Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1) Read online

  Who? Who was the killer? How was I supposed to find him?

  “Now I’m going to let you go in a minute. If you scream, I’ll kill your friend Jackson when he comes running. I suggest you count to twenty before leaving this closet. Understand?”

  He waited.

  I did nothing.

  “Do you understand?” he repeated. “You do understand what’s on the line, don’t you? Your life.”

  I finally nodded, knowing I had no other choice. If I screamed, Jackson would come running. And this man would kill him. I had no doubt that wasn’t an empty threat.

  “Now turn around.”

  Bile gurgled in my stomach, but I did as he asked. He slipped something over my head. A pillowcase? Maybe.

  Then something pressed into my cheek. Had the man kissed me?

  The bile churned harder.

  The next instant, he was gone.

  I counted to twenty. Quickly. Or slowly. I wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, it wasn’t good enough. Either he’d kill Jackson, or my anxiety would kill me in this dark space.

  For extra measure, I counted to thirty.

  Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three . . .

  Then I jerked the fabric from my head and turned. I halfway feared the man would still be there. But it was just me in the cleaning closet.

  My hands trembled so badly I could hardly open the door. But I did. I fell into the dimly lit hallway and glanced left and right.

  I saw no one.

  The man was gone.

  But it had been Leonard. I had no doubt about that.

  I took a step, but my knees were weak. I feared fumbling but managed to stay upright. I could hardly breathe, but I made it to the door labeled Nags Head PD and twisted the knob. It turned. I opened the door and stumbled inside.

  A lady behind the desk jumped to her feet. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  I grabbed the counter, trying to get myself under control. “Jackson,” I croaked.

  I hated how weak I sounded. But that encounter had shaken me to the core. If the man had followed the script, I should almost be dead now.

  “Joey, what happened?” Jackson raced from a door on the other side of me, one that led to the recesses of the police station.

  I followed his gaze to my shirt. It was covered in blood.

  I sucked in a breath.

  “It’s not real,” I muttered.

  But the man had thought everything through, hadn’t he? He wanted to make it look like I’d been left for dead.

  I shuddered at the thought.

  He reached for my elbow. “You’re not hurt?”

  I shook my head. “Just shaken up.”

  “Let me call an ambulance.”

  “No, really. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Who did this to you?”

  I forced my gaze up to meet his. “He’s gone. He left . . . a few minutes ago.”

  Jackson gave me the stare, the one that made it clear he was trying to read me.

  “Let’s go talk.” He led me to an office in the back. No one else was there.

  As I sat across from him, his gaze went to my shirt again. The red . . . whatever . . . that had been left there looked just like blood. I almost wanted to look under my shirt to make sure it wasn’t real, but I knew it wasn’t.

  “Please start at the beginning.”

  “I got a phone call from you—”

  “I didn’t call you.”

  “I know that now.” I filled him in on everything from the time I arrived until now.

  Jackson scowled, but this time I knew it wasn’t directed at me. He didn’t like someone using him to get to me. “Tell me one more time what the man said.”

  “You can find him. We know you can do it. We believe in you.” My voice trembled as I replayed it all in my head.

  “What does that mean? Do people really think you’re Raven Remington?”

  I nodded. “I had a friend who was in this zombie series called The Swimming Dead. You may have heard of it. Anyway, people would randomly come up to him on the street and bite him.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Another friend was in this medieval series, and—you know what? Never mind. But yes, people really do mistake me for the person I played on TV.”

  “That’s . . . disturbing.”

  I looked down at my hands, which were a fluttering mess in my lap. “If I may be so bold, I also think that there are two crimes going on here. I think someone killed Simon and tried to kill Lily. And I think someone else is setting all of this up to look like an episode from my show.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “A man named Leonard Shepherd. He’s delusional. Something isn’t right in his head. Yet he’s brilliant.”

  “When did you meet him the first time?”

  “I went to this mystery writers’ convention. Raven Remington was first developed by Samuel Marx, the thriller writer.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Anyway, there was this little fan club portion, and Samuel asked me to come. Leonard was one of the first people in line. And he didn’t want to leave. His hand started at my shoulder and kept moving down. He gave me the creeps. But I’ve dealt with stuff like that before. I had security at the time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But then I noticed that Leonard kept showing up at as many events as he could. He was at movie openings and at restaurants where I ate. Then one day he showed up outside my house. That’s when I knew I had to take action. I called the police and got a restraining order.”

  “You have a restraining order?”

  I frowned. “I had one. It may have expired. I’m not really sure. I haven’t seen him in several months though. I thought he was gone. I figured that since my show was over, he’d forgotten about me.”

  “Apparently not.”

  I stared at my octopus fingers again. That was what Eric had always called them, and not in an endearing way. “I think he misses Raven and he’s trying to keep her alive through this case.”

  “That’s disturbing, Joey.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll do a search for him and put out an APB. The bad news is that there’s a big motorcycle rally in town this weekend. That means a lot of visitors. It’s going to be harder to find him.”

