Authors: Cindy Sample
Dying for a Date (19 page)
"Earl, I have two growing children to feed. There isn't much opportunity for advancement here."
His mouth dropped open, reminding me to get him some Crest white strips for our Christmas gift exchange.
"No opportunity for advancement? Why I was planning on promoting you to Operations Manager.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and winked. “We'd be a great team."
A wave of nausea followed his declaration. Did my boss have designs on me that were other than professional? Time to deflect the conversation. “Earl, did you ever meet Garrett Lindstrom, a local CPA? I think he might be a member of the Rotary. Aren't you a Rotarian?"
Earl jumped back. His face bore the same expression as Ben's, whenever I caught him sneaking cookies. “He's not a friend,” he yelled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his rumpled brown suit.
What?
"So you do know him? Have you seen him recently?"
"No, and I'm not planning to.” His face darkened and he thrust his pudgy chin toward me. “Do you need more loans to underwrite?"
Nope. No shortage of loans on my desk. I shook my head and he strode down the corridor towards his office.
What was Earl's problem? One minute he was ogling me. The next minute he was yelling at me. Why couldn't I have a normal boss? Earl had been single for quite a while. Maybe he just needed to get laid, although not by one of his “team” members. It might be time to have the HR department send him a reminder of the bank's sexual harassment policy.
My extension rang. I hoped it was Anne calling about a cancellation so I could interview today. It was time to get out of this department.
"Laurel, I met the most extraordinary person.” Mother sounded breathless, quite unlike her usual self-possessed self.
Not again. “Are you trying to set me up with someone else? I already have a date with Peter next weekend.” One fix-up was quite sufficient for this week.
"No, dear. A representative from the sheriff's department showed up at the office today. I've never met anyone quite like him."
That wasn't surprising. I had never met anyone as masculine and virile as Detective Hunter either. Or anyone so annoying. But showing up at her office without a prior phone call? That wasn't playing fair. He should have warned me he was going to interview her.
"What did he say?” I asked.
"He was so charming. We compared notes about raising our daughters, you know, what a trial they can be—especially when they make poor decisions about their relationships with the opposite sex."
They compared issues Kristy and I had with the opposite sex? What issues did Kristy have other than making sure she didn't squash any of the boys during her soccer games?
This conversation was not improving my bad mood. “I don't get it. Why were you and Tom talking about Kristy and me?"
"Tom who?"
"Tom Hunter. Detective Hunter. Isn't that who you met?” Was my mother showing early signs of senile dementia?
"No, his name isn't Hunter. It's Bradford, Detective Robert Bradford. Quite an unusual man.” She emphasized the word “unusual."
"You met Tall, Bald and Homely!” The thought of Detective Bradford interrogating my mother sent shivers from my bangs down to my bunions. But she didn't sound nervous, or even annoyed.
"Tall, Bald and Homely. Oh my. That's funny.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I'll have to tell Robert what you said the next time I see him."
See who? Robert? This conversation was getting loonier and loonier. Was my mother consorting with the enemy?
"Why are you seeing Detective Bradford again? You do realize he thinks I killed Jeremy. He's using you to get incriminating evidence on me."
She giggled again. The last time I heard Barbara Bingham giggle was...well, I had never heard my mother giggle. “Don't be silly. I told him there was no way you could have killed Dr. Slater. You're not organized enough to pull off a murder."
Thanks, Mother. Remind me never to call you as a witness for my defense.
"I appreciate your help, I think. But why are you meeting him again? Does he still think I'm guilty?"
This conversation was making me so crazy I had managed to turn an entire box of rainbow colored paper clips into mangled metal squares. I shoved them into the wastebasket while I listened to her response.
"We're going to look at some houses next week on his day off. He just went through a very painful divorce and has been living in an apartment for the last year. I told him buying a house would help the healing process. Don't you agree?"
My mother is a firm believer that home ownership can solve all of life's problems. But if she could distract Detective Bradford from concentrating on yours truly as a murder suspect she would help solve one of my current problems.
