Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2) Read online

  Reign of Error

  The Worst Detective Ever, Book 2

  Christy Barritt

  Contents

  Season 1, Episode 2:

  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

  Coming Next

  Preview: Safety in Blunders

  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 2:

  The case of the inadequate investigator who couldn’t stop trying—but not by her own volition.

  Chapter One

  “I don’t want to do this.” I rubbed my goosebump-freckled arms. I was freezing, and I hadn’t even gone in the ocean yet. Still, the churning water in the distance taunted me, as if it knew the pain I was about to endure and delighted in my future suffering.

  “This is going to be so much fun.” Zane Oakley, my neighbor and one of my only friends since I’d moved to the area, made peace signs with his fingers and crossed his hands together. “Hashtag: awesome. Hashtag: bucketlist.”

  Of course he would say that. He lived for stuff like this. Things that stretched both the limits of the human body and all good sense. “Fun? Do I need to remind you that cold water is what killed Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic?”

  He shot me a lopsided glance. “Is that confirmed? Because I’m pretty sure he drowned.”

  “Either way, cold water and the human body are not a good combination.” I shivered again as a gust of wind billowed over the area, sending with it a smattering of sand. “I’ve been practicing for this all week.”

  Zane narrowed his eyes, totally unaffected by the jostling crowd all around. “Practicing how?”

  “I’ve been jumping in and out of the cold shower.” And it had been painful. More like a practice in futility than preparation for this. But still, I didn’t want to look like an idiot. It was the same reason I’d had my toenails done in the winter. People would see them. Pictures could be taken. I had to be camera ready because . . . well, old habits died hard.

  “Jumping in the shower is dangerous. You could fall and hit your head.”

  I slapped his chest when I saw his smile. “All the crazy things you do, and you’re going to tell me that getting in and out of the shower is dangerous?”

  He shrugged. “Just trying to look out for you!”

  “Well, I’m glad someone has my back.”

  He lowered his gaze, all signs of teasing gone. “Always.”

  I swallowed hard when I saw the look in his eyes. Was I reading too much into this, or did Zane like me? Like, really like me? I wasn’t sure. But I did know the possibility both thrilled me and filled me with dread. I loved love and being in love, but I so wasn’t ready for a relationship.

  “By the way, the mayor is trying to flag you down over there.” Zane nodded toward an overzealous man on a makeshift stage in the distance.

  I’d been trying to avoid eye contact with Mayor Roger Allen. Ever since I’d been accused of interfering with a police investigation, he had been using my dilemma to his advantage. Instead of pressing charges, Mayor Allen assigned me to whatever selective community service he saw fit.

  That selective community service always somehow involved capitalizing on my star power and using it to help promote the Outer Banks, or the OBX, as most called it. Since I’d come here, my goal was to remain low key. However, that hadn’t really been working out.

  Take today, for example. Did I want to host and participate in the Polar Plunge Challenge? No way.

  For starters, it was February on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The temperature outside was thirty-something degrees, and I could only imagine how cold the ocean water was. Someone had told me, but I blocked out that information in an ignorance-is-bliss moment.

  Secondly, all my vegan/raw-food/no-gluten—it depended on the day—diet goals had been an abysmal failure lately, yet I had to wear a bathing suit. In public. So much for being able to bulk up in the winter, the season of oversized sweaters and forgiving jeans.

  Thirdly, crowds bothered me. They had ever since two men—one who remained faceless—had decided to stalk me. Even worse than stalking, they’d taunted and threatened me until I played their morbid little let’s-resurrect-Raven-Remington game. I’d portrayed the invincible detective on the hit TV show Relentless for five seasons, and some fans had trouble handling the word “canceled.”

  But since I didn’t want to add jailbird to my illustrious résumé, here I was.

  As I walked across the lumpy sand toward the platform where Mayor Allen stood, I glanced toward the foot of the platform and saw Jackson Sullivan standing there. He wore a heavy black jacket with the police emblem on the pocket and his customary scowl. His arms were crossed, daring anyone to defy him.

  My stomach turned at the sight.

  We hadn’t spoken in three weeks. We hadn’t had a reason to. The last time we had seen each other was when a criminal was on the cusp of sharing information about my father, who had disappeared three months ago. Before Mr. Bad Guy could reveal anything, Detective Sullivan shot him. Granted, the man was about to shoot me. But still.

  Then I’d found out that Jackson, whom I’d always assumed to be honorable, had stolen Zane’s girlfriend way back when. No honorable man would steal another man’s woman.

  Jackson Sullivan was not who I thought he was. His intense green eyes, sexy stubble, and solid, stare-worthy build wouldn’t persuade me otherwise.

  I looked away from him as I greeted the mayor with a nod. “Yes, Mayor Allen?”

