Dying for a Date (24 page)

Crap. I was doing seventy. My hands were cemented to the steering wheel. If I didn't slow down, my car would never make the curve. I glanced in the rear view mirror to see how close my tailgater was.

I barely had time to scream when the tank riding my bumper slammed into me.

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I always wondered what the phrase “your life flashing before your eyes” meant. In my case it meant a whirling kaleidoscope composed of the faces of my loved ones superimposed over the oak trees whizzing past the windows of my car.

Bam. The Prius landed on a rutted dirt track. My first thought was if I survived this ordeal I would finally break down and replace the shocks. My hands were frozen to the steering wheel, stuck in the official ten and two position.

The screech of the brakes, which I had the foresight to recently replace and which I now had the foresight to utilize, announced the end of our jarring journey. The car landed with a thud and a groan, the front bumper face to face with the massive trunk of one of those great old dowagers—the California oak tree.

Either my air bag was broken or it wasn't set to go off mid-flight. I sat there for a few minutes with my head pressed against the steering wheel. A pair of headlights approached from the opposite direction. The noise of the engine indicated the car was slowing. I prayed it wasn't the lunatic who had rammed me coming back to finish the job.

Neither a lunatic nor a Good Samaritan. The car rounded the curve and proceeded on its way.

I opened my door and eased out of the car. The midnight blue sky made it too difficult to assess the damage but if there was any, it was minimal. I breathed in the pungent night air. A few deep breaths and I started to calm down although my chest felt like a small elephant had careened over me. At least my back and neck seemed to have handled the impact okay.

This spot was way too dark and isolated to be hanging around so I climbed back in my sturdy little car, backed down the muddy path, and headed north once again. My eyes remained super glued to the rearview mirror all the way home. Once I was safely in my subdivision, I breathed a sigh of relief. I pulled into the garage, entered the house and to my amazement found Ben engrossed in his Legos.

Kids.

The next morning my chest still ached but that seemed to be the only side effect from the previous night's encounter. The rear bumper was slightly dented and there were some scratches on the front bumper from the tree I'd nudged, but the Prius had proven to be surprisingly durable.

The big question was obviously whether there was a connection between the SUV ramming my car and our detecting last night. Someone might have followed us from the casino. Or followed me home from Garrett's house.

Or it could have been a teenager out for a joy ride. I debated whether to call Tom to tell him about the incident but decided to wait until later in the day. It was too early for another one of his lectures on the perils of amateur detecting.

When I arrived at the office the first thing I did was stop to see how Stan's investigating went. His cubicle was empty. No sign of him anywhere.

Omigod. If something happened to Stan at the casino I would never forgive myself.

I was ready to report a missing underwriting assistant when I walked by Earl's office. Stan was sitting in front of our boss's desk. He didn't look happy. Neither did Earl. I was relieved to see that my buddy was safe but what was going on?

The phone rang and I grabbed the receiver. “Laurel. Come to my office. Now.” Earl's voice was curt. Not at all like the smitten boss who'd been hanging around my desk lately.

"Yes, sir.” I would have to find out about Stan's meeting after my own. I grabbed a yellow legal pad, turned right, left then right again, arriving at the door of Earl's office just as Stan rose, indicating their conversation was over. Stan averted his gaze as he exited the office.

My chest constricted but I summoned up a fake smile. “Hi, Earl. I'm almost finished with yesterday's submissions."

Earl stood up, walked to the door and closed it. Loudly. One might even suggest that he slammed it. I surmised this would not be a social visit. He lowered himself into his ergonomically correct leather chair, which groaned in response, then waved at me to sit in one of the visitor chairs.

"Laurel, I'm not going to waste your time, or mine. It appears you haven't been honest with me.” He grabbed a forest green Mont Blanc pen and rolled the slim cylinder back and forth over his desk blotter, the only uncluttered area on his desk.

"I don't know what you're talking about.” I perched on the edge of my chair. That was no lie.

Earl took a break from staring at the rolling pen. He looked tense and...mad. “It's come to the bank's attention that you're being investigated by the sheriff's department for the murder of a respected member of our medical community."

