“Fine, you win,” he concedes. “But you have to knock it off with the bacon jokes.”
“I’ll try to behave, but I’m not making any promises,” I call over my shoulder, already on the way to get our food.
***
This is the…Best. Date. Ever! Not that it’s a date, because it isn’t. But how cool is it to get a ride-along with a hot cop (although it’s more like a sit-along at the moment) and eat greasy take-out in a police car? And Callahan is even being nice and conversational. Who knew?
“So you’re a mild-mannered copy editor by day, and you spend your evenings working at Becca’s funeral home. How do you handle all of that excitement?” He looks over at me, grinning.
“Ha, ha. Now you know why I have to go out and chase killers and get myself arrested every once in a while. Otherwise, my life would bore me to death.”
He laughs, making another visual sweep of the parking lot. Straightening up in his seat, he reaches over and nudges me on the arm. “There’s Dr. Thomas and her guy. They’re leaving. Buckle up.” All of a sudden, fun Callahan is gone and the hard-boiled cop is back in charge. After they pull out of the parking lot, Callahan starts his car and follows them at a distance.
I’m nearly squirming with excitement at being part of a real surveillance situation. Sure, I’ve spied on people before, but I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Callahan is a professional, and I have a feeling he rarely makes a mistake. He doesn’t say a word on the entire drive back to Liberty, and I don’t dare try to make idle chitchat. We follow their car all the way into town, and Jed pulls to a stop in front of a pretty bungalow. We park a block away, behind another vehicle. Jed runs around to the passenger side, helps Lydia out of the car, and walks her to the door.
Callahan says quietly, “That’s Dr. Thomas’s house.”
Lydia and Jed share a kiss, not too steamy, but not a peck on the cheek either. I wouldn’t mind being kissed like that, but not by Jed, of course. Then he walks back to his car and drives away.
“What the hell?” I huff, confused. “It’s out of character that Jed Stewart would bother to take a woman out on a date and not seal the deal at the end.”
“Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf.”
“Whatever.”
Callahan looks at me and asks, “Can you put your suspicions to rest now? She obviously didn’t kill this guy.”
“Maybe she doesn’t kill every guy she goes out with.”
Sighing, he mutters, “This was a monumental waste of time.”
So spending an evening with me was a waste of time? Ass. Well, I had fun, but I’m not telling him that. “No more of a waste of time than a sucky blind date,” I reply cattily.
He shakes his head and turns his car in the direction of my house. The tension in here is stifling. As we pull up to my house, I already have my door open and my foot dangling out, feeling a bit of déjà vu from my last disastrous blind date.
Turning to me, he says, “I didn’t mean—”
I cut him off. “Save it. Good-bye, Detective Callahan.” After slamming the car door, I hurry for the calming sanctuary of my house. I let myself in and collapse against the door. Why are men so exhausting?
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I arrive at work the next morning, Julia immediately swoops down on me, squealing, “How was your date last night?”
I give her a dirty look. “I’m never going on another date ever again.”
“What’s wrong with Brody?”
I gasp. “You knew?!? If you weren’t great with child, I would kick your ass right now. Why didn’t you tell me I was going out with him? Aren’t you supposed to be my best friend?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Did you not call him hot in the middle of your drunken rant the other night? Alcohol makes everyone truthful.”
“I also called him a dickhead, remember that?”
“What did he ever do to you?”
“He arrested me!” I hiss, not wanting the whole office to know.
“What?” she cries, getting several stares from our co-workers. Dragging me to the break room for some privacy, she demands, “You got arrested? When?”
“Two nights ago.”
“What did you do this time?”
I hesitate. “I…may have broken into Dr. Thomas’s office building.”
She gasps. “Are you crazy? Breaking and entering is never the answer!”
“Yet you’ve done it. Twice.”
She ignores me. “So did you find anything that would link her to Jason’s death?”
