by Cindy Sample
Photos in matching silver frames rested on the shelves. One photo was of an attractive man, his arms around a pretty blonde woman and a very young girl. The man bore a slight resemblance to Jeremy. I picked up a picture of some young men dressed in caps and gowns. Could be either high school or college. I tried to locate Jeremy. There he was. The skinny kid at the end of the last row. A few of his curls had managed to escape from the tight fitting mortarboard cap.
I turned to the scrupulously neat desk. Nothing that shouted out “clue.” I left Jeremy's office and tiptoed back down the corridor. The muted sound of voices indicated that Liz and the nurses were still chatting.
I opened the closed door of the other office. Diplomas hung lopsided on the walls. Files were stacked in haphazard piles on the floor and papers were scattered all over the desk. How did a man this sloppy end up practicing medicine? I certainly wasn't coming back to him for my annual pap. Who knows what tortuous metal instruments he might leave behind?
I brushed against a stack of documents and the paper on top floated down to the floor. The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor warned of an impending visitor. I snatched the paper and quickly glanced at it. The first page of a real estate contract for a property on Ski Run Blvd. in Lake Tahoe. The purchaser. Jeremy Slater.
Carol walked in just as I shoved the document back on top the messy pile. “Ms. McKay, what are you doing in here?” She gave me another one of those suspicious looks. At least I think it was a suspicious look. I had a feeling Carol used that look a lot.
"Uh, I just wanted one last memory of Jeremy. I thought there might be some photos of him in here. Is this Jeremy's office?"
She pointed in the opposite direction. “No, his office is over there."
I followed her across the hall and entered Jeremy's office once again. Carol walked around the desk and stopped in front of the framed photos. I pointed to the family picture I'd noticed in my previous foray into the office. “Is that his brother and his family?"
"Yes, that's his younger brother Mark, and Mark's family. Since Jeremy didn't have any children of his own, he was real fond of his niece, Sammie.” She leaned against the credenza, her face pensive. Once again she seemed to be missing the presence of her boss.
I lifted the group graduation photo from the bookcase. “Did Jeremy keep in contact with many of his friends from Davis?"
She shrugged. “I don't know. He went to some type of reunion last summer, but I can't remember if it was high school or college.” She took the frame out of my hands and returned it to the shelf.
"Tara and I are going to lunch now. I assume you've seen enough to satisfy you?"
Not really. I wondered why the real estate contract for the Tahoe property that Jeremy was purchasing was in Dr. Radovich's office. But I knew if I asked Carol, I would definitely get one of those “suspicious” looks.
"Yes, thanks for being so understanding.” We walked down the hallway back into the reception area where Liz was still chatting with buzz cut. I thanked both women as I pushed my friend out the door. She complained as we walked across the parking lot to her car. “What's your hurry? I almost signed up Tara for my monthly microdermabrasion special. It's great for getting rid of acne."
Liz stopped in the middle of the asphalt parking lot. “How come you're not limping anymore?"
I decelerated, slowing my pace as we approached her Miata. “That Dr. Radovich is a miracle worker. So did you discover anything useful?"
She shook her head as she beeped the doors open. “I'm not sure I'm cut out to be your Dr. Watson. Tara has only been working in the office for a couple of months, so she doesn't know anything personal about either doctor. Carol knew Dr. Slater wanted to buy a condo in Tahoe but she thought the deal had been cancelled for some reason."
"This detecting isn't as easy as I thought.” I mulled over everything we had discovered, which wasn't a heck of a lot. Jeremy might or might not have been in the process of purchasing a house in Tahoe.
Dr. Radovich is a pig.
A pig who possessed a copy of Jeremy's real estate contract.
"At least I may have picked up some new clients. Feel free to take me along on your next sleuthing expedition.” Liz beamed a satisfied smile at me as she shifted into reverse. “By the way, you're looking a little pale. Have you been using that Vanilla Pumpkin enzyme masque I gave you?"
