Dying for a Date (20 page)

Jenna appeared in the doorway with an armful of dirty laundry. She narrowed her eyes at her mother perched on top of a washing machine. I could hear the thud of her eyes rolling. She turned her back on both of us and retraced her steps back down the hallway.

I hopped down and began moving the towels from the washer to the dryer. Tom remained silent as I completed the transfer.

"I guess you're here to pick up Kristy.” I held the laundry basket containing her clean soccer clothes as I rambled on, “I washed her stuff. She was really a mud pie after today's game."

"That doesn't surprise me.” He lifted the basket out of my arms and set it on the dryer. “Kristy takes every opportunity to create as many loads of wash for me as she can. Thanks for doing her laundry and letting her come over here. My parents are wonderful about babysitting but she usually wears them out within minutes."

"Your father said some new evidence came up today. Anything that will remove me from the list of suspects?” Which as I recalled, was a list of one.

"You're still numero uno.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth. “Laurel, how well did you know Garrett Lindstrom?"

"The only time I met him was that evening at Leonardo's. Why? What happened? Did any new evidence show up?"

Tom placed a finger on my lips then wrapped his muscular arms around me. I rested my head against his broad chest. It was like being comforted by a grizzly bear, but I liked it. A lot.

"This might be the only way to stop you from asking questions."

I smiled a sweet smile at him. My body might be occupied, but that didn't stop my brain from working, especially where murder was concerned.

Jenna appeared once again with her armload of clothes.

"Are you guys through doing whatever it is you're doing in here?” She tapped her left foot, her ponytail swinging to and fro. “Melissa is coming by in less than an hour and I don't have anything to wear."

"Well, excuse us,” I said to my long-suffering teenager. “C'mon, Tom, let's go see what Ben and Kristy are up to. The house seems much too quiet.” I was worried the two seven-year olds had been up to no good, but both of them were sprawled asleep on the floor of the family room in front of the television set. A sleeping Pumpkin was cuddled between them, the wiffle ball secured in her front paws.

Tom followed me as I walked into the kitchen. Mr. Rooster clock said it wasn't too early for a glass of wine. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have wine, soda, peanut butter and jelly?"

"A glass of merlot with a PB and J sounds particularly enticing,” he said, as he settled into one of the oak chairs, “but I'll stick with a cola for now. I need to go back out with the crime scene techs."

I poured sodas for both of us then sat next to him, our toes within touching range. Tom's expression was reflective as he sipped his drink. I noticed threads of silver in his thick brown hair. Were those gray hairs there three weeks ago? Before I became a presence in his life? Since he wasn't interrogating me for a change, I decided to switch roles. “So what was the new evidence you mentioned? Something to do with Garrett?"

He nodded. “I've been doing everything I can to find a motive for his murder. You wouldn't believe how many Love Club women I had to interview."

I hazarded a guess. “Twenty?"

"Lucky guess?” He frowned. “Or some amateur sleuthing?"

"Neither. Sunny mentioned it when I told her about our altercation.” I was curious to know if Garrett had attacked any other women. “Were there any other assault victims?"

He sipped his soda. “Nope. No one else was stu...um...no one else was invited to sit in his car."

It didn't surprise me that no one else was stupid enough to get in Garrett's car. Or leave their keys in the ignition. Or their phone in the charger. Or become a murder suspect.

"Okay, so I was the only woman dumb enough to get entangled in his front seat acrobatics. And to smack him. That still shouldn't qualify me as a suspect."

"Did you ever go to his house?"

I shook my head.

"Let me rephrase that. Did you happen to drive past his house in a periwinkle Prius, license plate ‘Laurel M,’ on the day the body was discovered?"

My face colored. “It was just a drive-by. The afternoon Sunny told me he was found dead. I had to confirm it with my own eyes. There's no law against driving past a victim's house, is there?"

"No, but in your case there probably should be.” He drained his glass. I stood up to refill it but he waved me back into my chair.

"Ever visit his office?” he asked.

