Hazardous Duty (9 page)

“What did you mean by all of that, Gabby?”
Harold’s eyes contained the first touch of hope I’d seen since this ordeal
started.

I should have kept my tongue in check, I
realized. I sucked in a breath. It was too late to take back what I’d said. I
just hoped Harold wouldn’t get his expectations up. Parker obviously breezed
through school on looks alone. He offered nothing in the brain department.

“I found some evidence after you left,
Harold. A gun. With blood. On top of that, I talked to a neighbor this morning
who said she saw someone walking around the house last night.”

The hope in his gaze deepened. “And you
told the detective?”

I nodded. “He doesn’t seem to take what
I saw too seriously, though.”

“This isn’t an investigation for
amateurs, Gabby,” Riley said. His gaze drifted behind me, and I glanced over my
shoulder. My scowl intensified when I saw Parker in the doorway.

“I know what I saw, and I know what that
woman told me,” I whispered quickly. “Something’s not matching up in this case,
and I’m not about to let Harold get framed for it.”

The detective stomped onto the wooden
porch, his steps reverberating the flimsy floorboards. His eyes burnt a hole
through me, and his jaw clenched as he walked toward Harold. Music for “Send in
the Clowns” played in my head.

“Harold, you’re under arrest for arson
and theft.” Parker pulled handcuffs from his belt and jerked Harold to his
feet.

“You’ve got to believe me, I didn’t do
this!” Harold pleaded, panic flashing in his eyes.

I stepped between the two, my hands
clenched in fury. I had to stop myself from using one of those fists to punch
Parker in his button nose. “What are you talking about? Harold didn’t do
anything and you know it.”

“We found stolen items in the trunk of
the car parked in his garage.” The detective shoved past me, pushing Harold
along with him. “Now, don’t make me arrest you, too.”

Riley nudged me until I stepped back. My
heart felt numb as I watched the detective lead Harold to the squad car.
Harold’s eyes met mine as the door slammed. The sound of Keisha weeping inside
broke my heart.

Harold was being framed for something he
didn’t do. His innocent family would pay the price. And I was powerless to do
anything about it.

Chapter Ten

By the time Riley and I said
good-bye to Mildred, stars pinpricked the sky above. A magnetic force seemed to
draw me back to the house. But Mildred insisted I should go, and I knew I could
do nothing more. Her sister had driven up from North Carolina to help out, so she was in
capable hands.

Riley escorted me to his car. Around us,
crickets sang with abandon and the full moon offered a mocking smile. Didn’t
nature know the torment this family was going through? Shouldn’t it mourn with
us over this injustice? I mentally chanted, “Down with nature. Long live
industrial development.”

I slid inside the car and dropped my
aching head against the seat. Riley’s door slammed, the sound reverberating at
my temples. I gritted my teeth, wanting to be back with Mildred, as if she’d be
safe under my care. I waited for Riley to start the car, but instead he touched
my shoulder.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

Even inside the shadowed car, I could
see the concern on his face. I could hear it in the mellow tone of his voice.
Still, my sarcasm fought to be voiced.

Of course I wasn’t going to be okay.
Harold, one of the nicest men I’d ever known, was going to jail and somehow it
felt like my fault. With a deep sigh, I fought for control and said evenly,
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

We sat in silence a moment. Finally,
Riley started the car and pulled from the drive. I stared out the window,
watching the world go by. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.
Where was justice? Where was the loving God Riley had spoken of? Harold
certainly wasn’t feeling the kindness and protection of a merciful God tonight.

“What do you think about all of this?” I
asked, turning my gaze on Riley. “Do you think Harold’s guilty?”

“Finding the evidence in the car sure
makes him look that way.”

I shook my head. “Even if Harold is a
thief—which I don’t believe—he’s not a killer. Harold knew I was in the house.
He wouldn’t try and burn it down with me inside.”

Riley leaned back in the seat, watching
the road. Tight lines pulled around his mouth. “What’s your theory, then?”

“I think the husband burned down the
house.” I paused, collecting my thoughts. “But the detective says he was in the
hospital at the time of the arson.”

