Dying for a Date

by Cindy Sample

  "Mom, what's the matter?"

  She foraged in her purse and pulled out a pre-packaged tissue. She gently wiped her eyes and blew her nose before continuing. “You know how worried I am about you going out with these strange men. If anything happened to you, I don't know what I would do."

  I was touched. It was so seldom my mother showed any emotion, especially in public.

  "Honest, right now I have zero desire to go on another date."

  "Well, don't totally give up on men. You just need to go out with someone you can trust."

  We hugged and headed toward our respective vehicles. We were almost to our cars when she asked, “What kind of costume is Ben wearing for Halloween?"

  Oops. Time I focused on my children instead of my primal urges. “Ben and I are going to work on his costume tonight, as soon as the kids return home from their weekend with Hank."

  We parted company, she in her pristine car and I in my dusty hybrid. The kids wouldn't be home until around six so I decided some quiet time would do me some good. I drove to my favorite orchard and sat at a picnic table surrounded by apple-laden trees overlooking the farm's trout filled pond. It felt good to relax, the sun caressing me with its warmth while I gnawed on a caramel apple. Between the sunshine and the high dosage of sugar, the tension eased out of my shoulders.

  Back at the house, I decided it wouldn't hurt to emulate my mother. I not only scrubbed my car from one sparkling periwinkle end to the other, I found time to whip up some chocolate chip cookies for the kids. And possibly their father. When we were married I used to hide cookies in my lingerie drawer to keep Hank from devouring the entire batch.

  One would think a man would never stray from a wife who smelled like chocolate.

  My arms were elbow deep in suds when the timer beeped. I wiped my hands on a dishtowel, grabbed a potholder and opened the oven door. The front door blew open and the kids serenaded me with their theme song, “Hey Mom, where are you?"

  Perfect timing. I turned to greet them, baking sheet in hand.

  A furry animal scurried over my bare foot. I screamed and the metal pan flew into the air. Hot cookies rained melted chocolate on the floor.

  "Kids, there's a rat in the kitchen.” I opened the door of the pantry and looked for a weapon. A can of Pringles would have to suffice.

  "Mom,” wailed Ben, “that's not a rat. It's our new kitten. You've probably scared her to death.” Ben picked up the furry creature, which was cowering next to the stove. He cuddled her in one arm while he chomped on one of the few cookies that escaped landing on the floor.

  Jenna bent over and began picking up the cookies that were splattered all over the floor.

  "Mom, you need to get glasses. Can't you tell it's a kitten? Isn't she adorable?"

  I took a closer look at the “adorable” kitten. She was a strange blend of orange and black hair with enormous pointed ears, definitely the homeliest cat I'd ever encountered.

  "We got her at the mall and named her Pumpkin cause she's orange and black and it's almost Halloween. We can keep her, can't we? Dad said you wouldn't mind.” Ben looked over my shoulder and I turned to glower at a sheepish Hank.

  "Sure, honey, I mean Laurel. I know you had a tough weekend, so we went to the mall to pick up a costume for Ben. He said you'd been too busy to work on one this year."

  My ex. Master of the guilt trip.

  "Dad bought me this terrific costume. I'm going to be Spiderman.” Ben transferred the kitten to Jenna's willing arms then proceeded to climb the cabinets in Spiderman style, leaving chocolate imprints all over my oak paneled doors.

  "We picked up cat food and a litter box. We promise to clean it every day. Honest.” Jenna's eyes pleaded with me as she stroked the tiny orange and black critter. The odds were fifty to one that my children would remember to empty the litter box every day. But I was grateful the costume issue was resolved so I grudgingly nodded. How much trouble could a tiny kitten be?

  Hank looked relieved at my acquiescence. The four of us, plus their furry friend, trooped outside to bring in the kids’ suitcases and the kitten paraphernalia. We were outside less than twenty seconds when Pumpkin leaped out of Ben's arms and decided to investigate our garden.