"Good luck selling him a house. But don't let him trick you into disclosing anything that would reflect badly on me. I don't trust him. At all."
"I have everything under control.” She hung up, sounding more like the woman I had known for the last thirty-nine years than the giddy girl of the last five minutes.
I replaced my own receiver, stood up and managed one step before it rang again. “What now, Mother?"
"Is this Laurel McKay?” said a slightly familiar male voice.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"It's Neil Schwarz from the
Mountain Democrat
. Please don't hang up again,” he said with a rush, “I may have some information for you."
The reporter was either intuitive or accustomed to hang-ups, because that was my initial response. “Yes, Mr. Schwarz.” I wasn't going to put my foot or even my little toe in my mouth if I could help it.
"I appreciate that you may be reluctant to speak to a reporter.” He chuckled. At least I thought it was a chuckle. It resembled the sound of Draino gurgling down the pipes, which didn't do anything to relieve my anxiety. He burbled on, “I would hate to write a story portraying you as a murder suspect, without presenting your point of view. And of course, we'll want comments from your family."
No way. The last thing the
Mountain Democrat
needed was comments from my mother. I was still ticked off by her remark that I was too disorganized to be a murderer.
Okay, getting a little off track here. What was the reporter saying?
"...and give us your side of the story,” he said.
"Mr. Schwarz, I don't have a side to my story. Dr. Slater and I only had one date. Okay one dinner date plus a lunch date, but I don't think that counts—you might have to read Cosmo to find out—and I didn't actually get to eat dinner, because he drowned, but first he was hit, but of course I didn't know that because I was drunk, well, not really drunk, just mildly tipsy—have you ever had Dom Perignon?"
"Umm, no, I haven't. I'm not sure I got all of that, could you repeat what you just said?"
Not in a million years.
"I need to get back to work. You said you had information for me so it's your turn to share."
His phone clattered and the sound of raised voices filtered back to me. “Sorry,” he said, sounding rushed. “I have to call you back. A truck overturned on Highway 50 and I need to cover it. I wanted you to know that when I was researching your story I came across something you might find interesting. I'll call you as soon as I'm free."
Don't hurry on my account. I doubted if he had any information I would find useful. It was probably a reporter's ploy to get me to spill my guts. Speaking of which, I hadn't had any lunch yet. I managed to get to the break room without any further interruptions, bought a candy bar and a diet soda from the vending machines, and headed back to my desk.
I arrived home in time to catch the six o'clock news. I was pleased to see that the overturned truck and closure of the main highway from Lake Tahoe was still the main story. Not that I wanted to deprive anyone of a trip to the mountains, but at least it should keep Mr. Schwarz out of my hair for a while.
The three of us enjoyed an old family favorite,
National Lampoon's Family Vacation
. That movie almost made my life seem sane by comparison. Almost.
Rain pummeling my bedroom window woke me early Saturday morning. Based on past history, nothing less than a flash flood would cause a soccer game to be cancelled. I filled thermos bottles full of hot chocolate for the two of us. Ben wasn't any more excited than me about going out in the driving rain. With multiple turtlenecks under his soccer jersey, he looked more like a waddling duck than a speedy halfback, but I doubted if any of the kids would be at their best today.
I sat in my car sipping from my thermos waiting for the teams to head out on the field. Even the thought of bumping into Detective Hunter wasn't incentive enough to make me venture out of my toasty car into the pulsing rain.
Hard to believe it was only three weeks ago that I'd first met Tom. I smiled thinking of our first meeting. What a grump he was. And still was, I thought, as my smile reversed into a frown. After our last conversation when he forbade me from attending Jeremy's memorial service, I wasn't sure I wanted to run into him anyway.
Although maybe the reason he yelled at me wasn't just because I was messing up their investigation. He might care about me a little. Enough to not want anything to happen to me.
Whether it was the mini Niagara Falls pouring down my windshield or my eyes misting, it was becoming impossible to discern anyone on the field. I thought I saw Ben talking to one of the soccer players who had walked off the field. His friend wasn't recognizable since he was covered in brown muck from the top of his head to the spikes on his shoes.
