Organized Grime (Squeaky Clean Mysteries) Read online

  Not believable, Gabby. Not believable.

  The people giving me dirty looks turned their attention to the man at the back. “And you, sir?” Fiona asked him.

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead using a tissue. “I’m going to get a compost bin for my backyard.”

  His answer seemed to please the masses, because smiles stretched over their faces now. Compost bin? Really? What was he going to put in that bin? Evidence of a crime, perhaps?

  I had no reason to believe he was guilty of any crime, other than the fact that he appeared nervous and out of place. I needed to find out what that man was doing here at this meeting because I had a feeling his intentions weren’t simply to pick up some tips.

  The meeting couldn’t have ended quickly enough for me. The man at the back stood and started toward the door. I reached out to touch his arm and stop him, but Fiona called to me. I froze, quickly trying to think of some quick responses in case she asked me for more ways I could help the environment this week. Solar panels? Not on my apartment building. Compost pile? I was sure that was against my landlord’s rules. I could tell her that I’d cut down on the chemicals I used when cleaning up after dead bodies. That usually shut people up pretty quickly.

  “I can’t help but think you seem out of place. Is there something I can help you with? You’re not a reporter, are you?”

  “A reporter? No. Why would you ask that?”

  She tried to shrug it off. “No reason, really. I’ve just gotten a couple of phone calls after everything that’s happened in this area over the past few days.”

  Casual. Appear casual, Gabby. “Everything that’s happened?”

  She waved her hand in the air, trying too hard to appear nonchalant. “With the housing development fire and such. You know everyone thinks it was done by an environmental group protesting the use of wetlands.”

  I glanced at the door and saw the man slip out. Rats. I’d missed him. Had there been a class sign-in sheet? Had he signed it?

  “That fire was terrible. Was it done by an environmental group?”

  “Of course not! That’s ridiculous. Do you know how bad fires are for the environment? It just wouldn’t make sense, not with global warming and all.” She studied my face, an edge of distrust creeping in. “So you are a reporter?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Not a reporter. I am trying to track down some information, though.”

  “What information would that be?” The woman looked tenser than a tightrope. Her voice had inched upward in pitch with each response, and lines had formed around her eyes now.

  I pulled out a picture of Sierra. “Do you know this woman?”

  The woman didn’t even blink. “That’s Sierra Nakamura. Yes, I do know her. Why do you ask?”

  “Was she a part of this group?”

  Fiona picked up a Styrofoam cup someone left on the table and crushed it with her hand before tossing it in the wastebasket. “No, not at all. Being involved with animals and the environment would have spread her too thin. She did great work for the animals in the area.”

  “How did you know her then?”

  Her eyes shifted a moment. “I try to help out the nonprofit she works for. I go to their fundraisers and such. Plus, sometimes the environment and animal rights can go hand in hand. Take that housing development, for instance. By them building there, they endangered the environment, which then endangered wildlife. By destroying those wetlands, we’re losing all hope that oysters, trout and even river otters will ever return to the area. In fact, there have been fish kills and we believe it’s been caused by wetland destruction in the area.”

  Well, that would explain Sierra’s involvement. This wasn’t about the environment for her. It was about the animals affected by the environment. The rest of the group filed out, so I readjusted my stance, in no hurry to leave now. “If I wanted to find out if there were ecoterrorists in this area, how would I do that?”

  Fiona shook her head and raised her hands in the air, causing all of her beaded bracelets to tumble toward her elbows. Exasperation strained her voice “I wouldn’t know. Why are you asking me?”

  “Don’t you have any fringe members of your group, members who go a little overboard sometimes?”

  “Every group has those, I suppose.” Not only had her voice risen in pitch, but now all of her words tumbled together. I was getting to her. The question was—why?

  “Of course they do. Who in your group is like that?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me before shifting her gaze to the door. I knew that look. She was plotting her escape. “Who are you again?”

  I took a slight step to the right, blocking the exit. “I’m Gabby St. Claire.”

  “Are you a detective?” The way she said “detective” made it sound like a bad word.

  I shook my head, knowing I needed to put her at ease if I hoped to get any information from her. “I’m a crime scene cleaner.”

  Her eyes flashed with recognition simultaneous with her shoulders drooping in relief. “That’s why you look familiar. I read that article in the paper about you a while back.”

  Ah, the article again. The local newspaper had actually used it on the front page. A photographer had tailed me for a day, taking pictures of me in my hazmat suit. It mentioned that I’d helped the local police in a couple of cases recently. They’d even gotten comments from some local police detectives who had surprisingly kind things to say about me.

  I was surprised by the number of people who’d read that article. I still had people telling me how much they enjoyed the piece, as if I’d written it myself. The coffee shop across the street from my home, The Grounds, had even framed a copy and put it on the wall there.

  I didn’t complain. Any way I could spread the word about my business would help me. Even a couple of my college professors had seemed impressed.

  Fiona lowered her voice. “I don’t want any trouble. No one I know was behind the fire—at least not to my knowledge.”

  “Are there any names you want to give me?”

  She looked from side to side again, even though we were the only ones in the room. “You’re a friend of Sierra’s, you said?”

