The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 (20 page)

“I don’t want you doing this.” Riley
stood in front of me with his hands on his hips and his eyes lined with worry. “There are so many things that could go wrong. You’re going to be exactly where Jones wants you to be. You’re going to be playing his game, and he’s going to be controlling all of the cards. It’s not going to end well.”

Since a
police officer was applying white makeup to my face in an effort to zombie-fy me, I couldn’t escape Riley’s closing argument in his case against me.

I
sat in a dining room chair, which faced the window for lighting purposes, in Riley’s apartment. I closed my eyes as more makeup was applied. There were so many police officers in the apartment right now, it was practically a donut shop.

I
didn’t say anything in response to Riley. I knew I couldn’t change his mind on this, so why bother and try?

Finally,
Riley stopped staring at me—I could feel his gaze leave me, even with my eyes closed—and addressed Parker. “Can’t you talk her out of this? Tell her what a bad idea it is? Insist she stay far away?”

Great, he was trying to persuade the jury now.

Parker shrugged. “You don’t really think she’s going to listen to me, do you?”

Riley sighed. “Gabby—”

As they put the final powder puff to my cheeks, I stood. “It’s going to be fine, Riley. I’m going to be careful. You’re going to be with me.”

I resisted the urge to bat my eyelashes and make the words drip with sugary sweetness. Because, despite how sappy my words sounded, they were true. I did feel safer with Riley nearby.

He stepped closer, probably to get my attention. It worked. Electricity crackled between us and caused me to suck in a breath.

He leaned down until we were practically
nose-to-nose. “We both have targets on our backs.”

I stepped back before his plan worked and I actually started listening to him. I
paced instead and kept my gaze averted so I could focus. “Milton Jones doesn’t use guns. He’s not going to shoot us. He’ll try to
abduct
us.” The words really weren’t that comforting.

“That’s not entirely true
,” Parker said. He hung out against the door, twirling his toothpick. He did that when he wanted a cigarette. “We know that’s what he does to women, but he’s veering off of his M.O. like a meth addict in rehab. Who knows what he’ll do next.”

I wanted to throw a book at Parker.
Maybe a tomato or a cream pie. I settled for a dirty look instead.

He shrugged
and continued to twirl the toothpick in his mouth. “It’s true.”

I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to concentrate on the things I could control, and right now that meant finding out more information.

“How many people are expected to turn out for this event tonight?” I asked.

“Hundreds,” Adams said. He
sprawled in Riley’s leather recliner. I’d never seen him look so exhausted. Even in his tired state, I could tell he was watching everything. I’d never asked him about his personal life before, but I’d bet he was single. Divorced. Probably because his job was his life. It would make him a great detective but a lousy husband.

Apparently, down at the station
, there were some undercover cops also being zombie-fied. A police presence was already supposed to be at the event, so there would be uniformed officers on the streets. Adams and his higher ups had agreed that it would be better if I blended in. It would be harder for Jones to find me.

Of course, that also meant it would be easier for the police to lose track of me.

I guessed I couldn’t have it both ways.

I was trying
to appear strong, but my insides felt like gelatin. So many things could go terribly wrong in this scenario. My thoughts kept rushing toward the what ifs, but I pushed those doubts away.

Dwelling on how this could be a disaster brought me no closer to finding Clarice or
Rose or Nichole. It only brought me closer to a nervous breakdown. Worry and anxiety were like that.

Time was running out. If we didn’t find them by tomorrow, then Nichole would be dead.

Clarice would be next.

Rose
only a day after that.

Milton Jones had created this virtual ticking time bomb, and I knew we didn’t have
a moment to waste.

“You’re next,” the officer told Riley.

Riley was stiff as he lowered himself into the dining room chair. His jaw hardly moved as white makeup was applied to his face. Darker shades went under his eyes. His hair was teased upward.

“Your clients would love to see you now.” I tried to keep my tone light.
“I can see the headlines: Zombie Prosecutor Fights for the Living Dead.”

Riley said nothing.

