Your Eight O'clock is Dead

by Kat Jorgensen

  At least it wasn’t a smackdown.

  I decided to try to diffuse the situation, all the while wondering how Max and Ryder knew each other.

  “Guys, guys,” I pleaded.

  But like typical males, they chose to ignore me and concentrate on their intimidation of each other. The testosterone in the air grew as thick as ozone after a thunderstorm. Finally, Max released me.

  I expected Ryder to do the same. But to my surprise, he drew me closer to him and away from Chernov. What the heck was happening? Before today, Ryder and I had a nodding acquaintance when we passed in the hall. I hadn’t even been sure he knew my name. And now this.

  And as for Chernov, he may have let me go, but he sure didn’t show any signs of leaving.

  Ryder must have come to the same conclusion because he said, “I’ve got it. I’m giving Becca a ride.”

  News to me. “I have to find my granddad.”

  Ryder took his eyes off Chernov and regarded me. “No, you don’t. I’ve already arranged for someone to take him home.”

  Ryder had been busy.

  I glanced from one man to the other. Okay, awkward. Who would have thought I’d be anxious to untangle myself from the likes of either Ryder or the uber-sexy Russian?

  Max took my hand in his and brought it up to his lips. “Until next time.” His lips brushed my fingertips and chills snaked up and down my arm.

  “There won’t be a next time, Chernov,” Ryder said through gritted teeth.

  “We’ll leave that up to Becca.”

  Max smiled and sauntered toward the exit as if he owned the place. When he got to the door, he turned back to me. “Remember, if you ever need anything….”

  Before I could answer, Ryder spoke for me. “She doesn’t need anything that you have to give her.” Ryder pulled me a tad closer to him.

  I could feel his rock-hard body beneath his suit. Hmmm…not too shabby. This attention from two attractive men wasn’t so bad – even if I did know next-to-nothing about either of them.

  The instant Max left the building, Ryder eased his hold on me. “I’m warning you, Becca. Stay away from Chernov.”

  My oppositional gene sprang into action. “I don’t need a social secretary,” I replied. Not the most brilliant retort, but considering all I’d been through today, I was lucky to come up with even that.

  “Women,” Ryder muttered under his breath, but not so low that I didn’t pick it up.

  I followed him from the police station. “Are you still giving me that ride, or what?” How quickly we had gone from chummy to crummy.

  “I’m over there.” Ryder nodded in the direction of a sleek, black Jag, a decrepit Volkswagen, and a modest sedan. I decided he must be indicating the sedan and headed in that direction, only to have him steer me toward the Jag. My jaw dropped. Did accountants get paid this well? Maybe I was in the wrong profession. But then, I wasn’t any good with math. Or money.

  Ryder held the passenger door open for me and slipped on a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. “Come on, Becca. I need to meet with a client, so shake a leg. Your grandfather moves faster than you do.”

  I got into the car, and he shut the door quietly behind me. He circled the car, slipped into the driver’s seat, and proceeded to stare at me.

  “What?” I asked, hating that I couldn’t see his eyes behind those sunglasses.

  “Seatbelt. I don’t put it in gear unless we’re buckled up.”

  Damn alpha male. I never ride or drive without my seatbelt on, either.

  If he’d just given me a chance….

  As soon as I clicked the belt into place, Ryder, true to his word, put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot.

  “I know you think I’m out of line, but I’m telling you as a friend that you don’t want to get messed up with a guy like Chernov. You haven’t been around enough to know guys like him. Trust me, he’s bad news. All the way around.”

  Not been around enough?

  What did that crack mean? And a friend? Ryder considered himself to be my friend? When did all this happen?

  Before I could utter the questions flitting through my mind, Ryder pulled up to the office complex where we both worked. “I thought you were taking me home?” I folded my arms across my chest. “Why are we here? FYI, I’m not going in. Dead body, remember?”

  Ryder looked at me like I was a simpleton. “Becca, isn’t your car here in the lot?”

  Oh, there was that.