I guess I’d better spill the whole, sordid story to Julia. I start with seeing Lydia and Jason together, which she already knew, then move on to seeing Lydia with Mark Heston. I wait while she freaks out over the fact that Lydia’s two dates both died on consecutive days. I tell her all about my “criminal trespassing”, my arrest, and subsequent release. I top it all off with a recap of last night’s surveillance, or as Detective Callahan put it, “waste of time”.
I add, “Oh, and one more thing, Douchebag Todd was at Vibe last night, and he grabbed me and tried to kiss me. That’s on you.”
Julia looks suitably upset. “I’m sorry I set you up with him. I honestly didn’t know he was a weirdo.”
“Well, I was lucky Callahan was there. He yanked Todd off of me and told him to get lost.” Thinking about how he protected me makes me a little hot and bothered, but I quickly suppress the feeling after remembering how the night ended.
She grins. “Ooh, he came to your rescue. He likes you.”
“He hates me, and I hate him.”
“He’s driven you home the past three nights.”
I tilt my head, puzzled. “Three?”
Julia ticks them off on her fingers. “Last night, the night you got arrested, and the night you got drunk.”
I squint at her. “The night I got drunk? I thought you brought me home.”
“Brody offered, since he was already dressed.”
Horrified, I cry, “You let your drunken best friend be driven home alone by a total stranger?”
She waves her hand in dismissal. “He’s not a stranger. I know him. He’s my neighbor, and besides, he’s a cop.”
“Detective Sanchez was someone’s neighbor, and a cop, and he kidnapped your ass.”
“Quit changing the subject. I could totally see you guys together.”
“You take that back!”
Julia sings, “Lizzie and Brody, sitting in a tree…” as she makes her way back to her desk.
I need coffee. As I’m pouring myself a cup, I try to think back to the night in question, but I can’t for the life of me remember Callahan driving me home from Julia’s house. I remember the next morning, waking up…oh, shit. In. My. Underwear. No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. This is really bad. I yank my phone out of my pocket, dial the police station, and ask for Detective Callahan.
“This is Callahan,” he answers.
I explode, “Did you take my clothes off and put me in bed Tuesday night?”
“Who is this?” he asks.
“Like it could be more than one person?!?” I shriek.
I hear a smile in his voice. “Hello, Lizzie.”
“Tell me!”
“Yes, I drove you home and put your drunk little ass to bed.” Did he just say I had a little ass?
“And?” I prompt.
“And nothing. You had vomit all over your dress, so I removed it. I was a perfect gentleman, like always.”
“It will be a cold day in hell before anyone calls you a gentleman. Just stay away from me, okay?” I fume, hanging up on him.
As (bad) luck would have it, Blake appears and pours himself a cup of coffee. I wheel around to him and ask, “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” he smirks, taking a long, slow sip of his coffee while eyeing me over the rim. “Sounds like you’re back in the saddle again.”
“Ass.” I brush past him and stomp out the door.
***
After work, I head over to the funeral home, dreading the crush of people who will undoubtedly be there to pay their respects to Jason’s family. You can always count on a humongous crowd when a younger person dies. I find Becca in her office, on the phone, so I wait for her to finish the call.
She hangs up and turns to me. “Are you ready for this?”
“No.”
“Hey, what about tomorrow night? I just got Mark Heston. You know, the auto accident?”
“I have to go to Ronald and Bitsy Mason’s anniversary party tomorrow night. Can’t miss the boss’s party.”
Ronald Mason is the owner of the Chronicle. Since Sloane has been on the job, Mason has been less overbearing at work. In fact, he doesn’t even bother to show up most of the time, which is fine with us. Mason is a nice guy, but he’s kind of hard to take sometimes, especially at a party. His wife, Bitsy, has cheated on him with nearly every man in town. I just don’t see the reason to celebrate their particular marriage, but whatever.
“Do you think Bitsy will hit on any other men at her own anniversary party?” Becca asks. See? Everyone knows.
“Probably. Hey, you said you got Mark Heston. Any chance you’d consider checking him over as well?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What are you up to, cousin?”
