Blind Dates Can Be Murder (41 page)

Jo needed to think.

Exercise was always the best way to clear her mind, so she drove to her house and retrieved Chewie from the backyard, grabbed her sneakers from inside the back door, and then drove with him over to the campus of the university, where there would be plenty of lights and people at this hour on a Monday night. She parked near the student union, changed her shoes, clipped on Chewie’s leash, and took him for a walk.

Rollerblading was really the best form of release for Jo, but she didn’t want to look like a weirdo ’blading at night. Instead, she simply blended into the crowd, a gal walking her dog along the wide, well-lit sidewalks of the campus.

As she went, she thought about her college years, how much she had enjoyed her classes, how deeply she had loved learning. Settled in one place, college had been a completely different experience from the schooling she had known as a child. Growing up, Jo had been to schools all over the world, shuttled from home to home whenever her father needed to move for business. As a result, she had never had many friends. When she did find someone that she genuinely liked, sooner or later that friendship would come to an end as Jo was forced, once again, to move along to somewhere new.

To her experience, loving meant leaving.

It was no way to live. Compounding her misery greatly was the fact that her parents were emotionally remote and in no way capable of showing her real love. When Jo reached high school age and insisted on moving in with her grandparents in Mulberry Glen just to have some normalcy, her mother and father had barely batted an eye. It surely hadn’t bothered them to see her go.

Once again, loving meant leaving.

One by one, the people Jo let into her heart went away. First her grandfather died suddenly, followed two years later by her grandmother, who passed away slowly from cancer. Last fall, even Bradford, the one man who had promised to share his life with her, had walked out.

Loving meant leaving.

Jo’s steps slowed as she passed the library. It was one of her favorite buildings on campus—busy, well organized, filled with knowledge. As much information as it contained, however, there wasn’t a book inside that building that could answer the puzzle in her heart. But she knew the answer now.

Why was she afraid to love Danny?

Because to her, loving meant leaving.

And if she lost him, she would lose everything that mattered most to her in this world.

23

J
o needed to talk to Danny, to tell him that she knew what she was afraid of, and why. Thinking of him now, her heart soared. She
did
love him! She just needed to figure out a way to get past the fear.

“Come on, Chewie,” she said, turning around and heading back the way they had come. “I’ve got to go back to Danny’s.”

They walked twice as fast and soon Chewie was panting by her side.

“Jo? Jo Tulip?”

She turned to see two men heading toward her on a perpendicular sidewalk. One was her old chemistry professor, Dr. Langley, her favorite teacher in all of college.

The other was Brock Dentyne.

“Hi,” she said, startled, coming to a stop. “Dr. Langley. Brock.”

“Hi, Jo. Is this big guy yours?” Brock asked, kneeling down to pet Chewie. Chewie seemed to take to him right away, licking his hand and panting happily.

“You two know each other?” Dr. Langley asked.

“Yes,” Brock drawled with a sly smile, standing, “we’ve made each other’s acquaintance. Though I’ve had trouble convincing Jo to get to know to me better.”

The professor clapped a hand on Brock’s back with a laugh.

“Well, you can take it from me, Jo, Brock here’s a real stand-up guy. You’d do well to spend some time with him.”

This couldn’t be more awkward. Fortunately, Brock seemed to sense her discomfort and tried to smooth things over.

“Someone as capable and lovely as Jo has a long line of suitors, Professor. I’m patient, though. I can wait my turn.”

“No, no, no. Ignoring the romantic element,” Dr. Langley said, shaking his head, “the two of you have a lot in common. Jo, did you know Brock worked in research and development at Procter and Gamble?”

Jo’s eyes widened.

“I thought you were a dentist.”

“That came later,” Brock said.

“Currently, he’s combined the two areas of expertise. He’s working with me on a research grant. We’re studying the effects of carbamide peroxide on hydroxyapatite crystals.”

“We’re studying tooth whiteners,” Brock clarified, smiling. “It’s really quite fascinating.”

Jo had had no idea.

“In any event,” the professor said, “we need to get going right now. We have a racquetball court reserved at the gym for nine.”

“Professor, I didn’t know you played racquetball,” Jo said, trying not to laugh. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine this dignified man who lived in a lab coat stripping down to shorts and chasing around a little ball.

“Just since Brock came to town. It’s a wonderful sport, very invigorating. You should try it sometime.”

“Yes, I guess I should.”

They said their goodbyes and parted. The conversation still rolling through her head, Jo continued on to her car. No wonder the Dates&Mates computer had matched her with Brock. If Jo hadn’t inherited her grandmother’s newspaper column, then working R & D at somewhere like Procter and Gamble would have been her career of choice.

She started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot, thinking how funny it was the way life’s circumstances played out. If Danny weren’t in the picture, she and Brock might really have clicked. As it was, she wouldn’t trade the man she’d known since childhood and treasured more than life itself for a hundred Brock Dentynes.

Swingers was dark and quiet, with a single piece of paper taped to the front door. Heart in her throat, Lettie left the car running in the parking lot as she walked closer to read it:

Closed until Wednesday due to the wake and funeral of Frankie Malone. Services at the Tender Mercies Funeral Home, 29 State Street
.

