Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (15 page)

"I guess we'll find out"

"What exactly do you hope to find out?"

Argh. The questions again. I made a mental note that I needed to stop asking as many, lest I annoy people the way Chad Davis annoyed me. "Where Mr. Elvis was on the day Darnell Evans died-"

"And what day was that?"

"He was last seen on October 28, which the medical examiner's report confirms. And I'm going to ask him about the blackmail letter-"

"What?"

I sighed. Did I have to explain everything to the living, breathing book of questions sitting beside me? "Yes, Hank was blackmailing Darnell over some ETA competition"

"ETA?"

I sighed again. "Elvis tribute artist. Get with it" I snapped my fingers in his direction.

"Excuse me"

I looked over and saw him grinning. Good. He got my humor. The building where Hank worked appeared at the end of the road. "We're almost there"

I pulled the van into the parking lot of a metal-sided building. While the place wasn't run down, it wasn't particularly well-kept either. Gray sides, grass around the perimeter, glass door. The faded lines on the parking lot asphalt matched the building's dreariness. Henderson's was splayed across a white sign atop the space, and a few trucks with a matching logo were outside.

I turned the van off, tossed the keys in the air, caught them, and looked at Chad. "Let's do it"

A subtle smile inched across his lips but illuminated from his eyes. "Okay, boss"

Inside, a non-distinct receptionist sat at an elevated desk. And honestly, with all the oddballs I'd met on this case, non-distinct was almost freakish. Her back straight, her expression sane, she asked, "May I help you?"

I held my head high and laced my fingers. "I'm looking for Hank Robins. It's rather important. Is he here, by chance?"

She shook her head in a nondescript way. "No, he's doing a run"

I tilted my head. I heard that it makes people seem more approachable, something I'm trying to work on. "Does he have a regular route that he drives?"

"No, ma'am. We deliver all over. Some customers are regular. Some aren't. It just depends on the day."

"I see" I nodded. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

She glanced beyond me at what I assumed was a clock. "Hard to say. Could be soon. But you never know. He could have gotten held up" She looked back and forth between Chad and me. "Are you fans?"

"Fans?" Chad had his arms crossed and leaned against a gray wall as if he was enjoying the show.

"He's quite popular in the area. He's Elvis, you know." The receptionist's sane expression slipped a bit. Maybe she did fit in with this crowd.

I waved in the air as if owning up to her statement. "I have seen his show. He definitely leaves an impression"

Chad cut me a sharp glance.

"Speak of the devil. Or should I say `the King'?" The receptionist nodded behind me.

I turned around and spotted the Hound Dog walking in through the front door. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted me. His shoulders slumped as if seeing me exhausted him. Gathering his gusto, he drew in a breath and swept past me.

"I'm busy."

I stuck close to his side. "I just have a few more questions"

"I never did find out what agency you're with"

"You tell me why you were blackmailing Darnell Evans, and I'll tell you who I'm with." Give me a microphone, and maybe I'd try ambush reporting for my local news station.

Hound Dog glanced at the receptionist, horror across his face at my accusation. Then his attention fell on me. "Let's take this outside." "

I grinned at Chad as we followed the driver. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. This was a different man from the one I'd seen at the concert. He seemed dejected and beat down, like a hound dog that had been swatted with one too many rolled-up newspapers.

Ic Let's just get down to business. I know you blackmailed Darnell. I've seen the note. Where were you on October 28, the day Darnell was murdered, Mr. Robins?"

His eyes shifted between Chad and me. "I was working"

My lip twitched cynically. "A likely story. Do you have anyone who can verify this?"

"I work alone."

"That's a shame" I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look tough.

Hank fidgeted, his eyes jerking back and forth between me and Chad. "Are you going to arrest me?"

Wow, he really thought I had that power? I wanted to blow on my fingernails and buff them against my shirt, I felt so impressed with myself. But I had to get back to the task at hand. `Arrest you for what? Blackmail or murder?"

"I didn't murder no one"

I tightened the cross of my arms. "Prove it"

"I can't"

My hand flew from where I had it so nicely tucked, and I pointed at Hank. "Because you did it. Darnell was going to be the end of your career. Without him around, you'd be the only shining star in the area. What I don't understand is, why did you kill him when he was so close to leaving for Vegas?"

Hank stepped back, his hands in the air. "You don't know what you're talking about. Blackmail is one thing. Murder is a whole different ballgame, girlie"

"Girlie?"

"You and your friend need to get out of here"

I stepped closer. "Did you just call me girlie?"

Chad pulled me back.

"You heard me. Beat it. I can't afford to lose my job"

"Yeah, it looks like you're really enjoying it" I motioned at his blah environment.

"It helps pay the bills, okay? And the ex-wife"

My hands went to my hips. "Of course, you'd have more money to pay the bills and your ex if you had more Elvis gigs. And you'd have more Elvis gigs if Darnell were out of the picture. You could give up this lousy job and do what you really love"

"You don't know what you're talking about. If you really want to investigate someone, talk to my ex-wife"

"Your ex-wife?" What was I missing?

"Yeah, she was having an affair with the man"

My eyes widened. "Lynette Lewis?"

"She's a money-hungry fool. I wouldn't be surprised if she was embezzling funds from the man's so-called fan club. Now get out!"

Once inside the van, Chad and I looked at each other.

