Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2) Page 7

  The inside was decorated just as uniquely as I might suspect for Dizzy. Bright-blue walls. Purple accessories. Boas instead of curtains.

  Boas?

  Whatever floated her boat.

  Her friends greeted me. Maxine, who owned Utter Clutter, a store that sold fabulous repurposed furniture. There was also Geraldine, who’d been a homemaker, and MaryAnn, who’d retired from teaching. All four were widows and in their late fifties or early sixties. Apparently, they called themselves “The Hot Chicks.”

  “Anyone want some cake by the ocean?” Dizzy held up a glass platter full of luscious yellow slices of heaven. She snickered. “Get it? Cake by the ocean?”

  I squirmed in horror as she began singing the song by the same title. “I don’t think that song’s actually about a beachfront birthday party.”

  She paused midlyric, with her hip jutted out in a frozen dance move. “Really? What’s it about then?”

  I cringed. “I’m . . . not really sure. But I think it’s inappropriate.”

  “Good to know.” She licked some icing from her finger, looking unaffected.

  I took a piece she offered and quickly consumed a bite before she asked more questions about any Joe Jonas songs. “This is delicious. And it’s so moist. What’s your hack?”

  Her eyes widened, and her free hand rushed to her hip. “I’m no hack.”

  I raised a hand, realizing I was digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. Hack just means tip or shortcut, not fake. Pretending is more of my jam than yours.”

  “You want a jam recipe?” Geraldine said. “I’ve got a good one for spiced pear.”

  I just smiled, realizing I needed to change my mind-set from twentysomething to more appropriate for the Hot Chicks. Otherwise, these ladies really would have something to talk about in their social circles. Did you hear that hack Joey Darling likes to eat cake and make jam by the ocean? No, thank you.

  As we ate some of the tastiest lemon pound cake I’d ever had and sipped on coffee that could have been instant—I’d try not to hold that against anyone—they asked questions about Hollywood, and I asked questions about life in this area.

  They told stories about growing up here at the beach and talked about the lifeguards they’d dated back when they still looked cute in bikinis—their words, not mine. Of course, now they were all pleasantly plump and not the beach-going types. But I’d say getting old enough to be pleasantly plump and happy was quite an accomplishment. I hoped I lived to see it one day.

  Then I told them about the last case I’d somehow solved. These ladies were better than any sound-effect machine or even cue cards. They clapped at the good parts, gasped at the scary parts, and got teary eyed at the happy ending.

  As my story concluded, the TV in the background caught my ear. The reporter finished a report on some shipping trucks that had been heisted recently in the state. Then she launched into the next story.

  “Four months after the death of Anastasia Chernova, an international student worker from the Ukraine, police still have no answers,” the newscaster said.

  I gravitated closer to the TV, frowning at the familiar face on the screen—the ambush reporter. I hardly cared. Four months ago was when my father had disappeared. Possibilities began to circle in my head.

  A picture of a smiling young woman came on the screen. She had long dark hair with a touch of wave and auburn highlights, olive skin, and a fabulous smile. A simple gold cross necklace hung around her neck, and she made a peace sign with her fingers.

  “Anastasia arrived in the area in May and was scheduled to head back home at the end of September. She hoped to study criminal justice, according to her friends in the area, and eventually come back to the States. Her body was found in the Roanoke Sound by some fishermen. Her death was initially ruled accidental, but upon analysis by the medical examiner, it was found she was strangled. The police have no suspects.”

  “Isn’t that just terrible.” Dizzy came up beside me and shook her head. “That murder was the talk of the town. Don’t get me wrong—it was terrible when that man turned up dead at the hotel a few weeks ago. And now that guy drowned during the Polar Plunge. But this young woman was beautiful, and you know the beautiful ones always get more media attention. That’s just the way it is, fair or not.”

  “The media probably wouldn’t care a thing about old broads like us!” Geraldine cackled.

  The rest of the women laughed with her.

  I supposed it was good to have a sense of humor about these things, even though I thought their revelation was a sad testament to society.

  “Now you, Joey Darling, would get plenty of media coverage,” Dizzy said.

  “My death would be no more important than anyone else’s,” I said softly. “You said she came here from the Ukraine?”

  “She was one of those international workers we have,” Dizzy said. “You know, with the surge in business in the summer, we don’t have enough locals to fill in the workforce. So business owners bring in college kids from overseas to work. Mostly in hotels, restaurants, and retail stores, but occasionally other businesses too. She was one of them. Where did she work? Do any of you ladies remember?”

  “I think it was somewhere in Manteo,” MaryAnn said. “Maybe that drugstore?”

  “Even drugstores around here are essentially souvenir shops, at least in the summer, you know?” Dizzy said, fanning her face again. “I believe that was the one where I got my fan, wasn’t it?”

  Her fan? The oriental one Dizzy always used? The one just like the bloody one left in a bag with the rest of my father’s things?

  My breath caught. What if the mystery of my father’s disappearance was all somehow connected with this Anastasia girl? Or was that a stretch?

  “Funny that this is the first I’ve heard about her murder,” I finally said, hungry for more information. “I would think it would be the talk of the town.”

