“But, it was a drunk driving accident. No one else was in the car, and the police didn’t say anything about the car having been tampered with, so how is it murder?”
“When I saw him, he was fine. Sober as could be. Twenty minutes later, he was dead. Could you get that drunk in under twenty minutes?”
“If he pounded a bunch of shots, yes, but then he probably would have had to have been carried out of the restaurant. Did you hear a commotion?”
“No, but then again, by that point I wasn’t…um…too sober myself.”
He chuckles. “Sounds like Mark Heston could have gotten slipped a mickey. What’s your excuse?”
I wince, not really wanting Blake to know the truth. “Boring date. I kept myself entertained by drinking, which turns out isn’t very smart.”
“I don’t blame you. That cop seems pretty boring.”
“Ha, ha. It was someone else.”
He smiles. “Oh, the ‘your charm is only exceeded by your beauty’ guy. Todd.”
“His name is Douchebag Todd. Get it right.”
Blake laughs. Oh, I miss that, too. He has such a nice laugh. “So based on very little evidence, you decided to break into Lydia’s office?”
“Yes.” He’s not one to talk. He’s done a lot crazier things based on a lot less evidence.
Regarding me dubiously, he points out, “You suck at breaking and entering. You really should have used a lookout.”
“I had one. Kara. But she sucks at being a lookout. And Brody is damn good at his job. He snuck up on us.”
“Did you find anything interesting in her office?”
I stand up from the table, motioning for him to follow me to my spare room. “Yes, what I found was totally worth getting arrested.” I show him the two photos of the files from Lydia’s desk.
He studies them for a moment. “These are patient files belonging to another doctor. What do they have to do with Lydia?”
“Let your mind work it out. You can’t find any record of Lydia Thomas from before she moved here, right?”
“Right,” he answers uncertainly.
“And I found out that Catherine Richmond lived her entire life in Hawthorne Grove until a few months ago, when she disappeared into thin air. Think about it, genius.” Seriously? He’s a little sharper than this, usually.
He studies the photos once again, and finally the light bulb goes on. “Lydia changed her name. She used to be Catherine Richmond.”
“Yep.”
“Do you have actual proof of this?”
“Verbal, yes. Physical, not yet.” I walk back to the kitchen and grab a beer out of the fridge and offer one to Blake.
He takes it and says, “I’m starving. Want to order pizza?” If we eat dinner, does it make this like a date? I’m on the fence about that one. I hesitate long enough that he pulls out his phone and says, “I’m ordering one. Eating together is not going to turn this into a date, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I must be completely transparent. Everyone I’ve been around today can read me like a book.
I wait until he hangs up, and then continue, “So, ‘Catherine Richmond’ had a chiropractic business in Hawthorne Grove. I found several files of hers in Lydia’s desk, but I only had time to look at two of them before Brody busted me. They were patient files for Lucas Ford and James Singer. Can you guess where Lucas and James are now?”
Blake exhales sharply. “I’m afraid you’re going to say six feet under.”
“You are correct. What are the odds that the first two files I pull out belong to dead guys?”
“Pretty high,” he says uneasily.
“Exactly. Lucas Ford was in his twenties and had a heart attack.”
“That’s unusual, but not unheard of.”
“Guess how James Singer died.”
He shrugs, choosing to take a pull at his beer instead of playing along. I’m getting the feeling he’s either not seeing the connection or not wanting to see it.
I explain, “Drunk driving accident. But according to my source, he had no history whatsoever of a drinking problem.”
“Who is your source, or are you not at liberty to say?” I think he’s teasing me, because that’s what I told him before. I suppose there’s no harm in telling him now.
“Megan Boyd. She’s a reporter for Hawthorne Grove’s local paper. I reached out to her, newswoman to newswoman, and she was very helpful. She’s supposed to send me a newspaper photo of Lydia, only listed as Catherine Richmond. She’s also looking for records of other mysterious deaths of young to middle-aged men from around the time when Lucas Ford and James Singer died.”
