The Art of Eavesdropping Read online

  The Art of Eavesdropping

  The Sidekick’s Survival Guide, Book 1

  Christy Barritt

  Copyright © 2020 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.

  To my friend Gina, who always entertains me with her stories about being a Filipino in America.

  To my friend Helza, who inspired me with stories of growing up in Peru.

  To my friends Rachel and Curtis, who served as missionaries in Ecuador and showed me what it was like to have a heart for those overseas.

  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

  #15 Cold Case: Clean Break

  #16 Cleans to an End (coming soon)

  While You Were Sweeping, A Riley Thomas Spinoff

  The Sierra Files:

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #3 Pranced

  #4 Rattled

  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

  #9 Wreck the Halls

  #10 Glitch and Famous (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

  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

  Winds of Danger

  Rains of Remorse

  Lantern Beach P.D.

  On the Lookout

  Attempt to Locate

  First Degree Murder

  Dead on Arrival

  Plan of Action

  Lantern Beach Escape

  Afterglow (a novelette)

  Lantern Beach Blackout

  Dark Water

  Safe Harbor

  Ripple Effect

  Rising Tide

  The Sidekick’s Survival Guide

  The Art of Eavesdropping

  The Perks of Meddling

  The Skill of Snooping (coming soon)

  The Practice of Prying (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

  Brink of Danger

  Line of Duty

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Dubiosity

  Disillusioned

  Distorted

  Standalone Romantic Mystery:

  The Good Girl

  Suspense:

  Imperfect

  The Wrecking

  Sweet Christmas Novella:

  Home to Chestnut Grove

  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

  Trained to Defend

  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)

  Contents

  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

  Also by Christy Barritt:

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  The Worst Detective Ever:

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I used to feel I had the whole world in front of me. Now, I was certain that it wasn’t the actual world, but a mirage showing what my life could have looked like.

  So, instead of looking ahead, I decided to glance behind me.

  Like, I literally peered back. As in, into my rearview mirror at the street stretching there.

  I couldn’t help but feel like my past was trailing me like a piece of toilet paper unknowingly stuck on my shoe.

  Though nothing suspicious caught my eye, my gut told me someone was following me.

  But what sense would that make?

  I was Elliot Ransom. An introvert. The new girl in town. Someone who prided herself in being fluent in English, Spanish, and Nerd.

  In other words, I wasn’t a threat—not unless I was at a spelling bee.

  I sighed and turned my gaze back to the road ahead. It was my first day on a new job, and the bright, sunny spring weather seemed to hold promise.

  I’d take whatever hope I could hold onto.

  Nothing had felt right since I’d moved away from the Amazon village where I’d grown up to this hoity-toity Virginia city that masqueraded as a wholesome river town. For a goal-oriented twenty-seven-year-old, the change had been traumatic, and lately I’d eaten away my troubles with subpar mangoes and canned
pineapple.

  I missed the cheerful sounds of the jungle in the morning.

  The clean, dewy air.

  The love of my life, Sergio.

  Mostly, I missed feeling excited about the prospects of my future. Instead, I’d been transported to this new place and left with the realization that home was no longer attainable.

  And it never again would be.

  I glanced behind me one more time. Still nothing suspicious caught my eye.

  But the gut feeling remained, a feeling that had been finely tuned by my father, Edwardo Lucas Eldorado Topeka de Torres. Yes, our last names were different, but that was a story for another day.

  Just then, my car sputtered. Smoke rose from the hood. The vehicle lurched.

  I pulled off to the side of the road, where my sedan—a silver Buick with a red door—died faster than my social life as of late.

  With a sigh, I climbed out, popped the hood, and propped it open. Then I stared at all the car engine components in front of me, trying to figure out what might have possibly gone wrong, causing smoke to come out.

  I knew a lot of things, but I had no clue how to fix a car.

  I pressed my fingers against my temples as my head began to throb. This is not the time for weakness. It’s time to operate at peakness.

  When I got nervous, I started to rhyme. The habit was weird, but it was all mine. As I’d gotten older, it sounded less cute and more like a wannabe half-Hispanic, half-Caucasian rapper.

  I tried to start the car again. The engine clicked but refused to turn over.

  I had to think here. I had exactly six dollars and thirty-four cents in my wallet. No credit cards. And a dead car.

  Not to mention that this was my first day at my new job. Being late would be a horrible first impression. I knew I shouldn’t have taken this new position. I should have stuck with my old, boring job as an insurance specialist.

  Just then, a car pulled behind me. It wasn’t just any car either. The Bentley probably cost more than I would make in a decade.

  My jaw tightened when I saw the man who climbed out and strode toward me. He wore a white suit and expensive sunglasses that made him appear important—not exactly the kind of guy who stopped on the side of the road to help someone with a clunker like mine. More like the type who hired people to iron his underwear and separate his M&Ms by color.

  “Looks like you’re having some problems.” He paused beside me. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’m not really sure what happened,” I started, the words coming out too fast. “I was just driving down the road when I saw the smoke and heard a strange sound.”

  The man pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his gelled dark hair, revealing beautiful brown eyes. As he fiddled under the hood, I couldn’t help but worry he’d get grease on his crisp, white suit.

  My dad had taught me to always be observant. He’d told me it might save my life one day. I’d never forgotten that. During the beginnings of the political uprisings in my country, my father had given me survival tips instead of telling nighttime stories.

