Your Eight O'clock is Dead

by Kat Jorgensen

  He sat in the passenger seat like a gulag archipelago, cold, dark, and distant. I returned to Barnes & Noble. Neither of us spoke during the brief drive, each lost in our own thoughts.

  I pulled into the parking place I’d occupied before. “I will be very disappointed if I find out you don’t heed my advice,” he said. He stared at me to make sure I got his meaning.

  Max Chernov didn’t scare me.

  Okay, right then he did scare me.

  But I wasn’t taking orders from him or anyone else. I gave him back look for look, causing him to sigh.

  Without another word, he exited the car and wove a path through the parked cars and around the building until he disappeared from my line of sight.

  The entire drive back to the office, I replayed Max’s warning and his admission that he knew Anna. If he knew her, did he also know Robert? He hadn’t reacted when I’d mentioned O’Malley’s name. Not that that meant anything. But I couldn’t help considering how and where he might have met one or both of them.

  I was getting sick and tired of having more questions than answers.

  The instant I got back to work, I saw my boss rushing over to his rental car. I hurried after him. “Dr. D.? Are you off to the hospital?”

  Ignoring my question he said, “I’ve talked with Marcy. In light of the circumstances, we’re closing the office for the rest of the day. Take the time off. With pay.”

  Okay, something was really wrong. Both docs had been crying the money blues. For Dr. Dick to give me the day off surprised the heck out of me, but to do it with pay was downright shocking. “Where are you off to?” I asked.

  “Go home, Miss Reynolds. Go home.”

  I’d heard that a lot this morning.

  Instead of following his advice, I walked toward the building. Maybe Ryder could shed some light on what I should do. Either that or he’d be the third person to tell me to go home.

  Maybe I’d come down with a case of oppositional disorder - OD. I’d read about it the other day in one of the medical journals when we’d been between patients. Someone tells me to do something, and my OD kicks into gear compelling me to do the opposite. Yep, that’s what I had. I was developing a knack for giving myself the proper diagnosis.

  Before I came to work for the shrinks, I thought I was normal. Since my employment, I’d discovered that I was prone to panic attacks when faced with especially bad news, post-traumatic stress disorder thanks to the dead body I’d discovered, and now I could add oppositional disorder to the growing list of medical mental maladies. By the time I finished, I’d have more initials after my name than the docs.

  I reached Ryder’s office, half-expecting the door to be locked. Instead, it stood open. My lucky day? “Hey, Ryder, are you here?” I called out.

  He emerged, not from his office, but from a door off to the right of the reception area – one that I hadn’t noticed on any of my previous visits. He leaned against the door jamb and studied me with a slow smile.

  Wow. Where had that come from? Wherever I wanted a regular supply.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I need your help.” It was the second time that day I’d asked a man for help. I hoped the results weren’t going to be the same.

  His gaze grew more intent.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Another one of our patients is dead.” I let the words hang between us and searched his face for a reaction. True to form, he kept his features neutral, but I could tell he was waiting for me to continue.

  “The other dead person’s lover,” I added.

  He rewarded me with a narrowing of his eyes.

  “It’s not a coincidence. I know it isn’t. She was murdered, probably by the same person who killed Mr. O’Malley,” I stated.

  He reached out and put his hands on my arms to still the nervous energy I knew must be pouring from my body. I tried to hold still but couldn’t. Okay, add hyperactivity disorder (HD) to my growing laundry list of problems.

  “Ryder, I need answers.”

  “No, Becca. No, you don’t. That’s why we have the police. They investigate crimes. Not ordinary citizens.”

  Ordinary? He thought I was ordinary? And all of this time I thought he was kind of attracted to me.

  This day totally sucked. My posture gave out on me, and I slumped under the weight of my troubles.

  Ryder gently pulled me to him, and I let him. Ordinary.

  Maybe he was into ordinary and then my mind flashed back to sunglass lady. No, definitely not. I jerked my body away from him and paced around the empty area giving full rein to my hyperactivity.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick over something beyond your control.” His voice came from behind me, and I whirled around.

