Blind Dates Can Be Murder (7 page)

“Yes, of course,” Brock replied. “But before you do that, you should pour a dab of white wine on it. Nothing too expensive. The house wine would suffice. It’s the best pretreatment.”

Jo blinked, and in that instant Danny knew he had lost this particular battle. The war, however, was far from over.

“Now, how about dinner tomorrow?” Brock asked. “Or are you avoiding the question?”

“What about your head?” Jo asked, glancing toward Danny. “Aren’t you afraid you might have a concussion?”

“I’ll know soon enough. The police are waiting now to take me to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m busy tomorrow night,” she said, surprising Danny.

Yes!

“I’m free for lunch, though,” she added.

No!

“Lunch tomorrow? That sounds great.”

“How about the Rooftop Café, downtown? About twelve thirty?”

“Yes, I know where that is. Super. Barring any medical prohibitions, I’ll meet you there. Otherwise, Jo, I’ll give you a call. May I have your number?”

Much to Danny’s shock, Jo didn’t hesitate. She pulled out a business card, scribbled her cell phone number on the back, and handed it over.

“Thanks.”

With a cursory nod toward Danny, Brock took Jo’s hand and squeezed it. Then he headed off with the waiting deputy, pocketing the card as he went.

Jo considered hanging out at the scene until Danny was finished with the photography, but he was in such a rotten mood that she finally decided to leave. She wasn’t sure what his problem was, but for a guy who was usually easygoing and pleasant, he was being a real pill.

It was just as well. Jo was exhausted. She drove straight home, her heart suddenly full at the sight of Chewie, her chocolate lab, waiting for her at the window. As she unlocked the house and stepped inside, Chewie’s tail was wagging so furiously that it nearly lifted his rear feet off the floor. How was it a mere canine could make her feel more welcome than any human being ever had? Even her dear grandparents, who had loved her unconditionally in their lifetimes, were no match for a dog who visibly trembled with joy at the sight of her.

“Come on, Chewie,” she said after greeting him with her usual hug. She led him to the back door and let him out into the yard, waiting as he sniffed around in the dark.

The neighborhood seemed quiet and peaceful, as always, but Jo felt an odd apprehension. Standing on the edge of the patio, it struck her that one day soon she ought to install some floodlights in her backyard. As it was, on a night like this when clouds covered the moon, it was black as could be. Danny’s house was directly behind hers—their two backyards met at the fence—but he had left no lights on, so she could only see a vague roofline in the distance.

If she squinted, she could almost make out Chewie’s dark figure romping around the yard. The blackness didn’t seem to bother him, especially because there were a few bunnies who had taken up residence under the shed, and he was more likely to catch them out at night. He never got close enough to hurt them, probably because he romped toward them so loudly and heavily that they had advance warning and could dart back under the shed.

It sounded as though he was up to it again. He began yapping and yelping, even more so than usual. Afraid he would bother the neighbors, Jo scolded him in a sharp whisper.

“Chewie! Hush!”

It wasn’t until she began walking out toward him that she heard a rustling in the bushes over to her right, near the gate. Chewie heard it too. He suddenly diverted his attention in that direction, moving into full-out barking. This time she didn’t try to stop him. She ran back inside the house, grabbed the rechargeable flashlight from the plug, came back out, and pointed it in the direction of the noise. There was nothing there, though Chewie was still going to town, two paws up on the gate, barking into the darkness.

Jo thought about letting herself out of the gate, to run out front and see if there was anyone there. But with her heart pounding in her throat and no visible means of protection other than her dog, she thought it might be prudent to stay put.

“Come on, boy,” she said loudly. “Let’s go get the gun.”

Actually, she had no gun, but it wouldn’t hurt to put the words out there in case anyone was listening. It took a few calls, but finally Chewie gave up, stopped barking, and did as she said.

At least she had good locks on her doors.

Inside, she swung tight the deadbolt and then made her way to the front door to do the same. As she walked around the rooms and checked all of the windows, she told herself that she was just being paranoid, that it had probably been another bunny, or perhaps a squirrel.

Nevertheless, given the strangeness of the day, she wasn’t taking any chances.

Lettie was sound asleep when the phone rang and woke her. She sat up in the dark, wondering if she had dreamed the sound. Then it rang again, a digital squawking from her purse. Her cell. She had forgotten to turn it off.

She flipped on the light, dug out her phone, and answered. It was her boss, Mickey, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Lettie, you been watching television?”

“I don’t have a television,” she said. “I was asleep.”

