by Cynthia Kuhn
“Hi, Detective Archer,” I said.
“Call me Lex.”
That was a surprise. Last fall, most of our encounters had involved him grilling me about one crime or another. Not sure what warranted the slide into first-name basis, but I wasn’t going to object. “Hi, Lex. What are you doing here?”
He held up a book and a mug. “I come here to read sometimes. And they have pretty great coffee.”
That also surprised me. He didn’t seem like a book-and-café kind of person.
“Yes, the drinks are good.” I invited him to join us, expecting him to decline.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, sliding into the booth beside me. He still wore his dark hair in the same buzz cut he’d had last fall. He was an all-around no-nonsense guy.
We made small talk until, across the table, the lovebirds had concluded their nuzzling, then I introduced the detective to Francisco. They shook hands.
Calista looked thrilled to see him. I couldn’t imagine why. Last semester, he’d carted her off to jail.
We filled him in on the events of the week—the threatening email, the manuscript theft, Jasper’s concussion—and explained that Francisco had just arrived from the hospital, where Damon had been taken.
The detective gave his head a little shake. “That school of yours is something else. Any idea who might have a grudge?”
I shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
Calista looked at Francisco. “How are you doing, babe?”
“Not great,” he said, letting out a long breath slowly, obviously trying to let go of some of the stress of the evening.
“Do you want something to drink? Or do you want some of my mocha?” She pushed the mug closer to him.
He waved it away.
“So what happened? Is Damon okay? Is Jasper okay? How’s Mina holding up?”
At his look, she fell quiet. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt as he spoke. “Damon was drugged.”
Calista swatted her boyfriend on the arm. “That’s not funny, Fran.”
“It’s true,” he said, holding the glasses up to the light before putting them back on. “They were telling Mina when we walked into the room. Damon’s blood test detected benzodiazepine. Not a huge dose, but enough to slow a guy his size down for awhile.”
“What’s benzodiazepine?” my cousin asked him.
“Benzos are anti-anxiety meds. Xanax, Ativan, and so on.”
“But why would someone drug him?” Calista stared at Francisco.
“Who knows? It’s a pretty sick thing to do, in my opinion,” he said. “And it could have ended up even worse for him.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The drug shouldn’t be combined with alcohol,” he said. “Which Damon tends to have in his system—I think that’s been pretty well established. Could have been fatal.”
“What a tragedy it would have been,” said Calista.
“Yes,” I agreed.
We all sat silently for a moment, processing.
“Why did they let him go onstage if he was acting strange?” Calista leaned forward slightly.
Francisco shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t hit him fully until he was at the lectern. So much depends on the size of the dose, how much he drank, and when he drank it. He could have chugged down half of the cup right before he went onstage.”
“You’d think it would have been obvious,” my cousin continued, unwilling to move on just yet.
“Mina did say he didn’t seem like himself, but she thought it was just a bad case of stage fright, which he apparently gets sometimes, and Tally seems pretty oblivious in general,” Francisco said.
“Does he take medication for his anxiety? Maybe he just took too much?”
Francisco shook his head. “No, they talked about that possibility. He doesn’t have a prescription.”
Lex cleared his throat. “Do you know if they’re keeping him overnight for observation or sending him home? That would give us an idea of the severity of the issue.”
“I don’t know,” said Francisco slowly. “Maybe I should follow up. Do you happen to know the number of the hospital? I’ll try Jasper if the nurses won’t tell me anything.”
The detective reeled it off the top of his head. Francisco slid out of the booth and walked outside the café.
“Babe! Your coat,” Calista called after him. But the door had already closed behind him. She picked up her mocha and took a sip. “So Detective Archer—” she began.
“Lex, please,” he interjected.
Her smile grew wider. “Lex. Are you married?”
I shook my head slightly, but she ignored me.
“Nope,” he said. He smiled pleasantly at her and took a sip of his coffee.
“Do you have a significant other?”
He took another drink. “Nope.”
If she asked another question, I would have to hide under the table to conceal my telltale flush. She was so obviously trying to fix us up.
“Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day?” she said, glancing pointedly at me. Okay, that was it. Game over. I mumbled something about having to make a call and began grabbing blindly for my phone.
Only I knocked over Lex’s coffee instead.
“I’m so sorry,” I gushed as the pool of hot liquid rained down on our legs. “I was just trying to find my phone.”
“In my coffee cup?” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, um. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “But some might call that a Freudian slip.”
I paused in the act of mopping up the spill with the pile of napkins I’d pulled frantically from the silver holder on the table. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, “You probably have some residual anger about our encounters last fall.”
“Now that you mention it, all those suspicious looks were getting tiresome.”
He laughed. Thank goodness. “Just doing my job,” he said. “You are walking the straight and narrow this semester, Professor?”
“Yes, Officer.”
I batted my eyelashes.
“Lex,” he reminded me. “Just think of me as your friendly neighborhood detective.”
“Not so friendly last semester,” I muttered.
