Gaffe Out Loud Read online

  Gaffe Out Loud

  The Worst Detective Ever Mystery Series

  Christy Barritt

  Copyright © 2018 by Christy Barritt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Complete Book List

  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

  Also by Christy Barritt:

  The Worst Detective Ever:

  Lantern Beach Mystery Series:

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  About the Author

  Complete Book List

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  #2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime (novella)

  #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 & Gloom

  #10 Dust and Obey

  #11 Thrill Squeaker

  #11.5 Swept Away (novella)

  #12 Cunning Attractions

  #13 Cold Case: Clean Getaway

  #14 Cold Case: Clean Sweep

  While You Were Sweeping, A Riley Thomas Spinoff

  The Sierra Files:

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #3 Pranced

  #4 Rattled

  #5 Caged (coming soon)

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a Tween Mystery series):

  The Curtain Call Caper

  The Disappearing Dog Dilemma

  The Bungled Bike Burglaries

  The Worst Detective Ever

  #1 Ready to Fumble

  #2 Reign of Error

  #3 Safety in Blunders

  #4 Join the Flub

  #5 Blooper Freak

  #6 Flaw Abiding Citizen

  #7 Gaffe Out Loud

  #8 Joke and Dagger (coming soon)

  Raven Remington

  Relentless 1

  Relentless 2 (coming soon)

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  #1 Random Acts of Murder

  #2 Random Acts of Deceit

  #2.5 Random Acts of Scrooge

  #3 Random Acts of Malice

  #4 Random Acts of Greed

  #5 Random Acts of Fraud

  #6 Random Acts of Outrage

  #7 Random Acts of Iniquity (coming soon)

  Lantern Beach Mysteries

  #1 Hidden Currents

  #2 Flood Watch

  #3 Storm Surge

  #4 Dangerous Waters

  #5 Perilous Riptide

  #6 Deadly Undertow

  Lantern Beach Romantic Suspense

  Tides of Deception

  Shadow of Intrigue

  Storm of Doubt

  Lantern Beach P.D.

  On the Lookout (coming soon)

  Carolina Moon Series

  Home Before Dark

  Gone By Dark

  Wait Until Dark

  Light the Dark

  Taken By Dark

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:

  Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife

  Fog Lake Suspense:

  Edge of Peril

  Margin of Error (coming soon)

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Dubiosity

  Disillusioned

  Distorted

  Standalone Romantic Mystery:

  The Good Girl

  Suspense:

  Imperfect

  The Wrecking

  Standalone Romantic-Suspense:

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet

  Key Witness

  Lifeline

  High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

  Desperate Measures

  Hidden Agenda

  Mountain Hideaway

  Dark Harbor

  Shadow of Suspicion

  The Baby Assignment

  The Cradle Conspiracy (coming soon)

  Nonfiction:

  Characters in the Kitchen

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music (out of print)

  The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel (out of print)

  Chapter One

  “Oh. My. Goodness. There aren’t his and her sinks in this ensuite?” I paused dramatically, making sure my eyes were wide with disbelief as I stood in the center of the master bathroom.

  Jackson Sullivan ran a finger along the golden-colored granite, totally unaffected by my dramatics. “Well, you are the only one living here, Joey.”

  “But this bathroom surround is made out of molded plastic. Molded plastic. And it’s beige. Who does that anymore?”

  Jackson shrugged, amusement dancing in his eyes. “A lot of builders in this area. Molded plastic is very cost-effective.”

  I let out a sigh, realizing I wasn’t getting my point through to him. The man might be handsome with his fit build, killer blue eyes, and scruffy facial hair, but when it came to soap opera worthy melodramatics, he had no clue. He was all logical, like he should be a detective or something.

  Maybe that was good since he was a detective. But nonetheless.

  I needed him to feed my dramatic energy right now. “But there are no stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen and the countertops are granite, and I want marble. And what about an open floor plan? Do these people not know how important that is to today’s homeowners? How can I see my kids while I’m cooking in the kitchen with that big wall up?”

  Jackson crossed his muscular arms across his equally muscular chest and gave an even-keel stare. “You don’t have any kids. And you don’t cook.”

  “I don’t know what else to say.” I raised a shoulder and let out a snobby sigh. “But this place isn’t up to today’s standards.”

  “It was built a hundred years ago.”

  “Since I just bought the place, I guess I’ll get used to it.”