Lettie got back into the car and drove to the funeral home. If she were lucky, the wake was still going on and she’d be able to pull Mickey aside to talk. She knew it might seem tacky, but at this point she was desperate.

Sure enough, the sign in the hushed, ornate lobby said “Malone Visitation, 7 to 10
PM
, Room C.” Lettie sought out room C and wasn’t at all surprised to find that it was packed. Frankie may have been a little rough around the edges, but he was a likeable fellow. He had a lot of friends, and now they had come to pay their last respects.

Despite her tunnel vision, Lettie wanted to pay respects as well. She got in line for the casket, and when it was her turn to look, she forced herself to take in the sight of Frank Malone, now dead, lying in front of her. He looked good for a dead man, clean shaven, hair neatly in place. Lettie wondered where his soul was now, if he was paying for all his sins. With a shudder, she turned away.

She didn’t want to think of that now.

Mickey was over in the corner, surrounded by his cronies, and, to her surprise, looking more unhealthy than Frankie. Mickey was pale and sweaty, his posture slumped. When Lettie finally got his attention, it seemed to take a moment for his eyes to focus.

“We need to talk,” she mouthed, gesturing toward the door.

He nodded, and so she left. Out in the deserted lobby she found a velvet bench and sat and waited, and after a few minutes he came out and joined her.

“What’s going on?” he said, sitting heavily on the bench beside her. “You find the money?”

“No, but Chuck found me. Thanks a lot for giving him my location.”

Mickey shrugged.

“He’s your husband. What was I supposed to do? Lie?”

They were quiet for a moment as Lettie phrased her words carefully.

“I can’t go back to him,” she said, hearing the resolve in her own voice. “Do you know he once threw hot grease on my back because I made his French fries too brown? He killed my kitten because he said I was nicer to it than I was to him.”

“I get it, I get it.”

“He broke my collarbone because his jeans shrunk in the wash.”

“Lettie, I don’t need to know these things.”

“But you need to know this: I’m leaving. I can’t stay here.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “I was thinking maybe California. It’s always sunny there.”

Mickey nodded, his breathing raspy and labored.

“I hate to see you leave,” he said finally. “You’re the hardest worker I’ve ever had. Maybe once you get settled you could call me. We could work out some sort of long-distance arrangement. With computers these days—”

“Yeah, Mickey. That’s a good idea,” she said. “When I get settled out in California, I’ll call you.”

Two women came into the building and greeted Mickey, both wearing skimpy black dresses with spike heels.

“Room C,” Mickey told them, pointing toward the correct door.

They thanked him and kept going.

“I have something for you,” Lettie said, opening her purse.

“You got Jo Tulip’s data? ’Cause Ziggy said if I can give him enough details, he’ll be able to pull up any properties she owns, safety deposit boxes she may have, even places she travels to frequently. One way or another, we’re going to figure out where she put what she took from Frankie.”

Lettie pulled out the two flash drives and held them in the palms of her hands.

“I did better than that, Mickey,” she said. “The security system at Dates&Mates was completely password dependent. This afternoon I pulled down Jo Tulip’s profile along with hundreds more. Name, addresses, credit cards, the works. Including socials.”

“You got social security numbers for hundreds of people?” Mickey whispered. As Lettie had expected, he was nearly salivating.

“What’s it worth to you?” she asked. “I need cash to make my escape.”

“I’ll give you whatever I got in my wallet,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“I want four thousand.”

“Four thousand dollars for a couple hundred names?” he hissed.

“With socials, Mickey. You know they’re worth it.”

The door opened and Ziggy dashed inside, walking past without seeing them into the next room. Ziggy was the computer brain in Mickey’s identity theft operation. Small and wiry, he sported a full afro of blond hair and a complexion that usually made people look away. From what Lettie had observed over the last few years, Mickey surrounded himself with only the most loyal of employees. Between Ziggy and Tank, Mickey had the brains and the brawn covered—and they were unquestionably devoted to their boss.

“Soon as this thing is over, Lettie,” Mickey said, “I gotta go bail out Tank. After that, how about you and me drive over to the club. I’ll verify the data, and if it checks out, I’ll give you the money.”

“Tank got arrested?”

“’Bout an hour ago. For B and E. Jo Tulip’s house. Apparently, he didn’t wear gloves. Left prints everywhere.”

Lettie’s face went pale.

“I did too,” she said softly. “I had to run around after him, cleaning up his mess. I thought we covered our tracks.”

Mickey shrugged.

“You got priors? Your fingerprints won’t be in the computer if you don’t have priors.”

Lettie shook her head.

“No. I’ve never been arrested for anything.”

“You’re safe, then. Don’t sweat it.”

Lettie wanted to scream. She needed to get out of the country, soon, before anything else happened!

“So how long do you think it’ll take to post bail?” she asked, looking at her watch.

“This time of night? An hour at the most. I’ll be done here at ten and then run over to the police station. I could meet you at the club by eleven thirty.”

Lettie didn’t want to wait, but she knew she didn’t have much choice. Slipping the flash drives back into her purse, she exhaled slowly and told Mickey she’d see him at Swingers.

“Mickey!” Ziggy said, returning to the lobby and spotting his boss in the corner.