I shook my head. The only pumpkin in my life lately was the kitten that had instigated this visit.
We ate a quick lunch then Liz dropped me at my house a little after two. The answering machine indicated three messages. The first was from Tom thanking me for letting Kristy go out with the kids and hoping that my knee felt better. It was a good thing he didn't know about my detecting foray. The second was a hang-up, and the last message was from Stan informing me I'd missed my eleven o'clock interview for the branch manager position.
Darn. I had totally forgotten about the interview. These murders were a tremendous distraction. I used to be so organized.
Well, maybe not all that organized, but I still couldn't believe I'd totally blown off a job interview in my misguided attempt to solve the murders. I left a voicemail message for Anne Lewis in the HR department, telling her about my injury and subsequent doctor's appointment, and asked if we could reschedule for the next day. Maybe if I hobbled into the office on crutches I could elicit some sympathy from Anne.
Without the kids, the house was as quiet as...as a house without kids. I grabbed a diet soda from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table. I thought about my appointment this morning. It was curious how irate Dr. Radovich became when I mentioned Jeremy's real estate deal. He obviously knew about it. What was that phrase? Follow the money.
It was also odd how upset he became when I mentioned the fundraiser he attended the night Jeremy drowned. Could the doctor have slipped out for a few minutes and killed his partner?
I debated whether or not I should attend Jeremy's memorial service. My mother would know if any of the mourners were in the real estate industry. Maybe she could glean some tidbits about his Tahoe transaction.
Mr. Rooster clock cheeped four o'clock. Both kids would soon be arriving home via the school bus so I'd better start thinking about dinner. I rummaged through the cupboards, and when I opened the lower cabinet door next to the refrigerator, I discovered Pumpkin asleep on the bottom shelf.
No wonder she hadn't been terrorizing me. The kitten stretched the full length of her tiny multicolored body. When I attempted to grab her, she evaded me and scurried out of the kitchen. Eventually something would break and I'd track her down.
I opened the freezer to see if there was anything recognizable that could be thawed in two hours. The phone rang. Another blocked call. Why I bother with Caller ID is beyond me.
"Hello,” I said, distracted by the array of fuzzy frozen foods. How many years can you store ground beef in the freezer?
"Is this Laurel McKay?” asked a raspy male voice.
"Yes...” Is this a trick telemarketing question?
"Ms. McKay, my name is Neil Schwartz, a reporter from the Mountain Democrat. I'd like to ask you some questions about Jeremy Slater. The police report stated that you identified the body the night of his death."
Police report?
"I understand you and the doctor were dating. Would you care to tell me about your relationship? I'm sure you'd like to share your side of the story with our readers."
Relationship? Side? Readers?
A resounding crash erupted from the living room. The kitten had made her whereabouts known.
"Goodbye.” I slammed the phone down and tore into the living room to assess the potential destruction. My brass floor lamp rested on the carpet, the light bulb smashed into a gazillion glass shards. I couldn't locate Pumpkin until I lifted the lampshade and found her cowering beneath. I was relieved she wasn't hurt. Even more relieved my lamp was still intact.
"Pumpkin, thanks for the excuse to get off the phone,
but let's make a smaller mess next time.” The four footed pipsqueak scampered off again.
I expected the reporter to call back, but it wasn't until several hours later when the kids and I were eating dinner, that the ringing of the phone interrupted our conversation. Probably the reporter again. Or someone claiming to be conducting a survey to cover up the fact it was a telemarketer. The machine could answer for me.
The voice leaving a message got my attention. I dropped my fork and ran to grab the receiver before Detective Hunter could hang up. “Hello, Tom?” I panted like I'd walked six miles—not six feet. My breathlessness must be due to the sound of his voice. It couldn't be due to lack of exercise.
"Laurel, I was calling to see if your knee was feeling better today. I phoned your office this afternoon but they said you stayed home from work. Did you get to see your doctor?"
