Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (24 page)

"Oh, right. The crime-scene cleaner" He pushed his oversized glasses up on his nose. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions"

He leaned in the doorframe, not in a sexy way. More like he was expanding out the door like a marshmallow under heat. He wasn't necessarily a big guy, just kind of soft-looking. "I've given up on selling the place. No one will want to buy a home where two people have been murdered. There's no need to clean up the crawl space now."

"I'm not here about cleaning up the crawl space"

He stared at me a moment, and I wondered what was going through his head. Finally, he pulled open the door. "You've got me curious. Come in"

I stepped through his doorway and noted that his house could use a good cleaning, from the crumpled newspaper littering the glossy wooden floor to the boxes filling the room to my left. Was the man moving?

"I have an eBay business" He shoved a box out of the way with his foot.

"Mr. Bowling.. " My mind worked quickly. "I've been thinking about investing in some property, and I think your house might be just what I want. I'm interested in taking a look inside."

"Inside? The place is a mess. You don't want to buy that old house"

I shrugged, trying not to appear overly eager. "I'm pretty handy. I think I could fix it up. Plus, it doesn't bother me that dead people were found there. I'm around stuff like that all the time"

"Ma'am, I just have to be honest with you" He leaned closer, as if about to tell me a secret. "It's a dangerous neighborhood. I hadn't been inside the house for several years, up until a few weeks ago. I couldn't believe the damage that vandals had done to the interior. It's nowhere for a single young lady to live"

I ignored his sexist comment for the sake of sleuthing. "Damage? What kind of damage?"

"Graffiti all over the walls. Drug paraphernalia everywhere. Syringes stuck into a mattress in the spare bedroom, and broken bongs in the living room. Need I go on? Someone obviously made themselves at home. I can't help but wonder if Darnell Evans was associated with that whole drug scene and if that's what got him in trouble"

Could drugs be the motivator behind this murder? Had I been looking in the wrong direction entirely? No one that I'd talked to had mentioned Darnell doing drugs.

Regardless, I still wanted to see that floor, to see if my theory was correct. Rodger Maloney still remained my number-one suspect.

"I'm still interested."

He balked. "You're serious?"

"Very."

"Why?"

I searched for a quick answer. "Because I think Ocean View is going to be revitalized one day, and I want to be there when it happens. I want to get in early."

He stared at me a moment. "Okay, fine. But view at your own risk. I definitely don't need another crime happening at the place" He reached up on the wall and pulled down a key from a hook. "Here you go"

"You're just giving me a key?"

"Lady, once you see the inside of the place, you'll realize that it can't be damaged much more than it already is"

I'd learned a few things since I started this amateur investigation stuff. For starters, don't go into potentially dangerous houses alone.

For that reason, I called Riley. At work. Yes, it was Sunday, but apparently he was really busy and trying to cram in some extra hours. I explained the situation, and he said if it meant spending some time with me, he could take a break from his heavy caseload.

Okay, not really.

He'd remained quiet for several moments before finally agreeing. Sheesh, he'd fuss at me if I went without him, yet he was grumpy when I asked him to go. What's a sleuth to do?

As I cruised down the road toward Riley's office, I called Jamie. Lately, I could be mistaken as someone trying to win the title of Multitasker of the Year. I was becoming rather good at talking on the phone while doing ... well, everything. Next, maybe I'd try brushing my teeth while driving, or showering as I ate breakfast.

"Gabby! You figure out who killed my Darnell yet?" The Priscilla Presley wannabe smacked her gum as she answered.

I rolled my eyes as I pulled up to a stoplight. "I'm still working on it. I have a few good leads"

"I thought you'd work faster than this"

I scowled out the window, causing the driver beside me to respond with a very un-nice motion. I looked back toward the stoplight hanging above me, thankful it finally turned green. I charged ahead, both on the road and in my conversation. "Listen, Jamie, did you know that your husband didn't have a show lined up in Vegas?"

"Of course he did. It's all he talked about for weeks"

"He was going to start his own plumbing business."

"Hogwash. My Darnell hated plumbing. He only talked about starting his own business to get under Phony Maloney's skin:"

He got under his skin all right.

I had a feeling that all other career options had sunk like the Titanic for Darnell and starting his own business seemed his only option. Sure, he'd made some money as Elvis, but not enough to support himself and his wife and his lover.

And maybe his drug habit?

"What about drugs? Did your husband do drugs?"

She gasped. "How could you ask that? He was Elvis"

I rolled my eyes. "And the real Elvis did drugs. Your husband did want to be just like Elvis, right?"

She paused. I couldn't even hear her Hubba Bubba in the background. "He only did drugs on occasion and only then for recreational fun. He wasn't addicted or anything crazy like that."

No, never-because drugs were never, ever addicting. "What kind of drugs did he do?"

"Pot. Weed. Whatever the kids are calling it nowadays. Nothing major"

I'm sure the police couldn't agree less. "Who did he get his drugs from?"

"Beats me"

I hung up just as I pulled in front of Riley's law practice. The heavy, ornate wooden door opened a minute later, and Riley appeared, tugging at his sky blue tie. He climbed in the van and slammed the door.

"This isn't a good idea," he announced.

