Your Eight O'clock is Dead

  The mind really could play tricks on you.

  “Again, repeating the top story of the hour. Richmond native, thirty-one-year-old Anna Blake is found dead in her west-end home.”

  Ohmygosh! I hadn’t misheard. Not unless I’d heard wrong twice. And what were the odds of that? Slim and none.

  I suddenly realized our mystery woman was gone. She must have slipped out during my coughing fit. I’d have to deal with the issue of her sudden appearances with the therapists later. Right now, I had more pressing problems. Anna Blake was dead.

  But maybe it was a different Anna Blake than our Anna Blake. Only one way to find out. I dialed information. They gave me the number of the music station and I punched it in. My palms were sweating so badly that the receiver almost slipped out of my hands while I waited for someone to answer the phone.

  A chipper female voice greeted me, singing out the call letters for the station. I cut her off. “That news segment Bill just gave. The one that reported a murder. Her name was Anna Blake. How can I find out if it’s my Anna Blake?” My voice had risen several octaves as the words tumbled out in rapid succession.

  “Let me put you through to our news director.”

  She couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Hysterical callers will do that to you. Heck, I’ve experienced it, myself. More than once.

  “May I help you?” Calm, cool, radio voice. One I recognized from news segments.

  “Anna Blake. Bill just said Anna Blake was murdered. I need to know if she’s my Anna Blake.”

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No. No, I’m not. I’m, I’m - ”

  What the heck was I? “I’m a concerned citizen.” Yes, I was. “Can you tell me where the victim lived?” My heartbeat reached a new all-time high.

  “Well, that I can tell you. It’s been released to the public.

  5587…”

  I didn’t remember pulling Anna’s file, but I must have because I had Anna’s billing address in front of me.

  The addresses were identical.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  I must have sounded like an obscene phone call; my breathing came so quick and loud. Finally finding my voice, I replied, “No. I’m not okay. But thank you.” I hung up the phone.

  Anna Blake was dead. Our Anna Blake. Murdered.

  Strangled. Hadn’t Bill said she’d been strangled and found in her home? I couldn’t believe it. She was too young to die. She had her whole life ahead of her. But someone had cheated her of that.

  Dr. Dick emerged from his office. “Miss Reynolds, I’d like to review the schedule to clear some time to visit Mr. Nightingale at the hospital.” I heard him approach. “Did you hear me, Miss Reynolds?”

  Instead of waiting for me to turn around, Dr. D. came to the front of my desk as he was prone to do if I didn’t hop to it. And right now, I definitely didn’t feel like hopping.

  He caught sight of my face, a face that must be devoid of any blood in it.

  “What’s happened? Is it Edna? Tell me nothing has happened to her? Have they rearrested her?” When I failed to respond, he reached out and shook my shoulders.

  Too bad it didn’t do any good.

  I was like a rag doll. He shook my limp body again. “Answer me, Miss Reynolds.”

  “What’s going on in here, Daley? I can hear you out in the hall.” Ryder entered the office and approached my desk.

  “It’s Miss Reynolds. Something’s wrong with her again, and this time I can’t get her to tell me what. She hasn’t even quit.”

  “Becca.” Ryder came around to my side of the desk and twirled my chair gently to face him. He crouched so that we were eye-to-eye. “What’s up? You can tell me,” he coaxed.

  For him, I somehow found my voice. “It’s, it’s…”

  “It’s what?” he urged, holding my cold, clammy hand in his warm one.

  “Anna. Anna Blake.” There.

  I’d gotten it out. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d anticipated.

  “What about Anna Blake?” Oops, there went Dr. Dick’s outside voice.

  My mind shut down along with my vocal cords. I was wrong.

  It was as bad as I’d thought it would be.

  “Can’t you see she’s had some kind of shock, Daley? Shouting at her isn’t helping matters. Let me handle this.” Ryder spoke in a tone I hadn’t heard him use since he’d taken charge after Robert O’Malley’s death.