“Wow, copy editor. If you could do details worth a crap, you’d be a damn good investigative reporter.” I guess he’s at least impressed with my research.
I blush and reply, “I don’t know about that. Oh! I almost forgot the totally best part of the whole story. Lydia was married.”
Blake’s eyes get huge. “Was? Don’t tell me her husband is dead, too.”
“Yep. Nut allergy. He died at a restaurant, which I’m sure took the blame, but ten bucks says Lydia was the one who put the nuts in his salad. Now that’s the perfect murder. Also, I don’t know if this is related or not, but it warrants being considered—Lydia’s stepmother died while she was in college. Shortly after that, Lydia and her dad had an epic fight and he kicked her out.”
“Let’s back up here. Look, she obviously wasn’t charged with any of these deaths. I’m sure the police did their jobs. Maybe this is just one of those tragic stories like you see on TV documentaries.”
I scoff, “It would only be tragic if she isn’t the killer, which she is.”
“If you’re so sure she’s a killer, then why did you let me go out with her?”
I explode, “Seriously? Did I not tell you three times—”
He grins at me. “I’m kidding. You tried to warn me, and I wouldn’t listen.”
I shake my head. “Very funny. So tell me, did you enjoy going out with her? I mean, how is she getting all of these men, including the married ones, to date her?”
“She asked me out after I finished interviewing her that night you got arrested. I said yes.”
“So that’s all it takes? A girl asks you out, and you say yes? Do all guys do that?” That seems way too easy. And why didn’t I think of it?
“Well, the girl has to be, you know, not ugly. And it helps if she’s smart, but if she’s particularly beautiful, then smart doesn’t matter as much.”
“You’re a pig,” I say matter-of-factly.
He shrugs. “You asked. And yes, I actually did enjoy her company. She’s smart and funny, and she’s a good listener. She’s very beautiful.”
“Too bad she’s also a serial killer. You’re telling me you interviewed her and went on a date with her and had absolutely no inkling that she’s a total psycho?”
Bob comes up to Blake just then, meowing loudly and practically climbing up his leg. Blake picks him up. “Hey, Bob. Long time no see, buddy.”
Bob purrs and snuggles into Blake’s arms. I shake my head. That cat has never done that to me, and I’m the one who feeds him. Bastard.
Petting Bob, Blake continues, “Lydia is an alleged serial killer, by the way. And yes, I knew something didn’t add up, but I didn’t immediately assume she’s a psycho.”
“Alleged? When have we ever worried about the whole ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing when we’re investigating someone?”
Raising an eyebrow at me, he says, “Since you always have the wrong killer.”
I gape at him. “Me? You always do, too.”
He shrugs. “Yes, and maybe I’ve learned to not jump to conclusions.”
I grunt and give Blake a good-natured slap on the arm. Bob hisses at me and swats at my hand.
Jerking my hand back, I huff, “Damn, Bob. I’m sorry for touching your boyfriend.”
Blake grins. “You’d better be nice to me, or Bob will kill you in your sleep.”
I gri
mace, as much from Bob’s assholery as from Blake’s indifference to my suspicions. Why isn’t Blake jumping on my bandwagon here? I mean, yeah, he’s not my biggest fan anymore, but he loves a good murder investigation and is always ready with a contrived conspiracy theory. If anything, I would say he’s trying to use my evidence to prove that this is all a big, unrelated coincidence. Or maybe…
Appalled, I gasp, “You like her.”
Blake puts Bob down and hedges, “No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitates. “It’s you.”
Me? “What about me?”
“Look, Lydia is a successful woman. She’s a trusted doctor in town, and she has plenty of money. You’ve already broken into her office, and now you’re going around accusing her of murder. That’s harassment. What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not wrong,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Name one time when you weren’t wrong.”
I cross my arms. “This time.”