“Frankie’s dead.”

She gasped, eyes widening. Frankie Malone was Mickey’s business partner and good friend.

“It was on the news. He died in the hospital in Mulberry Glen from an asthma attack.”

“Oh, Mickey. I’m so sorry. I know you were close.”

“Like brothers. We grew up across the street from each other. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Lettie said. It was one of their favorite stories, how the two boys started running numbers at the age of ten. Still, sad as this news was, Lettie couldn’t understand why Mickey had felt it necessary to call and tell her. What did she have to do with anything?

“The thing is,” he told her, “the whole incident is kind of confusing and suspicious. On the news, they said Frankie was a stalker and that he kidnapped some guy to get closer to the woman he was stalking.”

“Frankie? A stalker?”

“Yeah, I’m not buying it. That’s why I need you to do something for me. In the morning I want you to relocate to Mulberry Glen. You know where that is? Small town, ’bout forty minutes southwest of here.”

“Forty minutes? Mickey, you know we don’t do jobs that close to home. Too risky.”

“This ain’t that kind of job. No skimming. I need you to get a different kind of information this time.”

Lettie pressed a hand against her eyes.

“What?”

“There’s a girl there, name of Jo Tulip, that the news people said Frankie was stalking. I want to know what her angle is and what she’s got to do with him.”

“How am I gonna figure that out?”

“I got some ideas. I’ll explain it to you tomorrow.”

“Fine. How are you gonna pay me?” Lettie asked. It was the only question that really mattered to her.

“What do you mean? We can figure all that out later.”

Lettie hesitated. She needed one more good job before she could leave the country. She wasn’t used to standing up for herself, but at this point she didn’t see that she had any choice.

“I-I want double pay on the last job,” she said bravely. “That’ll buy you a week of my time doing whatever it is you want me to do.”

Of course, Mickey hit the roof. As he ranted and raved over the phone, she thought back to the day she had first approached him for a job, a few months after Chuck had gone away to prison. Summoning her nerve, she had simply gone into Mickey’s club and explained that she was Chuck Smith’s wife and that she needed work since Chuck was incarcerated.

Mickey had looked her over appraisingly.

“You’re too ugly to be a stripper here,” he had said finally, dismissing her with the wave of his hand. “Try Skinsational, down the street. Their standards ain’t quite so high.”

“Not as a stripper,” she told him. “As a skimmer. I want to take Chuck’s place.”

That had intrigued him. Apparently, he’d never had any female skimmers before.

“But I want to do more than Chuck did,” she had added eagerly. “I’ve got office skills. I can pull personnel files, download computer records, whatever you want. I work hard, I learn fast, and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

That had turned out to be an offer he couldn’t refuse. He brought her on board and started sending her out, first to the kind of credit card-heavy retail establishments Chuck had been doing and then to the office-type places she preferred.

Eventually, it had ended being a mix of both kinds of work, with plenty of private data rolling in wherever she went. True to her word, Lettie kept her mouth shut and did her job. By the time most companies knew they’d been hit, she was long gone without a trace, and no one quite was sure they could even remember her face. When the police tried to contact the temp agency with great discount rates who’d sent her out in the first place, it would also have vanished, seemingly into thin air. Mickey was an expert on inventing false employment agencies, and employers eager for workers didn’t bother checking up on a company that seemed so legit. The system worked like a charm.

Lettie wasn’t crazy about the illegal nature of the work she was doing, but she figured that in the long run it would be worth it. She and Melissa, together again, safe and far away with a home of their own?

It was definitely going to be worth it.

“Look, bring the discs in the morning,” Mickey was saying now, interrupting her thoughts. “Let’s see how well you did and then we’ll decide what to pay you. I should have more details then about what I need you to do anyway.”

“Fine.”

Lettie disconnected the call, turned out the light, and slipped back under the covers. She wasn’t just sleepy, she was weary, ready to be done with Mickey and skimming and everything else in her sad little world.

Jo had calmed down considerably by the time the news came on. She had her cell phone in her pocket, an old crowbar nearby, and some very capable canine protection at her feet. She would be fine. She was probably just spooked anyway, and if she wasn’t, well, Danny was a quick phone call away.

Once the news began, Jo was practically holding her breath, anticipating how the story would be reported. She waited through most of the show, for the teaser that came on near the end.

“Next, the case of a blind date gone very wrong,” said the reporter. Jo endured several minutes of commercials before they returned to the story, hoping they hadn’t had enough time to get her interview on the air.