Broom and Gloom: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 9 Page 11
So, what did it mean that Riley was “thinking about me”? Was he jerking me around? I’d basically come to the conclusion that his “My therapist told me to do it” was the equivalent of “The devil made me do it.” But what if he really was trying to do what was best for me and our relationship? I hadn’t seriously considered that possibility since all of this happened.
Getting away was a good thing because it gave me space and distance from all the changes in my life. Sometimes, emotions clouded judgment, no matter how hard we tried to make it not happen that way.
I stared at the text another moment, considering how to respond. Finally, I settled on, Hope they’re all good thoughts.
Lame, Gabby, I scolded myself as soon as I hit send.
I held my breath as I waited to see if he’d respond.
He did, with: Of course. What else would there be?
I nibbled my bottom lip for a moment, trying to think of something witty. Instead, I wrote: Hope you’re doing well, Riley.
Instead of dwelling on what I’d like to say, I put the pillow down, spread out the blanket, and switched the lamp off. I needed some rest if I was going to get through class tomorrow, as well as try to help Trace.
My mind drifted to his story about “Doom and Groom.” An amazingly bad experience in his life had turned into his success. I knew that was the way life worked sometimes, but I had to wonder how God might turn around things for me. Was there any way He could take my brokenness and my heartache and turn it into something to use for His good?
Could I change what had become a doom-and-gloom outlook into a vision for the future? I knew I could. Something was changing inside of me. I could feel it.
This was me. Gabby St. Claire. I was single. Independent. Well on my way to achieving success in the forensic world. One day, I’d look back on everything that had happened over the past year—even longer, if I started when my mom died—and I’d see that everything was working together for the good of those who were called in Christ Jesus.
I let out a long breath and tried to close my eyes. Only I realized I wasn’t sleepy.
I pulled my eyes back open.
When I glanced at the window, I saw someone there staring inside at me.
CHAPTER 15
In what may have been one of my dumbest moves ever—also known as HMS (Horror Movie Stupid)—I darted toward the door. I threw it open and darted outside onto the porch just in time to see a blue sedan squeal away down the street. I would have darted into my car and chased the Peeping Tom, if I’d actually had a car.
I tried to read the plates, but it was useless. It was too rainy and dark outside. Instead, I stomped my foot onto the cement, as if that would make anything better. How frustrating was it to be that close to answers, only to have the person I was looking for slip away?
“Gabby?”
I turned toward Trace. He held a phone in his hands. He must have just gotten finished with his interview.
I pointed down the street. “Someone was just peering in your window. She drove off before I got here.”
His face went pale. “A woman?”
I nodded. “I can’t be sure, but it could have been Georgia. It all happened so fast.”
He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. At once, he looked totally exhausted. “I was hoping she was gone for good, but I figured that was too good to be true.”
“Trace, I’d like to look into Georgia some more. How would you feel if I dropped you off with the band and borrowed your truck? I’d like to stop by her house this morning. I doubt she’ll be there, but at least I can question her neighbors and see what I can find out.”
“Don’t you have classes?”
I nodded, remembering a workshop about ballistics that I really wanted to attend. However, as Dr. Stone had reminded me, life was all about making decisions. Right now, I was deciding to focus on this case, especially since I wondered if Skye’s disappearance had any connections with Dud’s death. “I can miss just once. I’m only in town for a little while. I don’t want to leave without any answers.”
He stared at me a moment before nodding. “You’re a big girl. You make your own choices. But I don’t want you doing this out of any obligation to me.”
“No obligation. I’m just following my instincts.”
He nodded. “Okay, then. You should probably try to grab a few hours of sleep first.”
My body wanted rest, but my mind was racing a mile a minute. Despite that, Trace was right. I needed to get some shut-eye if I wanted to keep a clear head and sound mind. “Sounds good.”
I stepped inside and Trace locked the door.
“Gabby.” He turned toward me, worry in his gaze. “I hope I just didn’t put you in danger. If that was Georgia, she might think you’re competition, not family.”
I bit down. That same thought had crossed my mind as well.
***
After a few hours of restless sleep, I pulled myself off the couch and stretched. My muscles were tight and sore. I felt like I hadn’t rested at all, yet I remembered some vivid dreams that assured me I had drifted off.
I borrowed a toothbrush from Trace—an unopened one he’d gotten at the dentist—and did my best to clean up without any new clothes or makeup. Thankfully, the cowboy hat Trace had given me would conceal my frizzy hair.
Trace talked me into eating breakfast with him before heading out, and I agreed. He drove down the street to a hole-in-the-wall diner with a faded vinyl floor, sparkly tabletops, and waitresses who all looked like they should be retired.
Trace took a long sip of his coffee and leaned back in his vinyl chair. “So, that professor guy was a jerk, huh? You want me to go beat him up?”
I let out a chuckle at the thought of having a big brother come to my rescue. At my age, the thought was just humorous. Plus, I was pretty sure I was older than Trace.