  I nodded. “She’s my best friend, and I want to make sure she doesn’t get blamed for something she didn’t do.”

  She stepped closer, the smell of herbs drifting upward with her. “Look, I wouldn’t tell just anyone this, but since you’re a friend of Sierra’s, I can assume you’re trustworthy.”

  “I like to think so.”

  She leaned even closer. “Bruce Watkins. He’s over the top sometimes and seems to have some kind of vendetta against anyone who does anything he deems inappropriate. I want to see a cleaner earth, too. But not at the expense of people’s lives.”

  “So he’s said something that would indicate he’s capable of violence then?”

  She stepped back and shrugged. “Maybe he’s all talk. You know how we can all say foolish things in the heat of the moment sometimes. I can’t prove he’s ever actually acted out on any of his threats.”

  “Where can I find Bruce Watkins?”

  “He works for a gas station in Norfolk. That one on the corner of Tidewater Drive and Ballard Street.”

  “Thanks, Fiona. One more thing. Do you have any idea who that man was who sat in the back?”

  She shook her head. “Never seen him before. Let me see if he signed up for my newsletter.” She plucked a sheet of paper from the table nearby and her gaze scanned the list. “I can’t be 100 percent sure, but I think his name is Clifford Reynolds.”

  Great, I had two names. It was a start.

  I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have time to track them now, though. Right now I had to get home and get dressed for the bachelor auction this evening.

  Chapter Six

  Pushing my way through the crowds milling around the convention center that evening, I felt unusually alone. Most often when I went on these sleuthing expeditions, I had Sierra, Chad or Riley tagging al
ong with me. Right now, it was just me in a maze of people who wore expensive perfume and flaunted their money with more pride than a peacock gleaning its feathers. There was just as much schmoozing as there was boozing, and people seemed more than willing to throw their money at anything that might gain them attention including expensive finger foods and a crazy-expensive raffle. All the profits did go to a local children’s hospital.

  I smoothed the little black dress I wore—a simple, sleeveless number with an elegant v-neck and a hem that stopped above my knees—and pulled a loose red curl behind my ear, praying my French twist would hold until the evening was over. This wasn’t my thing. I was more of a baseball game and hot dogs kind of girl. Here, I felt out of my league.

  I sipped on some punch and tried to blend in and look casual. I kept my eyes open for Lydia Harrison in the process. I’d found a few photos of her from various past events on the Internet, so I had an idea of what she looked like—like every other blonde, beautiful, rich woman that was out there. From the pictures I’d seen online, she had shoulder-length hair, pleasant, unremarkable facial features, a trim body, and impeccable taste in clothing. She was what was known as a “mover and shaker” in the community, involved in several nonprofits and charities. As chair person of this event, she was no doubt fluttering around backstage, trying to get everything organized.

  I’m doing this for you, Sierra. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’m going to figure it out, my friend.

  My inner circle was like family to me and I didn’t like it when people messed with the people I loved. When Parker had come back to my apartment last night, I’d had no choice but to turn over the bomb-making manual, along with offering my insistence that there was an explanation for why Sierra had it. Maybe she’d bought it at the thrift store to use as kindling for her fireplace—only, Sierra didn’t have a fireplace.

  I still didn’t know why Sierra might have had the manual, nor could I fathom an acceptable reason.

  I eyed the crowd, wondering if someone in the room knew something about the explosion yesterday. After all, many of those attending had connections with Harrison Developers. I’d gathered that much from a few of the conversations I’d overheard. Lydia had done a good job recruiting her circle of influence.

  Before I had a chance to ponder very long, the band stopped and Lydia Harrison appeared behind the microphone to announce the start of the bachelor auction. She wasn’t one to tap the microphone before she started. No, she was the type who was confident that the equipment would work for her and, if it didn’t, that someone would jump in to fix it while she remained unflustered.

  “We’re here tonight to raise money for some great children over at our local hospital,” she started. “What better way to raise money than by giving all of you the chance to win dates with some handsome men.” She paused. “And women, we do have some handsome men. I mean, wow. You’re going to be blown away.”

  I studied her a moment. She looked just as I remembered—pretty with coiffed blonde hair, perfect skin and a well-kept body. If I had to guess, she was probably in her early 40s. What could this woman know about the explosions? About Sierra? The two didn’t seem the types to interact with each other.

  She excused herself as an auctioneer came onto the stage. All of the women crowded toward the front, bidding paddles in hand. Myself included, though I felt ridiculous, like I was at some kind of grown-up sorority party.

  The first few bachelors had fun with the auction. One was a doctor, the next a model. They’d obviously brought little fan clubs with them, women who offered wolf whistles as if this were a strip club instead of a $100 a ticket event. I hardly noticed, though. I wanted to see Riley. As a participant in this event, he’d gotten one free ticket—and that’s how I’d gotten in.

  Finally, he appeared on stage. Just the sight of him in a tuxedo nearly took my breath away. Tall and lean with the build of a runner. Dark hair that was just a little too long for his profession. Blue eyes that could melt my heart. I could spend the rest of my life with that man. I’m pretty sure I was destined to be the best friend, though. Always the best friend.

