Authors: Cindy Sample
Dying for a Date (29 page)
By Monday we might discover something that would help the bank deal with the delinquent loans. And maybe make them appreciate what a great employee I am. Just in case they were starting to doubt the wisdom of having a murder suspect in their employ.
I left the office promptly at five. Threatening rain clouds made the sky appear darker than usual for that time of day. It looked like the kids might get the snow they wanted.
The phone rang as I was zipping up my date night black skirt.
"Hello, may I please speak with Laurel,” said a familiar masculine voice, but one that I couldn't place at the moment.
"This is she."
I ran through my database of male callers. It wasn't that large of a database.
"Um, Laurel, it's Earl, you know Earl Fisher—from the office,” he added, as if there could be more than one Earl Fisher.
"Hi, Earl, what's up?” Earl had never called me at home before. Did he discover the missing Slater file in my desk drawer? I knew I should have put it back in his credenza.
He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me tonight."
Over my dead body was my first thought as I attempted to jab my pearl earring stud into place.
"I don't think that would be appropriate, Earl. Besides I already have a date tonight."
"Oh? You gave me the impression you were done with the Love Club. Wouldn't you be more comfortable going out with someone from the office? Someone safe?"
Safe? I wasn't sure Earl qualified for that category. But this was the perfect opportunity to grill him.
"Before I could even think of going out with you, I need to know more about your relationship with Garrett Lindstrom. Were you and he involved in a scheme to defraud the bank?"
"What?” he yelled. “Are you drunk?"
Not yet but the way my week had been going it sounded kind of tempting. I looked at the clock. Peter would be arriving shortly. Time to play hardball.
"Earl, my contacts at the sheriff's department informed me you're the number one suspect in Garrett's death."
Okay, I was stretching the truth a little. But it might shake him up and get him talking.
I must have sounded more threatening than I intended. A crash followed by a scream assaulted my ear.
"Earl, are you all right? What happened?"
"I dropped my glass,” Earl responded, his voice quivering. “What do you mean I'm a suspect in Garrett's death? Garrett's dead?"
"He died a few weeks ago. You didn't know that?"
"No. I haven't seen him in several years. He used to live a couple of blocks away from us. Garrett and my wife became romantically involved after they both joined the neighborhood watch committee. I guess they decided it was more fun to watch each other."
"I'm so sorry. I had no idea.” Poor guy. I could certainly empathize with the torment of a wayward spouse.
"The four years since our divorce haven't been easy. I know you can't tell, but I don't date very often."
I didn't have the heart to tell Earl it was fairly obvious he didn't get out much.
"You didn't hear about Garrett's death on the news last night? Or read about it in the obituaries?"
"I don't watch the news. Too depressing. And who reads the obituaries?"
A few of my single girl friends read them daily hoping to find eligible widowers to date, but that probably wasn't relevant to our current conversation.
"I had no idea he was dead.” Earl paused and his voice reflected his terror. “Oh, jeez, you killed him, didn't you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, I heard you telling the staff you whacked him with a cell phone. You're a murderer. I'm calling the cops,” he shouted.
"I didn't kill—"
The dial tone buzzing in my ear was accompanied by the pealing of the doorbell.
Great. Now Earl and I suspected each other of murder. That reminded me. I never got around to reading that slip of paper that fell out of Jeremy's file when I removed it from Earl's credenza. It must still be in my jacket pocket. Could a fortune from a cookie contain a clue?
The doorbell continued its relentless ringing. Too many suspects. Too little time. The scrap of paper would have to wait until I returned home. I ran down the stairs, opened the front door, and was greeted by a smiling Peter dressed in a black turtleneck, charcoal blazer and slacks. He held out a spray of multicolored fall flowers. The last bouquet I'd received was from Hank on our first wedding anniversary. Seventeen years ago.
I was touched by Peter's thoughtfulness. Although knowing my interfering mother, she probably gave him a list of the top ten ways to woo her daughter. Peter followed me into the kitchen. His six-foot two inches came in handy retrieving my one and only crystal vase from the top shelf of my cabinet.