My stomach clenched as my mind raced. Could Stan have told Earl? I was sure Tom would forewarn me if they were going to question anyone at the bank about me. Who else did that leave?

I grabbed the arms of my chair for support. “I don't know where you could have received your information."

"From you—” He glared at me. “You told Anne Lewis about your involvement with Dr. Slater when you cancelled your interview yesterday. She followed up by calling a friend of hers in the sheriff's department."

Rats. I squirmed in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my bare legs, trying to get comfortable. “Anne doesn't have all of the facts. Yes, I did go out on a date with Jeremy Slater. Yes, he did fall into the river. Yes, he did drown that evening. And yes, he was murdered."

Hmmm. So far my defense was somewhat lacking in inspiration. I decided to go on the offensive. “I can't believe you would question my innocence. I barely knew Dr. Slater. Plus the sheriff's department doesn't consider me a suspect.” Or at least I didn't think Tom did. As far as Bradford, all bets were off. Actually all bets were probably on me.

"Even worse,” Earl continued, his expression still morose, “a reporter from the
Mountain Democrat
has been hounding the president of the bank for a comment. Ask me how happy Mr. Chandler was about that."

I suspected Mr. Chandler, the bank president, wasn't pleased about having a murder suspect working for the bank. Was the reporter that guy with the Draino chuckle? I had to get him off my back.

"You should have mentioned this situation to me. Not only is the bank's reputation at stake but Dr. Slater was one of our best customers."

Great. Now I wasn't merely losing dates, I was also responsible for losing deposits.

"Earl, I'm sorry. Since I had nothing to do with Jeremy's death, I didn't think it was important for anyone at the bank to know about it. I promise I'll keep you informed about anything else I hear about the case."

"Make sure you do that."

His pen fidgeting was driving me crazy. I was about to grab it out of his hand when he dropped another bombshell. “You know if you hadn't joined the Love Club we wouldn't be in this situation."

Interesting segue from death to dating. “Um, I've only gone on two dates so far."

"Yes, but look what happened each time.” His gaze started at my chest and drifted down to my crossed ankles. “There are eligible bachelors here in this office. Stick with people you know rather than this dating service."

Since I couldn't think of any bachelors at the bank that I personally considered eligible I needed to direct the conversation elsewhere. “Did Anne say anything further about rescheduling my interview?"

"The HR department decided they had sufficient candidates to choose from. Between missing your appointment and your involvement in a murder, they selected someone else."

My face fell at the news. This was turning out to be one crapola day.

"Looks like you're fated to stay in this department.” Earl ran a hand over his balding pate, his smile so satisfied you'd think he'd won the lottery. “I promise to assign you additional responsibilities. It'll give us an opportunity to work closer together."

Oh goody. At least I was still employed although I would have preferred a position where my boss wasn't hitting on me, harmless as Earl was.

I left his office and went straight, well, left right left, down to Stan's cube. I parked myself in the chair beside his desk. “Stanley, why the long face when you came out of Earl's office?"

He took off his glasses, rubbed his bloodshot eyes then pushed the wire rims back on his pointed nose. “I should have told you before. When you applied for the branch manager posting, I assumed you would get it, so I asked Earl if I could move up to a full underwriter. He said I could, provided you got the position. I guess they won't promote you, right?"

I nodded glumly. “Evidently they prefer their managers not be murder suspects. I'm afraid if we don't solve the murders I'm going to be fired."

Stan's frown reversed into a grin. “Hey, wait until you hear what Stan Spade discovered last night."

"Really? At the casino?"

He nodded. “It took me awhile to track Radovich down. That place is huge.” Stan sent me a sheepish look. “And I got a little distracted by the dollar slots. But I won eighty bucks."

"Swell. So..."

"So, after that I wandered everywhere and finally spotted him in a private room in the back. Texas Hold ‘Em poker. Five thousand minimum."

"Five thousand dollars?"

"Yup, five thousand minimum to get in the room. Just one table with six guys. One guy had a ton of chips in front of him. Our doctor did not. He must have lost big and lost fast. I tell you, this guy definitely has a gambling problem."