“Which is a pretty good alibi.”

“What if he sneaked out of the
hospital?”

“What if he didn’t? What if the neighbor
is mistaken?”

I shook my head. “I don’t really know
what to think right now. I only know Harold. They’ve got the wrong man.” My
cell phone began Do-Re-Mi. I jerked it from my belt and grumbled, “Gabby St.
Claire.”

A man needed a crime-scene cleaner to
scrub his grandmother’s house after she passed and they found 15 cats inside.
It was a crime against common sense, maybe even a crime against humanity to
have 15 cats. And surely a crime against those poor cats. But cleaning up cat
doo-doo sure was a far cry from being a forensic expert.

This is what I’d sunk to.

When
you’re plagued by cat hair

Turn
to Gabby St. Claire.

If you sang it to chopsticks, it even
rhymed—sort of.

When
the smell makes you hurl,

Gabby’s
your girl.

Forget the radio spot. I wondered if
Chuck Norris and Christy Brinkley might do the infomercial for me.

When
the litter box overflows—

Oh, never mind. I made a mental note
to buy a clothespin for my nose and said, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

I had rent to pay and new equipment to
buy. Now wasn’t the time to get particular.

I clicked the phone shut.

“Another job?” Riley asked.

“Life goes on.”

“What are you going to do about your
equipment?”

“This job doesn’t involve any blood, so
I should be okay. I had extras of all my cleaning supplies, so I’ll just have
to run to the store and pick up a few things before I go in tomorrow morning.”

Riley wove in and out of traffic.
Something about having him in the driver’s seat brought me comfort. I spent so
much of my life fighting to be strong that it was nice to let someone else have
control.

My mom had been weak, and I vowed never
to be like her. I always said I’d never work to support someone else’s habit,
nor would I ever let a mythical God, who told me to turn the other cheek,
dictate how I lived my life. At least I’d kept the latter vow. I just couldn’t
bring myself to cut Dad loose, though.

I did remember some good times, times
when my dad had let me skip school, and we drove to the beach where he taught
me to body surf. Or once he took me on a hike through the Blue
Ridge Mountains. That was dad at his best, when his free-spirited
nature emerged. That was the dad I loved.

I didn’t quite understand the control my
dad held over me. The only thing I could figure was I’d lost my brother, then
my mom. Dad was all I had left. Maybe I held on to the hope that one day he’d
start acting like a father. Or maybe I was just as weak as mom.

But, unlike my mom, I refused to be
trapped in a marriage with a freeloading husband. Men got one chance with me
and then they were out the door. Sierra always said I was too hard on my boyfriends,
but I didn’t care. No man was worth the heartache my mom went through.

I wondered about my “Riley Thomas, the
Freeloader,” theory. He seemed smart, even knowledgeable about things. And when
I was with him, I always felt better. But every once in awhile, I saw that
haunted look in his eyes, like he was running from something. A wife and kids
maybe? Responsibilities? The law?

He didn’t offer much in the detail
department, which in some ways made him even more intriguing. Who needed
details when you had an imagination like mine? I could fill in all the blanks
or at least have fun trying.

Maybe he was a famous actor trying to
escape the paparazzi. Or maybe he was on the FBI’s most wanted list. Or he was
an obscure prince trying to figure out what a normal life felt like.

If so, he moved into the wrong apartment
complex.

We pulled up and, no sooner had we
stepped into the building than Sierra’s door flew open. “Good, you’re here. I
thought you’d forgotten that we were having brownies tonight. Remember?” Her
eyes darted between Riley and me.

“It’s been a long day—” I started.

The last thing I wanted was to be
social. I needed to be alone, to think, to strategize, to bake a cake with a
file in it.

“A long day deserves a brownie.” Sierra
grabbed my wrist. She had a wild, hunted look in her brown eyes that made me
curious . . . and slightly frightened. “Besides, you promised.”

Before I could object, she pulled me
through the beads adorning the doorframe. Glancing behind me, I saw Riley grin
and wave good-bye.

Sierra had a spare hand and a will of
iron. She snagged him by the little polo player on his shirtfront. “You too,
Riley.”

