Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (28 page)

I tuned Pastor Shaggy out for a minute and thought of my mom. Was she in heaven? She was a believer. I mean, she didn't attend church every Sunday or anything. Did a person have to be a faithful church attender to get to heaven? Maybe I'd ask Riley about it later.

Next, Pastor Shaggy offered a prayer where he talked about God loving his children. But if God loved his children, why was hell even a possibility? It didn't make sense to me.

I couldn't ponder it too long. Sierra was up. She'd been perfecting her bird calls for quite a while now, and since Mr. Hermit had liked flamingos, she'd decided to do a sort of special music using bird calls.

She solemnly stood beside Pastor Shaggy and, like a well-trained soldier, brought her hands to her mouth. Drew in a deep breath. Looked at the sky. Then she began letting out the most hideous sounds I'd ever heard. The random guests who had wandered over had been polite and stayed up until then. They slowly slipped away.

Riley made eye contact with me, and we shared a hidden grin before turning serious again and giving Sierra our full attention. She had a good heart.

I glanced at the birds flying overhead and wondered if they understood what Sierra said to them. At that moment, one dropped a present onto the flamingo. It splattered right down the plastic bird's face.

Chad snickered, and I elbowed him. I hadn't done this to mock Mr. Hermit. I truly wanted to honor him, so I wasn't about to make this a laughing matter.

Though I wanted to laugh myself.

Sierra finished. One person applauded. No one else did because I don't think you're supposed to applaud at funerals. Or wakes. Or whatever they're called.

Amy stepped forward. She said a prayer and then began spreading the ashes over the side of Mt. Trashmore. Except the same wind that had enticed kite flyers out today also blew Mr. Hermit's remains back at those mourning him.

I felt a flake hit me in the face and jumped. Cleaning up after dead people is one thing. Being hit in the face with their remains constituted an entirely different story.

I noticed everyone else began jumping out of the way as if attacked by bees. Panic began to rear its ugly head when Pastor Shaggy stepped forward.

"I know Richard Spruce would be honored that you all came here today to celebrate his life. Let's have a moment of silence to reflect on his life"

Reflect on his life? That was the last thing I wanted to do. I feared too much that I'd end up like him.

People began to disperse after the ceremony. Chad and Sierra chatted with Pastor Shaggy. Riley nudged me.

"You okay?"

I shrugged. "I guess"

"What's on your mind?"

I saw an ash on my shoe and quickly shook my foot until the piece fluttered to the ground. "I don't want to end up like Richard"

"No one does"

I glanced up at my friend, the wise one who seemed to have all the answers. "How do you stop it?"

"Being alone is a choice, Gabby. You can either invest in people's livesand I'm talking quality not quantity-or you can seclude yourself both physically and emotionally. Just because a person is surrounded by people doesn't mean they feel loved and that their life has meaning. And just because a person is physically alone doesn't mean they feel isolated and depressed"

I forfeited getting a ride home with anyone. Instead, I borrowed Sierra's car (she got a ride with Riley), and started down the interstate. I hadn't taken my painkillers this morning, just in case I needed to drive. Though each throb in my shoulder felt like a hammer smashed into my bone, at least I could take advantage of the freedom of the road. Life's about tradeoffs, right?

I traveled from Virginia Beach into Norfolk. Went through the tunnel and into Portsmouth. Exited the interstate and drove through Portsmouth until I reached Portsmouth City Park. Found a parking space.

Then I wove my way between headstones in the cemetery adjoining the park. The grand cemetery nestled up against the Elizabeth River. Mom would have been proud to know she'd been buried in such a lovely place. I'd insisted on it. It didn't matter that it took the rest of my savings account to pay for the plot.

Strangely, I knew Mom would never know she was buried here. But I would. And when I came to visit her, I wanted this lovely cemetery to remind me of just how lovely she had been.

I'd seen pictures of her young and vibrant, before life had worn her down. Working two jobs, being married to an alcoholic, and having your son kidnapped could really age a person. I pushed the image out of my mind of my mom with dark circles beneath her eyes, frizzy hair, worn clothing. I liked to think of her as being happy.

Was my mom happy?

I couldn't be sure. There were times I remembered her smiling. I rarely remembered her laughing. Maybe a chuckle now and then, but it never seemed to come as a reflex. It always sounded forced.

I finally found the simple gravestone that marked the place where her body lay buried. I knelt there. Beside her name was Dad's. And under his name read 1954- until blank. One day, Dad would be buried here. Would I mourn his death?

Love shouldn't have to feel forced, yet I felt I loved my dad out of obligation. Sometimes I even wished I had someone else's dad. I wished I had a dad who loved me, who took care of me, who hugged me when I suffered through bad days and delighted in my accomplishments.

Instead, my father had red eyes, slurred speech, and alcohol-drenched clothing.

"I miss you, Mom. I keep my chin up and try to pretend that everything is okay, but it's not. Dad's miserable. I don't know how to help him, so I just keep giving him money" My chin trembled, though I tried to stop it. "Why'd you have to leave us, Mom?"

I let myself cry. I hardly ever let myself cry. Thought I was too strong for it.

My fingers dug at the grass. I ripped blades from the ground. Dirt invaded the space under my nails, stinging. Tears collided with the earth.

I wondered if my tears would eventually make their way to my mom.

I imagined them seeping through the ground to reach her.

Was what Pastor Shaggy had said true? Did God love me? Did he really love all of his children?

I stayed on my mom's grave until the sun began to set.

