03 - Organized Grime (11 page)

My grip didn’t loosen. “And my feminist side says why let someone else do what a woman is perfectly capable of doing herself.”

He finally raised his hands in the air. He didn’t laugh good naturedly like most people might, proving his social skills still needed some work. “Fine, you win. I’ve got to run anyway. Can’t lose another job.”

Diversion, I thought. Diversion is always a good tactic. “Another one? Have you lost more than one?”

“Yeah, lost one just last week as a delivery driver for a bakery on Main St.”

“That’s too bad.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. They were all particular about their deliveries always having to be on time and all. Too serious for their own good.”

“Some people.”

A grin—one that was supposed to be charming probably—stretched over his ruddy face. “It’s been a pleasure, Gabriella.”

Against all sensibilities, I shook his hand. “You too, Bruce. Remember, if you know of anyone who needs a cleaner…”

He winked. “I’ll give them your information.”

I quickly gathered my things and rushed out the front door.

My gut told me that the man was off his rocker. Capable of bombing Harrison Developers? Definitely. Capable of harming my friend? It was a possibility.

It wasn’t until I pulled away that Riley popped his head up from the back. “You’re pretty convincing, you know. And your phone has excellent speaker capabilities.”

“Doesn’t it, though? Detecting 101 teaches me that I must try to relate to the person I want information from in order to build trust. You really thought I was convincing?”

“I did. I just wished that you’d opened the curtains.”

“I forgot. Sorry. Next time.”

He shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about that.” He climbed into the front seat. “So, what did you find out, detective?”

I shared with him about the manuals and the calendar appointment with S.N. “He’s involved in all of this somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“Can’t you leave the rest of this investigation to the police?”

I looked over my shoulder and gave Riley an incredulous look. “No, why would I do that? No one has more at stake here than I do.”

“How about the city of Norfolk? How about James Harrison? How about whoever the next victim is that these people are going to target? The car industry? People who don’t recycle? Chemical companies?”

“Okay, okay. I see your point. But I’m not giving up. Not yet.” I’d only begun to scratch the surface of this case and giving up was not in my DNA.

Chapter Twelve

After dropping Riley at his car and promising to stay out of trouble, I wandered across the street to The Grounds. I hadn’t been in for a week, which was highly unusual for me. I’d been too distracted by everything else going on.

“Gabby. You’re back and the world is right again.” Sharon called out across the place. A few customers hung out, but the morning rush was already over. “Love your shirt, by the way.”

I looked down at my “Snarky Reply Loading” shirt and grinned. Yeah, this was one of my favorites also.

I crossed the wood floor to the register, absorbing the scent of rich coffee and the sweet earthiness of cinnamon. Latin music playing overhead seemed to mock my mood as I leaned against the granite countertop toward Sharon. “It just doesn’t seem right to be here without Sierra.”

She paused from wiping down the surfaces. “Still no word on her?”

“No, she appears to have disappeared into thin air.”

“If anyone can track her down, it’s you.”

If only her words were true. “I’m not sure she wants to be tracked down. I think she’s hiding for a reason. I just don’t know what the reason is.”

“You and Riley seem to be putting your heads together for this, don’t you? I mean, I knew you two were friends but lately you seem like more.” She offered a glance before beginning a new brew of coffee.

“I’m not Riley’s type, Sharon.” I frowned. “I’m trying to get out of denial about that fact.”

Sharon threw me a look over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“You mean, like I’m crazy?”

She smiled. “No, like you’re valuable.”

“Valuable?” Wow. That was new one.

She shrugged as she added round scoops of coffee grounds into the percolator. “Yeah, I know it sounds weird but it’s the only word I can think of. He looks at you like some men look at their prized football jersey or their dream car.”

I think I might have blushed. I had to process that. Certainly, Sharon was seeing things that weren’t actually there. I had to appreciate that she was trying to make me feel better in the midst of everything else that had happened.

“So what’s going on with Sierra?”

I filled her in.

Sharon leaned on her elbows across the counter, her full attention on our conversation. “Let me know what I can do to help.”

“You can keep an eye on her place when we’re not there. Someone’s already broken in once.” Sharon had a birds-eye view of our apartment building from the coffeehouse.

“Drinks are on the house this morning, Gabby. You just concentrate on finding Sierra.” Sharon nodded, giving me her blessing and encouragement as she pushed my drink closer.

I nodded toward the door. “I’m going to get rolling then.”

“Gabby, wait one second. Check out these paintings we’re featuring.” Sharon nodded across the room at the wall on the far side.

I paused a moment, not in the mood to offer any fake admiration for art. But I’d be polite, for Sharon’s sake.

“I’ve been waiting to hear your reaction now for a while. I think of you every time I see those paintings.” She rounded the serving area and joined me.

I approached one and paused. My eyes widened at the picture of the ratty house against the darkened sky. “No…”

Sharon appeared at my side, nodding as if she were an art aficionado. “What is it?”

My finger trembled as I pointed at the painting. “That’s the house where I grew up.”

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re sure that’s your house?” Sharon asked.

“I’m positive. Never been more sure. That’s my old house. That’s even my old rusty mailbox and the tree that I fell out of in third grade and broke my arm.”

“Spooky,” Sharon muttered.

I hardly heard her. I moved on to the next picture and tears welled in my eyes at the familiar face. “That’s my mom.”

“She was beautiful.” Sharon’s voice sounded soft, compassionate.

I nodded and wiped at a tear. “She was an awesome person. I still miss her. But why would someone…?” I shook my head, trying to absorb all of this.

Dread filled me as I turned to the third painting. My hand covered my mouth when I saw the picture of the boy there. “It’s my brother.”

Sharon’s hand covered my shoulder. “Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“He was kidnapped. I haven’t seen him since he was six.”