He grinned.
I had to admit, I liked this side of Detective Archer.
“Sorry again about the spill,” I said. “May I buy you another coffee? Or a new pair of pants? Or both?”
Lex laughed. “No to all of those, thanks.”
“Moving on,” Calista interjected. “The reason I was asking about Valentine’s Day is because we are going to a reception at the chancellor’s mansion. Should be swanky. Would you like to join us?”
“The reception will go on even if Von Tussel isn’t willing or able to attend?” Lex seemed faintly disturbed.
“Oh yes,” Francisco said, returning to the booth. “The chancellor has spent a lot of money on this party. And get this: they’ve already rescheduled the reading for next Friday too, according to Campus Security, who are less than delighted at facing another public event on the Brynson Hall stage this month. Let’s just hope the old things-happen-in-threes rule doesn’t apply here.”
“We’ll be sure to have a Stonedale PD presence there too,” Lex said. “Given what’s happened already.”
Francisco thanked him.
“But what if Damon bails?” asked Calista, voicing the same thing I’d just been pondering. “I probably would, if someone drugged me.”
“Then they’ll have another author read instead,” said Francisco. He did a fair imitation of Spencer’s intonation at the planning committee meeting: “The event will take place.”
“How long does it take someone to recover from something like that?” Calista asked Lex
.
“Depends on the amount ingested.”
“They think he’ll be able to attend the reception,” Francisco confirmed.
“Lila, maybe you should check in with him tomorrow. Since you know him and everything,” Calista said.
“I don’t have his phone number,” I said. “You do, right, Francisco?” He nodded.
“No, I meant you should go over to see him,” my cousin said. “Ooh, maybe you should bring Aunt Vi. I’m sure seeing her would cheer him up.”
“Cal, you know they didn’t end things on a very good note,” I reminded her. She was really on a fixing-people-up bend tonight. The joy from her own relationship was probably making her see red. In a romantic sense.
“But they still harbor a passion for each other. Everybody knows that,” she told Lex. “I read it in People.”
Francisco snorted.
“Are you snorting at the romantic part or the People part?” Calista demanded, staring in mock outrage at Francisco.
“Both,” he said.
“Oh shush,” she said, smacking his arm. “There’s valuable information in that magazine, and if you weren’t such a snob, you’d understand.”
He rolled his eyes, but it was in a good-natured way. She clearly had him charmed. She turned her attention back to Lex. “Will you be able to join us for the reception, Detective?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Are you sure I won’t be intruding?”
“Of course not,” Calista said. “We’d love your company.”
At least she was making it sound like a group thing. Maybe Lex wouldn’t think she was asking on my behalf.
“I think there may be a space on Lila’s dance card,” she added, as if we’d just magically been swept into a Jane Austen novel.
And there it was. Complete and utter mortification.
“There won’t be much dancing,” I informed his coffee cup because I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “Just academics milling around in their formal wear, fancying themselves patrons of the arts. Honestly, you’ll probably be bored to death.”
“To death?” Lex said, his eyebrows raised. “Then you may need a detective. I accept.”
“Good, then it’s settled. Why don’t you and Lila exchange numbers so you can iron out the details.” Calista flashed me a meaningful look. “You probably don’t still have it handy from last semester, right?”
I could hardly speak. I felt like a bride who had just been introduced to her groom in an arranged-marriage scenario. I knew Calista was trying to be kind, but it was all far too awkward.
“If you give me your number,” Lex said quietly, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I did.
A few minutes later, we were standing out front. It was even colder now, and I couldn’t help shivering. I didn’t relish the walk home, but I was desperate to get away from Calista and her blatant matchmaking attempts.
“I’m going to take off,” I said. “Thanks for the, uh, chat, all.” I turned to go.
“Can I give you a ride?” asked Lex. Calista, standing behind him, did a brief happy dance. I ignored her.
“No, thank you.”
“It’s practically arctic out here. Please let me give you a ride,” he said.
I didn’t say anything for a minute, weighing the humiliation factor against the temperature. I shivered again, though it was more like a tremor this time.
“I insist,” he said. “Don’t make me flash my badge at you.”
I accepted.
“Right this way,” he said, pointing to a red Honda Civic parked on the sidewalk.
“I have an Accord,” I announced for no apparent reason, then wondered what was wrong with me.
“Another Honda person?” he said. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”
Relationships have been built on less.
Wait, why was I thinking about relationships? It must be the cold.
He unlocked the passenger side and held the door open.
I climbed inside. His car was very clean and smelled like coffee from the half-full takeout cup sitting in the center holder.
As Lex got into the car, the dome light reflected one silver strand in the top of his short, dark hair. For some reason, I liked that.
“Where to?”
“Just around the corner. Haven Street.”
“Here we go.”
He put the key into the ignition and turned it. Bach blared out of the speakers.
“Sorry,” he said, twisting the volume knob.
My gaze fell on the coffee cup in the holder.
