Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1) Page 15

  I didn’t want to go into Beach Combers on Monday. I didn’t.

  I had to admit, cutting hair wasn’t my passion. But I needed something to pay the bills. And it gave me a cover story. Researching a role.

  I wasn’t sure this was going to cut it though. Not with the number of clients I’d had coming in. Which was relatively zero.

  And poor Jackson. I’d noticed that someone cleaned up his edges, which meant he did know what a terrible job I’d done. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t said anything.

  “So . . . you and Zane,” Dizzy said during a lull.

  Whom was I kidding? The whole day had been a lull.

  I’d had nothing to do but think. Mostly about Leonard. And I didn’t want to think about Leonard. Or remember Simon’s dead body.

  “Me and Zane?” I asked. I finished pinning my hair up in a high bun. I’d also painted my nails black. At least the job gave me time to make myself look pretty. It could be worse.

  “Your hunky neighbor. I see you two are an item.”

  “We’re not an item.” I studied my nails, noting I’d gotten some polish on my cuticle. I grabbed a manicure stick to fix it.

  “The National Instigator says differently.”

  I frowned when I remembered that whole fiasco. “The Instigator is wrong.”

  Dizzy shrugged and went back to filing her nails. “That’s too bad. He’s quite the catch. All the single ladies around here like him.”

  “He seems to embody the spirit of this area. But I’m not really interested in dating anyone, Dizzy.” How many times did I have to say that? And why did everyone assume that I’d be better off with a man? Was that what all of those Disney movies had done to us as children? Made us think we were less worthy without a man?

  When I’d been with Eric, I’d never felt so low.

  “I know you say that, but when you meet the right one, you will be.” Dizzy pointed her nail file at me like a schoolmarm holding a naughty stick.

  “I thought I met the right one four years ago,” I reminded her. She knew some details. I was sure my dad had told her. But I’d stopped talking to my dad about Eric a long time ago. I feared he might say, Told you so. Now I’d give anything to hear him say that.

  Dizzy frowned again. “I know, sweetie. No one liked that Eric guy. Especially not your father.”

  I leaned back, desperate to get the conversation off me. “Did my father ever date, Dizzy?”

  Ever since I’d talked to Jackson about my father and told him that my dad was content being single, I began wondering if that statement was true. What if my dad had dated and not told me? Especially when I was younger.

  I mean, my dad was a good-looking man with a bit of a Kevin Costner vibe to him. He was fifty-one now and still fit. Certainly he’d had women who were interested.

  She didn’t answer immediately, which was an answer within itself.

  “Dizzy . . .”

  She shifted, like she was uncomfortable. Or like she was acting uncomfortable so she wouldn’t sound gossipy. But I could tell she really wanted to say something.

  “There was this one woman . . .”

  I straightened, forgetting about my manicure. “What was her name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? But I thought you talked.”

  “We did. But your father wasn’t one to discuss his love life. I’m sure you can see that.”

  I could, but I wasn’t dropping the subject that easily. “Do you know anything about her?”

  Dizzy let out a breath. “I think she was here for the summer. That’s really all I know. He seemed quite happy for a while.”

  I hadn’t really brought up the subject of my father with Dizzy. Probably because of that bloody oriental fan I’d found. But I had questions that no one could seem to answer.

  “Don’t you think it’s weird that he just took off?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “I mean, even though he left those notes, something just seems off to me about it.”

  “He had seemed preoccupied in the two weeks before he left.”

  “But he never said why?”

  “No, ma’am. Not a word. He was a very private person.”

  “I know he was. I’m worried about him, Dizzy.”

  “I know you are, dear. But I just keep thinking that any day now he’s going to pop back by here and everything will return to normal.”

  I nodded, unconvinced that was true. I wished it were. I really did.

  The chimes above the door jangled, and I turned to greet our next customer.

  But I stopped cold when I saw the woman. She had blond hair pulled back in a baseball cap, as well as sunglasses and a baggy sweatshirt. It was her face that seemed familiar.

  As she pulled off her sunglasses, I knew why.

  It was Giselle.

  Twenty-Three

  I rushed to my feet. “Giselle.”

  She closed the door and quickly moved toward me, pulling off her hat and the blond wig. “I wasn’t followed. I checked. But I don’t know how much time we have. The marshals are watching you.”

  “They are?” Why in the world would they watch me? Did they think I had something to do with this fiasco?

  She nodded. “They are. I don’t know why.”

  I remained in front of her. “What’s going on, Giselle? What happened to Simon?”

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed her hands together in circles, her gaze shifting behind her. “Can we get away from the windows?”

  “Of course. Back here.” I led her to the supply room. Dizzy watched, her eyes wide and mesmerized, but she surprisingly remained quiet. “No one can see us back here.”

  “I don’t know what happened to Simon,” Giselle announced.

  I propped my hip against the chipped lunch table and ignored the overwhelming smell of both Dizzy’s microwaved pizza lunch and the chemical stench of nail polish. Had a bottle broken back here or something? Man, the scent was strong.

  “What do you know, Giselle?” I used my kick-butt voice because it was much more fun than using my Joey Darling voice.

