Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3) Read online

  Zane and I exchanged a glance. Just as Zane shook his head, I remembered something. Something that may not be important. But what if it was? My instincts were terrible on these kinds of things, worse than the casting director who’d decided Rosie O’Donnell should be Betty Rubble in The Flintstones movie.

  “We did hear someone—or something—walking through the forest,” I said.

  “It was probably a deer,” Zane corrected.

  I shrugged. “It sounded too big to be a deer.”

  Zane and Jackson stared at me until I took a step back, halfway offended by their lack of confidence in me.

  “Look, my dad was a hunter. I know a little something about the outdoors. I didn’t say I liked tick-infested woods, but I’m not a dummy.”

  That seemed to appease both of them, and they didn’t say anything else. Take that!

  But as I stared at the mermaid tail another moment, a sense of unease washed over me. That blood . . . it didn’t indicate good things.

  “What do you think happened?” I asked.

  I already knew Jackson’s answer. Even if he knew something, he wouldn’t tell me. But I had to try.

  “It’s too early for conjecture,” he said.

  Of course.

  “Detective Sullivan, over here,” one of the officers said.

  Jackson maneuvered his way through the woods toward the man. I may or may not have followed ever so slightly behind him. And that may or may not have been out of pure nosiness.

  I tried to look casual as I turned my ear toward the conversation.

  “We found a purse,” I heard the officer say.

  “What’s inside?”

  “There’s a driver’s license. Cora Day. Says she’s from Moyock. Twenty-one years old. There’s also a receipt dated earlier today from the 7-Eleven up the road. Whatever happened here, it was recent.”

  “Provided that costume belonged to her,” Jackson added.

  I glanced back at the mermaid tail. This was a high-quality outfit, not something you bought at the party store for Halloween. Not only that, but this was an actual tail designed for swimming, not walking around in. If someone was wearing this, they would have to take it off to . . . oh, I don’t know . . . run away.

  The good news, I supposed, was that the amount of blood wasn’t grandiose. It wasn’t enough for me to immediately think the woman was dead.

  But someone who paid this much for fake fins didn’t just leave them behind.

  And even though Zane thought those noises had been deer tracking through the woods, I had my doubts. What if we’d gotten here right as the crime was occurring? I shivered at the thought.

  There had been two other cars in the parking lot when Zane and I pulled in. We hadn’t seen anyone while out here, but this preserve had more than a thousand acres. Other people could be wandering these woods, and our paths may have never crossed.

  I wasn’t sure what had happened. But I didn’t like it.

  Nor did I have any reason to get involved.

  Unlike the last two mysteries that had popped up in town, this one didn’t have my name written all over it. That would greatly disappointment my stalkers, who wanted to reincarnate me as Raven Remington.

  But the only mystery I wanted to solve was that of my father’s disappearance. Not missing mermaids. Not the Battle of Los Angeles. Not even Amelia Earhart. Just my dad.

  Jackson stomped back over. “We’re done with you two—as soon as you hand over the GoPro.”

  Zane pulled it off and plopped it into Jackson’s outstretched hand. “But I’ll get this back?”

  “Of course.” Jackson nodded. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good. Whatever we can do.”

  “Ditto,” Zane said.

  Jackson stared at Zane a moment, his expression as unreadable as always. Finally, he said, “By the way, you’ve got some lipstick on your collar.”

  I glanced at Zane’s shirt, and sure enough, there was a smear of pink lipstick. It must have happened when he picked me up and twirled me around.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I muttered.

  Why did I even feel like I had to say that to Jackson? I didn’t. I didn’t owe him anything. And it certainly didn’t matter whether he thought Zane and I were dating or not.

  Zane took my arm and led me away. But all I could think about was that mermaid tail.

  It didn’t matter. I was walking away from this investigation and not looking back.

  “Excuse me. I need your help with an investigation.”

  I paused from a little choreography number I was doing that included using my hair dryer as a gun while the James Bond soundtrack played in the background. I’d been blowing on the “barrel” when someone walked into Beach Combers, the salon where I worked part time. I was just a little bored.

  I quickly put the hair dryer back into its holster—er, into the cubby on my station—and stared up at the man standing in the doorway. He was well built but not handsome per se. His face was too long and his hair prematurely thinning. His oversized hands almost made him look gangly.

  I’d never seen the man before.

  And what had he said? That he needed my help with an investigation?

  I should change the sign outside from Beach Combers to Joey Darling, PI. Though I’d only played an investigator on TV, I couldn’t convince people of that.

  “I’m sorry—who are you?” I sounded confused, not demeaning . . . I hoped.

  “Elrod Thomson.”

  “Why would you need my help, Elrod?” I patted the twirly chair across from me and motioned for him to sit. Dizzy—my boss and the salon owner—wasn’t here this morning because she had a doctor’s appointment. That meant that, for once, there was no Christmas music blaring from the overhead. In March. That was Dizzy for you. Unconventional. Unique. And delighting in it.

  The man lowered himself across from me, his body language screaming distressed all the way from his slumped shoulders to the lines on his face. “It’s my girlfriend. She’s missing, and the police have marked me as a suspect.”

