Brad approached carrying two cups as I hung up. He handed me one and sank onto the oversized chair across from me. I sipped my latte and made a circle with my index finger and thumb. He’d ordered it with an extra shot, the way I liked it.
“That press release was crap,” he said.
“I’m not worried about it,” I lied. “I just wish police would find the culprit and end this.”
He swiveled to scan the coffee shop. The only seated customer was a scruffy youth at a corner table tapping keys on his laptop with rapid motions, eyes fixed on the screen. Brad leaned toward me, speaking in a low voice as though someone might be listening. “I talked to my friends in the DA’s office. They say their boss wants to move slowly. He considers this case high profile.”
Rick’s murder wouldn’t be a major case unless… Images of the newspapers returned. “Meaning they think I did it?”
“No one will say it like that.”
“Damn right, they won’t. Not when it means tangling with Oliver.” I gave him a smug smile. “The DA may run for mayor in two years and his office lost their last two big murder cases. They aren’t about to rush into a big case and lose before the election.”
“You sound confident.”
“Confident, hell! I’m innocent!” But that didn’t seem to matter. Because of innuendo, I no longer had a job, and there was that weird sensation of being watched. “Do you think police are following me?”
He was the only person who knew about my fear of being watched. “Have you seen that gray car anymore?”
“No. I thought a black SUV followed me around Newport Beach.” I peered through the window. No gray car or black SUV in sight.
“Cops wouldn’t waste time or money unless they had good reason. If they thought they could find incriminating evidence, perhaps.”
“They can’t find evidence that doesn’t exist. I can’t imagine what they’re looking for, unless they think I paid to have him killed and need to meet the killer for the pay off.” I laughed at the idea Delia and I had tossed around.
Brad’s stern expression indicated he didn’t appreciate the joke. “Has it occurred to you that if someone is following you, it might be sinister?” He bent close, touching my hand with warm fingers, and his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “What if you saw something, or the killer thinks you saw something? Hasn’t that occurred to you?”
“The...” I couldn’t repeat his words. I shook my head, a shuddering breath escaping me. I’d been convinced if anyone was following me, it was police or a determined member of the media. This was…well…scary. “What could I have seen?”
“I don’t know, but he might be worried so he’s keeping an eye on you.”
A chill skittered down my spine. I looked out the window, studying the street. I didn’t like this frightening new premise.
“It could be paparazzi. Or a stalker. I’ve had people do that every so often.”
Brad put down his cup with a plop, looking exasperated. “How can you sound so blasé? Stalkers can be dangerous. Not everyone is a fan.”
I glanced at my bag with its nasty letters. Could one of those “fans” be angry enough to pursue me to punish me?
“You need to be more careful,” Brad continued. “Do you have an alarm system?”
I tilted my head in a “get real” fashion. “I come home at midnight. Of course.”
“Maybe you should stay with me for a few days.”
He was being sweet, but that wouldn’t work. “The press would jump all over that, even if you’re just a friend. Can’t you see the headline? ‘Killer Anchor Moves into Love Nest.’ Hell, you could become a suspect too.”
Brad’s eyes widened and he grimaced. “You’re right. But I’m not joking, Kimberly. Someone killed Rick, and that person is still out there.”
Tiny fingers of fear rippled over my skin. What could that person gain by keeping an eye on me? Had I seen something and not realized it?
Glancing at his watch, Brad drained his cup. “I have to go. Call me this weekend. Maybe we can get together.”
I put my hand on his as he got to his feet. “Thanks for being a good friend. I appreciate it.”
His smile was quick and playful, earlier traces of tension gone. He caught my fingers and squeezed them. “I like being your friend.”
My fingers burned as I watched him jog across the street with athletic grace. It felt good to have a man watch me the way he did, to have him worry about me. Did he have more in mind? The thought set off a warm tingle inside. It wasn’t that hot sensation Hank ignited, but it made me feel womanly.
My phone buzzed. I hit the “talk” button without thinking.
“Miss delaGarza?”
The male voice was unfamiliar, and I started to say he had the wrong number. It sounded too tentative to be a reporter, but who had this new number? I looked through the glass window as though my caller might be watching from the street.
“I have no comment if you’re a reporter.”
“This is Toby, the bartender at Geneva.”
It had been so long I’d forgotten about him. I forced a civility to my voice that I didn’t feel. Had he talked to police? Oh shit!
“I remember you, Toby. It’s good to hear from you. How are you?” How had he gotten this number? The card I’d given him had my work number.
“I’m…uh…fine. But…I need to talk with you...in private.”
Uneasiness gnawed at me. I drew a shallow breath. “I don’t have time right now.”
“I need to tell you something. You see…I have a recording.”
“Recording?” Apprehension dissolved into fear.
“I recorded you and Mrs. Lindsey talking about your dead boyfriend.”
Fuzzy memories pricked me like a pesky mosquito. “Is this a joke?”
“I told you that I record people for voice classes.”
It was bad enough he might tell police about our crazy conversation, but to have a recording? The coffee in my stomach turned to acid as the table in front of me blurred. “What’s going on, Toby?”