As the kids drew closer to the car, I realized Ben's companion was Kristy. He pounded on my window so I rolled it down.
"Hi, Kristy,” I said, addressing the four and a half foot tall glop of mud. “How was your game?"
Her eyes sparkled, shining through her mud-flecked face. “We won, and I scored a goal."
I smiled back. “That's terrific.” I tried to think of a subtle way to ask if her father was around.
"They called my game off cause of the mud,” Ben explained. “Three players on Kristy's team got hurt and they don't want no more injuries. Her grandpa brought her cause her dad has to work. Can she come over to our house? Her grandpa's waiting for her in that car over there."
Ben pointed to a large charcoal sedan parked five slots down from mine. “Go ask if she can come home with us, Mom. We'll wait in the car."
They clambered into the back seat before I could lay down some of the towels I had brought. Oh, well, the back seat could use a good hosing anyway. I reluctantly stepped out of the car and hustled through the rain, which was now attacking me horizontally. I tapped on the window of Mr. Hunter's car.
He looked puzzled then his face cleared as he recognized me. “Hello there. You're that friend of Tom's we met at the River Inn last Saturday."
Was it only last weekend that Jeremy had died? It seemed like a month, so much had occurred in the interim. “Yes, Mr. Hunter, I'm Laurel McKay. Kristy is friends with my son, Ben, and she wondered if she could play at our house this afternoon. Is Tom working today?"
He nodded. “Tom hated to miss out on Kristy's game but some new evidence came up on a big murder case he's working on. I watched the game for a while then gave up and decided to wait it out in the car.” He chuckled as he rubbed his gloved hands together. “My old bones can't take this cold like they used to."
New evidence. That sounded intriguing. I was curious to know what Tom was checking out but it was unlikely he had shared any information with his father. Still, it was worth a try.
"Did Tom say anything about the new evidence he discovered?"
"Nope, I only know that he's really frustrated with this particular case. Between you and me, I think the woman did it."
I stood there in the pouring rain nodding back at Mr. Hunter. I supposed there might be another case that involved a woman as a suspect, but I doubted it. I wondered if Kristy's grandfather would have agreed to let her come to our house if he knew I was the woman.
We said goodbye and I sloshed back to the car. These soccer games were destroying my shoes. My water-soaked loafers would need to be retired after today's outing. Ben and Kristy were having a great time together, sharing knock-knock jokes ad nauseam. The smell of sweat and wet socks mingled with the aroma of hot chocolate added to my nauseum.
As soon as we arrived home, both kids hit the showers. Kristy was too tall to wear Ben's sweats, so she put on a pair of mine and we rolled up the cuffs. Her muddy soccer clothes went into the washing machine. If her father was chasing down a hot lead, the least I could do was relieve him of one domestic duty.
Kristy's grandfather had driven off so quickly I wasn't sure how long she would be at our house. Hopefully he knew where we lived. The kids spent the afternoon teaching the kitten how to play soccer. First they threw the ball and she ran to it. Eventually Pumpkin learned how to bat the ball with her paws. Ben thought Pumpkin should be on television, but I had no intention of becoming an agent for a cat.
I was in the laundry room folding Kristy's clean clothes when I heard the doorbell ring. It was probably her grandfather so I figured the kids could get the door. Seconds later Tom walked in the room.
His dark hair was plastered to his drawn face. He had the look of a man who would welcome a comforting hug, but after our last conversation I wasn't sure where we stood. I held on to the white plastic laundry basket with a death grip. As he approached, I stepped back, bumping into the churning washing machine. His face somber, Tom silently removed the laundry basket from my arms, placing it on top of the dryer. He lifted me up on top of the machine.
Was he about to read me my rights?
Tom placed his hand on the back of my neck and drew me close. My head spun, my heart palpitated, and my body pulsated.
Okay, part of the pulsating might have been due to the spin cycle. The rest of my reaction was due to the close proximity of a man who could turn my body into a fiery inferno. A loud bell suddenly pierced the air. Tom jumped back three feet and I almost tumbled off the machine.