  “I understand. I just appreciate that you’re trying.”

  He stood. “I’m going to take you home. Unless you’re hurt. Then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  I rose so quickly that my chair fell over. I went to grab it and knocked a stack of papers off his desk. Then I went to grab the papers. As I did, a few of the words on the front caught my eye.

  23894 Wimble Shores

  Sunset Dolphin Cruises

  Ongoing investigation

  My dad’s address. His work. Investigation.

  What exactly did Jackson know that he wasn’t telling me about? Was he only being kind to me to get information on my dad?

  “Sorry about that,” I muttered.

  I wouldn’t let him know that I’d seen it. Not yet.

  But my gut clenched. I wasn’t sure any of the officers here were trustworthy. Not even Jackson.

  Jackson followed me in his police sedan back to my place. As soon as I stepped out, he took my keys from me.

  “You stay here while I check out your place.”

  As soon as he said the words, it hit me what he would find inside the house.

  He’d find my closet. The one where I’d left all the clues I’d gathered about my father’s disappearance. And then he’d know my secret.

  “You don’t have to do that—” I started.

  But my words weren’t heard. Jackson continued inside, his hand at his belt, where his gun was located.

  I couldn’t talk him out of this.

  I nibbled on my bottom lip, trying to think of what I’d say when he asked me. But there were really no good excuses. No explanations that would satisfy him.

  When he returned
to me five minutes later, I saw the truth in his eyes. He’d discovered my room.

  “All clear?” I asked with fake oblivion.

  “You want to tell me about that closet?” He stepped toward me, all-too-familiar suspicion staining his eyes.

  At least he’d gotten right to the point. “What about it?”

  “You have a shrine set up inside.”

  “A shrine?” I waved my hand in the air. “That’s no shrine.”

  “How do you know Lewis?”

  He knew my father’s name. He had a file on him. What else did he know? I had to be very careful how I played my cards here. “It’s not important.”

  “Joey . . .”

  I shrugged, dropping my act. “It’s not relevant to this case. I promise you that.”

  He gave me the hard stare . . . again.

  Finally, he nodded, and I could tell he’d decided to back off. “Your house is clear. You should be okay here. And if I call you, it will be from this number.” He handed me his card. “Do you understand?”

  I nodded, halfway wishing he wouldn’t leave. Leonard had shaken me to the core.

  “Do you have anyone who could stay with you?” he asked.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “What about your boyfriend?”

  “My boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Zane.” He nodded toward Zane’s place next door.

  “He’s a friend.”

  “That’s not what the tabloids say.”

  I squinted, uncertain if I’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

  “Check out the National Instigator online.”

  My hands flew to my hips “Wait—you don’t watch TV, but you read tabloids?”

  He shrugged. “No, someone told me that the Outer Banks had been mentioned there. That’s the only reason I looked.”

  “Well, what’s there?”

  “You’ll have to look yourself.”

  The first thing I did when Jackson left was to go to my computer and check out the Instigator.

  Sure enough, the lead story was a picture of Zane and me at the top of the lighthouse, supposedly kissing.

  Anger burned inside me.

  Had Zane just done that as some sort of stunt to earn himself more attention and publicity? Was that whole bucket list story a sham?

  How could I have been so stupid? I’d thought he was my friend, and he’d just gone on to sell the picture to the biggest rag mag around.

  I didn’t want to, but I read the text beneath the photo anyway. “Joey Darling finds new love with surfer Zane Oakley.”

  Well, that was just awesome.

  As if the timing was planned, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Eric.

  Any text I ever got from Eric only served to rile me up. This one was no exception.

  Eric: You couldn’t wait until the ink dried on the divorce papers, could you? Don’t worry, this guy will see what a disappointment you are soon enough.

  Tears pressed at my eyes as I read the words. I’d thought Eric couldn’t hurt me anymore. But he apparently could. And he was a master at it.

  The divorce was my fault.

  Our finances nosediving was my fault.

  His declining career was my fault, as was the fact that we’d lost our house, went into bankruptcy, and that he’d made the worst-dressed-male list last year.

  Sometimes I believed him. That was what happened when a person beat you down for so long. When they screamed their lies at you. When they made you feel worthless.

  I was so glad I wasn’t with him anymore. Now he was living with some new girl. Someone who was supposedly an up-and-comer in Hollywood. Her sitcom had just been picked up for a second season. What was her name? Alison something.

  I sucked in a breath, determined to pull myself together, when I got another text.

  Eric: And call off your guard dogs or I’m going to the police.

  My guard dogs? What was he talking about?

  Usually I didn’t give him the benefit of a response. I pretended not to hear him. But I had to know what that meant.

  Me: What guard dogs?

  He responded less than thirty seconds later.

  Eric: The one who keeps leaving me messages saying that if I hurt you, I’ll die.

  The blood drained from my face.

  Leonard.

  That had to be Leonard.

  The tide was trying to pull me under. I hoped I was strong enough to fight it.