"How long have you lived here?” he asked, while I attempted to arrange the yellow, orange and purple flowers. I vaguely remembered learning how to do this at some point in my life, but never had any occasion to practice.
"Since Jenna was a toddler, almost fourteen years now.” I finally gave up my power struggle with the flowers and jammed the stalks in the vase.
"That's right. Ben said he had an older sister.” Peter chuckled. “I bet he keeps you on your toes. Are Ben and I going to have a Matchbox matchup before we go?"
"No, he won't be smashing any miniature cars into your wingtips this time.” I smiled remembering the two of them playing on the floor at the Centurion real estate office. “Both kids are spending the weekend with their father in Tahoe. So you have me all to yourself."
Peter took my hand in his. “I'm looking forward to that."
I pulled my hand free. I liked Peter but I wasn't ready for any kind of intimacy just yet. I grabbed my black leather coat and he courteously helped me with it. We were almost out the door when the phone rang.
"I'd better answer it. I've been trying to get hold of the kids all day.” I ran into the kitchen and lifted up the receiver before the answering machine could kick in.
"Hi, Laurel,” said that familiar husky voice.
"Oh, it's you."
"Am I interrupting anything?"
"Yes, a dinner date, so if you'll excuse me.” I waved at Peter who was leaning against the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Why. Are you joining us? Bringing some matching metal jewelry for my wrists?"
"That's not necessary, Laurel. Besides..."
I heard voices shouting in the background. I glanced over at Peter. He was frowning and pointing at his watch.
"Let me call you back in a few."
The dial tone came on and I banged the phone down. Peter gave me a curious look. “Well, that conversation sounded intriguing,” he said. “Was that one of your amateur detective buddies?"
"No. Just some jerk."
We almost made it to the front door when the phone trilled again. I flashed Peter an apologetic look and raced back into the kitchen skidding across the wood floor. “Hello,” I gasped, winded from my twenty-foot run. No doubt about it. It was time to enroll in a gym.
"Ms. McKay, Neil Schwartz from the
Mountain Democrat
,” gurgled the Draino voice of the reporter. “I'm glad I caught you. We never finished our conversation the other day."
"Mr. Schwartz, I have a dinner date. Can't you find someone else to annoy?” I wanted to hang up but was afraid if I upset the reporter I would end up as a headline on the front page of the paper.
Murder suspect seeking new victims to date.
"Trust me, I have information you'll want to hear. Did you know the sheriff's department has identified the murder weapon? The killer used a pipe wrench."
Peter cleared his throat. So far this conversation with the reporter had yielded nothing I hadn't already learned from my own official sources. “Yes, I'm aware of the weapon that was used. I really need to leave now."
"How about giving us a statement regarding the fact that your ex-husband has been hired by the largest plumbing company in Sacramento?” No comment other than the fact that maybe I would receive my child support payments on time.
The reporter zeroed in for the kill. “Your ex has been reported as saying he would kill any man that got near you. Any comment now?"
I hung up on the nosy reporter and we made it out the front door without any further interruptions. Peter held on to my elbow as he guided me to his luxurious British racing green Jaguar, parked in the driveway. Two more things in his favor—a well-mannered gentleman and financially stable.
I was seething over the reporter's remarks. It took more than motive and a weapon to make a murderer. It took planning as well as guts, both of which Hank had in short supply. But he did have a temper. Could the breakup with Nadine have sent him over the edge?
Although Peter attempted to entertain me by sharing humorous real estate anecdotes during the ten-minute trip into Placerville, I couldn't stop replaying the reporter's implied accusation in my head. I'd read too many stories about husbands killing their wives and children when they cracked.
I fumbled in my purse for my cell phone. Shoot. We were in one of the hilly no service zones. I'd try again after we reached the restaurant.