Darn. Why didn't I think of that? I shook my head. “Why?"

"Due to the financial nature of his business, we wanted a forensic accountant to look through his files, but we had to wait for someone to come up from Sacramento. They finally made it there yesterday. No files. Not a one. The place was empty except for some miscellaneous junk in his desk drawers."

"Someone broke in?” I asked.

He nodded. “It wouldn't have taken much to get in. They could have used a credit card to unlock the office. Anyone could have done it."

"Anyone?” Even a lock challenged mother of two?

"Yep. The only thing left behind was one significant piece of evidence."

Our eyes locked. I had a feeling I wasn't going to be happy with his response.

"A business card from Hangtown Bank. One Laurel McKay, underwriter."

I walked over to the pantry and grabbed a bag of Oreos. I ripped opened the bag, threw it on the table, grabbed a double stuff cookie and took a bite. Then another. My blood pressure dropped as the chocolate worked its McKay magic.

"You're awfully quiet,” he said, reaching for a cookie.

"I'm thinking. I don't remember giving Garrett my card, although it could have fallen out of the side pocket of my purse and landed in the backseat of his car. But I don't know how it would have ended up in his office. Jeremy asked me for my card when we met so he'd have my office number. Tons of people have my card."

Well, not exactly tons. But certainly more than the two men.

I offered Tom more cookies. He grabbed a couple and put the bag on the table. Looks like we had something else in common besides dead bodies.

"Just because my business card is in his desk doesn't mean anything,” I mumbled through chocolate crumbed lips.

He sighed. “Let's just say it's highly suspicious that all of his files are gone. But I must admit, your card in the drawer seems way too obvious to me. I told Bradford I think you're being set up by the real murderer."

"How did Tall, Bald and Homely respond to that?"

"Who?” He looked puzzled then chuckled. “Oh, Bradford. As far as he's concerned you're the one. Especially now that Garrett and Jeremy's deaths may have been linked with the same murder weapon."

"What?"

I saw the “oops” flicker across his face.

"I hope I don't regret this. And you cannot share what I tell you with anyone, not your mother, not Liz."

I lifted my right hand. “Scout's honor.” Did you actually have to be a Girl Scout to utter those words?

"If you hadn't been with him when he died, it's unlikely Slater's death would have been pronounced anything more than an accidental drowning. There were bruises on the back of his head. Lacerations and contusions all over his body, mainly from the battering he took from the rocks in the river. Since his lungs were full of water, the official cause of his death was drowning."

Okay, that made sense.

"Since both men were members of the Love Club, and both dined with you shortly before they died, the medical examiner intentionally looked for similarities between the two deaths. Lindstrom had an unusual indentation on the back of his head but the back of Slater's head was a mess."

I grimaced and pressed my hands against my stomach.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be so graphic. Let's just say that during the autopsy of both men, minute flecks of red paint were found embedded in their skulls."

"Okay, I watch
CSI
but what the heck does that mean?"

"It means both men could have been bludgeoned with the same instrument. It's just far more difficult to ascertain in Jeremy's situation. But that's why I'm meeting with the crime techs later. They should have their analysis completed by then."

"So what kind of weapon are you talking about?"

"It's hard to say at this point. I'll know more after our meeting. Some kind of tool, maybe a hammer or wrench with a red handle, assuming the paint flecks match."

"So, since it looks like the same weapon was used both times, Bradford is even more certain that I'm responsible?” I wrinkled my nose in frustration. “It's not like I carry hammers and wrenches in my purse."

He grinned. “I've seen your purse. You could carry a chain saw in there."

"Well, I think the evidence is lame,” I muttered.

Tom shook his head. “Opportunity, weapon. All he needs is a motive. And as far as Bradford is concerned he has a motive for both deaths."

What? My eyes opened wide and my lips opened wider as I stuffed another medicinal Oreo in my mouth.

"Here's the deal with Robert. His thirty-five year marriage ended in an acrimonious divorce a year ago. A couple of months after that, he was forced to release a suspect accused of killing her husband because he didn't have enough evidence. She ended up murdering her in-laws a few days later."