  Robert and Anna, both dead.

  One stabbed, the other strangled.

  It was just too awful. Too awful for words. And too coincidental. My mind whirled. Whoever killed Robert O’Malley must have killed Anna Blake. Ohmygod. There was a serial killer right here in Richmond. Right under our noses. Connected to our practice. Ohmygod!

  “She’s trying to say something. Take it easy, Becca. Here, take a sip of water,” Ryder coaxed.

  “I told her not to eat at her desk. Look how this biscuit has soaked through my claim forms and phone messages.” Dr. Daley’s disgust was more than apparent.

  “The grease is the least of our problems,” Ryder said abruptly. To me, he spoke gently, “Please Becca, what about Anna Blake?”

  “She’s dead!” I finally got it out. And with those words, I found I couldn’t keep quiet. “They had it on the morning news. Bill Bevins. I always trust whatever Bill has to say. But I doubted him today. I knew I couldn’t have heard right, but then he repeated the story, and I heard it again. But you know how you can hear a name and mix it up. That’s what I thought I’d done. Mixed it up. But then I called the station and they verified her address. Our patient, damn, our CLIENT is dead. Strangled in her home.”

  Both Ryder and Daley went strangely silent. I rushed to fill in the void. “Another murder connected to the practice. Another client dead. That makes two.”

  Dr. Dick groaned. “I can do the math, Miss Reynolds. Does Marcy know? Anna was her patient. Now you have me doing it. Her client.” He reached for his cell phone and punched in a speed code, then disappeared into his office to talk to his partner in privacy.

  “Ryder, she’s dead.” The tears finally came. I didn’t know why I was crying. Yes, I was crying for the loss of life. But it was more than that. I was scared. Really scared. Somebody was bumping off our clients. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Ryder pulled me toward him, and I put my head down on his shoulder and cried. I knew I should be strong at a time like this. But I wasn’t. I was weak. I was human.

  But most of all, I was scared out of my mind.

  Chapter 21

  Ryder finally deemed it safe to leave me alone. Once the media tied Anna Blake to our practice, an absolute inevitability, it would mean more cancellations. Dr. Daley was already doing some damage control, as he called it.

  Each time he passed by my desk, I heard him muttering to himself. Not a good sign. Maybe I should pop over to Temp$ for Hire and sign myself up. No, no, no!

  I would not bail on the practice.

  Okay, so I could read the big block writing on the wall, but I still had time to save Daley & Palmer.

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Anna’s death was connected to her lover’s. My woman’s intuition told me that if I solved one murder, I solved them both, and I believed it.

  I scanned the scant number of appointments scheduled for the day, scribbled a hasty note to my boss that I had to leave for an emergency and rushed out the door before he could catch me.

  On the way to my granddad’s car, my temporary ride, I punched in the number for Max Chernov on my cell phone.

  He had his ear to the ground. He knew things. And I wanted to know what he knew.

  Getting his terse “leave a message” message I said, “Max, this is Becca. There’s been a murder. I’m on the case. And I need your help. Call me.” I left my cell phone number.

  I roared out of the parking lot as much as my granddad’s 1991 Oldsmobile hooptie would allow. My first stop, Anna Blake’s house. Hitting Interstate 64, I
pushed down hard on the accelerator willing the Olds to find the passing gear or any gear that would get me up to minimum interstate speed.

  Taking the off-ramp to Short Pump, I wound through the latest urban sprawl that used to be cow pastures and scenic countryside. Anna lived in an upscale part of this nouveau riche area, one of the newer expansions in the far west end of River City. Making a series of left and right turns, I easily found her street.

  Locating her house was even less of a problem. The police vehicles and crime scene tape were a dead giveaway – no pun intended.

  Neighbors, mostly stay-at-home moms and the retired, stood out on their lawns to watch the investigation or get a glimpse of the latest news crew to arrive on the scene. I felt sorry for the police trying to do their jobs and maintain crowd control.