  What I didn't anticipate was that Pumpkin would discover a butterfly and chase it. She had probably never been outside before and was now presented with the opportunity to explore the wonders of nature. Ben discovered a nine-week-old kitten could run faster than a seven-year-old boy. Pumpkin streaked across the lawn, Ben and Jenna racing after her. I was right on their heels.

  We couldn't let little Pumpkin turn into pumpkin pie!

  Pumpkin miraculously avoided the street. She climbed up the back tire of the Prius, jumped on the trunk, clambered up the rear window and on to the roof of the car, leaving a trail of tiny dirty paw prints for us to admire. She paused and began calmly washing her paws.

  "See, Mom.” Ben scooped up the kitten. “Pumpkin is smart enough to stay away from the street.” Terrific. Too bad she wasn't smart enough to stay off my car. There went my plan to emulate my mother's immaculate habits. With two children and a new kitten I should concentrate on things within my control—as soon as I could think of any.

  The kids hauled their stuff, including their new pet, upstairs. I offered Hank some cookies, which I knew he wouldn't refuse. I neglected to mention that his goodies adorned the floor a few minutes earlier. He inhaled them in seconds. “You still make a great chocolate chip cookie."

  I narrowed my eyes. I knew when my ex was buttering me up for something.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something."

  "Something like you and Nadine split up?"

  He stopped mid chomp. “How did you find out?"

  "I have my sources.” I grabbed a cookie and nibbled on it. I needed chocolate—but strictly for medicinal purposes. “So what happened between the two of you?"

  "I broke it off. I've missed being with you, Laurel."

  I snorted. Not a wise move when your mouth is filled with cookie crumbs. I grabbed a tumbler from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. Once I stopped choking I was able to continue. “This concerns me, how?"

  "Well, I..."

  I thought Hank was reaching for another cookie, but he grabbed my right hand instead and pulled me close, my five foot four inches nestled against his six-foot frame. For a brief moment, I relaxed against his familiar chest. My eyes closed as he gently massaged my back in that way that had soothed me on so many nights. It felt good to be held by someone who wanted me, cared about me, desired...Hey?

  I felt a movement that brought back familiar memories. I jumped back and swatted his hand. “What do you think you're doing?"

  He smirked. “See hon, you still turn me on. When Jenna told me you joined the Love Club it made me realize how much I miss you. We had twenty great years together. Don't turn your back on me. Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"

  Evidently our definition of twenty great years differed dramatically. I wanted to kick his sorry butt through the back door but I merely shoved him in that direction. “Get out."

  He snatched two more cookies and exited the kitchen with one last parting shot.

  "Just remember. I love you and I want you back."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  TWELVE

  I dreamt I was kissing a moustached stranger. I woke up to discover a furry paw glued to my moisturized face. Blech. I pushed the kitten off my face and attempted to remove strands of her hair from my mouth. She emitted a piercing howl, ran across the bed knocking my fake Tiffany lamp to the floor, then raced down the stairs.

  I finally cornered her in the kitchen where she was amenable to a bribe of roasted turkey. After I shut her in our oversized laundry room I crawled back into bed. Two o'clock. Less than four hours until my alarm went off. Hank was probably sleeping just fine tonight. Perhaps the kids should get him a kitten for Christmas so their dad could also experience the joy of owning a pet.


  Seconds before I drifted back to sleep I remembered Hank's comment about my tough weekend. Was he referring to my tragic date? Or brunch with mother?

  Getting the kids ready for school with the distraction of our new pet made me late to work. As I walked into the lobby, which was decorated with pumpkins and hay bales, Vivian pointed at the clock hanging over the double doors. I hustled down the corridor past two rows of cubicles, turned the corner and bumped into Stan. He was standing, newspaper in hand, undoubtedly waiting to interrogate me. He watched in silence as I hung my jacket on the coat rack and stored my purse in the bottom drawer. Then he laid the front page of the paper on my desk.

  The headlines of our local newspaper, The Mountain Democrat, screeched at me.