  “It’s because every lead went dry,” Dizzy said. “MaryAnn’s son is a police officer. He told her all about it.”

  MaryAnn waved. She was the demure, sweet one of the group.

  “Is your son Danny, by chance?” I asked.

  She nodded, beaming as she did so. “My sweet Danny. He loves to talk to his mama, and I raised him to know he could tell me anything. So he does.”

  Perfect. “So what did he tell you about this case? Anything?”

  She blinked, as if thinking about it, even though I could tell she was eager to share. “It was all very strange. She was a very quiet girl. Kept to herself, and not many friends. No one truly understands what could have happened to her, but I do know it’s made some of the agencies who send the workers over very hesitant. That’s not good news for the local businesses who depend on them.”

  I shifted on the purple couch, grabbing a fuzzy, lime-green pillow and putting it in my lap. “What do you all think about this guy who died at the Polar Plunge? Have you heard anything about him?”

  “There are lots of rumors flying,” Maxine said. “Maybe he was with the mob.”

  “Or he was a hit man,” Geraldine added.

  “I heard he was part of an assassination attempt,” MaryAnn said.

  My cheeks heated. Had that information really got around to them already? Oh my. I had to remember the perils of living in a small town.

  “There’s really no telling,” Dizzy said. “This area is known for having harbored pirates. Who knows who we’re harboring now?”

  Her words left an ice cube in my chest.

  The subject quickly moved to a new hotel that was being built in the Outer Banks. No one wanted it. This area couldn’t become another Myrtle Beach. Part of the Outer Banks’ charm was that it was undeveloped. And more and more and more.

  I only halfway listened. Because my mind rehashed everything I knew and tried to figure out where to go next.

  Chapter Ten

  Zane stopped by when I got home, to see if anything new had happened
. Just as we were sitting down on my couch with some Izzes to chat, my phone buzzed. I looked at the screen and saw that Mayor Allen had emailed me.

  I clicked on the email. Bingo! Pictures from the Polar Plunge.

  “What is it?” Zane peered over my shoulder.

  “I need to see this on my computer.” I rushed to my feet. “You’ll want to see it also.”

  “Now you’ve got me curious.” He took a long sip of his drink.

  I grabbed my laptop and sat back down beside Zane—not too close though. I opened the email and clicked on the first picture, anxious to see if I’d discover anything.

  “Polar Plunge photos,” I told Zane. “If someone killed Douglas Whatever-His-Real-Name-Is, then his or her picture should be in here somewhere. It’s a start at least.”

  “You are brilliant.”

  “Not always. But this was one of my more decent ideas.” I scrolled through the photos. I saw pictures of Mayor Allen. I saw pictures of me on the stage. I saw Zane holding my hand up. Jackson watching quietly in the background. There were participants wearing costumes and crazy hats and ones with their chests painted.

  I scanned the faces. Surprisingly, I recognized more than one person. I saw Billy, who owned Willie Wahoo’s, a local bar and grill. The man had been a possible suspect in my last investigation when his father’s car—that Billy was borrowing—was seen at a house belonging to a nearly dead woman. Plus, his dad, Winston Corbina, was one of the wealthiest men in the area, and there was something about him I didn’t trust.

  I also saw the girl from Oh Buoy, the writer chick who’d told me where Douglas was staying. I saw Yoga Man, who religiously worked out on the oceanfront no matter the weather. I recognized other people who were regulars in the area or who’d come into Beach Combers before.

  “Look in the background there.” Zane pointed at one picture. “Can you blow it up?”

  “I can try.” I made the picture as large as I could without pixelating it. There in the background, near the walkover atop a sand dune, was Hal from Hal’s World. Also interesting. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy charity work or police fundraisers.

  I flipped through a couple more photos. I wasn’t sure if these were sent in chronological order or not, but in the next frames, Hal was gone. Or had he mixed in with the crowd somehow?

  “There’s one more person there.” I pointed to a man standing in the background. It was none other than Winston Corbina himself.

  “He doesn’t seem like the Polar Plunge type either,” Zane said. “He’s above events like these. Plus, I heard he can’t stand the police chief, so why head out to support the department?”

  “Good question. But he does seem like the type who has enough money to hire someone to do his dirty work. Maybe he was just there to oversee things.”

  Just then I heard something in the distance. Zane and I froze.

  When I looked over at the balcony, I noticed the table had overturned. I was about to blame the wind, when movement caught my eye.

  It was a man. In black. Jumping over the balcony railing.

  Zane ran toward him, and I was on his heels. He threw the door open and lunged outside. I reached the railing just in time to see a figure in black running down the beach. Zane started to launch himself over the balcony, when I grabbed his arm.

  “No, don’t.” All I could think about was when Zane had been harmed in my last investigation. I didn’t want that to happen again. I couldn’t live with myself if he got hurt because of me.

  He stopped, but I could feel the adrenaline pulsing off him. He gripped the railing and stared at the man’s fleeing figure. The intruder was all the way across the beach and soon faded into the night.

  “Why would someone have been on the balcony?” I muttered, running through everything in my mind.

