Dying for a Date (21 page)

"Laurel, you'll never guess who I was speaking with,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

"Lay it on me.” I bent down to reach inside the cupboard that held my odd assortment of baking pans. I pulled my head and arm back out of the cabinet. Success at last, one slightly bent and corroded baking dish. A bacon-scented kitchen was only minutes away. I heard the tail end of her sentence.

"...don't you agree with me?” Like I would dare to disagree with my mother. Maybe by the time I turned sixty.

"Yes, absolutely.” I would agree with anything if I could entice her to attend Jeremy's memorial service with me.

It turned out that the wife of the new young couple from church was the granddaughter of one of my mother's former clients. The couple was looking for a new house in the area and my mother was going to help them. The real estate queen was never happier than when she had three generations of loyal customers.

The kids inhaled their bacon, avocado and mushroom omelets within seconds. They loaded their plates in the dishwasher and politely excused themselves, giving me an opportunity to discuss what had been foremost on my mind throughout the meal.

As I walked into the pantry to grab some more coffee beans, I tried to think of a scintillating lead into the conversation that would involve Jeremy. Before I could open my mouth, my mother brought the subject up herself.

"Have you heard anything further about Dr. Slater's death? I didn't realize what a well-respected man he was. Even though his practice was in El Dorado Hills, several of the real estate agents in our office said he was their personal physician. Detective Bradford told me his memorial service would be held on Monday."

"Really?” I said, with an attempt to look surprised. Unfortunately, the surprise was on me. The lid on the coffee grinder must not have been clamped down because beans skittered across the tile counter. I glanced at Mother to see if she had noticed the wayward beans, but she was in the pantry rearranging cans and boxes.

She popped out of the pantry, arms laden with boxes. “These have all expired."

I had lived with the pantry queen's invasions for twenty years so her latest mission didn't even faze me.

"Umm, speaking of expired..."

"Yes, what a shame Dr. Slater died so suddenly.” She proceeded to dump half my food staples in the trash. “He would have been quite a catch for you. Maybe you should attend the service since you were the last person to see him alive."

There are times when I love my mother, pantry invasions and all.

"What a wonderful idea. I wish I had thought of that.” I could sense my nose growing as I continued my lie. “I should go to the service, out of respect to Jeremy and his family. But I'd feel funny going by myself. Would you come with me? At least you'll know some of the people there."

She thought it over, nodded and patted my hand. “Of course I'll go with you, dear. You've had a tough few weeks and I'm sure attending this memorial service is the last thing you want to do."

Right.

"Do you think that intriguing Detective Bradford will go?” she mused out loud as she completed one more sortie into my pantry.

I almost gagged up my omelet imagining a potential coupling of the ornery detective and my mother, but decided to keep mum for now. My mum was needed for my next detecting expedition.

Since the service was scheduled for three, we agreed to meet at two-thirty at the Starbucks that was a few blocks away from Fullers Memorial Home in El Dorado Hills. I don't know where people had meetings before Starbucks appeared on every corner.

She thanked me for brunch, but of course couldn't walk out the door without a typical maternal parting shot. “Be sure to wear a nice dark suit for the service."

"Oh, I was planning on wearing a red polka dot dress. I thought it would liven things up a little.” Fortunately, looks can't kill. She shook her head and walked out the door.

The next morning I wore my best black wool suit to work. As I stored my purse under my desk, I glanced at the desk calendar. My agenda was clear so I wouldn't have any difficulty leaving at two. Earl probably wouldn't mind if I left a few hours early, especially when he was bent on enticing me to stay in the department.

The phone rang and I grabbed it. “Laurel speaking."

"It's Anne Lewis. We managed to squeeze in an opening for you today but it wasn't easy. Bill Becker wanted to make a decision over the weekend because he needs to fill the position, but I talked him into waiting until he met with you. Your interview is scheduled for four."

Darn and double darn. How could I attend both the service and the interview at the same time? Talk about prioritizing.

"Um, Anne, a dear friend passed away and I have to attend the memorial service at three. Is there any way you can squeeze me in this morning?"