  Before I could say anything, Ryder was out of his side of the car and headed toward mine. I rushed to get my door open.

  A grin spread across his face.

  “Easy there. I’ve got it.”

  I scrambled out of the Jag like my butt was on fire. And saw Ryder’s grin broaden. Damn the man.

  “Remember what I said about Chernov.” Ryder shut the door and headed toward the front of the building.

  Yeah, I’d remember it.

  But that didn’t mean I’d pay any attention to it. I was more than old enough to make my own decisions. And make them I would. Right or wrong.

  Chapter 6

  Like everybody who works a 9-to-5 job, from time to time I enjoy an extra day off from work. But it had been three days since I’d discovered Robert O’Malley’s body. And three days since I’d been to the office. The crime scene unit had closed the office while they investigated and did their thing dusting for prints and collecting trace evidence.

  My granddad was having a field day with me home. Every time I turned around, he found something else for me to do. Not that I minded helping him. I mean, he is my granddad. But I was still traumatized from the whole dead body thing. Under my Daley & Palmer probationary period, if I didn’t work, I didn’t get paid. And I desperately needed the money I wasn’t earning.

  The more I stayed at home with my granddad, the more I realized I needed my own place, despite what my parents preferred. Nothing fancy or elaborate. Just a small apartment that I could call my own. But I had zero in my savings account, and my paycheck barely covered my daily expenses. Plus, I worried about leaving my grandfather alone.

  And then there was Higgins, my granddad’s cranky five-year-old tuxedo cat. Thinking I was doing a good deed, I got him as company for my grandfather soon after my grandmother passed away. Granddad loves him unconditionally. The cat can’t stand me. Go figure.

  You’d think since I brought him into the Reynolds family in the first place Higgins would realize I was on his side. But over the years, he’d become quite territorial with my granddad’s home. And with my granddad. At this point, the cat and I have almost a sibling rivalry.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love animals, cats especially, but if you met Higgins, the snottiest cat in Richmond, you’d understand perfectly.

  Over the years, Higgins had ensconced himself in the guest bedroom – the bedroom I had to evict him from when I moved in. That had been almost six months ago, and I still find black cat hair on my bed on a daily basis. I swear he tunnels under the covers as soon as I leave for work. My granddad vehemently denies this. But I think he’d take Higgins’ side in every disagreement.

  Earlier, Granddad and I had attended Mr. O’Malley’s funeral and were about to go to Edna’s house for a post-funeral bereavement gathering. But first, we’d swing by Granddad’s house to pick up our tuna casserole.

  We made it as a joint project. It would have been a heck of a lot easier for one of us to do it, but Granddad insisted that we spend quality bonding time together – or QBT as he likes to call it.

  “Damn shame a woman as young as Edna being a widow. Damn shame. But then, she’s probably better off without that husband of hers,” Granddad said as he straightened his tie in the living room mirror.

  “Do not say anything like that to anyone,” I cautioned. “Not a soul, do you hear? If you’re not careful the police will think you had a motive to kill Mr. O’Malley.”

  “Now that’s just plain crazy, Becca. Sure I didn’t like the man, but I’m a lover, not
a killer.” Granddad kissed my cheek as he marched off toward the front door, looking dapper.

  Thinking of my 70-year-old grandfather as a lover caused me to cringe. But it beat thinking of him as a murderer. Not that I did! Not for a second. Despite being retired military, Granddad is one of the gentlest men I’ve ever met.

  He couldn’t even kill those gross humpback crickets that invaded the house from time to time. Instead, he sets traps for them and then releases them back into the wilds of our yard, where they probably wait until nightfall and make their way back into our kitchen. No doubt they have some secret arrangement with Higgins. I wish I knew what it was so I could put a fast end to it.

  “Come on, Becca, leave Higgins alone.” Granddad chastised as I maneuvered past the cat. Higgins swiped a claw-filled paw at my leg and connected with flesh.

  At least I had the satisfaction of removing the tuna casserole dish that he had his slitty eyes on.