“Nothing…”
“Well, the answer is no.”
“Come on, Becca,” I whine.
“It wouldn’t do any good. He looks like road kill.”
My stomach lurches, and I grimace.
Noticing my expression, she chuckles. “Oh, that was unfortunate. He really was road kill, wasn’t he?”
“Your lack of tact is frightening.”
“Hey, the only people I get to work with are dead people and you. I have to get my giggles somewhere.”
I roll my eyes at her.
She asks, “So did Brody make a move when he took you home?”
“Gross! No.”
“You could do worse, you know.”
“Not by much. I’m going to go work now.”
***
After everyone leaves the funeral home, I breathe a sigh of relief. All in all, the visitation wasn’t too bad. There were a lot of people here, but it wasn’t unmanageable. Kim came over and talked to me for a bit about whether I had found out anything about Jason, but we weren’t able to speak freely with so many people milling around. I told her I would get with her next week. I didn’t mention my upcoming trip to Hawthorne Grove, because she doesn’t need to know all of the gory details just yet. All she cares about at this point is knowing whether Jason took his own life or not.
I quickly do my post-visitation chores, lock up the funeral home, and head over to The Liberty Inn. I’m late, so I missed the little skit the baseball team did, but luckily I can still get dinner. The place is packed (and of course I know practically everyone in here), but I’m able to find a seat with Hank and his wife, Renee.
Renee smiles warmly at me. “Hey, Lizzie! Long time no see. How have you been?”
“Good,” I lie. “How are your kiddos?”
“Boy crazy and rambunctious.”
I smile and raise my eyebrows. “I thought Ella was only five.”
Hank growls, “She is. It’s starting already.”
Renee giggles. “She’s got a little ‘boyfriend’ at school. And Austin just started walking.”
“Sounds like you have a fun-filled household,” I reply.
“So are you seeing anyone new?” Renee asks.
“I could horrify you with tales of my blind dates from hell.”
Hank chuckles. “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. One of them sent you flowers at work.”
“That sounds promising,” says Renee.
“Yeah, except for the part where he tried to grope me, and my other blind date had to step in and whoop his ass.”
Renee winces. “Ooh. I do not miss dating.”
“I told you that you’d be horrified.” I scan the room, looking for Becca. “Speaking of horrified, I need to go talk to my cousin about her corpse. He’s leaking.”
I hop up from the table, leaving Hank and Renee a little queasy-looking. Before I left work, I noticed that Jason’s body was leaking fluid from his nose. Not a big deal in the mortuary world, but Becca needs to go fix it before anyone sees him at the funeral tomorrow.
I find Becca and Jack having dinner with…oh, holy hell. Seriously? They’re sitting with Blake—and Lydia! Does everyone I know have a death wish? I suppose they don’t know about her homicidal tendencies, but come on, what are the odds? And I’m not exactly excited about the idea of Becca chumming it up with Blake, either. Shouldn’t she be mad at him on my behalf like my other friends? On the bright side, a little corpse talk might just put a damper on their evening, and surely on their appetites. I walk purposefully up to the table and plaster on a smile.
“Hi, guys,” I say, trying for a friendly voice.
I get an uneasy look from Blake and a bit of a sneer from Lydia.
I continue, “Becca, whenever you’re done, you need to run back over to the funeral home and check on Jason’s corpse.” I pause for effect, hoping to make Lydia squirm.
Becca furrows her brow. “What’s up?”
“His body is…leaking.” Maybe I can feed this conversation to her in fragments until someone vomits. I’ve got time.
“Which hole?” Good old Becca. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
Blake coughs nervously, and Lydia’s getting a little pale. Awesome.
“His nose hole.”
“Well, did you wipe it off before someone saw?” Eww. No. Wiping up bodily fluids is not part of my job description.
“It started as I was closing up. No one saw it. It’s not oozing too terribly fast, but you probably need to fix it tonight.” Oozing is a great word. Maybe I should try to work in the word moist as well.