I glanced out the window. Zombies were already starting to fill the streets. There were pretty zombies and scary zombies and ninja zombies. I’m sure there were sober zombies there, but I’d betcha there were a whole lotta drunk ones, too.

I frowned. Were we putting these people in danger? No, I decided.
Jones would be there, whether we were or not. Besides, the police and the FBI were on this. These streets had probably never been safer. Riley and I were the only ones Jones was after right now.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was white and bigger than a Tina Turner afro. My skin was pasty. I wore a long sleeved white button up shirt. The buttons didn’t line up
, and there was a rip in the sleeve. But the shirt would perfectly conceal the wire beneath it. They’d also placed a tracking device in the back pocket of my jeans.

Adams
finally stood from the recliner. “We’re getting out of here now. We don’t want to be too obvious. But you’ll have eyes on you at all times. If Milton Jones tries to get you, we’ll be right there.”

I nodded. My emotions weren’t high. In fact, I felt rather numb and subdued. I wasn’t sure the feeling could be called “peace.” I just knew this was what I had to do, and I was ready to accept this challenge.

I wasn’t sure if that made me wise or if it made me a fool.

I guess we’d find out in another hour.

**
*

“That’s disgusting.” I turned away from the food that vendors were selling along the zombie-infested street.

Sausage that looked like intestines. Cupcakes that looked like brains. Drinks that looked like blood.

Gross.

But everyone who was here
loved
it. They were eating it up. Who knew what an enterprise zombies could turn into?

I glanced around me, shielding my eyes from the setting sun.
Everyone blended in with each other. If you’d seen one zombie, you’d seen them all, I supposed. But I did spot a few uniformed officers. I thought I recognized a couple of the guys from the police station dressed for the party, but I couldn’t be sure.

In the background, a zombie band named “The Grateful Undead” played Michael Jackson’s
Thriller.

Riley placed his hand on my back
, zapping me back to reality. “You okay?”

I nodded, not feeling all that okay.

Would I even recognize Milton Jones if he was here? I’d seen his pictures. I’d talked to him at that crime scene. I’d felt him immobilize me at my home. But if he was dressed like a zombie, I might never spot him.

This event could be a crazed killer’s
best-case scenario.

A ruckus down the street caught my attention. Squeals and laughs as people chased each other eased some of the tension in my chest. But it was like
the calm before the storm. The quelling of my anxiety only lasted a second before coming back even stronger than before.

It looked like a
game of tag had started down the street. I stayed away. The last thing I needed was for someone to grab me and for me to think it was Milton Jones.

A figure across the way caught my eye.

He was dressed like a zombie. But I’d recognize that Roman nose anywhere.

Officer
Newell.

I was certain that Adams had told me
the rookie was on desk duty. Was it a coincidence that he was here tonight? Had he just intended on having fun? Or was he somehow connected with Milton Jones as well?

“What is it?”
Riley asked.

“It’s the rookie,” I nodded in the distance.
“Newbie—I mean, Newell.”

Just then,
Newell looked up. He spotted me. His eyes widened.

H
e took off in the opposite direction. Running made him look guilty. He was
acting
guilty, for sure.

If he was our man, we needed to catch him. Now.

**
*

“What’s going on, Gabby?” Adams said in my earpiece.

“
Officer Newell is here. Is he working the event?” I pushed past two creepy lovebirds who were eating “intestines” like Lady and the Tramp ate spaghetti. As I brushed past, their food fell to the ground, and they called out an insult. I didn’t have time to apologize.

“Absolutely not.
He’s to remain hands off in this case.”

“He was taking pictures at that crime scene, Detective. Are you sure he’s not in
cahoots with Jones?”

I couldn’t hear what he had to say over t
he blare of “Walk Like a Zombie,” a catchy number that paid tribute to the Bangles’ song, “Walk Like an Egyptian.” The crowds jostled around me as Officer Newell disappeared somewhere in the direction of the Mexican restaurant Riley and I frequented.

“Can you still see him?” I yelled to Riley.

“He’s still running. Come on!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. I ran into someone with a “blood slushy” and red liquid covered my shirt.

We
pushed farther into the crowd, closer to the game of tag. Riley stopped and surveyed everything around him. “I lost him.”

