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  ORGANIZED GRIME

  By Christy Barritt

  Organized Grime: A Novel

  Copyright 2011 by Christy Barritt

  Published by Princeton Halls Press, Kindle Edition.

  Cover design by Palko Media.

  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.

  Acclaim for the Squeaky Clean series:

  Christy Barritt’s novel, Hazardous Duty, is a delightful read from beginning to end. The story’s fresh, engaging heroine with an unusual occupation hooked me, and I couldn’t put it down. I highly recommend Hazardous Duty. ~ Colleen Coble, bestselling author

  The next time you're tempted to watch CSI reruns, read this book instead! Spunky, sassy Gabby St. Claire sparkles in this new series. She'll keep you turning the pages. ~ Siri Mitchell, INSPY award-winning author

  With Gabby St. Claire, Christy Barritt has created a fun sleuth in a unique profession. Hazardous Duty provides both humor and an engaging mystery. The twists and turns of the whodunit are matched only by the surprises of Gabby's spiritual growth and romantic entanglements. ~ Sharon Dunn, multi-published mystery and suspense author

  Stay tuned and watch for more from this gifted, talented author. You'll love it. ~ Cheryl Wolverton, multi-published author

  Crime scene cleanup should be a safe enough occupation, right? It comes after the crime is over. Not necessarily! Come enjoy this fun romp through the complications . . . men, mold, mayhem and murder . . . in Gabby St. Claire's rollercoaster life. ~ Lorena McCourtney, author of the Ivy Malone mysteries

  Crime scene cleaning is dirty job, but Christy Barritt has made it hilarious. Amateur sleuth Gabby St. Claire is back, and in trouble again! Suspicious Minds delivers a riveting mystery, but it's Gabby's irrepressible charm as she engages a zany cast of characters that keeps readers turning pages. Put this series on your must read list! ~ Claudia Mair Burney, author of the Amanda Bell Brown Mysteries

  Suspicious Minds is witty, punchy and fast-paced. Kudos to Christy Barritt for an entertaining and intriguing read! ~ Janice Thompson, award-winning author

  Suspicious Minds plays havoc on the nerves and the funny bone as crime scene cleaner Gabby St. Claire wisecracks her way between dead bodies and flying bullets. A treat not to be missed! ~ Jill Elizabeth Nelson, author of the To Catch a Thief series

  Other Books by Christy Barritt

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:

  #1 Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife (coming May 2012)

  #2 Death of the Cul-de-Sac Queen (2013)

  Standalone Romantic-Suspense Titles:

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet (coming September 2012)

  Key Witness (2013)

  Suspense:

  The Trouble with Perfect

  Nonfiction:

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God Through Christian Music

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

  This book is dedicated to my readers. Writing wouldn’t be nearly as fun without you there to live out my stories with me. Thank you for living my dream with me!

  A special thank you to Ruth, Kathy, Idalia, Evelyn, and Pat for your encouragement with this book.

  Chapter One

  Slam!

  I glanced at the clock above my TV. 11 p.m. Way too late for visitors. The five residents who lived in our converted Victorian apartment complex knew better than to let the front door slam shut at this hour. Otherwise, they’d face the wrath of Sierra, who hated to be woken from her beauty sleep, which lately had been starting promptly at 9:30.

  The detective in me woke up as more noise downstairs caught my ears—literally. Like a magnet being drawn to a refrigerator, my right ear gravitated toward my door and didn’t stop until my skin plastered the grooved wood there.

  Someone entered the apartment building. The front door had a tendency to slam shut with a reverberating thud each time someone entered or left. Who could it be?

  Someone must be visiting. My upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Mystery as I affectionately called her, was taking a rare vacation to the Bahamas. Rare because I don’t think her skin has ever seen the sun except in five-minute increments. My downstairs neighbor, radio-talk show host Bill McCormick, was on a huge tour to promote his show and not due back in town for two more weeks. Sierra had left at four this afternoon and I hadn’t seen her since then. And Riley, who lived across the hall, was up in D.C. visiting his parents for the weekend.

  It had been a very slow evening for me. Even my friend and business partner Chad Davis had decided to go meet his college buddies for a weekend ski trip in the mountains of Virginia.

  That’s why the door slamming downstairs had me even more intrigued.

  Footsteps pounded upward, bypassing Bill’s apartment.

  I puckered my lips in thought.

  Maybe Riley had returned from his parents early. But he wouldn’t let the door slam, especially not at this hour.

  Someone rapped at my door. At the very place—only on the other side—of where my ear suctioned to the wood. I jumped away and cradled by poor lobes, wondering if the eardrum had burst.

  “Gabby? You in there? I saw your van outside.”

  I released my ear. Parker? My ex-boyfriend? What was he doing here?

  I grabbed the knob and jerked the door open, forgetting that I was supposed to make him want to eat his heart out and realize what he was missing every time he saw me. The tattered flannel pants and faded “Meat is Murder” T-shirt that Sierra gave me wouldn’t do the trick. Nor would the curly red hair that frizzed away from my ponytail in stubborn poofs around my face.