  I was utilizing my acting skills in every way because I didn’t feel pleasant or agreeable at the moment. I nearly clasped my hands beneath my chin and fluttered my eyelashes, but I figured that would be overkill.

  The jolly man grinned at me. “You ready for this? Everyone is anxious to get their plunge on.”

  Get their plunge on? Oh my. It sounded even funnier because he looked and spoke like the Sicilian Vizzini from The Princess Bride.

  Best. Movie. Ever.

  “I’m ready.” My voice was accented with fake enthusiasm. I did not want to do this. At all.

  I hated being too cold. Or too hot.

  I really just liked being comfortable. But didn’t everyone? Except Zane maybe.

  The mayor tapped the microphone and got the crowd’s attention. There were probably three hundred people here. Three hundred people who wanted to raise money for the local police fraternity. Which was ironic, since this was the very police department I wasn’t sure I trusted.

  The mayor did an introduction before saying
, “Everyone, here’s the incredible Joey Darling, star of the hit series Relentless. Let’s give her a warm Outer Banks welcome!”

  I stepped up to the microphone, and everyone cheered. The attention-loving side of me ate it up. Every minute. Every handclap. Every moment of approval.

  And that was what always got me in trouble. That, and my love affair with love itself.

  I offered my most camera-worthy smile to the crowd. “It’s my honor to be here today and to be able to call the Outer Banks home for the past month. The local police are a vital part of a healthy community. Even though I didn’t play an official investigator on Relentless, I did learn to appreciate the work the police do. Our local department is in need of new equipment and new vehicles, and I’m excited to say we’re freezing for a reason today. Thanks to all of you, we’ve met our fundraising goal, and it’s all because of your outstanding efforts. Without further ado, let’s . . .” I stared at the note cards that had been prepared for me by the city’s PR department. “Let’s . . . get our plunge on!”

  It hurt me to say the words. But I did it anyway. Mostly because Mayor Allen was staring over my shoulder, waiting with childlike giddiness for me to read the prepared script.

  Another super-fortunate (not!) thing I got to do for this was to be the leader of the pack. I, like a Viking going into battle, would be the first into the bitterly frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean. And just like a skirmish, there would be pain involved for at least one of the parties. My bets were on me and not the ocean.

  I removed my winter coat and revealed the one-piece bathing suit and swim shorts underneath. Immediately I regretted all the cheeseburgers I’d been indulging in recently. I’d probably put on ten pounds. Not good.

  Especially when I saw the cameras appear. The National Instigator would have a ball with this! I could see the headlines now. “Joey Darling Lets Herself Go.” “Joey Darling Dying of Mysterious Illness: Medication Makes Her Look Bloated.” “Could Joey Darling Be Pregnant?” At the thought, my hand went to my stomach. As it did, a camera clicked.

  Stupid camera.

  Putting my personal feelings aside, I tapped into my inner showman. I ran toward the crowd, giving people high fives as I did so, just like that time I’d been on Live with Kelly! Zane waited for me at the front of the pack. He would be my moral support during this. He grabbed my hand, ensuring I couldn’t escape this torture . . . er, humbling experience in fundraising.

  I had to wait for everyone to disrobe. And by disrobe I meant take off their sweatshirts or coats. Some had written messages in body paint on their chests and arms. Others wore wigs and crazy hats and snorkels. Whatever floated their boats.

  “Do we have to go under?” the man on the other side of me yelled over the noise of the crowd and the pulsating music that began in the background.

  I glanced over, my teeth already chattering as another gust swept over the beach. Seagulls squawked overhead, warning us to go back before it was too late. It was true. I’d seen it once in a Disney movie.

  “I’m not sure,” I told the man.

  I did a double take. I recognized this man . . . from somewhere. I tried to place him. Short—probably my height of five foot six or an inch taller—with a stocky build and a buzzed haircut. Probably in his forties, he reminded me a bit of a younger Mark Hamill.

  I drew a blank as to where I’d seen him before though.

  “You cut my hair two days ago,” he reminded me.

  “Oh, that’s right! Fancy seeing you here!” I did remember him coming in. But business at the salon had boomed once word had spread that I was here researching a role.

  Yes, researching a role. I supposed in some ways I was researching the role of a lifetime. It was a handy excuse that stopped people from asking too many questions about my true intentions for moving here and cutting hair. I didn’t want people to know the truth.

  He shivered. “I’m ready to get this over with.”

  “You and me both. May the force be with you.”

  He lowered his voice. “Be careful out there.”

  His words stunned me a moment. Be careful out there? Was that a warning? Or was he simply telling me that because I was about to immerse myself in ice-cold water?

  I didn’t have time to think about it now. It was time for me to get started.

  “Is everyone ready?” I shouted with enough fake enthusiasm that my acting coach would be so proud. Hollywood might even give me an Oscar.

  Everyone cheered back.