I grabbed the arm of someone walking past. “Did you see this guy? This . . . this . . .” How did I describe
Newell? “ . . . zombie with a Roman nose?”

The girl stared at me with dull eyes. Finally, she muttered, “Brains!”

I grumbled beneath my breath. Riley and I continued to push through the crowds. Where had Newell gone?

We
stopped in our tracks just in time to see a uniformed officer grab Newell and handcuff him. The officer said something quietly, and they walked away.

“We’
ve got him in custody,” Adams said in my earpiece. “We’ll handle this. You just stay put. Don’t call attention to yourself.”

Too late for that. The game of tag pushed our way.

“Gabby . . .?” Riley pointed to my shirt, his eyes wide with surprise and concern.

I shook my head. “Blood
slushy.”

He pulled me toward him in a quick hug. “I can’t handle this,” he muttered into my ear. Just as he stepped away, a mob scene was on us.

People chanted “brains,” “long live the dead,” and other absurdities. I lost all sense of direction as people surrounded us. Somehow, I lost my grip on Riley.

Hands reached out. People bumped into us. Grabbed at my hair. My clothes. My sanity.

They squeezed in tighter. Their movement reminded me of being captured in a riptide and unable to escape. Chaos. Pure chaos.

My gaze swiveled around me.

Riley? Where was Riley?

I glanced across the crowd, but each face
blended into the others. Music blared. People pressed in, swallowed me.

I craned my neck to the left. To the right. Turned around.

Finally, I saw him.

The crowds had
rushed between us, separating us. I tried to move but couldn’t.

My heart raced. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It had been one of those worst case scenarios that I’d refused to think about.

I had to get to Riley.

I had to find a police officer.

I had to do
something
.

I began to push through
the squeezing, suffocating mass of people around me.

As I did so, something pricked my neck. S
uddenly my body was electrified.

The air left my lungs
.

My muscles
cramped, became rigid, then numb.

My arms drew in toward my body. Heat filled me.

And then I lost total control and collapsed on the ground.

I’d been tasered.

As the movement of the crowd became more frantic, I realized that was the least of my problems.

I was about to be trampled.

“Gabby!”

I heard Riley’s voice rise above the crowd. I could only move my eyes to search for him. For Jones.

All
I saw was an ocean of zombies.

Someone fell over me. Another person
stepped onto my shoulder. Feet lingered above my face.

I was powerless to do anything about it. I could only
lie there, waiting for the effects of being zapped to wear off.

“Gabby? Gabby? Where are you?” Adams said in my earpiece.
“What just happened?”

I wanted to answer him, but I couldn’t.
Only a small gasp escaped.

Faces
blurred into each other. Beer splashed on my shirt. I heard a murmured, “Sorry.”

Finally, s
omeone squatted beside me on the ground.

Riley
’s face came into focus. He lifted me up and carried me through the crowd to safety. As we reached the sidewalk, two uniformed officers joined us, offering crowd control. My erratic heartbeat slowed for a moment.

Finally, my jaw moved. “Jones,” I whispered.

“Shh . . . the police are looking for him,” Riley told me. “Worry about you right now.”

Even in my electrified state, my mind was clear enough to know the police wouldn’t catch Jones.

An even worse thought struck me.

Jones hadn’t wanted to kill me or to snatch me.
He could have easily done either.

No, he’d wanted something else.

To scare me? Maybe.

But, more than that, I thought he wanted to distract me
. The question was: From what? What was I missing?

He’d taken bossy Nichole, young Clarice, always-in-charge
Rose.

Who was he going to snatch next?
I felt certain that it would be someone I knew.

M
rs. Mystery seemed too old. So did Mary Lou. Who else could he hurt in order to hurt Riley and me?

“Something
’s wrong,” I whispered, resting my head on Riley’s shoulder.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no. Not with me. With Jones.”

“I know. Everyone knows that.”

I tried to shake my head but couldn’t. “He’s going for someone else tonight. He wants me to know it. Every time he reaches out to me, that’s been the reason.”

“Who
’s he going for?”