“You must really like coffee,” I said, as he pulled out of the spot and headed down Main Street.
“What?”
“Well, you have a half of a cup in here but you went to Scarlett’s to get more.”
“Oh.”
Something occurred to me suddenly. “Wait, did you know we were in there?”
He made a scoffing sound. “You think I was driving by and caught sight of you through the window, so I decided to park my car, grab a book, and pretend to bump into you?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Wow. That’s quite an assumption. I just like to read there sometimes.”
“Ah.” What else was there to say, really?
He turned onto my street. “Which one?”
I pointed to my tiny bungalow, and he stopped in front of it.
“Home sweet home,” I said stupidly.
He gave my house the once-over. “Very nice. Shall I walk you to your door?”
It was a straight shot up the short sidewalk. “No thanks.”
“Talk to you tomorrow, then,” he said. “Pleasure running into you tonight.”
“You too,” I said.
“Even though you did basically accuse me of stalking you.”
“That’s not what I said exactly,” I protested.
He nodded.
“Sorry.” I was so embarrassed it was all I could do not to leap out of the car.
“Though I might have swerved my course a smidge,” he continued, after a small beat. “After I saw you there.”
I blinked at him. He did run into me on purpose?
“Now. Please go inside, so I can see you’re safe.”
I did so, turning to wave goodbye once I’d unlocked the door. As he drove away, I entertained the thought of spending time with Detective Lex Archer and found myself more than a little intrigued by the idea.
Chapter 16
Spencer had emailed us all, calling for an emergency planning meeting on Sunday at noon. Seemed like all of our planning meetings were emergencies. What a disaster Arts Week was turning out to be.
Calista texted me at quarter after eleven to ask if I wanted to walk over together. I messaged back a quick Meet you there. I was racing around preparing for my mother’s first visit to Stonedale. She was taking a cab from the airport and would arrive at two. I’d spent the morning dusting, vacuuming, and washing linens. Since I didn’t have a bed in the guest room—I used it as my office—she would have to sleep on my pull-out sofa. She might have preferred to stay in a hotel, order room service, and have her own space, but there wasn’t a single available room in town because people had flown in from across the country just to hear Damon read. Sometimes I forgot how famous he really was.
My cell phone rang a moment later. Of course Calista would want to know why we couldn’t go together. I hit the accept button without looking at the screen, informed her I couldn’t talk, hit the off button, and threw my phone into my black satchel. I didn’t have a minute to spare.
After making the foldaway bed up and taking the fastest shower in the universe, I wrestled my long damp hair into a ponytail, pulled on a black sweater and jeans, grabbed my bag and headed out to the ancient Accord
parked in front of my house. I almost never drove to campus because I lived so close, but I’d be late for the meeting if I walked. I started the engine and waited for my trusty ride to warm up. Many were the days I wished for an attached garage like Calista had, but such was not the case. At least the sun had been out long enough this week that I didn’t have to scrape the windshield free of ice. On-street parking was rough on windshields, what with all the snow and hail storms Colorado offered its residents, and a small crack was slowly inching its way across the glass. It would have to be replaced soon, though I wasn’t certain the expense would be worth it, given the age of my car. A problem for another day, I told myself; right now, I have too much going on to deal with it.
Finally, the cold engine light went off, and I eased the car into drive. I stared at my house for a nanosecond, trying to anticipate how it would look through my mother’s eyes. The pomegranate door against the gray paint and white trim looked cheerful, but maybe I needed a wreath of some kind. My mother would know just what to get, I was sure. Maybe I could beguile her into visiting the boutiques on Main Street if we had a minute. She could help me pick something out as a welcome gift for Glynnis, too.
The chancellor had organized a swift public relations campaign alerting interested parties that the reading had been rescheduled for next week. In addition to the website announcements and email blasts I’d seen earlier today, I now noticed yellow posters with Damon’s face looking fiercely out from the center plastered everywhere as I drove to campus. I hoped it meant he was well on the mend at this point.
I parked in the lot closest to Crandall Hall. As I took the stairs three at a time, Glynnis gave me a warm greeting from the faculty library doorway. She was holding a stack of handouts and was clad in what looked like more vintage treasures—a fitted canary-colored jacket accessorized with multiple Bakelite bracelets. I ducked past her. Working on a weekend and sunnily too? Glynnis was indeed a gem. Spencer smiled at me as I dropped into a seat at the conference table. I was two minutes late, but he wasn’t the kind of person who would make a big deal out of it. Thank goodness.
“Appreciate your coming, all.” Spencer always extended gratitude, as if attendance was voluntary. It wasn’t, but he was respectful in general about acknowledging us as professionals, which went a long way toward setting a positive tone in the department. “I’ll try to keep this brief today, in light of the gathering this evening. I hope you will all be able to attend.” Attendance was also mandatory for the chancellor’s reception, at least for committee members. “Please remember the reading has been rescheduled for Friday evening. Mr. Von Tussel has kindly agreed to—”