  Take that, fish breath.

  “Becca,” Granddad called with a trace of annoyance in his voice. He must have caught me sticking out my tongue at his beloved cat.

  “Right behind you. You’re sure we’re invited to Mrs. O’Malley’s?”

  Not having attended a lot of funerals in my time, I didn’t know about this whole visiting the family after a funeral thing. We’d gone to the funeral, wasn’t that enough? I guess not. At least not according to my grandfather.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but judging by the cars that lined both sides of the street and around the block, there was quite a gathering at the O’Malley’s. Granddad and I ended up parking on the next street over and walking back to the two-story colonial. Was this crowd a testament to Edna or Robert O’Malley?

  Edna answered the door.

  “Marty, how kind of you to stop by.”

  She kissed my granddad lightly on the cheek. When she saw me standing behind my grandfather bearing the covered dish, she smiled and reached for the casserole. “Here Becca, let me take that. So good of you both to come. Please make yourselves at home. I’m sure there are people here you both know.”

  She disappeared with our casserole, and I focused on the other guests. There were familiar faces in the rather large living room, I realized.

  Right off, I spotted Dr. Daley.

  Touching my granddad’s arm to let him know that I was leaving him to his own devices, I made my way over to chat with my boss.

  I took a drink from a passing waiter’s tray. Here Granddad and I had brought a covered dish, and Edna had had the affair catered.

  Hmmm…major faux pas on our part.

  But at least she’d know that we cared enough to bring something.

  “Hey there, Dr. D.” Now that I’d settled on Dr. D. it was so much easier not to call him a Dick.

  “How many times have I asked you not to call me Dr. D?” His body actually jerked when he spoke the nickname I thought was so hip for him.

  And way better than Dr. Dick.

  “It makes me sound like either an over-the-hill basketball player or a gangster rapper.” He kind of spit the words out at me.

  Well, I hadn’t exactly expected that reaction. “It’s gangsta rapper, Dr. D,” I supplied helpfully.

  The nickname caused him to do that jerking/cringing thing again. My bad. I scanned the room for anybody else I knew while pre-planning my escape. That way I could ease away from my testy boss before I dug a deeper hole. “So, how are you?” I asked absently as I scanned.

  Before I could sidle away, Dr. Daley whispered something in my direction. I had to lean in close to hear him. “How do you think I am? Someone died. No, someone was murdered in our office. It’s not exactly conducive to growing the practice. Marcy and I have both had massive cancellations.”

  I gulped. Audibly. Massive cancellations meant no work for me. And more days without being paid. Despite my need to work, I blurted out, “Well, I have to admit, I haven’t exactly been looking forward to going back into the office either. What with all that blood.”

  “Keep your voice down! Inside voice. Inside voice, Miss Reynolds.” Dr. Daley snapped at me.

  A few heads had turned in our direction, but I think that was more from the doctor’s tone and not from me mentioning the blood.

  I took my voice down to match his conspiratorial whisper. “Once we get the place cleaned up, and this all dies down…” Even I cringed at my poor choice of words. “You know what I mean, Dr. D.”

  He did that jerk/cringe thing again. Undeterred, I plodded on. “It’s going to take a while for Mr. O’Malley’s death to become yesterday’s news. But when it does, then our patients will come back. You’ll see.”

  I tried to sound confident like I knew what I was talking about, but in truth, I had no idea. I just couldn’t stand to see the pinched expression on the psychiatrist’s face.

  “They’re clients, Miss Reynolds, clients, not patients. You’d think in the almost six months you’ve worked for us, you would at least get that right.”

  Murder made Dr. D. even more testy and sensitive than usual. I had to cut the man some slack. “Okay! I hear you. I made a little slip. But let me restate. Our clients will be back. Have faith.”

  Instead of appearing like he believed me, he glared at me. “Do you know what Marcy and I have been through to get this practice off the ground? To build a client base? It’s been touch and go. And now this.” He took a long drink from the goblet of wine he gripped tightly in his right hand. So tight that I feared the fragile crystal might shatter at any moment. I wanted to take the glass out of his hand before it disintegrated and shards buried themselves in the palm of his hand.

