Join the Flub (The Worst Detective Ever Book 4) Read online

  Join the Flub

  The Worst Detective Ever

  Christy Barritt

  River Heights

  Copyright © 2017

  Join the Flub by Christy Barritt

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording—without express written permission by the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or intended to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intention of either the authors or the publisher. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Killion Group

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Season 1, Episode 4

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Coming Next: Blooper Freak

  Also by Christy Barritt:

  The Worst Detective Ever:

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  The Sierra Files:

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  Carolina Moon Series:

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Standalones:

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries:

  Complete Book List:

  About the Author

  Season 1, Episode 4

  The case of the stunt double and a confused bad guy. Or something.

  Chapter One

  “Everyone is just going to die when they see you!” Dizzy squealed and twirled me around in a makeup chair in my bathroom. “Can we say va-va-voom?”

  She did a little chest circle and rolled her tongue in a catlike growl.

  I glanced in the mirror and . . . I almost died myself.

  Dizzy—a beautician and my aunt by marriage—had volunteered to do my makeup for a movie premiere and charity fundraiser I was about to attend. And she’d copied her trademark bright-blue eyeshadow—worn thick all the way up to the eyebrows—on me.

  I looked like a clown. Or like someone the cast of Mean Girls had pranked.

  But one look at Dizzy’s hopeful expression, and I knew this was no prank. She thought I looked great. I thought there was no way I could face the public like this.

  “It’s . . . more than I could have ever expected,” I said, my voice falsely cheerful. I had to utilize my acting skills in moments like these.

  Dizzy beamed. She’d already said doing my makeup for this event was the highlight of her year and that it made her feel famous. I couldn’t burst her bubble.

  The doorbell rang, and I sucked in a deep breath.

  It was time.

  I adjusted the adorable turquoise romper I was wearing. Yes, it was a romper, but it was a cute one. You had to see it to believe it. My stylist had given her thumbs-up, so it must be okay. Hollywood types like Miranda Worthington never got it wrong. Just look at those great outfits worn on exclusive catwalks at prestigious modeling shows.

  Right?

  I strode toward the front door and pulled it open. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Jackson Sullivan standing on the other side.

  I swallowed hard, remembering with absolute clarity the last time he’d shown up at my door. We’d shared a passionate kiss that I was likely to never forget. Ever.

  It wasn’t unlike that smooch from Spider-Man, except no one was hanging upside down.

  Speaking of which . . . Jackson and I still needed to talk about the aforementioned lip lock. We hadn’t had time to, since I’d only arrived back from LA yesterday.

  “Hey there.” I sounded as self-conscious as Carrie at the prom right before the pig blood covered her.

  I glanced Jackson over, soaking in his tux. His barely there beard. His intense green eyes, square jaw, and broad shoulders. Check, check, check, and check.

  He rested one hand in his pocket, looking all casual and GQ-like. That wasn’t to mention that he had the laid-back confidence of someone who couldn’t care less what people thought of him.

  That only made him so much more appealing.

  He let out a low whistle. “You look gorgeous, Joey.”

  My cheeks heated. It didn’t matter how famous I was. Sometimes I still felt like the girl with braces who didn’t want to be called on in algebra class—mostly because I’d been daydreaming about boys and hadn’t even heard the teacher’s question.

  Jackson’s gaze stopped at my eyes, and he squinted.

  The eyeshadow, I remembered.

  It had to be the eyeshadow.

  I offered a weak smile and shrugged. I’d explain my makeup later—when my dear aunt wasn’t within earshot.

  Jackson peered behind me. “Hey, Dizzy.”

  Actually, Dizzy being here was probably explanation enough.

  Dizzy slipped past us, clutching her cosmetic bag like a medic on the battlefield. “Hey yourself. I was just leaving. I’ve got to get ready for the big premiere! The Hot Chicks and I will all be there, cheering you on. We had special shirts made saying, ‘Joey Darling is my friend.’ Don’t you love that?”

  “I do, and I can’t wait to see you all,” I said before exchanging another smile with Jackson.

  My cheeks heated as our eyes met, and I remembered the very alluring feel of his lips against mine.

  Which could never happen again.

  Maybe never was a strong word. It could never happen again in the next . . . year, at least.

  Okay, six months.

  One month?

  I really had to stick to my convictions. But it was so hard sometimes.

  No sooner had Dizzy walked away than someone else trotted up my front steps and stopped with a bounce at the doorway. My neighbor and friend Zane Oakley stood there with a wide clueless grin.