  I hadn’t expected an overly friendly Parker. I hadn’t spoken to him in months. But I really didn’t expect the brisk man in a suit who flashed an FBI badge and attempted to barge into my apartment.

  Parker craned his head to see beyond me and tried to charge forward. “Is Sierra in here?”

  I raised my hand into the internationally-known sign for “stop.” “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Parker ignored my upraised hand until his chest collided with my palm. He looked down and scowled. “We need to talk, Gabby.”

  I peered around Parker long enough to eye the two other suits accompanying my ex. “About?”

  “This isn’t a conversation you’ll want to have in the hallway.”

  I contemplated my options a moment before dropping my hand and nodding. The three men filed inside. I shut the door behind them before turned their way in curiosity.

  “Wilkerson, FBI,” the blond said.

  “Stephens,” said the bald one.

  Parker, with his Brad Pitt good looks, stopped his roving security camera-like inspection of my home and zeroed in on me. He nodded curtly, as if we’d merely been acquaintances in the past. “Gabby.” His gaze began roaming again. “Where’s Sierra?”

  “Sierra?”

  “Yeah, your neighbor.”

  I jerked my head back. Sarcasm was my job, not my ex’s. I ignored his comment when I saw the other two men approaching and realized this was no time for jokes. “I haven’t seen her since this afternoon. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “About?”

  “The fire at the housing development in Chesapeake that’s been all over the news. It looks like an act
of ecoterrorism.”

  “Ecoterrorism?” I nudged my jaw back into closed position. But only for a moment. “Sierra would never—”

  He held out a hand to silence me. “If you know where she is and don’t tell me, then you’ll be impeding a federal investigation.”

  I tried to hide my agitation. I hate to be bossed around. And I really hated to be cornered. “I don’t know where she is, and when did you become a fed?”

  “Last month.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “This is serious, Gabby.”

  “I know. I heard there was a fire—”

  “Gabby, three people are dead, and Sierra is our prime suspect.”

  Chapter Two

  “Sierra would never murder someone. She believes in preservation of life.” I pointed to my T-shirt. “Meat is murder.”

  Parker cocked an eyebrow up. “Yeah, only if you’ve got fur, walk on four legs and like to sniff people.”

  “That’s not true. Remember when she set those crabs free last year? They weren’t furry.” I winced at the weakness of my argument.

  Parker scowled. “How could I forget?” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Gabby, Sierra was seen at the development earlier today. She was arguing—very heatedly—with the contractor and threatened to ‘light a fire’ on the issue if he insisted on expanding the neighborhood anymore.”

  I shrugged. “It’s an expression. People say stuff like that all time. It doesn’t mean they’re actually going to do it.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  I resigned myself to answer his questions. He’d find out Sierra was innocent. All he had to do was talk to my friend. She’d have an alibi. “She left to meet a friend at around four.”

  “Did she say what she was doing?”

  I swallowed, my saliva burning my dry throat. “They had to talk about some kind of plan they were developing.” I paused, realizing how incriminating those words sounded. “Parker, Sierra is a protester. She’s a debater. Sure, she’s done some stupid things in the past. But never murder. Never.”

  Parker turned his back on me and the three suits huddled together for some quiet talk. All I could think about was Sierra—who was like a sister to me—being guilty of murder. No way. She was extreme, but not that extreme. Finally, Parker turned around and approached me.

  “Do you mind if we wait here for awhile?” He nubbed his thumb back at his henchmen… er, partners. “If she’s innocent, she should be returning home soon, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “She will be returning home at any time because she is innocent. Please do wait. I want to be here when you’re proven wrong. And when you are proven wrong, I’m not going to let you leave unless you write ‘Gabby was right’ one-hundred times on the chalkboard for all the world to see.” There was nothing better than knocking down cocky confidence a notch.

  One suit sat in an orange tweed chair, the other on my second-hand couch. Both looked like they might have their clothes disinfected when they left. Was it my furniture or was it the roll of biohazard tape they’d had to move before seating themselves? Or maybe the fake blob of blood on the coffee table that someone had given me as a joke? Parker still glowered at me from my apartment’s entryway.

  He rubbed his chin and his gaze flicked behind me to the kitchen. “Do you have any coffee?”

  “Sure do. You know where it is. Help yourself.” No way was I going to fix coffee for someone accusing my best friend of murder. Traitor.

  He went into my kitchen and opened the cabinet over the sink. After pulling down a canister of Maxwell House, he began a brew. It was obvious that he’d done it in my apartment a million times before. Out of the earshot of his comrades in arms, I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms.

  “A fed, huh? Not surprising.” He’d always been the uptight type.

  He pulled a mug from one of the hooks beneath the cabinet. His favorite one—the blue and red logo proclaimed “Superman.” “Yeah, Charlie encouraged me to go for it.”