He gives me an impatient glare. “For argument’s sake, let’s say you are wrong and she’s innocent, yet you have caused her to be questioned by the police and the town gossip is murdering her business. What do you think she’s going to do?”
“I don’t know. Move away again, I hope.”
His face grows dark. “Wrong. She’s going to sue you, and you’ll lose everything.”
“Where is this coming from? The Blake Morgan I know plants cameras in people’s offices and orchestrates fake ghost sightings. He doesn’t worry about getting caught or people pressing charges. You’ve gone soft.”
“No, I’ve gotten smart. I’m sure Lydia has something to do with all of these deaths—there are way too many coincidences for her not to be involved on some level. However, the police haven’t been able to tie her to any of them. There’s a reason for that. She’s smart and has the means to either cover her tracks or have them covered for her. She’s out of your league.”
Outraged, I cry, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re a loose cannon, and to get ahead of her, you have to have a plan.”
“I am ahead of her! I have this whole thing figured out! I don’t need a plan.”
“Yes, you do. You need a plan, and you need me.” His ego is out of hand.
I raise my eyebrows. “I certainly don’t need you.” After the words are out of my mouth, I realize my tone was completely contradictory to what I said. Maybe I do need him. But only for his help in catching Lydia. I think.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thank goodness for the pizza guy, who interrupts the uncomfortable silence that followed my last comment. Blake pays for his pizza, brings it into my kitchen, and makes himself at home at my table. I suppose what he said about ‘eating food together doesn’t necessarily make this a date’ is true. Besides, I’m starving. I join him and grab myself a slice.
“You got olives on the pizza? You don’t like olives,” I say, confused at his topping choice.
He looks at me pointedly. “Right, but you like olives.” Huh. That was pretty sweet of him, and kind of unsettling, because he’s been such a big meanie-head for so long.
“You really have gone soft, haven’t you?”
Frowning, he gripes, “I’m trying to be nice. You should take it while you can get it, because you’re starting to irritate me.”
“Good,” I retort, concentrating on my pizza. We eat in silence for a while, and I think back over the crazy events of today. I’m still blown away at the thought that Brad, who was so full of life and all about having fun, is dead.
“You look upset. What’s up?” Blake asks, concern on his face.
“I was thinking about Brad.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, what a way to go.”
“Do you think Brad’s death could have anything to do with Lydia? I mean, an overdose seems to be one of her specialties.”
“I don’t know. How would they have met?”
I shrug. “Lucas Ford and James Singer were patients of hers in Tennessee. I guess Brad, and Jason Harris and Mark Heston for that matter, could have been patients of hers here.”
Blake’s mouth pulls up in the corner. “I think we might be able to find out.”
“How?” I ask.
Blake loves it when a plan comes together. I can see his eyes twinkle as he explains it to me. “See, this is why you need me. I am the man with a plan. Tomorrow, you’ll make an appointment to see Lydia. While you two are in the exam room, I’ll walk in, under the pretense of paying a friendly visit to Lydia, and distract her secretary. Then…” He stops, frowning.
“Then what?”
“We’ll need a third person to go snooping to see if Lydia has files on those three men. Does anyone else know about all of this?”
“Julia and Kara know some stuff.”
Blake grimaces. “They’re not very good at this kind of thing. Wait. What if Simmons gets the appointment, I distract the secretary, and you do the snooping?”
I nod. “That should do it. But what’s my excuse for being there? I’m so not breaking and entering again…or criminal trespassing, or whatever it was I did.”
“You can make an appointment, too.”
“What if Julia and I can’t get appointments at the same time?”
“Then you act blonde and pretend you messed up the time. It shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he teases me.
I roll my eyes at his comment, but agree, “That sounds like it could work.”
“So say all these guys are patients of hers. What about them made them targets? Are there any similarities?”