“I think I can handle this myself. I was just so blindsided by how he acted. I’ve looked up to him for years. Years. Nowhere in any of my thoughts was he a jerk.”
Trace frowned. “Guys can be like that. Sorry you had to go through it, though. You don’t have anyone special waiting for you back home?”
My heart twisted at the thought. “I was kind of dating this guy named Garrett Mercer—”
“Of Global Coffee Initiative?” Trace’s eyebrows shot up in recognition.
I smiled, forgetting how popular the man was. He’d graced magazine covers, been featured on national news shows, and even been invited to movie premiers. “Yes, the one and only.”
“I love their coffee. Go on, though.”
Just then, the waitress—who, no joke, was named Flo—set two big plates in front of us. I’d splurged. My breakfast feast consisted of bacon, eggs, home fries, and toast. Thankfully, I had no aspirations of being a supermodel, so I was going to enjoy every glorious, fattening bite.
I glanced at Trace’s western omelet, complete with cheese, peppers, onions, sausage, and ham. He’d probably work all of that off just in rehearsal.
We bowed our heads and offered thanks before digging in.
“So, anyway, tell me about Garrett Mercer.” Trace raised his fork. “You’ve heard all about my life—and my problems. I want to hear more about you.”
“He invited me to Africa with him.”
“Africa? On a safari or something?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s touring the area where his company has built wells for the less fortunate.”
“Sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“I said no.” I stabbed one of my potatoes. “I felt like I needed to stay around and try to get focused instead of bouncing from whim to whim. Especially after everything that happened with Riley.”
“Is Riley the man who was shot by Scum?”
I nodded, my gut still twisting when I heard the nickname of the notorious serial killer. He’d turned my life upside down. I’d survived, yet pieces of me had died in the process. “I guess your mom told you about tha
t?”
Teddi had also been abducted by the man, all in a revenge plot to get back at Riley and me. It was only by God’s grace that we’d come out alive.
“She did. It sounded tragic for everyone involved. I was in Brazil when it happened. I know it’s hard to believe, but we’re actually pretty popular down there. When I got within cell phone range, I got the messages about what had happened. By that time, Teddi was back at home and safe. She told me not to come, that she was fine.”
“She’s a strong woman.” She was. At first, I thought I’d resent it if my dad dated anyone else. After all, there was no one like my mom. But Teddi was truly sweet, and she was so good for my dad. She’d never be my mom, but I’d be honored to have her as a stepmom.
“Tell me about Riley.”
Sadness pressed on my heart. “I was supposed to marry him. I was picking out my wedding dress with Teddi when I got the news that he’d been shot. Life hasn’t been the same since then. I try not to feel sorry for myself, but it’s difficult when a homicidal maniac changes the course of your life. I have to accept that everything happens for a purpose, even something as tragic as what Riley went through.”
“Is he out of your life now?”
The burden on my shoulders pressed harder. “Kind of. I mean, just when I think he’s out, he comes waltzing back in. His therapist says it’s better to start any romantic relationships over fresh. He said most relationships don’t survive a brain injury like his.”
Trace slowed the pace he was downing his food. “Is he progressing?”
I remembered when I’d seen Riley in January at a local community theater production. It had been nice to see him, but hard also—hard because it made me realize everything I’d lost, all because of a senseless act of violence. “He seems to be.”
“You still care about him, don’t you?”
I shrugged, staring out the window a moment at a truck that pulled up and the cowboy who stepped out. “I think I’ll always love Riley. The question is: How can I love him and move on?”
“Why do you have to?”
“Because moving on is what everyone keeps telling me to do. They make it sound like it’s as easy as buying a new car. Like it’s something you just get done and over with. It hasn’t been that easy in my life.”
“Moving on is something that has to happen organically. You have to give it time, give yourself space and mercy, stay positive about the future. Getting a dog usually helps, too.” He flashed a grin.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Sometimes, moving on isn’t exactly what we envision it’s going to be. Sometimes it’s getting to a place where we’re okay with the future, whatever it holds.”
“You’re pretty smart, you know that?”
He blew on his fingers and rubbed them on his chambray shirt. “I like to think so. They do pay me to wax philosophical about life and love, preferably with a touch of twang on the side.”
I smiled. “What about you? What happens if we don’t find Skye?”
His expression turned serious. “I’m not sure. I can’t move on from the fact that she may have been hurt because of me.”
“Because of Georgia,” I corrected.
He nodded. “Because of Georgia.”
“I’m hoping I can find you some closure, Trace.”
“I’m hoping you get some closure yourself, Gabby.”
***
I dropped Trace off at the warehouse where they were rehearsing and then programmed Georgia’s address into my phone’s GPS. As I moseyed down the road, I replayed last night in my mind, and a fire lit in my gut.
Levi Stone was not going to dictate my life for me. Nor would I let all the setbacks define me. It was time I dusted off my boots and took some initiative for myself. I knew I had what it took to succeed in forensics. And now was the time that I was going to do something about it.
