be stepsiblings, you might as well get used to that.”

  “Good to know.” I smiled, already liking Trace and glad that I’d come early to meet him.

  As quickly as we’d started the journey to the restaurant, we pulled up to a stop at an old lodge-like building named the Tanglefoot Saloon. Trace followed my gaze, hunching to peer through the windshield at the restaurant.

  He shrugged. “I know it’s not much to look at it, but the barbecue is out of this world. It will have you licking your fingers and begging for more. You’ll buy another plane ticket to Oklahoma just to eat here.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself. I never even said I liked barbecue.”

  “Heresy. Everyone likes barbecue.”

  As soon as I stepped inside the place, I was drawn back into the Old West. Everyone seemed to wear cowboy boots, drink oversized beers, and have cowboy hats perched atop their heads. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would be a piano man playing “Ragtime” and a group of cow rustlers and hustlers playing poker in the corner.

  “A lot of the ranchers around here come in for dinner,” Trace said, smiling as he watched my reaction. “It’s great. I promise.”

  “A showdown outside after lunch would make this the perfect experience. Seriously. Even a fight between some farmers and cowmen. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  “Farmers and cowmen?”

  “Oklahoma?” I reminded him.

  His expression still looked blank.

  “The musical? Please tell me you’ve seen it.” It was the first musical I’d ever acted in, all the way back in middle school. It remained one of my favorites to this day.

  “I was more into Garth Brooks than I was Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

  “Rodgers and Hammerstein,” I corrected. “Webber did the music for Phantom.”

  “Well, I blame it all on my roots. They’re more country and down home than they are cultured and refined.”

  “I’m sure you get by just fine.”

  He nodded hello to the voluptuous waitress, whose face instantly lit when she spotted Trace. She sashayed over and grinned. “Hey there, good looking. What brings you in here today?”

  “I’ve got to introduce my sis to some of your barbecue.”

  “Your sister?” Her eyes turned to me, obviously assessing my worth as she looked me up and down. “I had no idea.”

  Something subconscious ignited in me, and I found myself hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. What could I say? When in Oklahoma, do as the Oklahomans. “I can’t wait to try some of your ribs. They smell fabulous.”

  She smiled and then giggled. I must have gotten her approval.

  “Well, come on back,” she said. “I’ve got the perfect seat for you.”

  She led us to a corner table by the window. Peanut shells crunched underneath our feet, and the scent of something smoky and spicy lingered in the air, making my stomach growl.

  The tables looked like wagon wheels with sheets of tempered glass atop them. The napkins were checkered, and all over the walls were memorabilia of the West—ox yokes, steer heads, black-and-white photos highlighting the past.

  I couldn’t help but smile. It was how I’d already dreamed Oklahoma would be. I half expected to see Gordon MacRae as Curly pull up in a surrey with fringe on the top. I’d been accused on more than one occasion of living in a musical, and I was okay with that.

  After the waitress set down huge jars filled with sweet tea, Trace ordered ribs for both of us. That’s when the first moment of silence fell.

  “I hope you don’t think it’s strange that I wanted to meet with you. The truth is, I did have some ulterior motives.” He cracked a peanut he’d taken from the silver bucket in the middle of the table.

  “Did you?”

  He nodded. “My mom likes to talk about you, so I’ve heard about your past.”

  Which part? I wondered. There was a long list to choose from—me almost being killed, my ex-fiancé almost being killed, my recent arrest. Take your pick.

  Before he could explain, a woman ran up to the table and breathlessly stared at Trace. She was young with wide eyes, big hair, and a low-cut shirt.

  “Trace Ryan?” she panted.

  Trace grinned that million-dollar smile of his. “The one and only.”

  “I’m your biggest fan!”

  Wow, his celebrity had grown quickly. This man already had a well-established fan club and supporters who recognized him out in public. Kudos to him.

  “I appreciate that. Would you like an autograph?”

  “Would I ever!” she squealed. The squeal turned into a pout. “But I don’t have any paper.”

  “Let me see your hand instead.”

  She happily obliged. He pulled a marker from his pocket—did he always keep one there for moments such as these?—and signed his name on the back of her hand.

  The woman screamed again. ”You just made my day!”

  She continued giggling as she went back to her gaggle of girlfriends sitting across the restaurant. Trace followed my gaze and winked at the onlookers. He seemed to be a regular Casanova.

  Even stranger—either the woman hadn’t noticed me at all or she’d chosen ignorant bliss and simply pretended I didn’t exist.

  Trace turned serious again as he turned back to our conversation. He cracked another peanut, and with the nuts still tucked into the shell, he tossed them back into his mouth like some people downed a shot of alcohol. “Sorry about that. All my fans expect this certain image. It’s a lot to live up to sometimes.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  He wiped some crumbs into his hand and placed them on a napkin. “So, as I started to say, I need your help.”

  “What’s going on?” I took a sip of my tea, curious now and feeling like I’d been swept up in a world that was entirely different from my own. My life was urban, brisk, and busy. Out here I actually felt like I could breathe. I had the urge to go all Rodgers and Hammerstein and burst into “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.”

  “It’s this lady.” He pulled something out of his back pocket and shoved a picture toward me. A woman with hair so blonde it looked white, tanned skin, and a bikini-ready body stared at me from the photo.

  “Pretty.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” He shook his head, a new tension seeming to wash over him. “She’s making my life miserable.”

  “An ex?”

 
He shook his head. “I feel like a girl saying this, but I suppose she’s more of a stalker.”

  Now this was getting interesting. “Really? Tell me more.”

  “About six months ago, I started getting fan letters from a woman named Georgia Dalton.” He tapped the photo. “She started showing up at all my concerts and sneaking her way backstage to meet me. At first, she seemed like an overzealous fan with boundary issues.”

  “I have a feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

  He sighed. “Yes, there is. I quickly realized she was obsessed. I caught her outside of my home once. I still didn’t think she was crazy at that point. But I was dating a girl named Caitlyn. One day, Caitlyn found her tires slashed. Then her apartment was broken into and her things ransacked.”

  “You think this woman is behind those things?” I studied the picture in front of me, wondering if a mentally unstable soul was behind those hazel eyes.

  “Yes, I do. The problem is that I could never prove anything. The police could only file reports about the incidents, but there were no fingerprints or video surveillance or anything to point to Georgia.”

  “What happened to Caitlyn?”

  “She couldn’t take it anymore. We broke up, and she moved back home to Colorado with her family.” His voice sounded earnestly sad as he said the words. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure Georgia was behind it. Caitlyn also had an ex-boyfriend who was pretty controlling. I thought it could be him.”

  “I take it the story doesn’t end there?” I took another drink of the sweetest iced tea ever. My teeth started rotting with every sip, yet my taste buds wouldn’t let me stop. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing. The sugar was going straight into my bloodstream and making me overly alert.

  He shook his head. “Then, two months later, I met Skye.”

  “Skye?” His life was like a regular soap opera. I was fascinated already.

  “A teacher who had just moved here from Arizona for a fresh start. Her parents were killed in a car crash when she was only thirteen, and then her brother died, leaving her without anyone.”