Trick question. Was Dr. Radovich my doctor now?
I carefully crafted my response. “The doctor said it was probably a strain. It feels fine except when I climb the stairs."
"That's good. I was worried you might be on crutches for a while. Is he taking new patients? I need to find a doctor nearby."
"Well, my family doctor wasn't available for an appointment today so I went to a physician in El Dorado Hills. But I wouldn't recommend him. His bedside manner was non-existent."
"Really? I thought Dr. Radovich was quite personable when I interviewed him this afternoon."
I should have known better. This wasn't a social call. “Umm...he was probably in a better mood after his lunch."
"I also had an interesting chat with Carol. She was surprised we hadn't spoken with Dr. Slater's girlfriend. She felt so sorry for the woman. According to her, poor Laurel didn't even have a photograph of Dr. Slater to remember him by.” Tom's voice was measured. We were back in interrogation mode. “So tell me more about your relationship with Dr. Slater. I didn't realize it had progressed so far."
"Remember last night you told me to see a doctor about my knee,” I said, defending my actions. “Dr. Radovich was able to squeeze me in so I took advantage of the opportunity to talk to the staff. I might have exaggerated my relationship with Jeremy when I was talking to Carol, but I thought I could find out something useful—you know, woman to woman."
Tom snorted. “And what did you find out from your ah, woman to woman discussion?"
Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice? What did I find out? “Uh, Jeremy was well-liked by his staff."
"Laurel, do I have to remind you that you are still a suspect? You cannot interfere with our investigation."
"Oh. I thought we moved past that little obstacle last night."
Dead silence.
"I'm sorry, I promise to stay away from your investigation,” I apologized. “But I want to attend Jeremy's funeral. When are they going to release the body?"
"The family will be having a memorial service Monday evening but I'm not allowing you to attend."
"Excuse me,” I said, my voice as frosty as the inside of a Ben and Jerry's carton. “I don't believe you have the authority to do that, Detective Hunter."
A mild expletive sounded in my ear. “Laurel, it's not safe. You can't just—"
I interrupted him. “I was the last person to see Jeremy alive, well, except for his murderer. You know the killer always shows up at the victim's funeral."
Everyone knows that.
"That only happens in murder mysteries.” His voice crackled with anger. “If you insist on attending the service, I'll be forced to lock you up."
"On what grounds?” I was infuriated by his tone and totally irrational at this point. He probably had more grounds than I had coffee grounds in my garbage can.
"Interfering with an investigation and...” His voice trailed off and I heard some voices in the background.
The next thing I heard was a muttered “Goodbye,” followed by the sound of the dial tone.
Within seconds the phone rang again. It must be Tom calling back to apologize so I gave him the full brunt of my smart-ass repertoire. “Make sure you have plenty of hot coffee for me when you haul me in."
"Hot coffee, or cold chardonnay, your wish is my command,” said an unfamiliar male voice.
"Who is this?"
"Peter Tyler, your mother's associate from the Centurion office. Ben's new playmate."
I laughed. “Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."
"Someone you're not too happy with, I gather. Anything I can do to help?"
"No, although a glass of chardonnay sounds like a great idea right now.” I crossed the room and opened the refrigerator. Nothing chilled except for a gallon of two percent milk.
"I'd deliver it personally if it wasn't too late. This may be short notice but I was wondering if you'd like to get together for dinner this Saturday."
I paused for a minute. After that last conversation with Tom, dinner with Peter might be just what the doctor, any doctor, ordered for me right now. And what better reference than my mother?
"I would enjoy getting together with you, but I have the kids this weekend. Does the offer hold for another time?” Was suggesting another evening a dating faux pas?
"Of course, how about next Saturday. Have you been to the River Inn recently?"
My stomach churned. “My last time there wasn't a great experience."
"No problem. I'll come up with another restaurant."
