Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play (15 page)

CHAPTER 22

“Gabby?” Paulette whispered.

I took a step back, shaking my head vehemently. “I did not put those things in the trunk.”

“What’s going on?” Garrett asked.
A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows.

I pointed to the
costume and the paint cans. “That habit is one of the missing costumes that was last seen with Scarlet. The spray paint? It could have been used to paint the security cameras at the Cultural Arts Center.”

“And now they’re in your trunk,” Paulette muttered.

“Stolen items?” Roberto said. Accusation flared in his
eyes.

“Not Gabby,” Paulette whispered.

In all our years of being friends, Paulette had never once doubted me, even when I deserved to be doubted. That’s what made the look in her eyes right now even harder to swallow.

Yet, at the same time, I had no room to talk. I’d been doubting her, as well. It was never fun when the tables were turned. And even I had to admit that I looked guilty.

“Paulette, you’ve got to believe me,” I told her. “I have no idea how those things ended up there.”

“
We’re calling the police, Ms. St. Claire,” Roberto said, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Guilty or not, this could be evidence in murder. Paulette told me everything. You’re not going to take advantage of her.”

“
Take advantage?” My mouth dropped open. I decided he wasn’t worth speaking to anymore. “Paulette—” I took a step closer, desperate to explain. Yet I had nothing to explain. I was just as clueless as anyone else here.

Before I could finish my sentence, Roberto pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“Fine. I’m not guilty, nor am I hiding anything.”

“Gabby?” Paulette questioned again.

“You’ve got to trust me, Paulette. I’m being set up.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing back and forth from me to Roberto. Snippets of Roberto’s conversation floated across the air to me. I heard enough, including “murder,” “stolen,” and “evidence,” to know this wasn’t good.

Garrett put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in close. “You think someone planted those things there?”

“I know they did. Someone
is desperate to make me look guilty.” As possibilities of who it was ran through my mind, I realized the most obvious person was either Paulette or Roberto. Both had access to this car—I’d bet Robert even had a key still—and could have easily slipped the evidence into the trunk.

Roberto—maybe he was involved.

But Paulette? Why would she bring me into this, only to make me look guilty?

***

Charlie showed up at Paulette’s place fifteen minutes later, and we went through the whole story with her.

Too many people talked at once, however, making the explanation confusing
. Charlie’s head volleyed back and forth as Roberto and I both told our sides of the story, with Paulette and Garrett inserting opinions frequently. The detective furiously scribbled in her notebook.

“You’re telling me you have no idea how those things ended up in the trunk?”
Charlie asked me.

“Absolutely.”
I glanced at Garrett, Roberto and Paulette. “Can I have a word? Alone?”

“Of course.”

We stepped away from the crowd—namely, Roberto. He didn’t need to know all my business. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Charlie. I have no idea how the dress or the paint got there. The only other person who would have a key to it is Paulette.”

“So, you’re accusing the
person who let you borrow her car and who fixed your van?”

I frowned. “It does sound awful when you say it that way. I guess I’m not really accusing anyone. I’m just pointing out the fact
s.”

“The
most obvious fact is that this points back to you. I know you talked to Scarlet’s roommate. You knew about the costume.”

“How’d you know that?”

“We questioned her in our investigation into Scarlet’s death. She mentioned that you’d stopped by and that the costume was missing.”

I
shook my head. “I didn’t take the costume.”

“I’m not saying you did. But
you do realize how this looks?”

“Of course I realize how this looks! No one realizes that more than I do.”

“This isn’t enough for us to bring you in. Yet. But you need to be careful. To repeat myself, just because I know you doesn’t mean I can cut you slack. I’ll follow the evidence wherever it leads.”

“I’d expect no less.” I knew what this meant. I was now
moving up on the suspect list.

“One more thing,” Charlie said. “I’d tell your little friend that Parker isn’t relationship material.”

I froze. “What are you talking about?”

“Parker went out with a friend of yours apparently.”

“No he did not.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Does the name Clarice ring a bell?”

My mouth dropped open. “No. They. Didn’t.”

Charlie nodded. “They did.
”

After Charlie left, my mind
still raced through a multitude of thoughts. None of them were good. Garrett said nothing but squeezed my hand.

To make things
worse, I still had to get my car keys back from Paulette, which meant that we had to interact again.

“I’m sorry about that, Gabby
,” Paulette began. “You know I didn’t want to call the police. Roberto just jumped in.”

“What’s he doing over here, anyway?”

Her cheeks flushed. “He was trying to talk things through.”

I glanced over at him. He was on his phone, talking in Spanish
or Portuguese. “And did he succeed?”

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He just got here a few minutes before you did.”

I shook my head, feeling a steady ache coming on. “Do you still want me to work this case?”

“Oh, yes, Gabby. Just because Roberto
called the police doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. You still want to investigate, right?”