  As Jackson cracked a smile, I broke character. As much fun as it had been pretending to be an uptight buyer from a reality TV show, I really didn’t care about any of those things I’d just mentioned. I loved this place.

  The 3,000-square-foot “cottage” was my new home here in Nags Head, North Carolina. Everything about this place was far, far away from my old life in LA—and that was a good thing. A very good thing.

  In fact, when I stepped through one of many sets of sliding glass doors that ran along the entire living room wall, the Atlantic Ocean greeted me, along with a wraparound deck and a lifetime of opportunities to make my hopeful future different from my anguished past. I considered this Step 278 in disaster cleanup efforts.


  “What disaster?” you might ask.

  My life.

  But the best part about buying this home was the fact that Jackson Sullivan lived nearby. And anywhere I could be with Jackson was a good place.

  I wandered back into the kitchen and pulled myself up until I perched on the kitchen counter. Something crinkled in my back pocket, and I reached for the mystery object.

  Objects.

  Actually, photos.

  “I’m glad I found these as I was packing this morning.” I handed them to Jackson. “I’ve been meaning to give them to you.”

  He glanced through them, studying each one curiously. There was one of me on the beach with the sun hitting my hair at just the right angle. Another was a studio shot where I wasn’t smiling, but my eyes clearly stated intelligence. In the third, I laughed after someone told me a joke. My body was bent forward as the laugh captured me entirely.

  Jackson kept his head lowered, only raising his gaze. “These are great pictures, but what are they for? To put on my nightstand?”

  “No, these are for you to have on hand in case of an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency would I need these for?”

  “You know, if I ever disappear. These are the pictures I want you to give to the media.”

  A wrinkle formed between Jackson’s eyebrows. “You know this isn’t a normal conversation, right?”

  I shrugged. “I know, but I’m just saying. Some of the pictures that relatives use of their loved ones during moments of crisis are so unflattering.”

  A deep, rumbling chuckle finally emerged from Jackson. He looked away and shook his head, almost as if he didn’t quite know what to do with me. Considering the fact that he’d known me for six months now, I’d say that was a good thing. I liked to keep people guessing.

  It made life more interesting.

  “You’re a piece of work.” Jackson ran a hand over his face. “You know that, don’t you, Joey Darling?”

  I shrugged one shoulder and pursed my lips. “Why, yes I do. You’re welcome.”

  “You’re welcome?”

  “Because you’ll never have a dull moment with me around.”

  Jackson stepped closer, his eyes dancing with mischief. “No, I won’t.”

  He planted a hand on each side of me, effectively trapping me where I sat there on the kitchen counter.

  I was okay with that.

  Mostly because I was okay with Jackson. More than okay, for that matter.

  I loved him. And I hadn’t been sure I would ever love anyone again after my last relationship fiasco.

  I looped my arms around his neck, like I’d done a million times before. He leaned close, his lips meeting mine. Also like they’d done a million times before.

  But, as his lips lingered on mine, a knock sounded at the door. Jackson hung his head with frustration and sighed. We’d had lots of interruptions lately, and alone time had been hard to come by.

  Jackson stepped back. “We can finish that later.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Yes, something about the man brought out my sass.

  It beat what my ex-husband had brought out in me. Insecurity and fear.

  The two men were like night and day.

  “I guess I should answer that.” I didn’t move.

  Jackson didn’t budge either. “I guess you should.”

  “Or we could ignore it . . .”

  “Joey, are you there?” a deep voice called. “I see your car outside.”

  I recognized that voice. Zane Oakley.

  My friend had returned from his trip to Florida two weeks ago, and he’d been my realtor for this deal. He’d said he would stop by my new house to pick up something the previous owner had mistakenly left in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

  As I opened the door, Zane thrust some flowers into my hands. “Congrats! You’re now the proud new owner of one of the best properties on the Outer Banks.”

  “I know. I am, aren’t I? I can’t believe it.” I really couldn’t. I mean, I’d owned a house before. But then I’d lost my marriage, my career, and my money. I wasn’t sure I’d ever regain those things again.

  And I was okay with it. There were more important things in life than money and career.

  And my marriage . . . well, no marriage should be like mine had turned out. I’d had more bruises and cuts than I’d had love and kisses. I’d had more insults than words of affirmation. And I’d had more nights where I’d fallen asleep crying than I’d had nights I’d gone to sleep in my loved one’s arms.