Hello to you too, Riley. "Then why are you coming? I didn't twist your arm.

He looked over and gave me a half grin. "Because I know you, Gabby St. Claire, and I knew you'd go with or without me"

I couldn't argue as I pulled away and took off toward Ocean View. I gave him a rundown of everything that had happened as I drove. He listened and nodded and held on for dear life until we pulled up to dear old Bob Bowling's house.

Once in the driveway, I hopped out, anxious to prove my theory.

"This place is a dump," Riley muttered behind me as I unlocked the door. Nothing got past him.

Inside, everything appeared just as Bob Bowling had said. I'd seen worse before-I'd cleaned worse before. Still, judging by the garbage left inside, drug users, maybe even dealers, had taken over the place at some point.

I visualized the crawl space of the house and the location where I'd found Elvis. Then I waded through broken furniture, old magazines, and broken beer bottles until I reached the back bedroom. I stepped through the crime-scene tape and stood in the dingy room with its upturned mattress and broken mirror. The police had been in here. Fingerprint dust bruised most of the visible surfaces.

A musty smell filled the room and reminded me of the stench from the crawl space.

"What now, boss?" Riley asked.

I liked the sound of that. And I loved the way his tie looked draped around his unbuttoned collar.

Focus, Gabby. "Over there" I pointed to some wrinkled carpet. "I think the police beat me to it"

Riley helped me shove a nasty mattress against the wall, and then we tugged at the carpet. The layers felt loose, like they'd been disturbed recently. Sure enough, a gaping hole opened in the subfloor.

Riley stepped back with his hands on his hips and stared at the opening in front of us. "What do you think?"

I pointed at the space. "I think this is how the killer got Elvis under the house. It's the only way that makes sense, given the cramped quarters in the crawl space. I don't care how strong a person is-it would be near impossible to drag a man's body under there"

"So someone pulled up the floorboards, dumped his body, and then nailed the floor back down?" With each explanation, Riley motioned with his hands to emphasize his points. I wondered if he learned the technique in law school. Maybe they had a class on Advanced Talking-with-YourHands Techniques 101.

"Yep. It's what any smart killer would have done"

And I had a feeling that smart killer's name was Rodger Maloney. Now I just needed to place him at the scene.

CHAD RAPPED at my door the next morning. We were going to the next job site together. I was still considering his proposal-job proposal, that is.

The offer tempted me. Working with Chad would open up possibilities. With his background at the funeral home, he had certifications that I didn't. He could teach me a thing or two, and I could show him a few tricks.

And when we got along, we had fun.

When we didn't get along, I wanted to smear crime-scene sludge across his smug little face.

We started down the road together, heading off toward a suicide cleanup in Chesapeake, Norfolk's neighboring city and an all-around thriving bedroom community. While neighborhoods and strip malls composed most of the city, a very rural part still existed as well. That's where we headed.

As I drove, Chad turned to me and in all seriousness said, "I think I've found a solution to our dilemma"

I gripped the steering wheel, wondering what important, life-changing choice I'd forgotten about. "Dilemma?"

"As to whether or not we should become partners"

Oh, that dilemma. I braced myself for whatever his solution might be. "Okay, and what is that?" I hoped that maybe he would add some interesting insight that would make my decision easier.

He propped his feet up on my dashboard. "Here's the deal, Gabby. I think we should like, thumb wrestle for it. If I win, we become partners. If you win, we don't."

I stared at the road, feeling dumbfounded. He could not be serious. Of all the bad ideas I've heard in my life, that one ranked up among the most outrageous. "That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard"

I glanced at him for just long enough to see a sparkle in his eyes.

"You're afraid you'll lose, aren't you?" he said.

"You're crazy."

"You're afraid"

"I'm not afraid."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

I sighed. "You don't make big decisions like that based on who wins a silly little child's game" I rolled my eyes and continued to watch the road. The nerve of some people. The nerve of Chad Davis. Who did he think he was? Were we in elementary school or something?

We arrived at the little farmhouse and worked mostly in silence, me still fuming over Chad's nerve and Chad probably trying to think of some other juvenile way to convince me to be his business partner. We opened the windows, though it was cold outside, in order to let the house air out. I also placed some AirScrubs around the room where the man had shot himself. They were loud. Good. That way I couldn't hear Chad if he tried to talk to me.

"What are you thinking about?" Chad shouted.

I glared at him, amazed at the strength of his voice. "I'm thinking it's loud in here"

"It's a good thing I'm loud too, huh?"

Yeah, just great.

I worked in silence for a while longer and then my mind drifted back to one of the first times I'd met Chad: when we found the dead mold man under the house. I wondered about the man, whose name I knew was Ryan Hoffman. I wondered how his death tied in with the first murder. I shuddered again, thinking that it could have been me.

"What are you thinking about now?" Chad yelled.

Why fight the inevitable? I should just talk to the man. "I'm thinking about the two men who were murdered."

"Do the police have any leads?"

I shrugged in my Tyvek suit. "I don't know."

"Maybe the question should be, do you have any leads?" Chad stopped scrubbing for long enough to get his question out.

I didn't miss a beat in my floor-cleaning routine. Time was money, right? "I do have a few, but I'm zeroing in on one man in particular."