"You are not making my job any easier, Laurel,” she responded in a clipped tone. “I doubt if Bill can change his plans again. Was this a very close friend?"

"Very very close.” I sighed an Oscar worthy sigh. “We were romantically involved and I'm devastated by his death."

"I'm so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I didn't realize you had a boyfriend. What was his name?"

"Jeremy Slater,” I blurted out without thinking.

"The doctor who drowned in the American river? I thought he was murdered by the woman he was dating."

A few seconds elapsed while Anne and I both contemplated her comment.

She cleared her throat. “Laurel, maybe this position isn't a good career move for you. There's a tremendous amount of customer service involved, plus considerable contact with the community. You wouldn't want the public worrying about your reputation."

"You aren't insinuating I had anything to do with Jeremy's death, are you?"

"No, of course not. I'll get back to you if Bill says we can move up the interview.” The phone slammed in my ear. Evidently being considered a murder suspect was not an ideal career path. But was it sufficient grounds for termination?

As I mulled over my future employment prospects, Stan slid into the chair in front of my desk. I noticed that he too was dressed in a very conservative charcoal suit and subdued burgundy tie, quite unlike his normal fashion plate “Queer Eye” wardrobe.

"You look like you're going to a funeral, Stan."

"I am, sweetheart. We're going together, remember.” Shoot. I'd forgotten Stan volunteered to attend the memorial service with me.

"Thanks but you don't need to go. Mother is coming with me now. You look very nice though.” I hoped that would appease him. After all, he had dressed for the occasion.

"C'mon, you said I could help you look for the culprit.” He pouted as only Stan could pout. “You know I watch
CSI
every week. I'm sure I can discover some clues. Plus it can't hurt to have another set of eyes and ears."

"What do you think you're going to find? Are you going to climb on top of the casket looking for clues?"

"Puleeze. You know what a good judge of character I am. I have an intuitive sense when it comes to people.” He crossed his legs, pursed his lips and looked down his nose at me. “It's a gay thing, you know."

I wasn't sure how useful Gaydar would be in finding a murderer, but I decided to acquiesce. As he walked out of my cube, the phone rang again. I thought it might be Anne calling back to reschedule my appointment but I was greeted by a British accent.

"Hi, Liz. What's up?"

"Today's paper said that Dr. Slater's memorial service is this afternoon. I thought we should go together and do some more investigating. Isn't that an excellent idea?"

Apparently everyone I knew thought it was a great idea to accompany me to the funeral. So much for discreetly sneaking into the service.

"I'm already going with my mother and Stan. There's no need for you to come too."

"Are you sure? It never hurts to have another set of eyes and ears."

Great. Now my dysfunctional detective team was starting to sound alike. Liz agreed to meet us at Starbucks. If nothing else, that particular Starbucks was going to have a profitable afternoon.

By the time I had to leave the office, I still had not heard back from Anne about rescheduling. I decided to focus on the memorial service, and to paraphrase a few friends, keep my eyes and ears open.

Liz and Mother, dressed in nearly identical black pin-striped designer suits, were chatting over a couple of lattes when I arrived. I cast lustful eyes at the Frappuccino menu but decided to forego my favorite treat. Stan arrived right behind me. He and my mother argued over who would chauffeur our foursome. Even though Liz wanted to ride in Stan's new Beemer, we decided my mother's car was the largest and most suitable for our entourage.

When we arrived at Fullers Mortuary and Chapel, the parking lot was full of BMWs, Mercedes and Lexuses, or was it Lexi? It made sense since many of the mourners were probably doctors.

I pulled my team aside. “Now remember, I'm hoping to find that man I saw talking to Jeremy along the riverbank the night he died. He's tall and balding. If we sit in the rear of the chapel, it'll be easier to notice someone with a bald spot."

All three agreed it was an excellent plan. We walked through the nine-foot double doors into a large foyer of wall-to-wall plush cream-colored carpeting. The over powering floral mix of gardenias, gladioli and lilies made me gag. A gangly man with a prominent nose and an Adam's apple the size of a cantaloupe ushered us into the chapel. A substantial number of people were already seated, but fortunately there were enough chairs in the next to last row to accommodate the four of us.