  I bit my lip, watching Riley carefully. No, he wasn’t the flashy type who liked to be center of attention. But he was confident and smart and down to earth. I couldn’t help but blink in surprise as he swerved on his heel, put his hands to hips and grinned, looking as if he’d had a past career walking the runway or something. The women around me loved it. They offered catcalls and whistles.

  What had gotten into my Riley?

  He lowered his head and laughed at the reaction of the crowd—but only for a second. Then his head popped back up again. That one action had shown his character though—handsome, but humble; confident, but kind; fearless, but centered.

  The bidding started fast and furious. My eyebrows flickered up. It wasn’t usual that I was frozen in shock. Right now, I was. Who was this person Riley had been hiding from me?

  I held up my paddle. “$500.”

  Another paddle shot up in the distance. “$550.”

  I cut my gaze in the direction of the other bidder. Was it Lydia Harrison? I couldn’t be sure. I raised my bidding tool again. “$600.”

  “$650.” It was the same woman. Lydia, perhaps?

  I’d come into this not knowing what to expect and not entirely expecting to bid on anyone. But $700? I knew it was for a good cause, but I was on a budget. I couldn’t compete with the wealthy women around me. Nor could I give up my rent money just to prove myself.

  Despite that, my hand shot up. “$700.”

  It almost seemed like a collective gasp sounded around me. The other men had only garnered a couple hundred dollars each. Riley was a hot commodity, apparently.

  The other woman—Lydia, I was sure of it now—outbid me again. “$1000.”

  With firm resolve that I couldn’t beat this woman, I crossed my arms, another plan stewing in my mind. Maybe Riley should go on a date with Lydia. It was terrible the ulterior motives that poked their ugly heads up, begging for my attention. But I needed to talk to Lydia, and Riley had just been auctioned off to her.

  I glanced around and noticed that people were watching me, waiting to see if I was going to bid again. With a grin, I held up my hands in surrender. People cheered as Lydia darted on stage, grabbed Riley’s hand and raised it in victory. Riley laughed and gave her a side hug. I had to admit that a surge of jealousy rushed through me.

  Jealousy. Hm. I wasn’t supposed to be jealous, now was I? I was new at this Christian thing, but I’m pretty sure jealousy had no place in my life. I’d do my best to douse it out.

  Lord, any help here would be awesome, though.

  Another thought hit me. Lydia was still married, wasn’t she? Mr. Perfect Christian Riley Thomas couldn’t go out on a date with a married woman…right? Hm. The moral dilemma echoed in my mind as the next bachelor appeared. The rest of the auction was a blur.

  As soon as the bidding ended, I wove through the crowd toward Lydia and extended my hand to her. “Congratulations.”

  She raised a thin, finely plucked brow. “I guess the best lady won.”

  There was a part of me that wanted to rip the smug look right off of her face. But I didn’t. Instead, I smiled. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s troubles lately.”

  Her smug look disappeared without any violence on my end. Perfect. “Soon to be ex husband. And yes, it was tragic. Thankfully no one was hurt, right?”

  I caught Riley approaching in the distance. My opportunity to bring up Sierra was quickly diminishing. I opened my mouth to say something—I wasn’t sure what, only that it would undeniably be brilliant—when Riley appeared with a grin. I thought the grin was directed toward me, but suddenly Lydia slipped her arm around him. I stopped my mouth from gaping open. I’m pretty sure Riley did the same. Or did he?

  “I got the best looking guy up there. That was my plan all along. That and to give away as much money as I could to help the kiddos
.”

  How generous of her.

  “I’m flattered,” Riley muttered. “But I thought the agreement when I signed up for this was that married women weren’t allowed to participate. You’ve put me in an awkward position, Ms. Harrison.”

  Go Riley. Go Riley. I mentally did the Cabbage Patch dance. I knew he’d stand up for his principles.

  “I sign the divorce papers this week, darling. I’ll make sure our date is after that. You’ve got morals. Just one more thing that makes you adorable.” She placed her hand on his chest and a husky giggle escaped. Or was it more of a growl, like that of a lioness claiming her territory?

  “Well, I’ll be more comfortable with the arrangement after the divorce is finalized.”

  She ran a finger over his cheek. “Oh, it will be. I’ve been counting down the days until I can distance myself from that man and it’s finally in reach. I can already taste my freedom.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “He couldn’t be that bad, could he?”

  The scowl appearing on Lydia’s face was all the answer I needed, I suppose. “You have no idea. All he cared about was his work. He treated his stupid cars better than he treated me.”

  My arm muscles softened some. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been very difficult.”

  The scowl disappeared. “It’s nearly done with now, and I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” She looped her arm through Riley’s. “I’ll be in touch. Thanks for being such a good sport.”

  As she sashayed away, I glanced up at Riley and we shared a shrug.

  I cleared my throat, trying to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. “As Lydia said, I guess the best girl won.”

  Riley looked down at me. Was I just imagining it or did his eyes soften? “Then why am I going on a date with Lydia instead of you?”

  My cheeks actually warmed. Was Riley flirting?

  “You’re obviously too expensive for a girl like me.”