I thought ab
out it a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I don’t like stopping things before I complete them.”

“Then I’ll see you at practice tomorrow evening?”

“I’ll be there.”

She tossed me my van keys. “Great. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

As soon as she disappeared inside, I turned to Garrett.

“You’re probably not going to want to hang out with me for the rest of the day after all.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to go talk to Donabell’s husband.” I crossed my arms. “This investigation is getting too personal.”

CHAPTER 23

Surprisingly, Garrett stuck with me. I figured he’d bail at the first opportunity, and I’d certainly given him
an escape route. If things went downhill from here, he’d only have himself to blame.

That’s what I told myself, at least.

As I pulled up to Donabell’s house, I wished I’d taken the time to trade my van for one of Garrett’s sleeker cars. But it was too late for that.

I also wished I’d had the chance to freshen up a bit—maybe
reapply my makeup or check my clothes for wayward pieces of my lunch. But it was too late for that also.

At
the door, I paused. “I’m supposed to be undercover.”

Garrett raised his hands. “Okay …
?”

“So
, would you mind playing along? I’m not investigating per se. I’m simply a member of the cast, after all. Undercover and all.”

“Play along, I will.”

Before I could ring the bell, compose myself, or even check my breath for the garlic bread I’d eaten earlier, a man answered the door. He was tall, and big boned, and had a thick stomach.

H
is gaze fell on Garrett and a larger-than-life grin spread across his face. “Garrett Mercer! How are you, man?”

Trent
, who wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a Dallas sweatshirt, also had a slow drawl and a loud voice—the epitome of a man from Texas. He gave Garrett a man hug, slapping his back with enough force that I cringed for Garrett.

“I’m doing great. Just happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by and take a look at those golf clubs you were telling me about.”

I could have kissed Garrett. Seriously. He was a lifesaver because I had no idea what my excuse was going to be for dropping by.

“Absolutely. It’s like I told you—any time.”
Trent’s gaze traveled to me. “And who is this?”

I grinned. “I’m Gabby.”

“Nice to meet you, Gabby. Why don’t you both come inside?” He stepped back. “Get out of that weather.”

Tr
ent lived in a contemporary brick house on a decent sized lot. Two kids ran around in the background, chasing each other. The smell of something spicy—Mexican, maybe?—drifted out toward me, along with the children’s squeals.

“Donabell! We have guests.”

A woman came around the corner.

“Gabby, this is my wife—”

“Gabby St. Claire?” The woman stopped in her tracks. Her lips parted in surprise.

“Donabell.”

“You two know each other?” her husband asked.

“We went to middle school together,” Donabell said, w
iping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Well, isn’t it a small world? Sit down. Donabell will get us some drinks, won’cha
, hun?” he asked, sounding at once jolly, firm, and in charge.

Donabell scowled. “Of course.”

In what was every unpopular girl’s dream, Donabell had aged.

Don’t get me wrong—she still looked good. But she looked much more ordinary tha
n I’d imagined she would. She had a distinct apple figure—a small apple, but still an apple. Her hair looked thin and like all the bleaching she’d done had made it brittle. And perhaps most unfortunately, she already had some wrinkles, probably due to the hours she’d spent in the sun working on her tan when we were younger.

Garrett sat on the couch
, chatting away with Trent, who’d probably never met a stranger. I started to join them but decided to help Donabell instead. I found her in the kitchen.

Dishes were piled in the sink, meat simmered on the stove, and the dishwasher moaned on the other side of the room, steam seeping from its edges. Juice had been spilled on the floor and water puddles could be seen on several surfaces.

I cleared my throat, realizing she hadn’t heard me come in. “Can I help?”

“Kids, no water guns in the house. Haven’t I
told you that before? You’re going to ruin the paint!” Donabell shouted.

So that would explain the puddles.

Donabell turned to me and sighed. “I’m fine. Thank you. Why don’t you sit down?”

I’d
imagined this moment many times, especially as a middle schooler on the occasions when Donabell had belittled me. Put me down. Publically insulted me. And never once had my imaginings included me feeling sorry for her. Never. Ever.

But that’s what I felt now. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that Donabell was overwhelmed, tired, and maybe even neglected or ignored.
So much for the Donabell who wanted to be famous, center of attention, and in the limelight.

I’d obviously caught her off guard because she was wearing old
jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She’d always been put together back in middle school.

I didn’t get the
satisfaction I’d expected.

“I insist. Let me grab these two glasses.” Before she could
argue, I took my and Garrett’s glasses of tea.

“Thank you,” she muttered
as we joined Trent and Garrett in the living room.

Small talk went around the room for a while. Finally, at a break, I decided I could delicately bring up an undelicate situation. “So, you’ll never believe this, Donabell.
I’m actually acting in a play at our old middle school.”