THE NEXT morning, I finished my paper and e-mailed the work of genius to my professor. As soon as I hit Send, the phone rang. I didn't recognize the voice on the other end.

Of course.

"Is this Gabby St. Claire?" The man sounded gruff and unkempt, like someone more accustomed to speaking in grunts than words. I figured the call concerned a cleaning job, which would be perfect because I needed some business-preferably something that I could do with my injured arm.

I leaned back in my desk chair. "This is Gabby. What can I do for you?"

"I need to talk. It's important"

Would he pay me if I listened? If I helped him clear the clutter in his head? To get rid of his mental crime scene of past mistakes?

Those painkillers I took last night when I got home must be doing things to my sense of humor. I had to stop before I started booing myself. "And to whom am I speaking?"

"Hank Robins. I know something that you need to know."

He had my full attention. "Go ahead"

"I know who killed Darnell. Can I meet you somewhere to explain?"

Twenty minutes later, I waited in a booth at a downtown Irish tavern. Hank, still wearing his delivery uniform, slid into the seat across from me. I waited for him to confirm to me that Rodger Maloney had killed Darnell. At the same time, I wasn't completely ready to rule out Hank as a suspect.

I liked to keep an open mind ... about possible killers, at least.

The hunka, hunka burnin' love nodded toward my shoulder. "Accident?"

In case he'd been the shooter, I wouldn't pleasure him with an answer. "What can I do for you, Hank?"

I tapped my pen on the table and right into a puddle, courtesy of my water glass. I scooted my beverage to the side but reached too far. Pain shot through my arm. I should have taken another painkiller this morning. No time to think about that now. I got down to business.

Hank placed his dirty hands squarely on the table between us. "Darnell was going to leave Lynette"

I'd pondered that possibility earlier in my investigation but hadn't devoted much time to the thought. "Why was he leaving your ex-wife?"

"He didn't love her"

"Was she coming back to you?"

His lip twitched as if the thought disgusted him. "I wouldn't take that woman back if she were the last female on earth"

"Alrighty then," I said in a subdued Ace Ventura impression. "What does Darnell not loving Lynette anymore have to do with his murder?"

"I think she killed him."

The key words being I think. "You think she killed him because you think he was going to leave her? I don't think your objective opinion would hold up in a court of law."

"It would give Lynette motive"

"You're a fine one to talk about motive" I paused. "Besides, maybe you just have so much contempt for your ex-wife that you're eager to place the blame on her. Maybe it's to cover up your own guilt. For all I know, maybe the two of you went in on his murder together."

"I may not have liked the man, but I'm no killer"

"But at one time in life, you fell in love with and married someone who is? It still doesn't say much about your judgment"

He smacked his hand against the table. "Listen lady, I didn't come here so you could point the finger at me. I'm trying to help"

"Why?"

"Because it's my moral duty"

"Then go to the police"

"Lynette dedicated her whole life and existence to that man. She set up shows for him, laundered his costumes, worked tirelessly on his fan club, and even grew the list to over three thousand"

"He had over three thousand people in his fan club?" Three thousand at twenty dollars a head could add up to a big chunk of change.

Hank's shoulders slumped. "That's what I heard"

I leaned closer. "Do you have a fan club?"

The man's eyes darkened. He was jealous, but I didn't have to meddle to figure that out. Anyone could see the competitive nature between the two men.

"I have many dedicated fans," he snapped.

"Of course"

He lowered his gaze and practically growled, "Listen, Lynette was torn up that Darnell was leaving her. She's not used to being the one who's dumped"

"Why was he leaving her?"

The stormy expression disappeared, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile. "They'd been having some problems"

I leaned back and waved my hands in the air. Nobody was going to take me for a ride. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. How do you know all of this? It's not like you were on good terms with either of them:"

"I have my ways"

I need more of an explanation, or I'm moving you up on my list of suspects" Not that my list of suspects meant anything to law enforcement, but Hank didn't need to know that. I seemed to have convinced him that I had more power than I actually did.

He wagged his head in the air. I could see his internal struggle from the strained expression gripping his face. He ran a gruff hand over his face.

"Fine, it's not like I was doing anything illegal. I had a mole in the fan club. Are you happy now?"

"A mole?"

"Yeah, I paid someone to get close to Lynette, to find out what Darnell was up to so I could beat him to the punch line, if you know what I mean"

"And the mole told you all of this?"

"Basically"

"Does Lynette know about your mole?"

He sighed. "Yeah, she confronted me a few days ago"

From what he'd just told me, the only one with a motive for murder was Lynette-and that was for the murder of Hank, who was still alive, not Darnell. Man, were these people messed up. They actually made me feel a little better about my own family.

Did I even want to hear any more of his sordid, twisted tale?

Sure I did. It made for an entertaining story, if nothing else. "Okay, fine. I'll bite. What kind of problems were Darnell and Lynette havingaccording to your mole?"

"Multiple issues, one of them being finances" His head dipped closer. "All of that money from the fan club ... nobody seems to know what happened to it"

Now that was interesting. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Lynette sure has been buying a lot of stuff lately. I've been wondering where she's getting the money."

"You sure seem anxious for your wife to be guilty, Hank"

"My ex-wife seems sweet and innocent, but on the inside she's the devil in disguise. She's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. That's probably why Darnell was leaving her-he'd found a new girlfriend who'd treat him right."

"A new girlfriend?"

"Yeah, the woman I hired as my mole"

Could people even make up stuff like this? "Darnell, where can I find this spy woman?"

"She works at a nursing home where Darnell liked to perform."