"I wasn't expecting that one," I admitted.

Chad nodded. "Me neither. By the way, you were good"

I beamed. "Thank you" I liked Chad Davis, I decided. He was a nice guy after all.

"You have time for one more stop?" Chad asked.

My stomach rumbled. "Only if we can grab something to eat first"

"Sounds good to me. We'll grab something on the way. My treat"

"If you insist" Great. I was becoming a freeloader, just like my dad. I could not keep accepting free meals from people. "On second thought, it will be my treat."

"I hope the restaurant's expensive then"

On third thought, I hated the man. Must be nice not to have to live from paycheck to paycheck. Here I was, barely scraping by, yet I'm buying his lunch. What was wrong with the world?

I spotted some golden arches in the distance. "Well, you are in for a real treat"

"Have you heard anything else about the mold man?" Chad stuffed a bushel of fries into his mouth.

I pictured the mold man's dead body lying in the crawl space. I thought of Chad being there before me and again wondered if I could be sitting across from a killer. A killer who was trying to keep an eye on the investigation, so he was keeping me close. Made sense to me. I wondered if the man owned a gun.

Yet Chad had seemed truly shaken up by the incident. Or was he shaken up about taking another man's life? Of course, I didn't really know anything about Chad Davis. Maybe I should get to know him.

If essential to my investigation, I'd get to know the man. I'd spend time with him and find out about any secret hobbies, any bad taste in music, and any Elvis fetishes.

But every minute of it would be pure torture.

I pulled my thoughts back to Chad's question. If I'd heard anything about the mold man. I swallowed a bite of my hamburger. "Nope. Not a thing."

"Do the police think the same man is responsible?"

Was he trying to find out inside information so he could know if he was a suspect or not? "That's my understanding." I wiped my mouth, hoping none of my Big Mac's special sauce was slathered across my face. "So, tell me more about you. Where you're from, how you got here, yada, yada, yada"

"Well, since you put it that way" He laughed, a low chuckle that sounded mighty surferish. I pictured him on a surfboard, conquering a wave. I'll bet he looked good out under the sun's rays. "I grew up in the area, went to college out west, ended up starting my own funeral home. I made a lot of money, but the job was a real drag. It was starting to get to me. Luckily, I invested pretty wisely. Wisely enough that I can be comfortable for a while. So here I am" He smiled and leaned across the table. "Your turn."

"No, no, no. That was way too basic. I need more personal details. That was definitely the Cliff Notes version"

He laughed again. "Okay, how about this? I love Swedish fish-I never go surfing without eating some. I've been surfing since I was eight. I won a couple of small championships when I was in high school. I've never been married because I've never met the right one, and I have a bad habit of playing with my toes."

I pictured his sand-encrusted feet. "Yuck"

His eyes sparkled. "Yeah, I know." He leaned back into the moldedplastic booth. "Now it's your turn."

I shrugged. I had to get to know him, not vice versa. "Not much to say. Pretty boring, really."

"With a personality like yours, I seriously doubt that"

"What's that mean?"

"It means you've got spunk. You've also got a determination that probably didn't come from having a pampered life. You've got that sweet face but the tongue of a wiseacre-"

I paused mid-bite. "Who uses that word?"

"What word?"

I pointed my french fry at him. "Wiseacre"

"I do"

"Interesting" I ate the rest of my fry.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, your sweet face. And your eyes have a fire in them. And they're very lovely eyes, if I do say."

Yes, I could get used to Chad Davis as a friend, fake or not. "Thank you"

"And you're a crime-scene cleaner. How did you become a crime-scene cleaner?" Chad leaned closer. "Were all the jobs at Merry Maids taken?"

I crossed my arms across my chest and scowled. No, I did not under any circumstances want Chad Davis as a friend.

THE NEIGHBOR living to the left of the house where Darnell Evans died appeared too high to answer any questions. The neighbor across the street wasn't home. But the neighbor to the right, an elderly lady, was both home and sober. Would wonders ever cease?

"Come in, come in," she insisted.

We stepped into her small home. The place smelled vaguely of collard greens. Their bitter stench could saturate a house, and I'd recognize them anywhere. They were one of my dad's favorites.

She seated us around a waxy, dining-room table overlaid with a crocheted tablecloth and offered us cookies and tea. I decided right then that I wanted her as my grandmother. She seemed the type, especially since she had pictures of her family plastering every available surface. I thought of Mr. Hermit and what a contrast this woman's house was to his.

"Have a cookie" She pushed a plate of warm, sugary treats toward us.

I couldn't resist taking one. Snickerdoodles. Absolutely heavenly, I thought as I bit into one. "These are delicious"

The woman glowed. "I make a batch every day."

I nearly choked. "Every day? What do you do with that many cookies every day?" She certainly didn't eat them. She was as skinny as my vacuumcleaner hose.

"I share them with neighbors and friends and those who need a pickme-up. Snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, peanut butter delight, macadamia nut. I just can't help myself."

I needed her as a neighbor. "If you ever want to move to Ghent, let me know. I'm sure I can find you a place close by"

"So, what can I do for you?" She looked at us with sharp, perceptive eyes hidden behind dainty bifocals.

"Have you seen anything suspicious going on at the house next door?" Chad asked. I scowled, remembering why I didn't want to be his friend. He was not only trying to steal my business, but he was also invading my snooping turf. The nerve.