  “People are dying on me, Ryder. Everywhere I go it seems like another dead body crops up. Not strangers, but people I know. People who may not be perfect but who don’t deserve some whack job killing them, either.” I shivered just thinking about it.

  “It’s out of your control.” Ryder managed to stay calm and cool.

  “The heck it is. If I don’t solve these murders, Daley & Palmer is going to be history. And with it, my job.” I held up my hand before he could launch into a lecture on all of the jobs that were out there. “Besides, this is just a little too close for comfort. Any of us could be next.”

  “I think you’re being melodramatic.” He headed for his office, and I followed.

  “Melodramatic? There’s a murderer on the loose, and I’m the one being melodramatic. Oh, I think not.”

  He reached into his mini-fridge, cleverly hidden in the bookcase behind his desk and produced two cans of soft drinks. Huh.

  So that’s where he’d hidden the fridge.

  He popped the tops on both cans, handing me one. I nodded in gratitude. “Ryder, I’m going to investigate these deaths with or without help. I was hoping I could count on you.” I took a large swig of the carbonated beverage, quenching my thirst and some of my passion or hyperactivity – I wasn’t exactly sure which.

  He leaned forward. “Here’s some friendly advice. Stay out of it.”

  “No.” I took another hefty, unladylike gulp of the drink.

  “I’d hate to visit you in jail.”

  That got my attention. “I haven’t broken any laws.”

  “Not yet you haven’t. But interfere with on-going investigations and the police will be within their rights to arrest you.”

  My mouth dropped open. Seriously? “You’re kidding!”

  He shook his head no.

  “But, but…”

  “No buts. I know losing people you know is upsetting to you. Especially losing them to violence. Maybe Marcy or Dick could give you some coping skills.”

  “Are you nuts? They’re not exactly dealing with the deaths any better than I am. They’ve closed the office down. And they’re paying me,” I added for emphasis.

  “I’d think leave with pay would be a good thing, not something upsetting. Take a few days off and relax. Put all this behind you.”

  I stood. No one understood. “You’re as bad as Max. Go home. Be safe. Blah, blah, blah. And meanwhile, a murderer is free to kill again. And the next time it could be me.”

  In my rush to get my words out, I’d failed to pick up on the storm clouds that had gathered over Ryder’s features. Uh-oh. I’d told him about contacting Max.

  Worse, I’d lumped him and Chernov together. Talk about your tactical errors.

  “Go home, Becca. I can’t, no let me rephrase that, I won’t help you. And I’m astonished Chernov had the good sense to refuse to help you. That’s all you need is to get mixed up in his world.”

  I jumped to my feet.

  “Then he is connected.” Ryder stared at me like I had two heads. “To the mob. The Russian mob. I knew it.”

  I hit my fist into the open palm of my opposite hand. “That’s why you don’t like him. He’s a made man.”

  Ryder stood up and came around to
my side of the desk. He took me by the crook of my arm and led me to the waiting room. “You’ve been watching The Sopranos on cable again, haven’t you?”

  “Very funny. Besides, they’re Italians. I’m working for a place where the patients are getting rubbed out by the Russian mob. And you’re telling me to relax. Don’t you see? We need to bring these people to justice. Imagine,” I marveled. “The mob. In our quiet little city.”

  “First our little city, as you put it, is one of the most dangerous cities in the country per capita, thanks to drugs. It’s not quiet. Even you can’t believe that. And it isn’t little. Add in the surrounding counties and Richmond is large. Not Chicago large, but large nevertheless. There’s more than enough crime to go around. Okay, so Henrico County is a great place to live. The police do an amazing job of keeping crime in check. But don’t think the whole city is like that. Some places should be avoided if you know what’s good for you, just like in any big city. Go home, Becca. Leave this to the police.”

  I saw red when he mentioned going home. Okay, so the rest of the stuff he said held some validity. I needed to be careful. But if I could just get someone to help me, it wouldn’t be all that dangerous, especially if it meant putting a killer behind bars.