  But still, buying this house was a big step. I’d moved across the country, far away from the vortex I called Hollywood. Getting away was one of the best things I could have done. Had I mentioned that yet?

  Zane, with his curly hair, board shorts, and plain tee looked like the epitome of a beachside real estate agent as he stood in front of me, especially since he wore loafers instead of flip-flops. That alone distinguished professional Zane from surfer Zane.

  “Hello, Jackson.” Zane nodded at Jackson, looking stiffer than a corpse during a confrontation.

  Jackson nodded back, just as corpse-like. “Zane.”

  Oh, no. I didn’t want to go there now. The two men had kept a rivalry going for too long. I’d clearly chosen Jackson, so there was no need for it to continue.

  Instead, I clapped my hands. “So, what did you need to pick up, Zane?”

  “I guess Wesley left a painting under a bed upstairs. He called and asked if I would mail it to him. I was supposed to check this morning but forgot.”

  Wesley Twigg had owned this house for the past five years. He was an artist—a painter—who’d found inspiration from the water. However, though the man was only in his fifties, he’d recently been diagnosed with a heart condition. Because of that, he’d sold the house and moved up north to be closer to his cardiac specialist.

  He’d moved out a week ago and had done the closing remotely, so I hadn’t actually met him.

  “I want to see this mysterious painting,” I said. “Maybe it’s worth a lot of money. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  “Actually, that’s a fallacy when you have proper evidence that proves . . . never mind.” Jackson shook his head.

  I had no idea what kind of stuff this Wesley guy painted, but I assumed it was landscapes of the beach. I assumed if he could afford this house, he was pretty successful. The only reason I could afford it was because my last movie, Family Secrets, had done exceedingly well.

  “Then follow me.”

  We walked through the wood-paneled living room. Only, this wood paneling had been painted a pale gray color.

  Then we walked through the kitchen with its white cabinets and gray granite countertop that reminded me of a meteorite that had been repurposed.

  Take that, HGTV.

  A master bedroom was tucked into a corner on the first floor, and four bedrooms were upstairs. On a lower story there was a game room and laundry.

  Oh, that wasn’t to mention the balconies. The many, many balconies and decks that displayed the ocean just on the other side of the dune.

  There had been no way I could pass up this property.

  Wesley had left most of his furniture here, but none of it was my style. I’d be buying my own soon, and probably with the help of a decorator. But, until then, at least I had something I could use, even if the dark brown leather couches reminded me of something you’d find at a shrink’s office.

  We climbed the stairs to the top floor, and Zane opened the door to the final bedroom down the hallway. I stepped inside, fully expecting it to be fine just like everything else in the house was.

  But as I pranced toward the window to fix a wayward curtain, I paused and sucked in a breath.

  A woman lay on the floor beside the bed, just out of sight from the doorway.

  “Joey?” Jackson paused as he stepped inside the room.

  I didn’t even have any words. No, I just pointed and gaped. Was she . . . dead?


  And then I realized the truth, and I laughed. I laughed out loud, and I laughed hard.

  Relief flushed through me, and I chided myself for being so gullible.

  I turned to Jackson, who remained straight-faced. He was a better actor than I’d thought. “Who put you up to this?”

  “Put me up to what?” Jackson’s eyebrows inched together as he stepped around me. His eyes widened when he saw what I saw. He almost looked genuinely surprised as he knelt there, examining the “woman.” Hollywood had amazing effects that could make even fake people look real.

  “It was Mark Johnson, wasn’t it?” I shook my head. This one was good. Really good. Maybe his best.

  “Who’s Mark Johnson?” Jackson turned the woman over, and her silky brown hair fell over her face.

  There was no blood to be seen.

  Of course.

  Because this wasn’t a real body.

  This was a joke.

  “You’re a better actor than I thought. As I’m sure you know, Mark Johnson is one of the producers for Relentless.” Relentless was the TV show I starred in as an ace detective. It had just been picked up by Netflix and would start filming new episodes in one week. “Every time someone on one of his shows buys a new home, he pranks them. He must have gotten someone to leave this dummy here. Good one.”

  I’d fallen for it. Totally fallen for it. Then again, given my track record . . .

  Jackson remained on the floor, kneeling by the body, and his eyes met mine. “Joey, this isn’t a dummy.”

  I stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile and say that the joke was on me. Mark must have been convincing if he talked straight-laced Jackson into participating in this little charade.