  “Then let’s do this,” I yelled. “In three. Two. One!”

  I charged forward. Toward the ocean. The cold, cold ocean.

  As soon as my foot hit the Atlantic, the rest of my body rebelled. It was like stepping into ice water. Or purposefully falling into a frozen pond. Or having a death wish. In Antarctica.

  Why had I ever agreed to this? My dad had taught me better. If everyone else is jumping off a bridge, would you do it? Apparently, the answer was yes.

  But adrenaline pushed me onward. First, my foot. Then my calf. Then my entire leg, waist, and chest. I moved as quickly as possible, even though time felt frozen.

  Zane didn’t let go of my hand. It was almost as if he knew I might change my mind and run for my life . . . or at least run to Sunset Coffee Co., where anyone with good sense would be instead of here.

  “This is awesome!” he yelled, like only an adrenaline junky might. Then he took a breath and dove into the water.

  I could no longer feel my legs. People surrounded me. Totally surrounded me. Diving in. Screaming with elation. Shivering like mad.

  The waves whipped over me, all the way to my shoulders, in cold fury. I could only think of one thing: pneumonia. I was done. I ran back to the shore, desperate for warmth.

  Quickly I pulled my coat on and took the coffee a volunteer cocooned in ski gear thrust into my hand. I watched as everyone slowly trickled out of the water, looking as I felt: frozen. Medics stood by just in case anyone had health issues.

  Event: done. One more thing I could mark off my list.

  Until the mayor thought of something else I should participate in to make amends. Stupid amends.

  And, for real, I was deathly cold right now. I had to get inside. I needed some glorious heat. But at the same time, I was the host. I was supposed to change and then kick off a winter beach party. Stupid winter beach parties.

  I looked back at the ocean. Zane came out, water dripping from his wild, curly hair. He looked like he could have stepped off the set of Baywatch with his lean beach body and carefree movements. He was a good six inches taller than I, perpetually tan, and had sun-kissed brown hair cut short on the sides but curly and long up top.

  Just as he reached me, he shook his head like a wet dog as someone handed him a blanket. “That was awesome!”

  “Not the word I was thinking of myself.” But I smiled anyway, his enthusiasm never ceasing to amaze me. “I’m ready to get inside that tent.”

  He hooked his arm around my neck, and specks of water rained on me. “Let’s go!”

  I took one last look back, making sure everyone was out of the water so we could get our party started.

  That was when I saw something tumble ashore.

  Or should I say someone.

  A body.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Mark Hamill.

  Chapter Two

  The mood inside the tent changed from celebratory to downright uptight as the police questioned all the Polar Plunge participants. At least there was coffee and hot chocolate freely flowing, although most people would have preferred alcohol at this point.

  The heat had been cranked up, and everyone huddled in their coats. Too bad everyone’s wet hair had been frozen, giving all of us a Jack Frost vibe. Some people even had snot icicles. Ew . . .

  The event was now a disaster. The good news was that it wasn’t my fault for once.

  Zane put his arms around me in a friendly bear hug. “Body heat is the best way to stay warm.�
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  “That’s what they say,” I muttered into his chest. And who exactly were they? The elusive group showed up in studies and statistics all the time, yet they remained nameless and faceless.

  Which was what I would like to be right now.

  Despite how affectionate Zane was, we were just friends. I thought he was adorable, but I wasn’t in a place to date anyone. No, I was still recovering from a nasty divorce that had made me lose faith in relationships. Maybe for now. Maybe for always. I hadn’t decided yet, though I was leaning toward always. It seemed like a better bet.

  “Joey, I need to talk to you.”

  I turned as I recognized the deep voice behind me.

  “Detective Sullivan.” My voice sounded colder than the ocean. I stepped away from Zane’s embrace—but not before I heard another camera and saw the flash. “Of course.”

  My goodness. Couldn’t I ever catch a break?

  Rag mags like the National Instigator loved to see the famous fall, and I’d given them plenty of fodder.

  Jackson nodded toward the door flap. “Privately, please.”

  Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. But I could handle privacy. Privacy was my friend.

  “Can we stay inside? I’m freezing,” I said.

  “Sure thing.” He led me to a corner instead.

  I crossed my arms, ignoring the fact that my heart rate had kicked up a notch. “What’s going on?”

  Jackson narrowed his eyes, as he always did when he either looked at me or was thinking hard, which was apparently every time we were together. “Joey, how did you know Douglas Murray?”

  “I’m assuming he’s the Mark Hamill look-alike.”

  “The man who died. Yes.”

  I shook my head. “I did not know him.”

  He twisted his head, his studious gaze remaining on me. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course. Why?” It didn’t matter why. I already didn’t like this. My gut instinct, which had let me down plenty of times before, indicated bad news was coming.

  “Several people said you were the last person seen speaking with him before he went in the water.”