  “I’m not going home. I’m going to cruise around and see if I can’t find some mobsters.” I didn’t mean it, but I wanted Ryder’s reaction.

  “Way too much television. That can’t be good for your STD.”

  I did a double-take. And caught him quirking his lip up and trying to keep from laughing. “You know darn well that I don’t have an STD.” My cheeks burned red-hot.

  He couldn’t help from smiling broadly. “Got you.”

  “You wish,” I taunted back.

  “Be careful about tossing around wishes, Becca. Intention is a powerful thing.”

  My heart did a weird fluttery thing, and I backed up and collided with the office door.

  Ryder watched in amusement.

  He must think I was the biggest klutz he’d ever known. No, make that the most ordinary klutzy ditz he’d ever known. I had to get out of here before my self-esteem plummeted any further.

  Chapter 22

  For the next several days, Anna Blake’s death and her connection to both Robert O’Malley and Daley & Palmer were splashed across the Richmond Times-Dispatch and the local news. Having no concrete leads, I stayed home with Granddad and Higgins.

  The cat resented the intrusion.

  He’d obviously gotten used to having the run of the place in the daytime.

  Periodically, I called Dr. Dick. He kept telling me to stay home since there weren’t enough patients to warrant coming into work. He wanted to give the adverse publicity time to cool down and then he and Marcy were both going to personally call their clients and assure them that it was safe to return to the office. What he didn’t say, but I surmised, was that both he and Dr. Palmer were afraid that in the meantime their clients would find other psychiatrists to help them.

  After all, Daley & Palmer was still a fledgling firm. At least both doctors had their hospital clients to fall back on if the private practice didn’t work out. I had nothing. Well, nothing but Temp$ 4 Hire. And I didn’t even want to consider that.

  Today Anna Blake would be laid to rest. I felt like I should be there to say goodbye. And to see who else attended. My thinking ran along the lines of the guilty party always returns to the scene of the crime, or in this case the gravesite. So, I threw on my basic black dress, the one I used for dates and more recently for funerals.

  My Honda was finally back from the shop. As usual, they’d done an amazing job of fixing it. It purred like a contented cat. Not that I knew what that sounded like. I lived with Higgins.

  Running late, as usual, I sped out of my granddad’s neighborhood onto Patterson Avenue and headed west to Westhampton Memorial Gardens, where Grams was buried. It was a lovely cemetery, as those places go.

  Well kept lawns, winding roads, and vases with colorful flower arrangements everywhere.

  I bypassed the road that led to my Gram’s gravesite and followed the signs for the Blake interment.

  Nearing the funeral tent, I glanced at the clock on the dash. Two o’clock—the time the paper gave for the graveside service. But my car, the hearse and a couple of others were the only vehicles I saw. I thumped the clock on the dash and checked my watch. Right time. Maybe I’d misread the paper.

  I didn’t have any trouble finding a place to park, and I got out of my Honda, slowly approaching the tent.

  A simple spray of white roses covered the pale wooden casket. No other flowers, just the roses. A man dressed in a black suit had his back to me and spoke in soft tones to someone who stood in shadows behind the coffin, someone I couldn’t see.

  “Excuse me,” I spoke up.

  The man in black turned, and I saw that he was a minister. “Did I miss the service?”

  “No, we’re just about to start. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the side of the casket where the chairs were located.

  Uncomfortable, and feeling sad that so few people had come to celebrate Anna’s life, I took a seat at the end of the row, my view of the other mourners blocked by the clergyman.

  I heard the crunch of gravel and turned to see who else had arrived. Dr. Daley and Dr. Palmer nodded and slipped past to take seats in the middle of the row. When I turned to look at them, I got a good look at the only other mourner. I almost fell off my chair. Max Chernov. Well, well, well. Very interesting. And a bit disturbing. If I was right about the murderer returning to the scene of the crime, it suggested one of these three was the guilty party. Gulp!

  Dr. Daley pulled his suit coat tight across his chest as if he were offended to have to sit so near Max.