  “Is that right?” This seemed all too familiar. Familiar as in, didn’t this just happen to me less than two months ago? “I’m so sorry to hear that. But I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  Haircuts and pampering could cheer up most women. However, I didn’t think this man wanted an appointment.

  He pulled his gaze up to mine, agony wafting from the depths of his brown eyes. “Because I saw you on TV—”

  People got me confused with my alter ego all the time. I had to set him straight. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but I’m not really Raven Remington—”

  “On that ABC News interview. The one where you solved the murder of that woman’s boyfriend.”

  Surprise washed over me. “Oh. That one.” The one where I’d actually represented myself and not a fictional character. People had eaten it up and loved it. My manager loved it. Mayor Allen loved it. The piece screamed “feel-good TV.” And who didn’t like feel-good TV?

  “Then I got a note—”

  I stiffened. “A note? From who?”

  “It was anonymous. But it said I should ask for your help.”

  My stalkers. It sounded just like them to send it. I shivered at the thought. They knew more than they ever should. Were in too many places. Liked controlling my life a little too much.

  “I didn’t know what else to do, and you really seemed to know what you were doing,” the man continued. “And you seemed like the only one that cranky detective would listen to.”

  “Detective Sullivan?” Was there any other cranky detective out there? Not on my super-limited, nearly nonexistent radar.

  Elrod frowned. “He’s the one. He thinks I might have had something to do with my girlfriend’s disappearance.”

  Realization washed over me, and facts clicked into place. “Wait—was your girlfriend the mermaid?”

  He pressed his li
ps together, and his eyes widened. “You do have an inside track, don’t you?”

  I shook my head, needing to set him straight immediately. “No, I was at the preserve yesterday when I found the mermaid tail.”

  “You were there? Then it’s a sign.”

  I shook my head again. This conversation was not going the way I wanted it to. “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. I only stumbled upon it by accident.” As with most things in my life.

  “It doesn’t matter to me if it was by accident or on purpose. I just need your help. I need to find her. I’m afraid she’s in danger.” He rubbed his hands on the glittery plastic upholstery of the chair. If he’d hoped to wipe away his sweaty palms, he was out of luck. These chairs repelled water like hydrophobic dust.

  “I’m not sure what I can do to help.” I had to be realistic here.

  He reached into his pocket and thrust a picture in my hands. “This is Cora. I love her more than anything in this whole world. If something happened to her . . . I don’t know what I’d do.”

  I glanced at her picture. Cora was a petite blonde with long, curly hair. She looked like someone who’d make a great mermaid. Innocent and happy and full of hope. And she had great abs, to boot.

  I looked back at Elrod. “Why do the police think you’re a suspect?”

  He rubbed his temples, agony penetrating his gaze again. “Cora and I got into a fight. I said if she left, we were done. She left, told her friend about our conversation, her friend told the police, and now they think that it was a ‘threat.’”

  My chest tightened, and I lowered my voice. “Was it a threat, Elrod?”

  “No! It wasn’t a threat. I would never hurt her.” Yet his voice escalated.

  I knew about violent men. I didn’t like them. At all.

  I rubbed my arm and leaned back, putting more distance between us as I thought through my responses. I couldn’t help an abuser, but I did want to help Cora. Before I could say anything, Elrod let out a deep breath and raked a hand through his hardly there hair.

  “Look, I’m passionate,” he said, his gaze pleading. “But I would never lay a hand on a woman. Really.”

  His voice cracked with emotion, and finally I nodded. I believed him. For now. I reserved the right to change my mind.

  “Okay, well, what about your fight then? What was it over?”

  He sighed and rubbed the armrest again. “Cora was supposed to meet this photographer who’d offered to take her pictures. He promised her the world. Said he had all of these big-name connections and could make her famous. Cora fell for it. She thought he was the real deal and decided to meet him.”

  Something about that scenario left me with a very icky feeling in my gut. “Is that why she was at Nags Head Woods?”

  “Yes, that’s where the photo shoot was taking place. She loves it there, more than the beach even. She said she felt connected with nature and with the past. She always wanted me to go hiking with her, even when the rest of our friends were catching waves.”

  “Why a mermaid?”

  “That’s what she does. She started doing some local gigs—at aquariums and pools. She loved it. And she was good at it. She has this crazy vision of being the most famous mermaid ever. She wants to have her face in magazines and on TV. She’s obsessed with fame and will do anything to achieve it. Anything.”

  Only two minutes ago, I’d been determined not to take this case. I wasn’t a private investigator, no matter what anyone thought. But something about Cora’s story captured me.

  Maybe it was because I’d seen so many young starlets go to Hollywood searching for fame, only to end up being exploited and desperate. I was thankful I hadn’t had to take that path. But I understood it, and I felt deeply for Cora’s situation. Desperation could lead to awful things. Fantine from Les Miserable type of things.

  Lexi Pennington’s image flashed in my mind. She was a young woman who’d reached out to me in LA. She wanted me to help make her famous. Realistically speaking, there was nothing I could do. Also realistically speaking, I got requests like that all the time.