I dialed Margo Grayson’s number. I’d met her at a fund-raising gala a few months ago. She was the CEO of Grayson Technologies, a manufacturer of the supplies used to collect evidence at crime scenes. I had her number programmed into my phone.
I couldn’t believe it when I was actually patched through to her. I really should have planned what to say a little more. “Mrs. Grayson, this is Gabby St. Claire. I’m a friend of Garrett Mercer’s, and we met—”
“Yes, I remember you. We met in Cincinnati.”
That gave me a little more courage to go on. “Yes, that’s correct. You’d mentioned when we met that I should talk to you sometime if I ever wanted to work as a representative for you. I’m interested.”
“Really? Well, that’s wonderful to hear. I have to say, though, that we’re not looking for any representatives right now. I filled that spot a couple of months ago.”
My heart sank. “I understand.”
“But I am looking for another trainer. It’s only part-time and requires some travel.”
“I’d love to hear more.”
“Of course. Basically, the person will travel to various seminars and police departments to train people there on how to properly use equipment. You obviously have experience.”
“That sounds like something I’d definitely be interested in.”
“I’d love to do an interview with you. Maybe sometime next week?”
My heart sped with excitement. “That would be great.”
“I’ll let my secretary set something up then. We can do it over the phone. Send us your resume and a letter of interest, via email, beforehand.”
After I talked to Mrs. Grayson’s secretary, I put the phone down and smiled. Maybe the whole fiasco with Levi wasn’t entirely terrible. It had given me the push I needed to take some initiative.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled up to an apartment complex on the outskirts of Oklahoma City.
I’d assumed Georgia was on the run or in hiding. But assumptions were dangerous things. I needed to know for sure if she was here, living her life as normal, or if her normal routines had been disrupted. It was probably one of the first places I should have started, but Dud’s death had caused me to kick my investigation up a notch.
I went to the door marked 298 and knocked. No one answered, which wasn’t surprising. On a whim, I knocked on the two doors on either side of apartment 298. Again, no one answered. I supposed everyone was at work. However, I really didn’t want to come all the way out here for nothing.
With that in mind, I went down to the apartment manager’s office. A woman with short, poofy blonde hair answered the door after I buzzed. Her apartment reeked of cigarette smoke and cat hair.
“Interested in an apartment application?”
I shook my head. “I’m actually a PI, and I’m trying to locate one of your residents.”
She started to shut the door. “If it doesn’t make me money, I’m not interested.”
“This is a matter of life or death,” I told her.
That made her pause. “Life or death?”
“It’s about Georgia Dalton.”
“Is Georgia in some kind of trouble?”
“You could say that.”
She studied me a moment. “You say you’re a PI?”
I nodded. “That’s correct. It’s of vital importance that I locate Georgia. Any help you can give me would be great.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you.” She crossed her bony arms over her blue velvet housecoat.
“When you saw her last, for starters.”
“Two weeks ago. Her rent was due, she never paid, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Does she work?”
The woman sighed and turned. I thought she was finished talking to me, but then she opened a file drawer and began rifling through it. I stepped inside, and a moment later, she pulled out some papers and shuffled through them.
“Hair Kingdom. It’s in downtown Lawton.” She scanned some more papers and then looked back up at me. “She was always a bit peculiar. I hate to think of something happening to her.”
“I suppose.”
Once back in the truck, I pulled out my phone and found the number for Hair Kingdom. I asked for an appointment with Georgia.
“I’m sorry. She no longer works here.”
I bit on my lip for a minute, not willing to let my one and only lead slip away. “How about her friend who works there? I forget her name, but I know Georgia recommended her as a last-minute backup.”
“You mean Poppy?”
Bingo! “Yes, Poppy. That sounds right. Does she have any free time today?”
Silence stretched for a minute, and I heard computer keys tapping. “How fast can you get here?”
I took a stab at it. “Thirty minutes, probably.”
“Then she can squeeze you in, if it’s nothing complicated.”
“I just need my hair fixed for an event I have tonight.”
“Great. We’ll see you in thirty.”
CHAPTER 16
I arrived five minutes early for my appointment and walked into a trendy-looking salon filled with workers with trendy clothes and trendy hair in a shop located in a—you guessed it—trendy-looking shopping center. A woman at the desk greeted me and immediately led me to a station in the corner and introduced me to Poppy.
Poppy had black hair that was cut into a blunt wedge. She was tall with sharp features and well-tanned skin. Her clothes were all too tight, and tattoos peeked out from every available spot—beneath her sleeves, on her midriff, up her neck.
She popped the gum in her mouth. “What can I do for you?”
She stood behind me and started picking at pieces of my hair as she stared at me in the mirror with a cool detachment.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror and realized how tired I looked and what a huge mistake it had been to forget my styling gel when I packed. “I’d like a blowout.”