I wish I knew.
“I have no idea.”

***

Back in Riley’s apartment, I finally regained control of my muscles. Against my wishes, they’d called the paramedics to come and check me out. They’d said I was fine.

Despite that diagnosis, m
y limbs shook uncontrollably as I pulled myself into a sitting position on Riley’s couch. The regular crew was there, Tim had returned, and I filled everyone in on exactly what had happened.

Adams had finally told me that
Newell had been assigned to question all the neighbors to see if they’d seen anything after Jones broke into my place. That’s why the officer had been at Mr. Sears’ place. Newell also claimed that he was just at Zombie Fest for fun, not because he was trying to work the scene and especially not because he was helping Milton Jones.

I felt certain that
Jones was going after someone else. We had to figure out who.

Sharon? Someone from church? The lady who cut my hair?

None of those people felt right.

A thought hit my mind with the force of a lightning bolt. I tried to stand and make my announcement, but my knees weren’t ready to hold me.
Riley caught me and lowered me back onto the cushions.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Teddi. Someone’s got to check on Teddi. Now.”

It made sense.
Teddi might not be young, but Jones had apparently changed his way of doing things to better accommodate torturing Riley and me. Other than her age, Teddi fit.

Adams got
Teddi’s address and sent some officers over there. In the meantime, I grabbed my phone and called her cell.

She answered on the first ring, sounding sleepy and tired. I glanced at the clock. It was past
midnight.

“Gabby? Is everything okay?
I was just getting my beauty rest.”

I gripped my phone, trying to control
my emotions. “Teddi, I know this is going to sound strange, but the police are on their way to your place. I’m afraid you could be in danger. I need you to check your locks and your windows and sit tight until they get there.”

“
The police? You’re scaring me, Gabby. What’s going on?”

Tension pulled
across my chest as I prepared to drop a bombshell on her. “Teddi, I’m afraid Milton Jones might be after you.”

She gasped. “The serial killer
, Milton Jones?”

“It’s a long story, but yes. The serial killer.”

“After me?”

“I’m going to stay on the line until the police get there. You’re going to be fine.”

“I . . . I can’t move. I can’t get out of bed. I can hardly breath at the thought of that man being after me.”

I knew that feeling all too well. “How about your closet? Can you stay in your closet until the police come?”

“I . . . I can do that.” She rustled around. “I’m going now. I’m just going to step inside—”

She screamed
.

My heart felt like it stopped beating. “
Teddi? Teddi? Are you there? What’s wrong?”

“Nice try, Gabby St. Claire.”
Someone else came on the line. “But score another point for me. You know what this means? You lose.”

I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

It was Milton Jones.

***

I wanted to dart out of my house and over to Teddi’s. Riley and Parker both pushed me back down on the couch.

“Gabby, I have to insist that you stay here.
The police are all over this right now,” Parker said.

“But it’s
Teddi! I have to call my dad.”

Riley put his hand on my shoulder. “Wait until Adams calls again. Maybe the police got there in time.”

But I knew in my heart that they hadn’t.

I didn’t say anything.
In my mind, I was plotting ways to blow this joint. To slip from under everyone’s grasp. To go and chase Jones myself, if I had to.

Parker glared at me.
“If I can’t convince you to stay here this evening, then I’m going to have to lock you up.”

“You can’t do that!”

“For carrying a weapon without a permit? Sure I can.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what I had to do.”

I threw my head back on the couch
, knowing I was trapped. Now, I’d have to do the hardest thing of all. I’d have to wait.

Finally, Parker’s cell
phone rang. His conversation felt like it took hours as I waited to hear the update. Finally, he slid the phone back in his pocket and looked at me. I could tell it wasn’t good news. “Teddi’s gone.”

Tears washed into my eyes. I hadn’t known the woman long, but I knew she had a kind heart and that she made my dad happy. She didn’t deserve this. No one did.

Riley pulled me into a hug.

“He must have gotten there right before the police. They’re looking all over for him now, Gabby,” Parker told me.

I shook my head. I had no hope they’d catch him. He seemed too smart for that.

Now I had to call my dad and break the news to him.