"How long did you stay?"

"Not long. Once his chips were gone he left the table so I left the casino. My eighty bucks was starting to burn a hole and I didn't want to leave it behind in the slots."

"Excellent work. Are you ready for more?"

"Yeah, baby,” he said, rubbing his palms together in the worst Austin Powers imitation I'd ever heard. I mentally rolled my eyes.

"Remember that first guy I went out with who was murdered?” I said.

"Sure. Garrett somebody. Why?"

"After we left the funeral home last night, I drove by his house. It's listed for sale so if my mother can get us in, we might find something the detectives missed. What do you think?"

"Are you kidding?” He flashed me a brilliant smile. “I'm in."

I went back to my desk and called Mother's office. Penny, the receptionist, said she was on a call and asked me to hold. Penny also asked if I'd eliminated any more dates.

Everyone's a comedian.

As I waited on the line, I tried to recall my conversation with Earl. Something he'd mentioned didn't make sense. Mother's abrupt greeting interrupted my thought process. “What do you want, Laurel?"

"Oh, hi. I was wondering if you could get me into Garrett Lindstrom's house in Serrano. I drove by last night and it's listed for sale. Can you show it to Stan and me this afternoon?"

There was a slight delay and I heard her punching some device. “I'm booked almost all day, but I could probably squeeze you in between one and three. I need to call the listing agent but since the house must be vacant I should be able to use my lockbox key."

"Perfect. We'll meet you there at two."

My observant mother would no doubt notice my crumpled hybrid. If she suspected my car crash was due to our investigating, she'd have that key back in the lockbox faster than I could say Prius. I told Stan about the accident and asked if he could drive.

"You were rammed from behind? After we split up?” His jaw dropped so low it almost touched his loafers.

I nodded. “I'm amazed the car got away with only a small scratch. Probably some kids driving too fast."

The freckles on his nose popped out as his face paled a few shades. “I think we may be asking the right questions. Someone is scared and they tried to stop you. Permanently."

Much as I was starting to agree with Stan, I wasn't ready to give up. I had too much at stake. “We just need to be more cautious from now on."

That was something we both agreed on. We took Stan's car and arrived at Garrett's house a couple of minutes late after making two wrong turns, both of which Stan blamed on my poor directions. Evidently gay men don't have any better navigational skills than straight men.

Mother's gleaming Chrysler was parked in the driveway. She stood on the front porch, arms crossed over her chest, the right foot of her Prada pump tapping her noticeable displeasure.

"You're late and you have lettuce on your blouse.” She picked the offensive piece of foliage off my chest and flicked it on the front lawn.

"At least I'm wearing healthy food these days.” I took a deep breath and tried to maintain my cool.

"The agent won't be meeting us so we can go inside. Hopefully this won't be another wild goose chase,” she said as she inserted the key in the lock.

Wild goose chase? We'd been collecting clues by the dozens. Not to mention the high probability someone had attempted to murder me last night. Not something I needed to share with the woman who brought me into this world.

The three of us entered the great room. All leather and glass topped tables. Garrett was one of those white freaks. White leather sofa, white walls, a few abstract paintings in shades of white and gray. Slate floors throughout the house.

Mother and Stan wandered down a long hallway to the left. I went the opposite direction into the kitchen, which followed the same theme, white cabinets with uncluttered black granite countertops. Chrome appliances. I opened a few doors but except for one cabinet filled with plates and glasses, the cabinets were empty.

Laughter radiated from the other end of the house. I followed the sound of their voices into the master suite, entering a replica of Hugh Hefner's bedroom straight out of the Playboy mansion. A leopard printed furry thing covered the king size bed. Mirrors lined most of the walls.

They both chuckled at the ceiling. Yuck. An enormous oval mirror hung over the bed.

Stereo equipment and a huge flat screen television comprised the rest of the furnishings. Garrett probably had a collection of porn for late night screenings. Other than the adult fantasy motif, the room was fairly sparse. I was certain the police would have removed personal items of any significance but calling Tom was not an option.