His grin disappeared as Sierra dragged
him through the beads also. Bill, the talk show host, sat on the couch mumbling
about the horned, pitchfork carrying woman who had divorced him. I never
understood why he hadn’t noticed her hooves and a goatee when they were dating.

“He’s been here two hours already.”
Sierra’s desperate whisper sliced a thin hole in my eardrums. “I can’t get rid of
him.” Her grip tightened on my arm until I could feel my heart beating in my
fingertips.

She raised her voice and sang out with a
pleasant tone so false, she should have used some Fix-o-Dent to hold it in
place. “Have a seat, guys. The brownies are still warm.”

I sat on the edge of the couch, not
willing to get comfortable since I wouldn’t be staying. Riley took the chair
across from me.

Bill wiped the crumbs from his dirty
white shirt and extended a hand to Riley. “Bill McCormick from
America Alive
, the radio show.”

“Riley Thomas.”

“You single?”

“Yes, sir.” Riley sat rigid in the
overstuffed chair, as if anxious to leave.

“Count your blessings, young man.”

I slumped in my chair. Bill was drunk.
The man could talk your leg off sober. Drunk, you should say good-bye to your
leg, the rest of your day, and probably your mind.

“All a woman will do is mess up your
life.”

His words slurred together. Fresh off a
nasty divorce, I knew he was having a hard time. But tonight wasn’t the night I
wanted to hear about it. I didn’t have any sympathy left.

“Take my advice and avoid them like the
plague. They’ll ruin you.”

“I’ve got brownies.” Sierra set a plate
before us with a flourish, clinking her knife as she laid it on the table.

“Have any milk?” Riley asked.

I caught his eye and shook my head.

“Milk is a by-product of a cow and I’m a
vegan.”

Too late. Bill’s divorce stories were
like

“Cows are enslaved by humans. They are
oppressed, abused, wrung dry for a short bitter few years, then killed after
their faithful service.”

“And, we’re off,” I muttered to no one.
I glanced around, desperate for an out. My friend was in prison, and I was
stuck here in something playing out like a bad sitcom. Watch out
Seinfeld
, here comes
The Weird and the Curious
.

“Did you know there are studies that
prove people are better off not eating dairy? In the end, it will kill us all.
Scientists have proved that the hole in the ozone layer is caused partly by
methane gas generated by herds of captive cattle, force fed massive, unneeded
amounts of unnatural food, just so man—”

“So, how about those brownies? They’re
looking good,” I said, hoping for a change of subject.

With a sweet smile completely at odds
with her fanatic soliloquy, she said, “Yes, please try a brownie. They’re my
special recipe.”

Another time bomb. Sierra and her
special recipes. Afraid to set her off on being a vegan again, I bit into the
cake-like square, noting the strange texture and flavor. Holding a smile on my
face that dynamite couldn’t have shifted, I chewed away. What had my friend
made these out of? I was used to strange ingredients, especially since Sierra
didn’t use milk or eggs, but there was something even stranger about these.

I took another bite. “These are good,” I
lied.

“I’m not telling what my secret
ingredient is—”

I resisted the urge to either thank her
for sparing me the awful truth or begging her to tell me, so when they asked at
the emergency ward, I’d be able to clue them in to what antidote to use.

“—until you’re finished.”

Which meant, if I wanted to know the
anti-serum, I had to finish the ghastly thing.

She sat down and grabbed a brownie.
“What have you guys been up to today?”

Riley and I glanced at each other. Such
a simple question. Such a complicated answer.

“Nothing exciting,” I said. Arson,
murder, police corruption, toxic brownies. Same old, same old.

I ate the last bite of my brownie and
wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Okay, so fess up. What’s the secret ingredient?”

Sierra grinned, a little too wide.
“Acorns.”

Squirrel food. I looked at Sierra.
Chipper, hyper, caught her climbing a tree last night. The woman was one bushy
tail away from being one with her furry friends. Narrowing my eyes to study her
face, I checked for any sign she’d stowed acorns away in her cheeks for later.