The Sequoia House had been renovated from a decaying clapboard Victorian mansion into a spectacular first class restaurant. It was obviously a popular dining spot since we pulled into the last vacant parking space. The massive stained glass embossed doors opened into the beautifully remodeled entry. I stepped onto a gorgeous carpet, either Aubusson or Chinese, I never could keep them straight. Rose colored velvet chairs lined the wall for guests who had to wait for a table. Fortunately that did not include us. We were immediately ushered into the Verandah dining room.
With its stained glass windows, patterned tin ceiling and plantation fans, I felt like I had been transported back to a more tranquil time period-the Victorian era. A nice respite from the crazy life I called my own. The hostess led us past a room full of antiques to our table. Once we sat down I realized the velvet chairs were designed for the sole purpose of promoting good posture. Our silver haired waiter approached dressed in a burgundy jacket and black trousers. He brandished two dinner menus along with a wine list.
"Would you prefer a white or red wine?” Peter peered at me over the large red and gold embossed menu. “Or maybe some champagne to celebrate our first date?"
My face colored slightly at the thought of my last date when I swigged almost an entire bottle of champagne.
"I think I'll stick to water for now."
He returned the wine list to the waiter with his request. “We'll have a bottle of syrah. I might be able to talk her into sharing some of it later on."
After the wine was delivered and our dinners were ordered, rare steak and a baked potato for Peter, and blackened salmon accompanied by pesto mashed potatoes and haricots verts—AKA teeny-weeny green beans—for me, we settled back in our chairs.
Peter rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. “You look so stressed. I hoped this would be a nice break from your troubles."
"That's very sweet of you. I wish I could forget my problems but I'm worried about my kids and concerned my ex-husband is involved in the murders."
Peter looked puzzled. “Why would you suspect your ex?"
"Well, for one thing, he's jealous of the men I've dated. I think that gives him a motive."
Peter smiled. “I'd be jealous too if my beautiful ex-wife were dating other men.” His compliment momentarily bolstered my spirits.
The waiter chose that moment to deliver our entrees. My cell buzzed just as he set down my plate. I rifled through my purse and located my phone. The call had come from Jenna's cell.
"Peter, would you excuse me. I need to call my daughter.” I streaked out of the dining room before he could respond. The lobby was packed and noisy so I went into the ladies room, which was surprisingly empty.
It turned out I had two voicemails. The first was from Jenna, bubbly and joyful, the result of picking five out of six winners at the Sports Book. She and Ben were having a wonderful time but would I please quit leaving so many messages and being such a worrywart. I didn't know whether to be relieved the kids were having a great time with Hank or annoyed that I'd been reclassified as a smothering mother.
The second message was from Stan. It was unintelligible and incomprehensible. According to Stan, he had gone door knocking but there weren't any doors to knock on. I dialed his number.
"Ah-choo."
"Hey, it's Laurel. Are you okay?"
"Go away and leave me alone in sneezy peace."
"I'm sorry, but your message didn't make any sense. What do you mean there weren't any doors to knock on."
His next sneeze exploded into my eardrum. “I drove around and around those streets but there were no houses at any of the addresses you gave me. There's only one huge home with a for sale sign on it and a sales trailer located on a knoll at the top of the subdivision."
"Are you sure you drove through the right subdivision?"
He honked again. “Hey, I may be on my death bed but I'm not delirious. Yet. Bella Lago. Off of Salmon Falls Road. I'm going back to bed."
The dial tone buzzed in my ear while a gazillion questions buzzed inside my brain. None of which would be answered in the ladies room. Something fishy was going on and I was beginning to have an inkling where the stench was coming from.
I returned to the table and apologized for my absence. Peter was empathetic about my maternal concerns. “I can understand why you'd be concerned about your children's safety. When are they supposed to return home?"
"Not until Monday night. But I think I may have been worrying over nothing. My daughter left a message and it sounds like both kids are having a great time."
Peter looked thoughtful as he sipped his wine. “So no more doubts about the ex."
I shrugged as I took a bite of my pesto mashed potatoes which tasted far better than they looked. I had a lot of doubts about my ex but I seriously couldn't imagine him as a murderer.