We chatted for a few more minutes then hung up. The kids had given up on me and had already gone to their respective rooms hopefully to complete their homework. I loaded their plates and glasses in the dishwasher and wondered what Tom Hunter would think of me going out with Peter.
Considering our recent phone call, it probably wouldn't bother him a bit, other than concern for Peter's safety. Maybe I should drape an orange “Proceed with Caution” banner across my chest. I climbed the stairs then stopped abruptly when I reached the landing. What if something terrible happened to Peter? Maybe Bradford was right. I could be the common link.
It hadn't crossed my mind that these men were murdered because they went out with me. Honestly, who would be interested in hurting the men I was dating? I plopped down on the carpeted step as I remembered Hank's comments the previous weekend. Was his recent ardor because Nadine kicked him out? Or was he jealous of the guys I went out with.
All this detecting was driving me nuts. The thought of the father of my children committing murder was unthinkable. And the thought of him eliminating my dates in order to get me back was as likely as me dropping down to a size two.
The next morning I dressed in a navy suit, hoping Anne had re-scheduled my interview. When I arrived at the office my red voicemail light was blinking rapidly. My conservative suit would be wasted. The Human Resources department was booked solid with appointments all day. The official cut-off for interviews was today, but Anne said she would try to squeeze me in sometime Monday.
She didn't sound overjoyed with the idea of postponing the meeting but at least she didn't say no. I called her back and left another voicemail thanking her for making an exception for me. By Monday, I wouldn't have to pretend my leg was still injured, so that was one less obstacle.
I was reviewing a file when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun my chair around, practically knocking Stan off his feet. He jumped back just in time. “How's your knee feeling? Were you were able to reschedule?"
"Anne postponed it until Monday. My knee feels a lot better though. The doctor said it was just a strain so I'll be as good as new by then."
"You know, you never told me how you hurt it. Did you go out trick or treating?” He paused, “or trip or treating?” He slapped his knee and howled at his wit. It was going to be a long morning.
I peeked over the wall of the adjoining cubicle to see if Mary Lou was at her desk, but her chair was empty. I gave Stan an abbreviated version of Halloween evening and my subsequent visit to the medical office.
"So they're sure Jeremy was murdered. Can'
t I help you and Liz investigate? I haven't seen the dear girl in ages."
I pacified Stan by promising I would include him in my next snooping expedition. He wandered back to his own cube and I grabbed a file to underwrite. Immersed in my work, I started when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I swiveled slowly, a wise move, since this visitor was my boss. “Hey, Earl, what's new?"
My boss looked like he had just lost his best friend. “Laurel, how could you do this to me?” he moaned.
What did I do now? Did Dr. Radovich call and tell him I didn't really need to miss work yesterday? Or did I make a mistake that cost the bank millions of dollars?
[Back to Table of Contents]
SEVENTEEN
I responded with my usual keen insight. “Huh?"
Earl's agitated hands ruffled the few remaining strands of hair intricately placed in his comb-over. “Anne said you want to leave me. I mean, this department. I never thought you would apply for that position, even if it is a bigger salary."
"Earl, I have two growing children to feed. There isn't much opportunity for advancement here."
His mouth dropped open, reminding me to get him some Crest white strips for our Christmas gift exchange.
"No opportunity for advancement? Why I was planning on promoting you to Operations Manager.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and winked. “We'd be a great team."
A wave of nausea followed his declaration. Did my boss have designs on me that were other than professional? Time to deflect the conversation. “Earl, did you ever meet Garrett Lindstrom, a local CPA? I think he might be a member of the Rotary. Aren't you a Rotarian?"
Earl jumped back. His face bore the same expression as Ben's, whenever I caught him sneaking cookies. “He's not a friend,” he yelled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his rumpled brown suit.
What?
"So you do know him? Have you seen him recently?"
"No, and I'm not planning to.” His face darkened and he thrust his pudgy chin toward me. “Do you need more loans to underwrite?"