  As I watched in fascinated horror, it occurred to me that Dr. Daley seemed a whole lot more concerned with the business end of things than the death of his patient. Client. Whatever.

  That struck me as odd. Wasn’t a therapist’s first thought supposed to be for the safety and well-being of his patients? I quickly reconsidered. If I were in his position of building a practice, of having a place to treat patients, maybe I’d feel the same way.

  And then it hit me. Was he thinking that maybe Daley & Palmer wouldn’t survive this bit of bad publicity? Oh, no. That would mean I’d be totally out of a job. I’d be living with Granddad – and Higgins – even longer than I had anticipated.

  I had to do something so that wouldn’t happen. I chugged back a healthy amount of white wine and almost choked as I swallowed.

  Dr. D. patted me on my back as tears rolled down my face. “Easy, Miss Reynolds. Take it easy.” It almost sounded like he cared. Or was that his therapist's voice, the one he reserved for the mentally unhinged?

  “Take it easy? You don’t understand. I can’t lose this job.” I didn’t expect him to get it. He had no idea what life with a neat-freak like my granddad was like. And he certainly didn’t know about my relationship with the cat. Not that I’d admit that to anyone. Damn Higgins’ furry hide.

  “I do understand. We all have bills. We’ve all made sacrifices for the practice, and we may have to continue to make them.” He scrutinized me as if he expected me to read between the lines of what he was saying.

  Or it could have been my over-active imagination. In any case, I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. I didn’t want to be Daley & Palmer’s latest sacrifice.

  I needed this job. My head reeled from the news Dr. D. hinted at. Either that or from consuming too much wine too fast. All I knew was that I had to put some distance between me and my boss and the practice’s problems and get some air.

  Fortunately for me, Dr. Daley found someone new to depress, so I headed for the front door and escaped onto the porch. I could see someone approaching from down the block, his golden hair gleaming in the sunshine. I knew that hair and that confident stride. Crap. My low-down, good-for-nothing, ex-husband, Jack. It surprised me that all of him wasn’t gleaming and sparkling in the sunshine.

  He was that kind of guy. Golden on the surface and pure dreck beneath.r />
  Not that anyone else realized it, other than my granddad. Most people thought Jack was perfect.

  I started to backpedal, but I was a second too late. He spotted me. Lifting a hand, he shot me a glistening white smile. The man should have been a model for toothpaste ads. I never have understood his pleasure and delight whenever we crossed paths. He should hate me as much as I hate him. But for some reason, he didn’t. And for some even weirder reason, he wanted to get back together. Maybe it was so he could screw me over again. Literally.

  “Hey, Jack.” I struggled to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

  “Rebecca.” His use of my full first name was another black mark against him. “What are you doing here?”

  “No, I asked you first.”

  He blinked in confusion.

  “Actually, you didn’t.”

  Darn. Always the lawyer, catching you in the teeniest, tiniest mistakes.

  “No, but I meant to.”

  He chuckled, though he still looked a bit confused. I get that a lot. “I’m here to pay my respects to Edna.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  “I was her husband’s corporate attorney.”

  “Oh.” It figured. Richmond, a greater metropolitan area of almost one million people and the dead guy I found had to have my jerk of an ex for his attorney. Small world and getting smaller by the second.

  “What about you?” he prompted. “How do you know Robert O’Malley?”

  “Sorry, Jack, that’s privileged.” Well, it was. To my irritation, he didn’t press like I would have, but simply nodded gravely.

  “I better go in,” he said.

  “Good to see you, even if it is under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  Which, of course, was the perfect thing to say, the rat bastard. He entered the house just as a petite middle-aged redhead joined me on the front porch.

  She took a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit up. “Don’t you just hate these things?” She turned her head away from me and blew smoke in the opposite direction from where I stood. “Sorry. Will this bother you?”