  Her eyes became circles of innocence. Yes, circles of innocence. It sounded like I was overstating it, but this woman knew how to work it. Some soap opera needed to snatch her up pronto.

  “Simon found me in Willie’s,” she started. “He asked me to meet him, so I followed his instructions and went a hotel room across the street.”

  “Okay . . .” I tried to anticipate what happened next.

  “When I got to the room, I found him. Dead. I ran.”

  “Did you take his shoes first?”

  “Did I . . . what?” She twisted her head.

  “I guess not. Keep going.”

  “I just took off. I didn’t know what else to do. I was afraid they’d found me.”

  “Who’d found you?”

  She looked side to side. “I’m not supposed to speak of these things. But my cover is already blown. I took down a very powerful family. I testified against them in court, and as a result, my whole life changed. There’s a hit out for me.”

  “Did Simon represent you?”

  She nodded. “He did. We fell in love. But he was dating Lily. He wanted to break up, but it was hard. She has a powerful family.”

  “Did he come here to see you?” The questions came naturally. Maybe I was getting the hang of this detective thing after all.

  Her chin quivered. “I don’t know. I never found out. All he said was ‘Things are not as they seem.’”

  “So you didn’t know he was coming?”

  “No, I had no idea he could even find me. No one was supposed to be able to.”

  “Who do you think killed him?”

  She rubbed her palms together in circles again. “I wish I knew. I can only imagine that someone from the Kilgore family did it.”

  “The Kilgore family?” The blood left my face.

  “Yeah, they’re the ones.”

  W
ait . . . Winston Corbina had been the CEO for Zenith Tech. That company had been bought out by Kilgore. I’d read about it online last night when I was doing my research. I suddenly felt a little more than uneasy. What if my dad’s landlord really was involved?

  I studied Giselle. She was a pretty lady. Probably in her midthirties. She was curvy, with smooth skin. I imagined she used those attributes to her advantage.

  She was a smart lady. Which was why her presence here didn’t make sense. “Why are you still here, Giselle? I’m surprised you’re not running for your life if you think these men are in town. And why did you find me, of all people?”

  “I want to run. But I loved Simon. I can’t stand the fact that someone killed him. I’m tired of living like this. I need to know the people who did this are behind bars. I’ve been watching everything from a distance, and you’re the only person who seems trustworthy at this point.”

  Well, that was unfortunate for her since my only experience in investigating was by playing a fictional detective. “Are you dodging the US marshals?”

  “They try to tell me what to do. I’m tired of listening to them. I don’t care about my safety.”

  “Giselle, did Simon say anything about Lily?”

  “I hadn’t talked to him in five months until he found me at Willie’s that day. But I saw Lily on the day Simon died.”

  “What do you mean?” Something about her statement caused my gut to twist.

  “Simon asked me to meet him at the hotel. When I got there, I couldn’t help but think I’d been followed, so I darted into the janitor’s closet. I saw Lily leaving Simon’s room. When I went there afterward . . . he was dead.”

  Dizzy had told me to go. So I had. I went to the hospital to talk to Lily.

  Because Lily had told me she hadn’t arrived until Wednesday. Yet Simon had died on Tuesday. That meant that Lily had lied.

  I’d called Jackson on my way to the hospital. Of course. Because I didn’t want to be one of those people. You know, the stupid ones who ran upstairs while trying to evade a knife-wielding killer.

  Jackson was standing outside of Lily’s room when I arrived, and he didn’t look happy. No, his arms were crossed, and he wore his customary scowl.

  And here I’d thought we’d moved past the scowl. Apparently not.

  “She’s gone,” he announced. “Left without her doctor’s approval about two hours ago.”

  I wanted to stomp my foot and pound my fist into the air with frustration, but it seemed too dramatic. What if Lily really was behind all of this? What if I’d just been a pawn and played right into her plan?

  The one thing I wouldn’t let happen again was for me to be used by people. No, I was done with that. If Lily had been playing games with me, I wanted to know.

  “I put out an APB for her. In the meantime, we got the analysis back on the bottom of Simon Philip’s shoes,” Jackson said as we started to walk down the hall together.

  I was going to confess about Giselle, but I supposed that could wait. “And?”

  “It was interesting, to say the least. We found some oyster shells, polyurethane, and red diesel.”

  “I wish I could say that meant something to me . . .”

  “Red diesel is what most commercial fishing boats from the area use. This specific type of polyurethane is used in manufacturing boats and—”

  “And oyster shells.” I mulled over that information, and my thoughts ground to a halt. “A marina.”

  A marina had been the last place my dad had been seen. This couldn’t be connected . . . right?

  Jackson nodded. “We’ve traced this particular diesel to one of the marinas in Wanchese.”

  Wanchese. Also where my dad had been. Was my dad connected with this somehow?

  Dread pooled in my stomach. “I see.”

  “However, since the chain of custody was broken, none of that evidence will be useful in court.”

  “Because someone could have placed that evidence on the shoe soles after the crime was committed.” I remembered that from one of the episodes of my show.