  Before the Olds got too far, a fuzz-faced Henrico County cop flagged me to a stop. He stuck his head into my window and said, “Sorry, ma’am. Can’t let you go any further. This is a crime scene.”

  Ma’am? Ouch. Briefly, I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Bottom line, I had to get more sleep. Ugly dark circles were taking up permanent residence under my eyes.

  “The deceased was one of our clients,” I stated. The young cop appeared unimpressed and shrugged before walking away to join his buddies. I decided to park the car and do some foot surveillance. Ask a few questions of the neighbors.

  Mindful of any small tots or pets, I threw the car into reverse and backed down the block until I could find a space large enough to turn around. I finally located a parking spot about two blocks away from the crime scene.

  As I emerged from the car, my cell phone rang. I checked the display. Granddad.

  Oh no, not now. I let his call go to voice mail.

  Before I could take more than ten steps the phone rang again. I didn’t bother checking the display. I knew who it was. Granddad was persistent this morning. Worried that he may need something, I flipped the phone open. “What?” I asked a bit grumpier than I’d meant and instantly regretted my terse tone.

  “Ah, my-ah sladkaya, you sound like you’re having a bad day.” Max. Just the sound of his Russian accent melted my heart. And he’d called me “my sweet one” again. My heart gave a happy bump. “Becca, are you still there?”

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Someone who didn’t address me with Russian endearments.

  “I’m crushed.” He laughed softly and for a split second, I almost believed he was. Crushed, I mean. Then reality kicked in.

  “I need your help, Max.” I stopped walking and turned away from the crowded scene.

  “My pleasure.”

  “One of our patients has been murdered.”

  “Yes, you told me about it. I thought you had given up your investigation into his death.” A hint of disapproval slipped into his voice.

  “No, not that patient. It’s another one.”

  There was silence from the other end of the phone. I thought his call had dropped out. “Max, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Becca. I hear you.” I could only hope his eardrum still worked since I may have raised my voice a bit when I’d asked my question. After all, I was outside. “Are you saying another person connected to your office is dead?” He sounded suspicious.

  “Yes. I’m here at the murder scene, but the police won’t let me get near anything. So I’m going to canvas the neighbors.”

  “No! No, you’re not.” His voice calmed and he continued, “You’re going to get out of there before you get into more trouble.”

  I fisted my free hand at my side. “You are not the boss of me!” Why did everyone think they were?

  “Easy, Becca, easy. I’m trying to protect you. Leave this to the police. For certain reasons, I can’t come to you, but I can meet you elsewhere. We need to talk. You may very well be in danger.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Half of the county’s finest are out here, not to mention news teams from all of the local stations. How could I possibly be in danger?”

  “A murderer is on the loose. You knew both victims. And possibly the murderer, as well. Get out of there now. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the Barnes & Noble in Short Pump.” He clicked off before I could offer any argument.

  Was Max right? Was my life in danger? I glanced around at the strangers all rubbernecking to see what was happening at Anna Blake’s house. I didn’t recognize anyone - which was a good thing. If I didn’t know them, chances were they didn’t know me either.

  Max had caused my paranoia to kick into high gear. Better safe than dead. I’d drive to B & N and see what he had to say.

  It took me less than ten minutes to reach the bookstore parking lot. This early in the day parking was no problem. Granddad had warned me to make sure I parked the Olds away from other cars so his doors didn’t get dinged. He babied his car as much as he babied Higgins. But since I didn’t want Lecture 409, You Ding My Car; You Pay for a New Paint Job, I made sure I parked in a space without any cars nearby.

  Before I could open my door, the passenger door opened and Max slipped in beside me. “Drive,” he commanded in that irritating Russian way of his. But I couldn’t be but so mad at him because even the word “drive” sounded sexy the way he pronounced it.

  “Where to?” I asked as I pulled out of the lot and onto the access road leading to busy Broad Street.

  “Turn right.”