  I blinked. He was also wearing a tux—his was baby blue with suspenders and an obnoxious Hawaiian-themed bow tie. His tall, lean surfer bod was freshly scrubbed, but his wild, curly hair had a mind of its own. It defined Zane—free, natural, fun.

  My stomach dropped and then squeezed as my gaze volleyed back and forth between both men.

  What was Zane doing here? Did he think . . .

  Oh no.

  This was going to be more awkward than when Steve Harvey crowned the wrong woman as Miss Universe. And that had been sooo awkward.

  Zane ignored Jackson and took my hand, twirling me around and letting out a low whistle. “Joey, my girl. You look sizzling hot.”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it again. Actually, right now I’d rather be Steve Harv
ey surrounded by scorned beauty queens than be caught between these two men who were vying for my affections. I hated the thought of hurting either of them.

  “Thank you,” I finally muttered, absently smoothing my romper and praying for a Beam me up, Scotty moment.

  “You ready to go?” Zane looked at me and then glanced at Jackson, confusion stretching across his features. “You said the premiere started at six, so I figured you’d want to leave about now. Then I saw the limo pull up.”

  I nibbled on my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to break this to him. I could see where he might assume he’d be my date tonight since he had been my date in LA for that premiere.

  Have I mentioned how messy my life was? One flub and hiccup after another, it seemed sometimes.

  “I’m so sorry, Zane,” I finally said. “I thought you knew. As a part of the premiere here, Jackson and I are going together. We’re doing the whole hashtag: NHPDBlues thing, at the request of the mayor.”

  Jackson and I had been doing a bit of a Castle and Beckett thing. I “helped” him in his investigations—okay, not even!—and in return I got to hang out with him while on duty. The payoff? I’d developed a hashtag where I tweeted about the city and positive things happening here. Since I had more than four million Twitter followers, it seemed like a good trade-off.

  I had secret motives, unfortunately.

  My father had disappeared several months ago, and I was using the mayor’s willingness to both appease and exploit me to try and find out information on my father. In the process, Jackson—a detective—and I had become friends.

  It was a long, twisted tale. As were most of the tales in my life. My life made The Brothers Karamazov look simple.

  Zane’s mouth dropped open, and he took a step back looking . . . rejected. “Oh, I get it. I just assumed . . .”

  My insides churned with unease . . . guilt . . . maybe some leftover bean dip.

  I had to make this better.

  “You could . . .” Could what, Joey? “You could . . . both ride with me.”

  What had I just said? That was the worst idea ever.

  Certainly Zane would reject the suggestion, and everything would go on as scheduled. Then the two of us could talk later, and I could try to smooth things over.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Zane said.

  “Oh, there’s plenty of room in the limo,” Jackson said, his gaze smoldering on mine. Something unspoken lingered in his eyes, but I had no idea what. It didn’t appear to be irritation, but I just couldn’t read him.

  Dear me.

  I opened my mouth to say something, to make things right, but no words would escape.

  This idea sounded totally awful.

  “That sounds totally fun,” Zane said.

  About as much fun as trying to climb out between a rock and a hard place. Or being the guy in 127 Hours who had to amputate his own arm.

  “Yes, fun.” My voice sounded tight. Making things more awkward, I decided to clap with what I hoped looked like enthusiasm but more likely made me look like a cheerleading reject. “Okay, let’s go then, before we’re late.”

  My muscles pulled taut in an internal game of tug-of-war. Zane walked on one side of me and Jackson on the other down the little path toward the driveway. A limo had been waiting for fifteen minutes.

  This wasn’t uncomfortable. Not at all.

  I mentally sighed.

  Only me. This would happen only to me. I didn’t suppose Jackson and I would be able to talk about that kiss on the drive after all. Nor would Zane and I be able to talk about our trip to LA. I suppose we could have on the plane ride back here, but why talk today about something I could put off until tomorrow?

  And this was why I had problems.

  Silenced stretched after we climbed into the limo. We all sat on the back bench, me in the middle.

  As the AC blared and gentle music rolled from the speakers, I straightened the hem of my romper and then cleared my throat.

  I needed to talk about something safe—like the premiere tonight. It was a fundraiser for the children’s wing at a local hospital. Doing something I loved and raising money for a good cause at the same time? How could you go wrong with those two things?

  My movie Family Secrets had just released to popular and critical success. Then this opportunity had popped up, organized by the hospital fundraising team in conjunction with the mayor of Nags Head—he was one of my biggest fans. Then my manager, Rutherford, had gotten involved, wanting to bring some Hollywood to the Outer Banks. It had turned into something much larger than I’d ever imagined.