  Jackson pointed his fingers at me and pressed his thumb down, like playing with a toy gun. “Bull’s-eye!”

  I mulled over it a minute. “If Leonard did this, I can only imagine he did so to point me in the right direction to solving this crime.”

  “It’s hard to rely on anything that a psychopath does, Joey.”

  “I can’t deny that.” I shifted. “Thanks for sharing that. Now there’s something I need to tell you.”

  He paused as I tried to find my words. He waited patiently, and I had to admit that I really loved patient people. Even as people rushed past us—some visitors, some doctors or nurses or other staff—he stood still. As the scent of rubbing alcohol and other sterile smells drifted upward, he looked unbothered.

  He was like a rock, wasn’t he? Unflappable, unshakable, unmovable. There was a lot to be said for that.

  “Giselle came into Beach Combers today,” I blurted.

  His entire body went ramrod straight. “When?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  “And you didn’t call me?” His voice remained calm, yet I could hear the agitation there.

  “I was about to.”

  He raked a hand over his face. He did that a lot when I was around. “What did she say?”

  I recapped the conversation and then paused again. “There’s something else, Jackson. Take this for what it’s worth. Lily’s neighbor saw a yellow Ferrari parked outside her house one night this week. The only person in the area who owns one, that I know about, is—”

  “Winston Corbina.” Jackson stared off into the distance and frowned.

  I nodded. “Giselle also said that she testified against Kilgore Tech. Interestingly enough, Corbina’s old company was bought out by Kilgore. Oh, and the house that Simon rented? It’s also owned by Corbina, but off the books.”

  “So you think Corbina is involved?”

  “It’s just a theory. I decided that since I didn’t want to end up fighting for my life while tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, maybe I should share that theory with you.”

  “Smart thinking. Don’t talk to him, Joey. Let me.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Why don’t you go back to your house and wait until I do?”

  “Will do.”

  Zane was waiting outside of my door when I got back to the house. He had something with him. Something large.

  A whiteboard.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Every detective show has a whiteboard where they sketch out suspects and timelines,” he said. “I thought you could use one.”

  My heart melted a little. “I love it.”

  “I thought it would especially come in handy after I heard what I heard today.”

  Now I was really curious. “What’s that?”

  “Can we go inside first?”

  I punched in my code and opened the door. Glorious heat greeted us. Zane carried the whiteboard inside and set it in the corner of the living room. But before we could write anything, he turned to me. “So I went to Willie’s today. It turns out that the bartender there saw Lily come in on Tuesday.”

  It was more confirmation that Lily had lied. But something didn’t ring true to me. “Billy said that? How did he even know who Lily was?”

  “No, Mark did. Mark works until seven. Then Billy came in. So Billy didn’t see Lily, but Mark did.”

  “How did Mark make this connection?”

  “Well, I ran into him at the surf shop and decided to ask him about this Simon dude. I found his picture online and showed him. He said I was the second person who’d come in asking about him. That a chick who looked like Teri Hatcher was also asking.”

  “He’s sure it was last Tuesday?”

  “Positive. ESPN was playing highlights of the Ravens versus the Panthers game.”

  So Lily had arrived early. Possibly followed Simon to Willie’s. Then she’d followed
him to the hotel. Possibly killed him. Then someone had tried to kill her with alcohol.

  Yet she had been at Friskies drinking that night. Was that a lie also? Maybe she had tried to kill herself with alcohol. Had she brought a man home with her and drank some more—so much that she didn’t remember driving to the pier?

  I didn’t know what to believe at this point.

  “There’s one other thing,” Zane said. “Mark said there was a man in Willie’s that night who seemed to be watching Lily.”

  Leonard. Was it Leonard? “Was he thin and gawky?”

  Zane shook his head. “No, he said he was a bigger dude. Wearing a hoodie. But he was definitely watching Lily.”

  Twenty-Four

  Zane and I sketched out a suspect board and a timeline. So far, I had two main suspects: Lily and Mr. Corbina. I also considered that a member of Kilgore’s network could be behind it or even Giselle herself.

  But my bets right now were on Lily. Because why would she lie about when she arrived? Why would she hire me if she already knew Simon was dead? If she’d been innocent, she would have gone to the police . . . right?

  “You want to watch Bob Ross? He’s like Prozac, only with no side effects,” Zane said after we’d stared at the board for thirty minutes. “Everything feels right in my world when I watch him.”

  “As much as I may need some Joy of Painting tranquility, I have too much on my mind to even attempt settling down.”

  “I have an appointment.” He wiggled his fingers. “You want a quick shoulder rub first?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Your loss. You going to be okay here by yourself?”

  I nodded, preferring not to think about his massage appointment, because that was just weird. “Yeah, I should be fine. I’ll knock on your wall three times if I’m not.”

  “Just like in those gangster movies.” He made a surfer-boy gangster sign. “Secret knock. We got it going on, girl.”

  I went upstairs, flipped on the light, and froze. Lily sat there, in the chair in the corner of my bedroom.

  She rushed to her feet. “Please, it’s not what you think, Joey.”

  “You’ve been lying,” I said, backing away from her.