I remembered that case. It was nasty.

Tom grabbed a cookie, rolling it around the table as he selected his words. “It's not that Bradford is biased against women, but because of his history, he may be overly suspicious of women in general. According to him, between the evidence we've discovered and his gut feeling, you're the killer."

We sat there eating cookies and contemplating one another. A detective and his suspect.

The sound of giggling children echoed from the family room. Tom went in and carried his daughter back to the kitchen table.

She rested her head on his broad chest as she settled in his lap. “Daddy, did Laurel tell you about my game? I made a goal."

Oops, I was so distracted by the murders and damaging new evidence that I forgot to report on today's game.

Tom hugged her tight. “That's wonderful, honey."

"Are we going home now?"

"No, I need to go back to work. You'll have to spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa's."

"Again?” She sighed with the gusto of a daughter trying to squeeze her father's tender heart.

"Can I stay here tonight? Would that be okay with you, Laurel?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.

As far as I was concerned she could stay, but Tom shook his head no. “Sorry, sweetie. I don't know when I'll be done and we don't want to disturb Ms. McKay in the middle of the night."

Why don't we ask Ms. McKay if she would like Detective Hunter to disturb her in the middle of the night? Heck, yes, but probably not with his young daughter in tow. I went into the laundry room, gathered Kristy's soccer clothing, put it in a bag and met Tom in the foyer. He still held Kristy, her arms wrapped around his neck. No wonder his biceps were so well developed. She was one big little girl.

He lingered for a minute to say goodbye. “Thanks for watching Kristy."

"Sure. Anytime. Provided I'm not in jail."

"I'm doing everything I can,” he promised.

"I know. Maybe I'll discover something at Jeremy's memorial service."

His face closed up faster than the ticket window for a Rolling Stones concert.

"You're still planning on attending?” His eyes turned harder than granite and his voice dropped thirty decibels. How quickly he could revert to his official capacity.

"I don't have a choice. I was the last person to see...” My voice faltered when I realized Kristy was listening to our conversation.

Tom set Kristy down and told her to go play with Ben for a minute. She looked puzzled but evidently recognized his official tone too. She was certainly better at obeying him than I was.

Tom waited until his daughter was out of the room before he lashed out at me. “Laurel, there is a killer out there.” His face grew more purple with each overly enunciated word. “He has already murdered two people. Do you want to be the next victim?"

"No, but..."

"Laurel, there are no buts. No buts whatsoever. Can't you see how dangerous this amateur detecting is? What about your kids?"

"What am I supposed to do? Sit here until Bradford arrests me? Then who will take care of my children?"

He didn't answer. How could he?

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The next morning the kids and I finally made it to church. With ten minutes to spare. Mother showed up shortly thereafter, dressed in an orange knit suit, a perfect Creamsicle confection.

Every time I belted out a “Hallelujah,” my thoughts returned to my encounter in the laundry room the previous afternoon, and it was difficult to keep a grin off my face. Thank you, Lord, for the health of my family, and for providing me with that very healthy specimen, Tom Hunter. Now if I could ask one tiny favor like providing the detectives with another suspect, I would be eternally grateful.

I reviewed the information Tom had shared about the murderer possibly using the same weapon on both men. Visions of tools as potential murder weapons danced in my head. Suddenly I dropped the hymnal splat on the floor. That didn't get me any brownie points with Mother, or Pastor Martin, who was right in the middle of his sermon. His sweet blue eyes didn't look all that sweet as he zeroed in on the source of the disruption.

I dropped my gaze and folded my hands together while my brain considered various options. Hammers, wrenches—my ex-husband had all of those items on his tool belt. But any normal male would have access to those tools. Even I possessed a tool kit, albeit in plastic. And in Ben's toy chest.

As soon as I arrived home, I changed into my navy blue sweats. My culinary skills are adequate but something inevitably spills when I cook. It was best not to tempt fate with one of my better outfits. Mother arrived about twenty minutes later.