  Dr. Dick was probably just uncomfortable being here and saying goodbye to another patient. As for Marcy Palmer, I noticed that she looked neither left nor right, but stared straight ahead at the wooden casket. I realized how difficult it must be to lose a patient, someone you’d worked closely with, someone you were trying to help. At least it hadn’t been a suicide. Not that that helped Anna Blake. Dead was dead.

  I leaned back to look down the row at Chernov and discovered him staring back at me with dark, impenetrable eyes. His expression gave nothing away.

  “We are here today to celebrate the life of Anna Maria Blake,” the minister intoned. I’d heard those first few words too many times before in my young life, had said good-bye to too many people. Tears sprang to my eyes. I cried not only for Anna and the poor showing at her funeral but for all of the people I’d loved and lost.

  Thankfully, the service was brief. I sobbed through most of it. Dr. Dick appeared annoyed at my obvious show of grief. Marcy didn’t seem to notice. Max, well, Max ignored all of us and spoke only to the minister. They shook hands, and then Max walked away.

  I ran after him. “Hey, wait up. Aren’t you even going to speak to me?”

  He stopped before getting into his car, a light-colored mid-sized sedan I hadn’t seen him drive before.

  “It was nice of you to come, Becca.”

  I blinked. What the hell did that mean? “I liked Anna. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

  “We’re all diminished by a death.”

  “Mr. Chernov, a moment please.”

  The minister and another man I hadn’t noticed before hurried over to the car. “As the person paying for the funeral and the internment, you need to sign this.”

  Max was paying for Anna’s burial? Why?

  Annoyed, Max hastily scrawled his signature on the card thrust in front of him. The minister shook Max’s hand again and murmured his sympathies.

  The other man, obviously a cemetery employee, disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, signed card in hand.

  Before I could summon any questions, Max got in the car and drove off.

  “Who was that?” Dr. Daley asked as he joined me in the middle of the narrow lane.

  “A friend of Anna’s,�
� I replied.

  “He seems to have upset Marcy.”

  Dr. Dick nodded in his partner’s direction where she continued to sit in front of the casket.

  “Why? Did they have words?” I couldn’t imagine when that could have happened, but Marcy had been seated closest to Max. He might have whispered something to her. What, I couldn’t imagine.

  “Not that I’m aware of. It was just a passing comment she made.”

  I shrugged and tried to laugh it off. “Oh, that’s just Max’s way.”

  “Max who?” He reacted like a hound on the scent.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I flipped my hand dismissively and tried to get past my boss.

  “How do you know this man?” Dr. Dick blocked my forward progress.

  “He’s just someone I know.”

  Don’t ask me why, but I felt the need to protect Max’s identity from my employer.

  “Becca, how good of you to come.” Marcy had gathered herself and joined us. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

  I wondered why everyone seemed so surprised to see me. I was part of the practice. I’d had as much contact with Anna Blake as anyone else at D & P. “It’s the least I could do. I’m kind of shocked at the poor turnout.”

  “Anna had separated herself from people over the last several years. It’s one of the things she and I were working on,” Dr. Palmer replied, dabbing a lacy handkerchief at the corners of her eyes, even though I couldn’t see any moisture.

  “But what about Joe? Joe Rizzo?” I clarified.

  Marcy appeared shocked that I knew the connection between Anna and Joe. “That’s privileged information. You know I can’t discuss that.” She whipped her sunglasses out of her Gucci purse and put them on.

  “Dick, are you coming?”

  Talk about dismissing someone.

  Where had my good bud gone? I tried again. “Aren’t you surprised that Joe isn’t here? I mean he loved Anna, or so he said.”

  The sharp intake of Marcy’s breath wasn’t lost on either Dr. Dick or me. “What do you know about that?” To my utter shock, she advanced on me. She’d never looked at me with such fury before. I mean, never. I backed up and moved behind Dr. Dick. Okay, so I wasn’t so brave, but Marcy had long, sharp nails and she looked angry enough to scratch someone’s eyes out. I didn’t want them to be mine.