  But I’d always remember Lexi because the police found her body two months after she’d first asked for my help. She’d turned to making naughty movies in order to make ends meet. Through that, she’d met some unscrupulous characters. That had ultimately led to her death.

  I’d always wondered if I’d been there for her, if I’d listened to her more, if her story would have turned out differently. If she wouldn’t have been taken advantage of. If I could have steered her in a different direction.

  Lexi didn’t have anyone to look out for her. That wasn’t going to be the case for Cora. That was when I knew I couldn’t say no, despite all my best yet not-so-great instincts.

  Chapter Three

  “What’s on your mind?” Phoebe Waters asked.

  Phoebe worked at Oh Buoy, the smoothie bar across the street from Beach Combers, and she’d become a good friend since I’d arrived in town. We weren’t Thelma and Louise kind of friends. We were more like The Odd Couple. She was even keeled and as levelheaded as the plains, while I was oddly keeled and as levelheaded as a roller coaster. She reminded me a touch of the actress Kate Bosworth, with her wholesome good looks.

  Phoebe only worked here in the winter when her dog-sitting/grooming/walking business was on hiatus. Oh Buoy, with its blend of nautical and tiki decorations, not only had awesome smoothies but also served killer salads and fish tacos—which was a delight when my diet allowed me to eat those things. I made sure it allowed me to do just that at least once a week. Maybe more, depending on my stress level.

  “How do you always know when something is on my mind?” I asked, still reflecting on my conversation with Elrod.

  She shrugged and slid into the booth across from me. It wasn’t busy in here right now. “Good guess.”

  I played with the straw of my Coquina Crush smoothie and contemplated how much to say. I couldn’t tell her that I’d actually taken this case. I reminded myself that this was my secret, and nothing good would come from sharing it. “You heard about the mermaid tail?”

  “It’s the talk of the town.”

  I chewed on my words before asking, “How much do you know?”

  She shrugged. “Not much. I assume the police are looking for the girl. But that’s another assumption. It could have been a boy with a mermaid tail. A merman?”

  “Like Herman the Merman?” I smiled as I said the words, which probably looked odd, but I couldn’t conceal my reaction.

  “What?”

  I attempted to snap out of my brief moment of bliss. “You never saw that movie? Not really surprising since it was pretty low budget and awful.”

  My ex had starred in it during his early days in Hollywood. It was such a humiliating film that I sometimes liked to watch it because the movie brought me a small touch of satisfaction.

  Eric was supposed to make a comeback from that film in his role as Captain Gorgeous, but that movie had flopped as well, and he’d become a running joke on late-night television.

  If Eric hadn’t been so awful to me, I probably wouldn’t have this reaction. And I wasn’t proud that I delighted in someone else’s failures. But I did, in this case.

  “You seem bothered.” Phoebe rested her elbows on the table, her attention on me like a psychologist talking to a deeply unstable client. “More bothered than usual.”

  “I usually look bothered?” Most people said I was too happy-go-lucky.

  She shrugged. “Well, in your defense, you’ve had a lot of stuff going on lately.”

  I pushed my glib thoughts aside, reality crashing back down around me. I’d gotten distracted by the merman comment, but the truth was that a lot was at stake here. This was no time to gloat.

  “I guess I’ve seen it so many times before,” I told Phoebe. “Girls who would sell their souls for fame. Who would change their appearance to be called beautiful. Who would do whatever was asked of them for an unfilled promise. I guess
in some ways, that could describe me. I did a lot of things I said I never would. I vowed not to let fame change me. But it was crazy to think I could do that. Of course fame would change me.”

  “As people, we all change all the time, whether it’s because of fame or circumstances, hurts, disappointments . . . grief.”

  Her words clutched me. Phoebe knew about grief firsthand. Her sister had died of cancer three years ago. Claire had been married to Jackson.

  “You’re right. But people worship fame, you know? They hold it up as the highest pinnacle.” I shook my head, unsure that someone as down to earth as Phoebe would understand. “I’m probably not making a lot of sense. I just really feel for this girl. What if she fell for a scheme and now her life is on the line?”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do.” Although my mind raced with possibilities, all of which seemed outlandish. Search parties. A media blitz. A spot on The Tonight Show.

  “You do a lot more than you think.”

  The past two months flashed back to me. “I’ve only solved mysteries in the past by accident. I don’t even feel right taking credit for them.”

  “Maria Salvatore certainly thought you were worthy.”

  Maria Salvatore was an entertainment reporter with ABC News. She’d done a story on Jackson and me and had overinflated my role in the investigation. “She just likes a good story. Sensationalism at its finest. It made for good TV.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You risked your life for someone. That’s pretty heroic.”

  I barely heard her. “Besides, what can I even do in a case like this?”

  Realistically speaking, that was. Minus pleading for a spot on The Tonight Show.

  “You use what you can to your advantage. Your main advantage would be your fame and popularity. What you see as a curse could very well be a blessing.”

  She had a point. The key to success was capitalizing on your strengths. Maybe I’d been looking at this from the wrong perspective. “Thanks, Phoebe. I appreciate that.”