  And that was why I had trouble relating to so many people around me. Though my family had frequently taken trips to the States, my upbringing wasn’t like most people’s.

  “Oh, here it is.” My Knight-in-White-Armani fiddled with something before looking back at me. “Do me a favor and start the engine. Let’s see what happens.”

  I climbed back into the car and did as he said. As I turned the key in the ignition, my engine purred to life. Relief rushed through me. Maybe there was hope for the rest of my life—I mean, day.

  Quickly, I climbed from the car and met the man. “Thank you so much.”

  He stepped back and grinned, his teeth gleaming like snow on a sunny day. “It’s no problem. It looks like one of the spark plug wires became disconnected. You still might want to take it into a garage, just to make sure. But this should get you to where you’re going, provided it’s not too far away.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” I offered a grateful smile. This guy, despite his snooty appearance, really had been a lifesaver.

  The man pulled his sunglasses back over his eyes and flashed that million-dollar grin again. “It’s no problem. Helping out a beautiful damsel in distress is the least I can do.” With one more wave, he strode back to his car. “¡Mantente alerta!”

  I froze.

  What had he just said? Certainly I’d misunderstood.

  Because it had sounded like he said, “mantente alerta.”

  Spanish for “Stay alert.”

  A phrase my father had often used.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  The uneasy feeling returned to me. Had that man been following me? What sense would that make?

  I glanced at my watch again before climbing back into my car and heading down the road. With any luck, I’d show up for my first day on the job right on time.

  But I couldn’t shake the notion that something bad was speeding toward me like a jaguar closing in on its prey.

  After getting stuck behind every red light, I rolled into work ten minutes late. I paused in front of the office to gather myself before going inside. The building was a storefront located one block back from the quaint tourist area along the beautiful Storm River. The outside was painted robin’s egg blue, and cheerful white shutters hung on either side of the wide windows.

  It looked welcoming and warm, at least.

  When I finally walked into the office building of Driscoll and Associates, a private investigation firm, I noticed that I’d somehow managed to get a streak of grease on my new blouse.

  While the man who’d helped me with my car walked away totally clean. Go figure.

  Instead of changing, I buttoned my pale-yellow sweater, trying to hide the evidence so I could look professional. Impressions were 90 percent of success. Another tidbit from my dad.

  By nature, I was the neat but comfortable kind. I had straight brown hair that wouldn’t hold a curl. A boyish figure—no hips or chest. A no-frill way of dressing.

  My dad had said that allowed my natural beauty to shine through.

  Dads were supposed to say stuff like that.

  I paused and glanced around the reception area. The place was decorated professionally with walnut-stained shiplap walls, rich wood floors, and sleek furniture. The scent of sandalwood floated in the air, and electricity seemed to zing through the atmosphere.

  I smiled at the woman at the front desk. “I’m Elliot Ransom, and I’m here to see Mr. Driscoll.”

  A blonde with big hair, full lips, and oversized glasses unapologetically studied me. “You must be the new girl.”

  First impression: Ditzy. Slightly vain. A talker. From the Deep South, based on her drawl.

  “That’s me. Elliot Ransom.”

  She flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe you’ll make it longer than the last one did.”

  What did that mean? I didn’t know much about my new boss. I’d read an online ad stating he was looking for an assistant. He paid considerably higher than what I’d been paid at my old job, and the position sounded entirely more interesting.

  “Velma!” A deep voice rattled the room from a doorway in the distance. “Is she here yet?”

  Velma’s eyes widened, and she sat up straighter in her chair. Her hand flew out and knocked some papers from the desk. The pile fluttered to the floor like feathers in duck-hunting season. Instead of picking them up, her fingers splayed across the desk as if hanging on for dear life.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sending her right in.” Velma looked at me with wide eyes beneath her purple-framed glasses before whispering, “Good luck.”

  I hadn’t remembered my new boss being quite as scary when I’d met him for my interview. Then again, we’d only talked for five minutes in-between press interviews he gave in front of City Hall. His job opening ad had stated he wanted someone detail-oriented who spoke fluent Spanish, liked t
o read Agatha Christie, and wasn’t PC.

  It was like the ad was written for me. I was bilingual, loved mystery novels, and hated personal computers. I was more of a Mac girl.

  Mostly, what I remembered was the man had smelled like cigars and bloated self-worth. Oscar Driscoll had asked a few questions, looked me over, and then told me I was hired. Maybe that did seem a little suspicious, but desperation won over complaining. I was so over my job at the insurance company.

  I stepped into the office and spotted my new boss sitting behind his massive desk—a desk built for such a person. The man was large and imposing, with a round face, a nearly bald head, and an awful mustache below his shiny, bulbous nose. He looked to be in his early fifties, and, based on the dish on his desk, he liked pistachios.

  He had helped solve the highly publicized crime of the Ernesto family five years ago, and he’d become somewhat of a celebrity. Helena Ernesto had been accused of killing her husband, but Oscar found a key piece of evidence indicating Helena’s brother was actually guilty.

  Media coverage had been intense and constant, and Oscar had shone in the spotlight. Eventually, he’d even written a book about it, and a made-for-TV movie had been aired with some actor named Kevin James playing Oscar.

  I’d done a little research on the man before coming today. The Type A in me couldn’t resist.

  He observed me for a moment before nodding. “Good. You’re here. You’re from South America, right?”

  “That’s right. I grew up in a town right on the edge of the jungle and—”

  “You look Hispanic.”