  Sixteen

  Saturday blew in with a warm front that heightened temperatures to a balmy fifty-five degrees. I was ready for it.

  I decided to take the opportunity to enjoy the beach outside instead of just staring at it from my window. I donned some leggings, tennis shoes, and my favorite long-sleeved T-shirt. For good measure, I pulled on a baseball cap and sunglasses.

  At the height of my fame, I’d constantly worn this getup to disguise myself when I went out in public. Looking back, it all seemed so silly. I ate up the attention, yet I fought it. I could give psychology grad students enough material to write three or four theses.

  I jammed my hands into the stomach pocket of my shirt as I stepped outside. I glanced at Zane’s door and wondered what kind of fun he was having in his place now. It was a good thing I didn’t care. I didn’t want to run into him, because I would give him an earful when I did. Didn’t I have enough problems without adding a jerky neighbor to the list?

  My feet hit the sand, and I instantly felt more relaxed. I’d read once that the ions by the ocean helped to balance your soul or something. I wasn’t sure about the science behind it, but I did know that staring out at the great big ocean reminded me of just how small I was.

  I’d said I’d never let Hollywood go to my head, but I had. My pride had been big enough to fill the gap between here and Europe. All of that had been stripped away, and part of me was thankful for it. I needed to come back down to earth. Another part missed it. The highs being famous brought you were unmatchable.

  And fleeting.

  I walked to where the water met the sand, close enough to the waves to hear them, to feel them, but far enough away to stay dry.

  The next thing I knew, I heard a bark behind me. Someone shouted, “Ripley, no!” Then two paws hit my back and sent me tumbling into the sand.

  Fear seized me. Until I turned over and saw a mischievous Australian shepherd leering over me, his tongue hanging out, and his gaze screaming play with me!

  “That’s no way to greet someone.” I reached up to rub his head. He licked my face in response.

  Where was his owner? It was a good thing I liked dogs and didn’t have a heart condition.

  Feet pounded toward me. I wasn’t sure if I heard them, felt them, or simply sensed them. But Ripley’s owner was running this way. And until he arrived, Ripley would continue to lick my face.

  “I’m so sorry. Ripley, you’ve got to learn some manners.” He grabbed the leash and pulled the dog to his side.

  I started to stand. The man recognized me as soon as I recognized him.

  “Joey?” He grasped my hand and helped me to my feet.

  “Detective Sullivan?” He hardly looked the same in his casual attire. Gone were his khakis and long-sleeved button-ups. Instead, he wore jeans, a gray pullover, and a knit cap that covered his ears.

  It was a good look. A really good look.

  “Please, call me Jackson.” He offered his hand and helped me up. As soon as our skin touched, I felt something jolt through me.

  Stupid jolts. They only got me in trouble.

  Ripley bounced around me, turning circles and barking and wagging that tongue like we’d only just begun.

  Hey, that could be a song . . .

  “I’m so sorry, Joey. I’m still trying to train Ripley. He pulled the leash right out of my hands when he saw you.”

  I wiped the sand from my jeans. “It’s okay. I’ve always attracted dogs.”

  I cringed at my words. “You know what
I mean.”

  That actually got a smile out of Jackson.

  You know what? This could be a good accidental meeting. You were supposed to keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right? That was what I was doing now.

  I turned my attention to Ripley. “He’s a cute dog.”

  “Phoebe gave him to me. Said he’d be good for me. He’s a rescue, and I’ve only had him for three weeks. He keeps me on my toes for sure.”

  “Ripley? Interesting name.”

  “As in Ripley’s Believe It or Not, because no one would ever believe I’d get a dog. I work too many long hours. I only agreed because Phoebe agreed to take care of him when I was on the job.”

  At the mention of Phoebe’s name again, my heart pounded a little harder. Phoebe. His girlfriend. Not that I cared or that it was my business. I did not always have to have a man at my side.

  Jackson grabbed Ripley’s leash again, and somehow we all began walking side by side on the beach, as if that wasn’t weird. Because it was.

  “Well, he’s certainly going to make life more interesting,” I said.

  “You don’t have any pets?”

  I shook my head. “It’s like filmmakers say: working with kids and animals makes everything harder.”

  “Harder isn’t always a bad thing, right? Most valuable things in life are hard to obtain.”

  “You’re probably right. After all, love doesn’t come easy. We shouldn’t take the easy way out, and no one wants anything that’s easy to come by.”

  “Said like someone who’s attended the school of hard knocks.”

  “Hard knocks? We’re on a roll.”

  “Hardly.”

  What did you know? Jackson Sullivan had a sense of humor.

  We walked several paces in silence, and I wondered if I should offer to walk the opposite way so it didn’t feel awkward. But for some reason, I wanted to talk to Jackson. I wanted to know more about him.

  “So . . . Phoebe seems nice,” I started, shoving my hands in my pockets again.

  Jackson dug his heels in as Ripley tried to pull him down the shoreline to chase a seagull, disrupting our pace but only for a minute. “Phoebe is super nice.”