  Now my movie, which officially released last weekend, would premiere locally on the lawn in an outdoor festival area that scooted up to the Albemarle Sound. People would bring beach chairs. Vendors would sell snacks—hopefully some fish tacos, because I needed to talk someone into buying me one. There would be a question-and-answer session, as well as a meet and greet afterward.

  Win. Win. Win.

  “Apparently, this event tonight has been the buzz of the town,” Zane said. “I mean, look at all this traffic.”

  Croatan Highway—the main artery through town—was jam packed, looking more crowded than it did on Saturdays when one set of vacationing guests checked out and a new set rolled in. That was what I’d been forewarned about, at least. The height of tourist season was still a few weeks away.

  “So here’s a little secret that no one else knows,” I said, not daring to look at either Jackson or Zane. Nope, straight ahead was a much safer bet. “Well, no one but a handful of people who are working this event. Can you keep it quiet until the show starts?”

  Of course Jackson could. It was Zane I was worried about.

  I plowed on ahead, not bothering to wait for their answers. “So, for starters, Carli Moreno will be there tonight.”

  “Who?” Jackson asked.

  “She’s my stunt double,” I explained.

  “Carli Moreno?” Zane’s voice clearly showed he was impressed. “That’s so cool. The two of you look so much alike that it’s uncanny.”

  “We have a special opening planned,” I said. “It was Carli’s idea, and she flew all the way out here just to help me with it. I can’t wait for you guys to see it.”

  “I look forward to it,” Jackson said.

  A few minutes later, the limo stopped at our destination. It was May, and the weather was perfect for this event. The sun was just beginning to set behind the stage area. Tons of cars were already here. Like, tons.

  I’d heard they sold out at one thousand tickets.

  Just like Mayor Allen hoped, this could do great things for the area. I already thought the Outer Banks had a lot of great things going for it. Thousands of tourists flocked here. Businesses were thriving. National magazines had featured the area on top-ten lists. But I supposed one could never get enough positive publicity, so here I was, being a dutiful citizen.

  The chauffeur reached for my door.

  “Here goes nothing,” I muttered.

  “You’ll do great,” Jackson softly murmured.

  He always had a way of calming me down . . . unless I was doing something stupid like interfering with a police investigation. Then he just got me fired up.

  I took a deep breath before stepping out. As soon as I did, flashes began going off around me. Part press, part paparazzi. I was sure the National Instigator had their bloodthirsty vultures somewhere in the crowd.

  For some reason, that tabloid really, really liked me. And when I say liked, I meant hated. It was a fine line when it came to these guys.

  I looked over and realized that Jackson was flanking one side of me and Zane the other.

  The press was going to love this. I shoved aside any thoughts on what the headlines might read. Joey Darling Love Triangle? Joey Darling, Queen of Indecisiveness. Joey Darling, the Woman Who Couldn’t Make Up Her Mind.

  The crowds cheered around me. Several thrust papers and pens forward for autographs. One person wore
a paper mask with my face on it.

  I supposed it was flattering . . . in a very strange way.

  I sucked in a breath. This was a whole new level of stardom. I mean, I’d always had some die-hard fans. People often recognized me. Tabloids featured me.

  But having a hit movie took this to a new level. I’d thought my career was dying faster than clean romantic comedies on the big screen. And the pace this all had happened took my breath away. Made me elated and overwhelmed at the same time.

  Speaking of which . . . my head was beginning to spin.

  I started to reach for someone’s arm to steady me, but I couldn’t decide whose I should take. Definitely not both Zane’s and Jackson’s.

  So I decided to go solo and take neither to keep things simple.

  They escorted me behind the stage area, which had been set up with a fake movie screen at the front and real curtains at the side. There was also an RV—or trailer—where I could wait or freshen up when needed.

  I passed a security guard and approved Zane and Jackson to also go back. It wasn’t until I was out of sight from the crowds and press that I released my breath. Now it was almost show time.

  Almost.

  Rutherford left the stagehands he was talking to and rushed toward me with an electronic tablet in his hands.

  Rutherford James Seamore II had dark wavy hair that he wore slicked back. His face was pock marked from acne when he was younger. But he was one of the best managers in the business. The fact that he’d wanted to come out and help with this event was slightly suspect. However, he’d begun his illustrious career as a producer for the big award shows, so he knew how to handle a backstage.