“They were all married, except Brad. Not all of them had kids, but some did. I don’t think they had similar jobs. The two who OD’d had no history of drug abuse, and James Singer had no history of alcohol abuse. I don’t know about Mark Heston, but like I said, he was sober very shortly before he died in a supposed drunk driving accident. Lucas Ford had a bad heart, and Lydia’s husband had a severe allergy. Those two were easy pickings. These guys seemed like good, upstanding members of the community, from what I’ve heard and read. Brad is kind of the wild card, here. He was single, he was a chronic womanizer, and he was way younger than the rest of them.”
“Maybe she didn’t kill the Bradster.”
“Maybe. But when was the last time you heard of a death by drug overdose in Liberty?”
He thinks for a moment. “Uh…never?”
“Right. People around here mainly smoke weed and do meth, not that it isn’t dangerous, but no one ever seems to drop dead from it. Jason had some kind of pills in his hand when he was found. Do you know about Brad?”
“I think it was ecstasy. They found some in his bedroom.”
Blake always knows the inside scoop on confidential police investigations. “You have someone in the LPD who’s feeding you information, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, then quickly changes the subject. “You say Lydia may have killed her stepmother, too?”
“That’s only a part of my conspiracy theory. I’m just going to try to pin every death I can on her and hope one sticks.”
Blake chuckles. “That’s one way to do it. Let’s go back to your board in there and beef up your timeline.” I knew Blake would totally get the usefulness of my murder board.
Like he owns the place, Blake leads the way to my spare room, erases my timeline, and draws a longer line in its place. He writes “stepmom” at the left end of the line and puts the word “college” under it.
He asks, “Who was next?”
“Her husband. He died last summer. Here’s a picture of them together. It was also locked up in her desk.” I show him the picture of the photo of Lydia and her husband.
He glances at the photo and writes that information down. “And then?”
“Lucas Ford and James Singer in the fall.”
“And she moved here around Christmastime. Now are we up to the three
this week?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Blake finishes his timeline and takes a step back to study it.
“Wait,” I say, remembering my date with Brody at Vibe. “She went out with Jed Stewart.”
“That asshole? Why didn’t she kill him?” he demands. “He, of all people, deserves it.”
“We all know you hate him. Just calm down and write his name after Mark Heston’s.” As he’s writing, I have a thought that makes me very uneasy. “And you…”
“What about me?”
“Lydia asked you out.”
“Right. I’m irresistible.” Damn straight.
I can’t be caught agreeing with him, so I roll my eyes. “What I mean is, was she planning on offing you, too?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Go with me here. When I got arrested, I pulled you aside and we had an intimate little conversation. Surely you had to explain that to her.”
“Sure. I told her you were my crazy ex.”
I close my eyes, mortified. “Thanks, you ass.”
He chuckles. “Come on, you are my ex, and let’s face it, we all know you’re a little crazy.”
I exclaim, “If I’m crazy, it’s because you made me that way! My life was extremely simple before I met you.”
He gets a naughty look in his eyes and steps closer to me, gazing down at me intently. My heart starts beating more quickly, and I can feel a blush threatening to creep up my neck. There’s a palpable electricity between us, and I think Blake must feel it as well. We could be in serious danger of slipping back into our old habits. We have been witty bantering a lot this evening.
Trailing one finger lightly down my arm, which of course causes an embarrassing eruption of goose bumps, he murmurs, “You love every minute of the danger you get yourself into. Why are you even bothering to worry whether Lydia is a killer or not? Because you’re an adrenaline junkie. You love the chase.”
I desperately need to step away from this before things go too far. No woman in her right mind would take a pass on Blake Morgan, but as he pointed out, I’m crazy. And as hot and bothered as I am in such close proximity to Blake, I do have Brody to think about. I’m starting to like him, and I’d hate for a lapse in judgment to ruin what we have going. Besides, I’m not even sure if a romantic relationship with Blake is even possible. We’d have to work through a truckload of shit to get back to where we were. I don’t know if either of us is up for that.
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