Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak by Christy Barritt Page B

detective. I definitely hadn’t commented on it. “Nice ride.”
    “I know, right? I love all things old.” She backed out of the parking lot, and we started down the streets of Cincinnati.
    “Old cars, dresses that could have been popular in the fifties , recipes from a bygone era. I’m seeing a pattern here.” I assumed the dresses were probably designer pieces.
    S he touched the hem of the pale yellow dress she wore. “This old thing? I do love my dresses. I find them at thrift stores.”
    My opinion of her went up a few more notches.
    We cruised down the city streets for a moment, and I absorbed the urban life around me. I loved the character of Cincinnati. The buildings and streets all seemed to tell stories of the past, of the history of the area.
    I really needed to get out more, I decided then and there. There was so much of the world—of the United States—that I hadn’t seen. My circumstances had always limited my travel. I hadn’t even realized that I wanted to travel until this moment. Growing up, I’d gone to North Carolina to see some relatives a couple of times. In college, my friends and I had gone down to Florida for spring break. That was it.
    “ I can’t believe Chad is married now.” Holly’s voice cut into my thoughts. “He seemed really happy last time I talked to him. I can’t wait to meet his wife.”
    I smiled when I thought about Chad and Sierra. “They both seem really happy. An odd match, but they work together.” I glanced her way. “Are you two close?”
    “I feel like he’s my brother, even though we never see each other anymore. I really admire him. Not many people give up an established career and a steady paycheck to follow their dreams. His mother nearly flipped when she heard his plans. My mother did flip.”
    I liked Holly already. Despite her overly girl y appearance, she seemed down to earth and friendly, not stuck up like I first thought she might be. Plus, she was a social worker. The job wasn’t exactly prestigious. Most people did it because they were concerned about the well being of others. I could admire that.
    “It does take some courage. He pav ed the way for me. My family thought I was crazy to become a social worker. Said I couldn’t support myself or make a comfortable life on that salary. But it’s what I wanted to do.”
    “Life is too short to live for someone else’s dreams, isn’t it?” I was pretty sure there was a country song about that.
    Holly frowned. “You’re absolutely right. We have to make the mos t of the time we’ve been given. And it wasn’t that my family doesn’t think social work is noble; they were okay with me helping people in need. They just wanted me to be able to take care of myself in the process.”
    We drove for about thirty minutes, Holly giving me a quick tour by pointing out buildings, stadiums, bridges and colleges.  We finally pulled away from the busy interstate and the crowded streets. Trees became more prevalent. To my right was a glorious view of the Ohio River. We climbed through the hills and finally Holly slowed and pulled down a long drive marked DEAD END.
    Appropriate, I couldn’t help but think.
    The car climbed up the winding lane until t he woods ended and a huge mansion appeared.
    Holly braked. “Whoa . What a place.”
    “You’re right about that.” I knew Garrett had come from privilege, but wow. This was a one-percenter kind of home. Gray bricks comprised the exterior. Huge columns surrounded the front door in a circular colonnade. A black, iron fence could be seen in the backyard and maybe even a tennis court.
    As Holly put the car in park, I stepped out. The day was brisk already, but on this hill, the wind was particularly biting. I pulled my leather jacket closer and stepped toward the house. There were no cars in the driveway, but the place looked well kept.
    I glanced at Holly as she joined me. “What are the chances the current homeowners would let us take a tour?” I