  DISTINGUISHED DOCTOR DIES

  DURING DEADLY DINNER

  That got my attention. The newspaper must be giving brownie points for excessive alliteration. I tried to read but couldn't concentrate with Stan staring at me. I pictured imaginary question marks dotting his broad forehead.

  "Dare I ask about your weekend?"

  "Shush.” I pressed my index finger to my lips. “We'll have the whole office asking questions if they find out I was involved."

  I dropped my voice and leaned across my desk. “Have you heard anything about the accident from anyone else?"

  He nodded. “Rosa mentioned it this morning when we were getting coffee. She said her entire family had been going to Dr. Slater for almost ten years since he initially opened up his practice. She raved on and on about what a wonderful doctor he was, very caring and friendly. Not the kind of doctor who gives you a ninety-second exam, then moves on to the next patient."

  He stood and plucked at the pleats in his perfectly pressed khaki pants. “Look, I'll go back to my desk, give you time to read the article. Buzz me when you want to talk."

  I read the article word for word, not skimming it like I normally would. It contained numerous glowing references to Dr. Slater, his career and contributions to local charities. His closest relative was a younger brother who also resided in El Dorado Hills. The reporter didn't mention any specifics regarding a murder investigation, just the statement that the authorities were looking into all possibilities and nothing was ruled out at this time.

  My stomach knotted up as I continued reading. The last paragraph concluded: The El Dorado County Sheriff's Department has indicated that Dr. Jeremy Slater was dining with a female companion at the River Inn, the evening of his death. They are withholding her identity pending further investigation. The waiter at the River Inn described the woman as a short middle-aged redhead.

  Middle-aged? The nerve of that waiter. He was probably upset he didn't get a tip.

  Well, here was a tip. Don't expect to get tips from women you describe as middle-aged.

  At least the newspaper hadn't mentioned my name. My employer is a conservative bank that caters to an equally conservative clientele. Management would not be happy if I was implicated in a criminal inquiry. But what did the sheriff's department mean when they referred to further investigation of Jeremy's dinner companion?

  I wished Liz were in town to discuss the latest debacle of my brief Love Club membership, but she and Brian had gone to Monterey to scout for wedding sites. The shrill ringing of my phone disturbed my reverie. I hoped it was Liz returning one of the many messages I'd left on her home phone yesterday.

  "Hi,” I said.

  "Ms. McKay, good morning."

  I recognized the caller immediately but the formality in his voice didn't bode well. Was this what they meant by further investigation?

  I decided to be equally formal. “Good morning, Detective Hunter."

  "Detective Bradford and I would like to ask you some questions. Could you set aside a few minutes this afternoon for us to come to the bank and talk?"

  "Not here,” I said, evidently too loudly. Mary Lou's blonde waves popped over our adjoining cubicle wall. I really was going to have to get a promotion so I could get my own office. These cubes were not designed to conduct a personal conversation in private although that's probably why they were constructed that way to begin with. “I'm sorry but I doubt if my boss would appreciate having the sheriff's department interviewing me here in the bank. You would be a bit of a distraction.” I wasn't sure what would create the greater distraction—the uniforms or Detective Hunter's imposing presence.

  "There's a Starbuck's right around the corner from the bank. Would it be possible to meet there?” I asked.

  I heard him confer with someone else. “That's fine. What time?” We agreed on two-thirty for our meeting. The minute I disconnected, Stan ambled over to my desk. He must have grown tired of waiting for me to buzz him.

  "C'mon, the least you can do is give your favorite personal shopper some feedback on your new dress.” He eased into the chair in front of my desk. “Was the doctor so dazzled by your beauty that he fell into the river and plunged to his death?"

  I frowned at Stan's warped sense of humor but realized I would never get any work done until I related what happened. Stan listened intently and only interrupted once.

  "Dom? He ordered Dom Perignon for your first date? What a great catch he would have been. You need to be less careless and stop losing your dates."

  "Okay, that's it. Go annoy someone else.” I swiveled my chair around and watched the icons on my computer screen blur together as tears of frustration clouded my contact lenses.