  I did as he directed mainly because there was no way to turn left. Coaxing the Olds to perk up a bit, we blended into the traffic. The minute we passed the entrance to Short Pump Towne Center, Max relaxed.

  “Are we going anywhere in particular?” I took my eyes off the road to glance in his direction, but he kept his attention riveted on the side view mirror.

  “Take that road up there, off to the left.” He pointed to a street not too far in the distance.

  I put on the turn signal and changed lanes, cutting off a guy. The blaring horn made my shoulders hunch. As the car whipped by us on the outside lane, the driver shot us the finger.

  “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

  Max grinned. “Becca, I’m surprised at you. Such interesting language.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not having a great day. And neither is Anna Blake.” My fingers flew up to my mouth. Damn.

  I’d given away the patient’s name.

  Talk about violating patient confidentiality.

  Chernov gestured to a driveway ahead of us. “Up there. That church lot. Pull in there.” His voice had a low huskiness that caught me by surprise.

  Once I’d stopped the car, he reached over and switched off the ignition. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me about this latest murder.”

  “Not much to tell. I went to work this morning. A patient was waiting to be seen. Only she didn’t have an appointment. I’ve got to talk to the doctors about her. I’m concerned. She shows up at the oddest times. And never actually speaks. I’m not even sure she is one of our patients. But if she isn’t, she should be. Oh, and she does this fancy beading. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings. Truly beautiful. But I sense that life has been cruel to her.”

  “Becca, the dead patient. Focus, please,” Max demanded.

  “Right. It’s just that I’m worried about my mystery patient.”

  Max took my hand, his expression grim. “I know you’re upset. But I can’t help you if you don’t focus on the murder. Now, please. Try again.”

  I wilted. “Okay. See, I heard our patient’s death announced on the radio. But then I figured I’d heard wrong so I called the station to verify her address and sure enough, she was our patient. She’d been strangled. She’s also Robert O’Malley’s lover. The first victim? And I think the two deaths are related.”

  I waited for him to talk me out of my scenario, but he merely sat there in silence. “Max?”

  “I knew Anna.”

  Wow, talk about your bombshells. “You did?”

  “Yes. She had a few problems. But she didn’t d
eserve this.” His voice held a note of danger that I hadn’t previously detected. After brooding for a few moments, he regarded me with a cold expression, though I didn’t get the impression his coldness was directed at me. “I’m warning you, Becca. Stay out of this. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re in over your head. Stay away from Daley & Palmer. Take a vacation. For the sake of your health.”

  Was he trying to frighten me?

  If so, he was succeeding. I struggled to keep my breathing level. “What do you know?” I whispered.

  His chocolate brown eyes were harder than I’d ever seen them before. “I know nothing at all. But I suspect several things. And I want to keep you safe. That means keeping you away from danger. Away from where you work.”

  “But… If I don’t go to work, I’ll lose my job.”

  “There are other jobs.” He gazed out the windshield instead of looking at me.

  “I want this job,” I replied stubbornly.

  “Let’s drive back to the bookstore. I have some calls to make. Go home, Becca. Don’t talk to anyone about this.” He finally turned toward me again. It was like he was shutting himself off or steeling himself for an unpleasant task.

  Yet, beneath it all, I saw concern.

  “Max, I asked for your help. I need answers. Two people I knew are dead. And I have no intention of hiding out until the murderer is apprehended.” Despite my bravado, my voice betrayed my fear.

  “This is not up for discussion. Be a good girl and leave this problem to the authorities.”

  Be a good girl? Oh, man. He so did not know me. “This problem, as you call it, is murder. The police haven’t done a bang-up job of finding who killed Robert O’Malley. Why should I believe they’ll do any better with Anna’s death?”

  In answer to my question, he reached over and turned the ignition key. Granddad’s car roared to life and smoke thick enough to kill a thousand mosquitoes poured out of the exhaust pipe.

  “You have no other choice, Becca. Back to the bookstore.”