Blind Dates Can Be Murder (12 page)

Lettie turned in the completed job application at the front desk. The woman directed her to sit in a certain area, a small grouping of empty chairs, and after only ten minutes she was led down the hall and introduced to a man in human resources. Lettie hated job interviews, but Mickey had put together such a sparkling—albeit padded—resume for her that she had a feeling she just might get through this one okay.

The man asked all of the usual questions, and Lettie felt that she gave some good answers. Sure enough, when the interview was over, he all but offered her the job.

“Of course, I’ll need to check your references, but if everything comes out okay, Lettie, I’d say you’re hired.” Mickey had taken care of the references as well, so Lettie knew she was a shoo-in. She allowed herself a small smile until he added, “Could you start, say, April second?”

Lettie swallowed, her eyes wide.

“Why wait till April?” she asked. “I can start Monday.”

He shook his head, sliding her papers into a large manila folder.

“You’ll be replacing Viveca, one of our employees who’s going out on maternity leave. Her last day is the third, so if you start on the first that gives you a three-day overlap for training purposes.”

Lettie’s mind raced. The interview had gone well, the reference check would go well, but even though she would get the job, there would be a delay of seven days. A whole week! By then Chuck would almost be ready to get out of prison and Lettie would be long gone.

“Thank you so much for coming,” the man said, standing. She had no choice but to do the same and to take his outstretched hand and shake it. Lettie walked to the door, trying to think of a solution as she went. She needed to get a job there
now
.

“If an opening comes up any sooner, please let me know,” she told him. “I’m really eager to get started.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Lettie reached the doorway and then turned, Mickey’s words ringing in her head. She needed to get a connection going there, no matter what it would take.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Of course.”

“I’ve been thinking of trying a dating service myself,” she lied. “Would there be any conflict of interest if I signed up as a client?”

Brock Dentyne was a dentist. Considering his name, Jo thought that was the funniest thing she’d heard in a while.

“You’re lying,” she told him as she opened the menu. “Do four out of five of your colleagues recommend you?”

“Old joke, Jo. Old joke.”

The restaurant was lovely, as always, and they had been given a corner table near the fountain. It was a warm day for March, and Jo was glad they could sit outside and enjoy the sunshine. The Rooftop Café had been the right choice.

“So do you hate me? Some people do, as soon as they find out my occupation.”

Jo scanned the day’s specials, smiling.

“Just don’t lecture me about dental floss, and we’ll get along fine.”

The Rooftop was more about atmosphere than the food they served, but at least Jo had eaten there enough times to know how to order well. She told Brock as much, suggesting he have the Monterey chicken or the broccoli quiche—and that he steer clear of the shrimp salad.

“Got it.”

The waitress showed up at that moment, and they placed their orders. As they did, Jo involuntarily shuddered, the memory of sitting across Frank Malone last night still very fresh in her mind. Was she insane, tempting fate and giving history a chance to repeat itself? Absurdly, she wondered what she’d find if she went out to Brock’s car and popped the trunk. Someone else, bound and gagged, thumping against the side? Like a Möbius strip, the possibilities could go on forever.

“A dentist,” Jo said once the waitress was gone. “So what are you doing in Mulberry Glen? Have you opened a practice here?”

“Nope. My dad and I share a practice in Charleston. I’m on a leave of absence for a year to teach and do research at your university here. It’s something I always wanted to try, and when this opportunity came up, I jumped on it.”

“Is your dad okay there without you?”

“Oh, sure. He wants to retire soon, though, so we figured I should do this while I could.”

“And are you enjoying the teaching?”

The waitress appeared with their coffee, and once she left again, he spoke.

“I am, but not enough to make a career of it. I’m glad I came, but I’ll also be glad to go back to my real job when the semester is over. It’s been kind of lonely here. I miss seeing my friends and family on a day-to-day basis.”

“Is that why you joined Dates&Mates?”

He shrugged.