She raised a thin eyebrow. “Are you? Just like old times, huh?”

“Paulette Zollin is managing everything there. I do, at times, feel like I should be back in seventh grade.”

“The old middle school, you said?
” Trent chuckled. “That’s funny. I was trying to buy that property.”

I tilted my head and stole a glance at Garrett. “Were you?”

Trent laughed. “Yes, I was. I really thought I was going to win the bidding war, but I didn’t. Then everything started happening there, and I was glad I didn’t win. Or, I should say, I wondered if Paulette had changed her mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the article in today’s paper. Arie Berry was interviewed. She talked about all the strange things happening at play practice. I guess I shouldn’t say strange when two people were found there dead.”

“That was in the paper?”
I’d missed it and was surprised that no one, especially Paulette, had mentioned it.

“Yes, ma’am, it was. As soon as I read it, I
emailed Paulette, asking if she’d changed her mind. It was all in good fun. She probably didn’t take it that way, though. She was determined to buy the old school.”

“I wonder why. I mean, it just does
n’t really seem like her thing,” I said, fishing for more information.

“Paulette was lucky to find her way to class without getting lost,” Donabell muttered. “I’m not exaggerating.”

I wanted to argue and stand up for my friend. I really did. But what Donabell had said was true. Paulette had been like a lost little puppy dog who desperately needed someone to guide her. Her money and looks did nothing to enhance her personality or smarts.

“Paulette apparently is like her mom,” Donabell continued. “You know Mr. Zollin married a model who was twenty years his junior. All looks, no brains.
That’s the rumor, at least.”

“Well, she’s determined to make a go of this.
” I refused to talk poorly about her.

Donabell shrugged. “Well, best of luck to her, then.” Just then, one of her kids ran past with a water gun. “Chris! I told you not to play with those in the house.” She scurried off after him.

I chewed on what I’d learned by being here. I didn’t think Trent was behind those vandalisms. Either that or he should really consider a career change and go into theater because he was a great actor.

At least I’d ruled him out.

Now I needed to figure out who else I could eliminate.

***

An hour later, Garrett had seen Trent’s “amazing” golf clubs and it was time for us to go. I’d attempted to make conversation with Donabell, but almost every time it was interrupted by one of her children. Her boys were a handful, for sure.

Donabell walked me to the van
while Garrett and Trent chatted about an upcoming community fundraiser.

“Are you happy now?” she muttered when we were out of earshot of the men.

“Happy about what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Happy that the girl who caused you so much grief in middle school is a miserable mess, all while you’re dating a rich, famous CEO and starring in community theater productions?”
She crossed her arms and huffed.

“Why would that make me happy? Besides, you
have two beautiful children, a nice house—”

“A chauvinistic husband. My life is my kids. I spend all my time driving them around from practice to practice. Trent thinks that’s my job.”

My heart panged. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry that you’re not happy.”

“Don’t be nice.”

I raised my hands, realizing that nothing I said would be right. “I’ll pray that you find peace and wisdom in your life, Donabell. If you ever need to talk, call me. I’m pretty good at listening.”

She star
ed at me and opened her mouth to say something when Garrett reappeared. He called a jolly goodbye before we climbed into my van and took off down the road.

“Did you get the answers you wanted?” Garrett asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did. And by the way, you were great at improvising back there. Like, amazingly great.”

He grinned. “Anything I can do to help.”

“Donabell didn’t look happy, both about seeing me and about how her life has turned out.”

“You d
on’t think?”

I shook my head and
tried to remember how to get where I was going. “No, not at all. It seems like she’s lost herself in the process of becoming a wife and mother.”

“
Being a wife and mother is a noble calling.”

“They are. But Donabell had big dreams. She may have changed in the years since we last spoke, but I’m pretty sure none of those dreams included being a housewife. Maybe a pampered housewi
fe, one with a nanny and a cleaner. But I just sensed this underlying discontent in her.”

It was also strange to see someone my age seem so much older.

Though in my heart I felt like I was still 23, I had to face the fact that my clock was ticking. I was thirty and my life was flying by. I didn’t have much to show for it except for a business that I co-owned. I didn’t own an apartment, a nice car, or even nice clothes. I didn’t have a family of my own. I felt like, in some way, I was lagging behind.

As we started down an overpass, I hit the brakes to slow down.

Nothing happened.

I pressed harder.

Still nothing.

My eyes widened in realization as we
charged toward the red light ahead.

“Gabby?” Garrett asked.

“My brakes are out,” I rushed. Adrenaline surged through me, heightening both my senses and my fear. “Hang on!”

As
the intersection neared, I saw the cars crossing the highway. An oversized truck. A minivan. Several sedans. If I didn’t slow down, I was going to hit at least one of them.

I braced myself for the worst.

Lord, help us!