“Thanks for letting me know. Did you have any other problems?”
I fix my eyes on Lydia. “No, just a lot of sad people. Too bad Jason was taken before his time.”
She stares back, still pale but otherwise unruffled. Blake doesn’t seem particularly bothered, either. Damn. I thought someone would surely be tossing his or her cookies after all that.
I’m still a little peeved at the whole cozy double date thing these four have going on here, so I decide to take it out on Blake. I ask nicely, “Blake, could I speak to you for a moment?”
He gets up, and I drag him by the sleeve into the bar, hoping for a little privacy, but it’s packed, too. I guess outside is our best option, so I turn to head out the back door. I nearly run smack into Detective Callahan, of all people, who looks rather amused by my determined expression. I put my hand in his face in the universal “talk to the hand” gesture and plow on through the bar, Blake still in tow.
When we get outside, Blake yanks his arm free. “What do you want, Hart?”
“I want you to stay away from Lydia.”
He looks at me condescendingly. “I understand you’re jealous of her—”
“Are you kidding me?” I interrupt.
“No, it’s very obvious. You don’t want me to date anyone, especially her.”
Exasperated, I say, “Blake, I don’t give a flying crap who you date. Except for Lydia. You have to stay away from her. I have a bad feeling about her. She’s trouble.”
Blake is beginning to get angry. “You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot see.”
“You need to get your head out of your ass and take my word on this!” I yell.
“Why should I?” he yells back.
“Because you know me, and you know I wouldn’t be this adamant if there weren’t a reason.”
“So tell me the reason.”
I hesitate. “I…can’t. Yet. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” he laughs mirthlessly. “That’s the whole problem. I can’t trust you.”
I glare at him. “Are
you really going to bring the trust issue up right now?”
“It’s as good a time as any.” Oh, yeah, he’s pissed now.
And I’m not backing down. “So you’re not going to believe me about Lydia being bad news because you’re still mad about me keeping a secret from my past that was none of your business?”
He shouts, “It was my business, and you know it. You refused to let me in, and it wasn’t the first time you’d lied to me. You completely shattered my trust in you, and haven’t done a damn thing to gain it back.”
His words sting. Blinking back tears, I reply, “I let you in when I told you I loved you. I didn’t lie about that. And you didn’t care. You wouldn’t even respond.”
“I was in shock from an eight-inch knife wound!” That was true. I did pick a rather inopportune time to declare my love. His eyes anguished, he admits, “I loved you, too.”
I’m floored. I had absolutely no idea. But he said “loved”, as in past tense. As in not anymore. Tears start spilling out of my eyes unchecked. “You did?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice now harsh. “And you broke my heart, so I left you before you had the chance to do it again.”
I hang my head and sob into my hands as he goes back inside, slamming the door in frustration. Unable to compose myself, I sink down onto the sidewalk, resting my head on my knees as I cry. Blake and I haven’t spoken a word about our breakup until now. It feels like all those old wounds I’ve tried so hard to get over are fresh and new again, and it hurts so much worse now that I know he actually did love me, once.
I’m so wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself that I don’t even notice when someone comes out of the bar and stands in front of me. Detective Callahan asks kindly, “Are you okay? I heard yelling.”
Still weeping and unable to speak, I shake my head. He sits down next to me and puts his arm around me, pulling me to him. I cry on his shoulder, powerless to stop the torrent of tears flowing onto his shirt. He doesn’t say a word—he just allows me to have a good cry, holding me in his strong arms.
After I’m finished, I raise my head up off of his shoulder. He asks quietly, “Would you like me to drive you home?”
I drove here, but I don’t care. I don’t have the strength or the focus to drive anywhere. I nod and let him help me up and lead me to his car. He loads me into the passenger seat, even reaching over and buckling my seatbelt for me. We ride to my house in silence—he’s concentrating on the road and I’m staring out the window, trying to hold back another wave of tears.
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