  The springs on the chair squeaked as Stan abruptly stood up. I immediately regretted my small outburst. “Stan, I'm sorry. I'm really shook up and your cavalier attitude was the last straw."

  He walked around the desk and squeezed the back of my neck. “You're right. I was totally out of line.” His gaze veered to the left. “Uh oh. You better get back to work. I spy Earl heading this way.” Stan quickly disappeared down the aisle to his own cube.

  Having learned from past experience never to be empty handed when Earl appeared, I rummaged through my file drawer pretending to be in search of something. I felt a brief touch of a beefy palm on my shoulder and spun around, narrowly missing colliding with my boss.

  "Laurel, I haven't had an opportunity to say good morning to you yet. Did you have a nice weekend?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah, fine,” I mumbled and continued my drawer ravaging. Earl eased his hefty frame into the chair Stan had vacated.

  "Anything new and exciting in your life?” he asked, as a chorus of squeaks protested his visit.

  Nope. At least nothing I planned to share with my boss.

  He clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned back. “I wanted you to know how pleased the bank is with your performance. The delinquency ratio on the loans you've underwritten is the lowest in the department and I know you're handling more volume than any of the other underwriters."

  Well, that was a relief. My life had been so chaotic recently I worried that I might screw up some of the loans I was underwriting. My shoulders relaxed and I blasted a broad smile at my boss. “Thanks, Earl, I appreciate the feedback."

  "Just thought you should know we recognize your hard work. I was afraid you might apply for that branch manager position.” He winked at me. “I wouldn't want to lose such a valuable and attractive employee."

  Branch manager? How did I miss that? Well, duh, if I paid more attention to my career than my sex life I might have noticed. As soon as Earl stepped away I would check the job postings in the break room to see if it was too late to apply.

  But what was this about a valuable and attractive employee?

  "Anything else I can do for you, with the exception of a raise, ha ha?"

  Ha ha. “No, Earl, everything is fine. Bye.” Hopefully he would get the hint that I had work to do. Like finding out what the bank is paying branch managers these days. I could use a pay increase, especially now that there was an extra mouth to feed, albeit a very tiny mouth. Although at the rate Pumpkin was streaking through our house, our breakage costs could well exceed any salary inc
rease.

  Earl left my cube, giving me another one of those gentle pats on my shoulder.

  I spent the next four hours trying to cram in a full day's work. I wasn't sure how long the meeting with the detectives would take and that branch manager posting needed to be checked out as soon as I returned.

  On my way out, I stopped in the ladies room to refresh my lipstick and peel off a few stray orange and black hairs from my teal silk blouse. I zipped through the lobby, walked outside and shivered. Although the sky was as bright as the sky blue crayon in Ben's Crayola box, it was chilly—probably only in the mid fifties. My jacket was still hanging in my cubicle so I increased my pace to a slow jog. I flung open the door of Starbucks and barreled straight into one massive detective.

  "Whoa, little lady,” he said, in a fair imitation of Gary Cooper.

  Little lady. How cute. Way better than the newspaper description of a short, middle-aged woman.

  My nipples hardened and I drew back. Must be the brisk wind outside that produced that effect. It couldn't possibly be the proximity of my chest to his. My face flushed as I apologized. “Sorry to crash into you. It's cold outside."

  "Any time."

  Any time?

  "I saved that table.” He pointed to the rear of the restaurant. “A hot drink should warm you up. What can I get you?"

  "I'll have a grande nonfat mocha with one Equal and two squirts of cinnamon syrup, hold the whipped cream."

  He rolled his eyes. “Women. Even their drinks are complicated.” He whipped out his pen and his dog-eared spiral notebook from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The dark brown leather looked soft and touchable.

  I wanted to reach out and caress him.

  I mean the jacket. I wanted to caress the soft leather jacket.

  "Okay, repeat that one more time. Are you sure you didn't forget anything?” His pen hovered over his pad.

  I described my concept of the perfect mocha again. It was a good thing Detective Hunter kept that notepad handy to write down my order. Was that the same pad that contained his notes on the investigation?