“I’m sorry.” The young idiot did sound apologetic. “I liked the way you pronounced things. When I listened to it later…it occurred to me you might want it.”
There it was. The bottom line. The acid in my stomach stopped sloshing. At least I knew where I stood. A strange calmness settled over me. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to tell you to erase it. That isn’t why you called is it?”
“I can erase it, but it occurred to me…”
I knew damn well what occurred to him. “Just tell me how much you want, Toby.”
He hesitated. Was he talking to someone? Was this a conspiracy? Suddenly he blurted, “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Was he kidding? “What makes you think I have that kind of money?”
“I read in the paper today that you make a million dollars a year.”
Anger replaced my fear. The blackmailing prick! “Have you talked to police?”
“No, but Chief Patterson has dinner at Geneva every Sunday night. If we can’t come to an agreement, I may give it to him when he comes in.”
Hank ate there every week? Delia and I had never seen him.
“I am not paying you a red cent until I hear the recording.”
“I can’t play it now,” he said in an agitated tone. “I’m at work.”
“Can you wait until next week? I’ll need to talk to my accountant about…uh…financing.” That was partially true, but mainly I needed to stall him so I could think it through.
“I’ll call you Monday,” he said.
I clicked off without answering and realized I gripped the phone so hard my wrist hurt.
What was going on?
The Queen had been yanked from the throne. Subjects were sending hate mail. And now a blackmailer had entered the picture.
What happened to the romantic comedy of my life?
I shook my head. This was no comedy. This was the darkest f
ilm noir I could imagine.
No, worse.
A killer might be watching me.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday, 9:00 p.m.
Hank sat in a booth in the main dining area of Geneva, sipping coffee, his posture one of relaxation. He bore no hint of the uptight police chief I’d visited in his office. In a pale blue sport shirt with tanned arms showing, he looked more like a movie producer who lived up the beach in Malibu. His neat black hair gleamed under the overhead lights.
I’d looked for Toby when I arrived. I wanted him to see me, to realize that his threat to tell Hank about the recording was hollow at best. Should I tell Hank about it? I’d been debating that since Friday’s phone call. I edged closer to the table, knowing he might not like my presence, but he wasn’t going to make a scene in public.
His head jerked toward me as I approached, deep blue eyes widening when he saw me.
“May I join you?” I offered a bright smile, the one I practiced to convince recalcitrant interview subjects to spill all.
He inhaled sharply, and I waited for a smile but his face remained set. “Do I have a choice?” His voice carried a distinct bite. He glanced around as he gestured toward the seat across from him. “Don’t try to tell me this is a coincidence.”
“I needed to return your jacket and I knew you wouldn’t want me doing it at the station, so I decided on neutral surroundings.” I placed the garment on the seat beside him before sliding into the booth. “I’ll only stay a few minutes. I won’t compromise your damn principles. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“You’ll be my guest, but only for coffee.”
I knew why he was looking around. Even as a reporter, I’d been recognized when we went out and it irritated him. At the time, I’d been caught up in the excitement of newfound celebrity. Every time someone noticed me or knew my name, it was like winning a prize. Tonight the restaurant buzzed with activity, but no one looked our way. This was a crowd used to famous faces, even possible killers.
He studied me, but I saw none of the fleeting desire I witnessed on Monday. I’d pulled my hair back and swept it up out of my face and dressed in a simple, sleeveless Donna Karan dress that clung to my curves in all the right places. The light beige hue gave luster to my golden arms and the low cut front displayed a hint of cleavage—hopefully to give his male senses a jolt.
If he felt anything, it didn’t register on his stony face. He disliked being manipulated and that was exactly what I was doing. My motives were two-fold. I wanted Toby to think I wasn’t afraid of his threat, and I was curious about being followed.
After my discussion with Brad, I started checking my rearview mirror more often and being aware of cars and people around me. As I drove my mother to San Diego, I kept an eye out. Several times in different places, I could have sworn I saw the same green car.
Hank signaled for the waitress and after ordering coffee for me and a refill for himself, a tense silence settled between us. I tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. I kept glancing at his strong folded hands and the muscular forearms covered with a fine coat of black hair. I wanted to touch him, run my hand along his arm, but I knew I couldn’t.
For a few minutes he kept his gaze fixed on the door as though he wanted to escape, his face a sculpture chiseled in granite. “What was so important that you had to follow me?” he finally asked.
“I didn’t follow you,” I protested, but his question was so direct, I had to look away. He knew me well enough to know when I was lying.
“Uh-huh. How did you know where I was?”
“A little birdie told me you normally have dinner here on Sunday.”
He grunted. “What’s on your mind?”
I licked my dry lips before continuing. I should have asked for a glass of water. “I wanted to return your jacket, but there is something else...”
“Naturally.” His smile was hard, fixed.
“I’m not asking for a favor. I want to know if you have people following me.”
“What?” He drew up so quickly, I knew the question was a surprise. “Why would we follow you?”
“To make certain I don’t skip off to Mexico? Meet a hit man for a payoff? I don’t know.”