“I haven’t had a truly interesting date in a couple months. University life is pretty insular, and except for bad setups by well-meaning friends, I’ve been at a loss as to how to meet women.”

Jo was surprised. She had a hard time believing that a man who was so good-looking didn’t have women all over him all the time. She said as much, making him blush.

“Okay, maybe I said it wrong,” he told her. “There are plenty of women around here to choose from, but I’m kind of picky. I don’t want just any woman. Especially not the ones who are ‘all over me,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Oh, my. They didn’t even have their salads yet and already they were venturing into deeper territory, that conversational area usually reserved for second or third dates, not first.

“So what do you want in a woman?”

He shrugged, still looking a tad embarrassed.

“Someone I can respect,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “Someone who’s mature in their Christian walk. Someone gentle and sweet, but also smart and brave and resourceful. Someone capable of being on her own but also willing to share her life completely if the right person comes along. Am I making any sense?”

You’re making perfect sense
, Jo thought.
More than you can imagine
.

Before she could reply, however, her cell phone rang. It was the chief.

“Jo?” his deep voice barked when she answered. “Harvey Cooper here. Can you come down to the station? I’ve got some information on Frank Malone I think you might be interested in.”

“Information?” she asked, looking at Brock with dismay.

“Yeah. He’s got a police record—a long one.”

6

T
he questionnaire for joining the Dates&Mates dating service seemed simple at first. Lettie used information that was half true, half false—the same fake phone numbers and addresses she had put in her job application. That part was easy. The hard part was when it got down to the personality profile, which required some introspection.

Lettie didn’t like introspection.

All sorts of strange questions were there, such as “If the house across the street caught on fire, would you: a) call the fire department immediately, b) grab the hose first to see if you could put it out, or c) find a lawn chair and some marshmallows and enjoy the show?”

Was “c” a joke, or were there really people that mean in the world?

Actually, she knew the answer to that question. Yes. There really were people that mean in the world. Her stepfather, for one, would be there with a sack of Jiffy-Puffs and a stick, celebrating his neighbors’ misfortune.

And what of the other two possible answers? Lettie thought about that for a moment. Melissa would grab the hose and put out the fire, no doubt. But their mother…well, “none of the above” applied to her. She wouldn’t use the hose or roast marshmallows or call the fire department.

She’d just look the other way and pretend there was no fire.

Jo decided that she simply wasn’t meant to sit down and enjoy a meal with Brock Dentyne. As the waiter boxed up her food and made her a coffee to go, they talked about when they might have the opportunity to give it another try. Their schedules were both complicated, though, so finally they agreed that Brock would call her Monday afternoon, calendar in hand, and they would lock something in then.

“Before I go,” Jo said, “I need to tell you something. And I owe you a very big apology.”

“An apology?”

“It’s bad enough that this happened to you because of me, but I realized something today that makes it even worse.”

She explained about her website, about her blog, about how she had blabbed to the entire world exactly when and where she would be at 6
PM
on Friday.

“But why apologize?” he asked. “It’s not like you used my actual name or anything.”

“No,” Jo told him, leaning forward, “but it’s still my fault that this happened. It’s my fault that Frank Malone was able to be in the right place at the right time. It’s my fault you have a giant lump on your head and a mild concussion.”

He sat back and smiled, and Jo couldn’t help enjoying his dimples. She couldn’t decide if he was handsome or cute. Maybe both: He was handsome when he was serious and cute when he was smiling.

“I’ll forgive you, under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That on tomorrow’s blog entry you report that you ate lunch today with a brilliant, handsome, and wealthy dentist who simply swept you off your feet.”

“But that would be a lie,” Jo said as the waitress brought her food and coffee.

Jo accepted the Styrofoam box and the cup, tossed a bill for her share on the table—much to Brock’s objections—and then she stood. He stood as well, the expression on his face utterly crestfallen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just, what you said…”

“That it would be a lie? Of course it would be a lie.”

“It would?”

“Yes,” she said with a glint in her eye. “I mean, we never really got around to eating lunch, now did we?”