SC 07 Mucky Streak by Barritt Christy

Author:Barritt, Christy [Barritt, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy Mystery
Published: 2014-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

***

Marty Alvin had probably been handsome in his younger days. Today, he was 27 and he looked like he’d lived a rough life. Probably, if I had to guess, he’d been mixed up in too many drugs and too much alcohol. Those addictions could age a person more quickly than they’d ever want to admit.

Based on the glazed look in his eyes, those rough days weren’t behind him.

His hair was too long, his whiskers too unshaven, and his clothes too unlaundered.

Some people could get away with that look, but only if they did it on purpose. On a positive note, he bore a faint resemblance to Marky Mark, from Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch back in the 90s. The comparison was both because of his physical features and his hip hop culture attitude.

As soon as he appeared, I could smell body odor, something frying in the kitchen, and the stale scent of a house that didn’t get enough air circulation.

“Marty?” I asked.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Gabby, and this is my friend, Holly. Thanks for agreeing to meet with us.”

He grunted and shoved the door open. He offered no smile—just a vacant kind of stare—and waved us inside. The interior of his home looked like a dump, and one glance at the man and woman in the background seemed to indicate that he was still living with his parents.

No, this was not the kind of man I pictured Cassidy Mercer with.

Had he changed in the years since she died? Or had he always looked and lived like this? I wanted to find out.

I was thankful that Holly was with me right now. She had experience with stuff like this. Visiting people. Assessing their situations. Making determinations.

I had experience with assessing crime scenes and bloodstain patterns. I was getting better with the people part. But I constantly had to watch what I said so I wouldn’t offend anyone. Holly seemed to have more of a gift with words and social graces.

Marty Mart gestured toward the couch.

“Have a seat.” His words slurred together.

Holly and I shoved some magazines out of the way—and a couple of fast food wrappers, as well as beer bottles—and then sat down. Marty lowered himself onto a torn barstool across from us. He grabbed a brown bottle and took a long swig.

He sat the bottle on the table with a loud clank. “I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be.”

“You never know when something someone says might reveal a clue that investigators haven’t picked up on yet,” I started. Of course, if you weren’t drunk, you might think more clearly. On the other hand, sometimes people revealed more under the influence of alcohol, so maybe I shouldn’t complain. “So, how long did you and Cassidy date?”

He shrugged. “About six months.”

I pulled out my handy-dandy notebook—like any good detective would—and began jotting some notes. “Where did you meet?”

“At school. I went there on a scholarship, much to the disappointment of Cassidy’s parents. They sent her to a private school to get her away from kids like me.

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