  Charlie. The woman he’d started dating after we broke up. “How’s she doing?”

  Parker grinned for the first time. “Great. I’m going to be a dad.”

  I pulled my head back in surprise. “A baby? Wow. Congrats. When’s the big day?”

  “Not until this summer.” He removed the glass coffee pot and stuck his mug directly under the stream of brown liquid coming from the percolator.

  I did a quick check of his hand for a wedding ring. “Did you…?”

  He followed my gaze, nearly spilling his much-sought after coffee in the process. “Nah. Not yet. We’ll see. We’re not in a hurry, you know?”

  People rarely call me a prude, but at the moment, I felt like one. Kids should have a mom and dad who were committed to each other and to them. As someone who grew up in a dysfunctional home, I knew all about the importance of a stable home life.

  I attempted to swallow my judgments. “Lots of changes.”

  “Yeah, how about you?” His gaze ran up and down the length of me. “What’s new? You find yourself a saint who can handle you yet? Or maybe I should say a superhero?”

  I scowled. “Ha ha. Very funny. I don’t need a man, thank you very much. I’m perfectly content with my career.” Most of the time. Okay, fifty-percent, at least.

  “How’s the crime scene cleaning?”

  I shrugged and pictured myself alphabetizing my cleaning supplies earlier this week. “Booming.”

  He did his trademark eyebrow quirk. “Strange, because we’ve been slow.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. I was drinking it black, something I rarely did. Right now, I needed the extra dose of caffeine, though. “Yeah, the big-time criminals must be hibernating. That’s a good thing, right?”

  He smirked. “Not for Sierra. It just means we have more time to focus on her.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Parker.” Why, oh why, did I always think of animal expressions when I talked about Sierra? “You’ll find that out as soon as she gets back.”

  “Tell me—what friend was she getting together with?”

  The blood drained from my face. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.” It was the truth, if you defined “truth” by its loosest definition.

  He cocked an eyebrow again. He knew me better than I wanted to admit. “But you have an idea.”

  “I only have guesses. Guesses don’t mean anything.”

  “Give me a name.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Parker as he sipped on his coffee mug like he belonged in my apartment. “Why are you acting like this? I’m on your side—the side of the law. I always have been. But I’m not going to incriminate my friend.”

  He set down his coffee mug on the counter with a loud clank. “I just want a name, Gabby. Maybe the name will help prove her innocence.”

  I sighed, my breath ruffling my hair. “I think his name is Henry. I don’t know his last name.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Not much. He’s a freegan.”

  “You mean vegan?”

  “No, a freegan.” Sierra’s long, long speech on the definition of a “freegan” came back to me. “He only eats free food. They’re called freegans. They go dumpster diving and stuff.”

  “Why would he do that?” Flashy Parker actually looked stupefied at the thought.

  I sighed again, suddenly feeling like I was the suspect and a freegan. “Apparently, the U.S. wastes about half of the food it produces. Freegans don’t want to support an economy that wastes so much so they only eat food that others discard.”

  Wow, I’d said it and sounded convincing. I was good.

  “They sound like freaks.”

  I shrugged. “Call ‘em what you want. They’re out there.”

  He picked up his coffee mug again. “How long has she been hanging out with this Henry?” Long sip.

  “Two, three months.”

  “What’s your impression of him?”r />
  A picture of Henry flashed in my head. I’d given him the nickname “The Smell.” Yeah, enough said. “Aside from the fact that he looks homeless?”

  “Homeless?”

  A picture of Henry flashed into my head. “Apparently freegans don’t shower very often or buy clothes either. Nor do they own cars because he’s always trying to hitchhike or riding his bike. He’s talked Sierra into getting a car that runs on used vegetable oil.” I shook my head at the thought. “Whatever floats your boat. Peels your wheels. Moves your hooves. Propels your—”

  “Are they romantically linked?”

  The thought made me forget my poetic aspirations. “I hope not.” I relaxed my shoulders as I realized how uptight I sounded. “I mean, if he makes her happy, then they should be together.” I paused. “Romantically.” As soon as the word left my mouth, I wanted to throw up. Who would want to kiss someone who ate trash and didn’t shower?

  Maybe people said the same thing about me. Who would want to date someone who cleans up blood and smells like death?

  I pressed my hands into the counter behind me and focused my thoughts. Sure, Henry was extreme when it came to the environment. But that didn’t mean Sierra, simply by affiliation, had burned down a new housing development. Not Sierra. But if she was associated with the wrong people—people who were involved with this crime—then she could still be in trouble…

  I shuddered.

  “You can’t assume she’s guilty until you have more evidence. It’s the American way.”

  Parker took a long sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. “We just want to ask her some questions.”

  “It sounds like you already have your mind made up.”

  Parker reached down and grabbed the newspaper from my kitchen counter. His eyes scanned the article there before he looked up, his eyes sparkling. He began to read aloud.