Before he could reply, the waitress returned with a silver coffee pot and white china cup for me. She filled both our cups and left a tray with cream and sugar. I sipped at the strong, hot brew, watching him ladle sugar into his. I suppressed the urge to tease him about it.
After stirring it thoroughly he took a sip and glanced at me, shaking his head. “You know I don’t feel right discussing the case, Kimberly. I have officers handling the investigation if that’s why you wanted to talk to me. Maybe you should ask them.”
“Would they be honest?” Too late, I realized what I’d done. I’d made it seem like I came to him because I knew he might tell me. As a favor. “Hank, don’t take that wrong.”
His gaze over the top of his cup was accusing. “Of course not. You just happened to follow me here to find out if my men are following you. Sounds like you want information.”
I sighed unhappily. “Can you blame me? Hank, this whole thing is surreal. Being followed seems like part of the procedure.”
Hank lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “You’ve reported on murder cases. You know the process.”
My eyes flicked around the restaurant and I spotted Toby in the bar. He looked in our direction. He knew I was here! With Hank. Even if Mr. Hard Ass wouldn’t tell me about the tail, knowing Toby had seen us made it worth the effort.
I turned back to Hank. “If he was killed with the bat, my fingerprints were on it, but...”
He put down his cup and shot me an angry look. “Please, Kimberly. This is not a topic I can discuss. Tell me the real reason for your visit. Do you think we have someone following you? Why? It doesn’t make sense. If we had evidence, we’d pick you up. You’d never get bail on a murder charge.”
The reality of what he was saying chilled me. If I was arrested, I was going to jail and staying there. My gaze slid around the familiar restaurant as though it might be the last time I was free to enjoy such luxuries.
“Hank, you must know my arguments with Rick didn’t mean anything. We’d broken up and he kept bothering me about getting his stuff back.” I stopped. That didn’t sound good.
“I know how you are when you get angry,” he said in a tight voice. “Breaking things.”
“I’ve never broken anything of yours.”
“You broke a plate once. For a second I thought you were going to toss it at my head.”
I started to protest, but he grinned, bringing a touch of softness to his blue eyes. I smiled back, pleased at his change in direction.
“It was my plate.” I pounded it on a counter in frustration during an argument, though I did consider launching it at his head. The past swirled around me. For an instant our eyes locked, and a crazy knot of awareness tugged at my midsection.
His eyes pierced me with a blue-flamed gaze that warmed me all over. We made up that fierce quarrel right there in the kitchen, making feverish love on the counter with the broken plate on the floor beside us. Part of me wanted to reach for his hand, to squeeze it, to see if he remembered.
The moment passed as quickly as it surfaced. He broke the connection, lowering his glance as though he wanted to forget our past. An uncomfortable silence enveloped us, smothering any fire that might have blazed.
The waitress reappeared, carrying a check in one hand and the coffee pot in the other. She put the check on the table. “More coffee, Chief Patterson? Miss delaGarza?”
Hank winced at her use of my name. I could imagine what he was thinking. What would his mayor say about our having coffee? He put a credit card on the plate with the check.
“You should go,” he urged after she retreated.
I balled my hands into fists and pressed them together on the table. “You’re making this very difficult.”
“If you have something to
say, come to the office tomorrow. It doesn’t seem right for me to socialize with a murder suspect.”
Murder suspect.
The words echoed between us. Would he care if the killer was following me? Maybe, but he’d turn the matter over to his men who wouldn’t believe me. They would think I was using it as an excuse to get suspicion transferred away from me.
And what about Toby’s recording? Would Hank listen to charges of blackmail or demand to hear it or give it to Torres—the final chink in the chain that would march me directly to jail?
“Murder suspect,” I repeated through gritted teeth. “Do you have any other suspects, Chief?”
He stared down at his coffee as though he wanted to climb into it.
I leaned toward him, not wanting to trigger the sort of scene he loathed. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to arrest the thief who killed Rick when he tried to sell the jewelry that was probably the motive. Then yesterday as I explained this to my brother, I realized, how could you, when your crack detectives didn’t even ask me about the jewelry?”
Hank’s head jerked up and his shocked eyes met mine. “Jewelry?”
For the first time since the whole debacle started, I felt like I had the upper hand. “Rolex watch? Gold chains? Diamond cuff links? There was close to a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry and a gun inside those boxes I returned to Rick. I have no idea how you’re going to track down the contents when I’m the one who packed them, so I’m the only person who knows if anything is missing. Neither detective has asked me to list what was in the boxes even though I told them that was why I visited Rick that night.”
He sat very still, staring straight ahead as he digested the information. His jaw clenched and I could see a muscle snapping on one side.
I rose, feeling every bit the Queen. “Don’t forget your jacket. The list is in the pocket.” I stomped out of the dining area, shooting an angry glance at Toby on my way through the bar.
Ignoring customers, he hurried toward me. We reached the front door at the same time. With a pleasant smile, he held it open. “I didn’t know you knew the police chief.”
Blues at 11 Page 10