  “Spying on you? Maybe he was waiting until I left so he could try to get inside. Maybe it was the paparazzi. I have no idea.” He rubbed his jaw. “But I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either.” I glanced around to see if he left any clues. A piece of paper lay on the floor.

  My hands trembled as I picked it up. They trembled worse when I read the words there.

  Did you miss us? Because we missed you. Stay tuned for more instructions.

  Your biggest fans

  Chapter Eleven

  My throat tightened as Jackson Sullivan strode into Beach Combers the next morning for a haircut. I figured he’d never trust me with his hair again since I’d royally messed it up last time. But apparently, I was wrong.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” I flapped open a cape and fastened it around his neck.

  “I’ve got to look good since I have a big interview on Thursday.” He didn’t appear entirely thrilled about it. Or thrilled at all. Kind of disgusted about it, for that matter.

  But that wasn’t my fault. It was Mayor Allen’s. “Same cut as before?”

  “Please.”

  I pulled out the clippers and slipped on the guard. As I stepped toward Jackson, I got a whiff of his spicy cologne. I imagined running my fingers through his hair. Touching his stubble.

  I snapped out of it. I shouldn’t be thinking about romance. I should be channeling my energy on the note I got last night from my “biggest fans.” My stalkers had finally given themselves names, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Nor did “Christmas Island” blaring on the overhead. I was so over Christmas music right now.

  My back muscles constricted as I turned my attention fully on Jackson. I needed to apologize to him. I’d thrown an accusation at him, and it hadn’t been correct. When he left today, I’d walk him out and apologize. I should have done it earlier, but I’d gotten distracted.

  I worked as I talked. “So what do you know about this Anastasia girl who died four months ago?”

  It was supposed to sound casual. It didn’t.

  “Anastasia? Don’t you have enough on your plate without adding her death to your list of things to stick your nose into?”

  I frowned. “Asking questions doesn’t mean I’m adding it to my plate.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re not.”

  “So . . .” I refused to drop the subject.

  “It wasn’t my case. Dare County Sheriff’s Office is handling it.”

  “So you know nothing?”

  “Nothing I’m willing to share.”

  I accidentally let out a “harrumph.” It had been worth a shot.

  Jackson’s eyes met mine in the mirror—deep, mysterious eyes that always made me wonder. “You wouldn’t, by chance, know anything about some fugitives who are hiding out in the area before assassinating some ambassadors from the Middle East?”

  My hand slipped, and I nearly nicked his neck. “Why would you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you fit the description of the government agent someone said was looking for them.”

  I frowned. “Someone? You mean Hal?”

  “Yes, Hal.”

  “Funny, he doesn’t seem like the type to be overly social and share information like that.”

  “Only when he’s drunk. And you should really stay away from Hal’s World RV Park. Some shady stuff has gone down there.”

  I paused. “Speaking of shady . . . Have you ever looked into this Hal guy? Because his gaze was kind of shifty, and he hid some money when he heard I was a . . .” I almost said a government worker. Instead I said, “A TV detective.”

  “A TV detective? Is that all you told him?” He carefully watched me in the reflection of the mirror.

  I cringed, hating the weight of his studious gaze. “I may have used the plot from Men in Black, minus the funny little aliens and intergalactic war. It was all I could think of.”

  “I’ve told you before that you need to be careful what you stick your nose into.”

  I shrugged and continued working. “I have little choice. My picture was in that man’s pocket. And I got another threat.”

  He stiffened. “An
other threat?”

  “Yes, and you can’t straighten like that, or I’m going to ruin your haircut.” I whacked his shoulder in reprimand and then waited for him to say, “Ruin my haircut like last time?” But he didn’t. Maybe he was a gentleman deep down inside.

  “What did the note say?”

  I told him.

  “I don’t like the sound of that, Joey.”

  “Believe me—I don’t either.”

  “You should bring it by the station so we can file it as evidence.”

  “Of course.”

  “And if you get any more, you should report it right away.”

  “Right.” I shifted. “So, I guess you, uh, arrested the three guys staying there. The ones who were at Douglas Murray’s rental.”

  “Maybe.”

  Before I could ask any more questions, the door jangled and pulled my attention away from the conversation. To my surprise, Shawn from Seaside Condos walked in.

  “Hey, Joey,” he said, lingering by the front desk and leaning on his crutch.

  “Fancy seeing you here. You need a cut?” I glanced at his coiffed dark hair, which appeared neat and trimmed.

  “No.”

  “A manicure? Wait, an eyebrow wax?” I leaned closer and waggled my own eyebrows in exaggeration as I studied his rather bushy ones.

  He chuckled and leaned against the counter, like he had all the time in the world. Island time. That was what it was called around here.

  “No, I actually stopped by to see you.”

  “Oh?” Dizzy said, suddenly popping up from behind the desk.

  “You said to come by if anything else came up,” Shawn said.

  Aha! Now that made more sense. “Something came up?”

  Jackson grunted in front of me. All of this was against the no-snooping clause he’d tried to unofficially impose. Thankfully, I’d never agreed to it.

  “I was hoping you might like to get coffee,” he continued. “Maybe at Sunrise Coffee Co.”