“Gabby, that’s terrible. He was like kidnapped for real? Did a family member take him in the midst of a custody dispute or something?”

“No, strangers took him while I was watching him at the park. It tore my family apart. My dad started drinking—even more than he had been. We went on TV, pleaded for the public’s help. But nothing. The police never really even had any good leads. My mom died not knowing whatever happened to her son. All these years, all we’ve had were questions.”

Sharon wiped the moisture from under her eye. “I had no idea, Gabby. I’m so sorry.”

I reached up and touched the painting of my brother. It so vividly captured the mischief in his eyes. His brown hair looked characteristically messy, so much so that I wanted to reach into the canvas and straighten it. I missed him still to this day and had never forgiven myself for looking away from him, even if it had only been for a moment.

“Why would someone do this?” My voice came out as a whisper.

“I had no idea. I really didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, Sharon.” I moved down the line. Only two more paintings left. What would these be?

I sucked in a breath at the sight of the next one. It was the skeleton of a massive house that had burned to the ground. A lone figure stood in front of it, watching the remains as if they might come to life again.

I knew who that person was. That person was me, and the scene was the first crime I’d ever solved—the death of a senator’s wife where I’d nearly been torched after finding key evidence.

The final painting showed a group of friends. None of the faces were clear in this painting, just a blur of paint. But the smiles and the fun were evident as they sat around a table with coffee, in a shop similar to The Grounds. But there, in the background and out of the dark window displaying the street, was the figure of a masked man peering in at its edge. Watching them.

I sucked in a breath.

Just like someone had been watching me.

“Who painted these?” My throat burned as I asked the question.

“A college student. I had no idea, Gabby. I didn’t think anything about the paintings except that they seemed to tell some kind of mysterious story.”

“Yeah, my story.” I glanced at Sharon. “What did this college student look like?”

Sharon shrugged. “Pretty normal. Petite, chestnut brown hair that came to her shoulders. She had a bit of acne and wore black—as in, all black, even down to her flip flops.”

“Flip flops?” I glanced down at my feet to where my toes peeked out beneath my jeans. It didn’t matter the temperature. I loved my flip flops, but not many people around here wore them when the temperature was this cold.

“Do you have her name?”

“I’ll get her contact information for you now.”

I studied the paintings as Sharon disappeared. Why? Why would someone have done this? And how did they know so much about me?

That eerie feeling pinched my spine again. Someone had been following me and watching me. Now they were sending me another message by picking this spot to display their paintings. They’d sent me cryptic notes, also, which led me to believe that the person behind this was also a killer.

I shivered, wishing for a moment that Riley was here so he could help me make sense of everything. But he had a court case later today. I had to clean another crime scene and the only way Riley hadn’t had a coronary over it was because I’d called Parker and he promised to meet me there to discuss the notes that had been left for me.

Sharon approached with a paper in hand. “Here, I wrote down all the information I have.”

“Is this girl supposed to come back any time soon?”

“I told her we’d keep these up for three months. There’s a chance I won’t hear from her until then.”

“Where did she say she’d heard about you?”

“She didn’t. She just said she was checking out some local places that were artist friendly and she happened upon The Grounds. I didn’t think anything of it. Aside from being a little shy and awkward, she seemed harmless.”

I glanced at the paper. “Becca Bowling.” Her address wasn’t that far from here. I’d be making a pit stop on my way to my job, it looked like. Special Agent Parker could wait on me for a few minutes.

“I gotta run, Sharon. Let me know if this Becca shows up again, okay?”

“You betcha.”

I hopped in my van—this time making sure that Henry wasn’t in the back—and took off toward the address. It wasn’t too far from where I lived, close to a nearby college.

As the facts brewed in my mind, my foot pressed into the accelerator harder than I intended. The van’s speed seemed to match my racing thoughts. Why would someone do this? What was going on, and how was I ever going to get any answers?

Finally, I saw the street and turned onto it. Maybe I would get some answers now. Or would that be too easy?

As I searched for the house number—1020—I realized just that. The residence didn’t exist. The address was bogus as the street ended at 900.

Another dead end. Literally this time.

When would I ever catch a break?

Chapter Fourteen

I sighed and started down the road toward the crime scene I needed to clean up. Another stabbing, and this one had even more blood than the last, so I’d likely be there all day today. I had class this evening at six, so I had to wrap up before then so I could make it. I only had three months until I graduated and nothing was going to stop me. My college degree had been a long time coming and had been stopped by many obstacles. Not this time.

I pulled into an upscale neighborhood, one with brick homes and a massive lake that gave people the right to claim their houses were waterfront property. Not many American-made vehicles were in the driveways, but instead there were Mercedes and Volvos and BMWs. The man who’d been killed—Landon Lancaster –was a landscaper whose designs had apparently won him awards. His designs, however, had not helped his personal life because he’d been married and divorced twice. His sister was the one who’d called me about this job, and she was still struggling to understand how a crime like this could happen. The police were calling this a home invasion gone bad. It seemed as if the home invasion market had really skyrocketed in this area lately, the fact by which would not help me to sleep better at night.

I pulled to a stop in front of a particularly well-kept home. This one had thick white columns across the porch and looked stately. These weren’t the kind of homes where I often had to clean up crimes. Wealthy people like this usually reserved their nefarious deeds for the white-collar variety.

Parker’s car was already in the driveway. He sat in his sedan, chatting on his phone until he spotted me. Then he stepped out, looking none too happy to see me. It had been like that when we were dating also, so not much had changed—other than the fact that we weren’t dating any more.

I pulled my jacket on as I walked across the thick grass toward my Fed ex. The weather again today couldn’t make up its mind and continued to occasionally pluck down some wet drops of icy moisture. Even though the sun hung high in the sky, little droplets still fell downward.