Perfect. I sat down and looked around to see if I could find a man with a bald spot.

Whoa. The late afternoon sun slanting through the arched stained glass windows of the chapel cast jewel toned motes of light throughout the room. The sun glistened on the backs of the people seated in the fifteen rows in front of us. And in those rows was a sea of shimmering balding heads, ranging from small glowing bald spots to round gleaming domes.

I gasped and turned to Stan and Liz. When they saw my consternation they both convulsed with silent laughter. Shoot. We had at least sixty suspects with glow in the dark bald spots.

Liz whispered to Stan and pointed toward the front of the room. A man with salt and pepper hair. No bald spot that I could see. When he shifted to speak to the man seated next to him, I saw his profile. Brian. He must be here on behalf of the District Attorney. Brian said something to the man at his side, who nodded in response.

A big man, with thick chestnut brown hair. And broad shoulders.

I slunk down in my seat hoping Tom wouldn't turn around. The next thing I knew, Liz was waving at Brian and blowing him a kiss. He looked surprised to see her then he nudged Tom.

I couldn't make myself any smaller unless I crawled under my chair. Tom's stare burned through me. Fortunately, a tall middle-aged man, with a full head of wavy white hair, walked up to the podium and began addressing the crowd. Tom turned to face the speaker.

The service lasted well over an hour. Between the music and the glowing oratory extolling the nurturing character of Dr. Jeremy Slater, I was highly depressed. The sound of muffled weeping and sniffling almost drowned out the speakers.

How ironic that someone so health conscious should be cut down in the prime of his life. I began to feel like it was my fault Jeremy had died. I had lured him to dinner at the River Inn and it resulted in his death. The fact that he landed in the river without any help from me seemed irrelevant at this point.

Hushed sobs emanated from my right. I glanced at Stan. He too had a tissue pressed against his nose.

"What's wrong?” I whispered.

He leaned closer. “Jeremy was such a wonderful man,” he said, a tear running down his cheek. “His loss is so tragic."

I always knew Stan was compassionate but he hadn't even met the man.

The seemingly endless service finally came to an end. The gray haired man turned out to be the minister from the Methodist church that Jeremy's brother and his family attended. He announced that guests were welcome to come back to Mark Slater's house afterwards to mingle and mourn together.

Since we were seated in the back of the chapel, we waited for the rows of mourners to leave before we stood up. I held an impromptu consultation with the others to decide if we should go over to Mark Slater's house.

Stan was all for going to the reception. “I haven't had an opportunity to use my investigative prowess. Plus, there are a couple of men I want to check out,” he said with a smirk.

Mother chimed in, “I recognized several of the physicians. I'd like to make sure they have my business card. Doctors are excellent real estate prospects.” She nudged my arm. “Did you see Detective Bradford anywhere?"

"I need to talk to Brian,” Liz said. “I've barely seen him in the past two days."

Someone needed to talk to her team about priorities.

We moved into the foyer that was now filled with wall-to-wall dark suits. Even though my shoes had three-inch heels, there were bald men towering over me as well as a few at eye level. The crush of people made mingling difficult and detecting impossible.

Liz, Stan, and my mother were swallowed up in the crowd. I was ready to climb up on one of the blue brocade Louis XV chairs in the foyer to see if I could locate any of them when a hand gripped my elbow and hauled me back into the chapel.

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The chapel was as dark as the inside of a coffin. The hand clasping mine was too strong and I couldn't break away. Was my assailant the killer? Which bald man would it turn out to be?

No big bad baldies here. Just one angry detective.

"Tom,” I said in relief, my heart still beating like a bongo drum on speed.

"I thought I ordered you not to come,” he growled.

I yanked my hand from his and folded my arms over my chest. “Who do you think you are ordering me not to attend the memorial service of a man who was the kindest, most compassionate and intelligent man I've ever met, present company included. His loss is incredibly tragic, and the least I can do is share memories of the last moments of his life with his family."