by Cindy Sample
Perfect. I sat down and looked around to see if I could find a man with a bald spot.
Whoa. The late afternoon sun slanting through the arched stained glass windows of the chapel cast jewel toned motes of light throughout the room. The sun glistened on the backs of the people seated in the fifteen rows in front of us. And in those rows was a sea of shimmering balding heads, ranging from small glowing bald spots to round gleaming domes.
I gasped and turned to Stan and Liz. When they saw my consternation they both convulsed with silent laughter. Shoot. We had at least sixty suspects with glow in the dark bald spots.
Liz whispered to Stan and pointed toward the front of the room. A man with salt and pepper hair. No bald spot that I could see. When he shifted to speak to the man seated next to him, I saw his profile. Brian. He must be here on behalf of the District Attorney. Brian said something to the man at his side, who nodded in response.
A big man, with thick chestnut brown hair. And broad shoulders.
I slunk down in my seat hoping Tom wouldn't turn around. The next thing I knew, Liz was waving at Brian and blowing him a kiss. He looked surprised to see her then he nudged Tom.
I couldn't make myself any smaller unless I crawled under my chair. Tom's stare burned through me. Fortunately, a tall middle-aged man, with a full head of wavy white hair, walked up to the podium and began addressing the crowd. Tom turned to face the speaker.
The service lasted well over an hour. Between the music and the glowing oratory extolling the nurturing character of Dr. Jeremy Slater, I was highly depressed. The sound of muffled weeping and sniffling almost drowned out the speakers.
How ironic that someone so health conscious should be cut down in the prime of his life. I began to feel like it was my fault Jeremy had died. I had lured him to dinner at the River Inn and it resulted in his death. The fact that he landed in the river without any help from me seemed irrelevant at this point.
Hushed sobs emanated from my right. I glanced at Stan. He too had a tissue pressed against his nose.
"What's wrong?” I whispered.
He leaned closer. “Jeremy was such a wonderful man,” he said, a tear running down his cheek. “His loss is so tragic."
I always knew Stan was compassionate but he hadn't even met the man.
The seemingly endless service finally came to an end. The gray haired man turned out to be the minister from the Methodist church that Jeremy's brother and his family attended. He announced that guests were welcome to come back to Mark Slater's house afterwards to mingle and mourn together.
Since we were seated in the back of the chapel, we waited for the rows of mourners to leave before we stood up. I held an impromptu consultation with the others to decide if we should go over to Mark Slater's house.
Stan was all for going to the reception. “I haven't had an opportunity to use my investigative prowess. Plus, there are a couple of men I want to check out,” he said with a smirk.
Mother chimed in, “I recognized several of the physicians. I'd like to make sure they have my business card. Doctors are excellent real estate prospects.” She nudged my arm. “Did you see Detective Bradford anywhere?"
"I need to talk to Brian,” Liz said. “I've barely seen him in the past two days."
Someone needed to talk to her team about priorities.
We moved into the foyer that was now filled with wall-to-wall dark suits. Even though my shoes had three-inch heels, there were bald men towering over me as well as a few at eye level. The crush of people made mingling difficult and detecting impossible.
Liz, Stan, and my mother were swallowed up in the crowd. I was ready to climb up on one of the blue brocade Louis XV chairs in the foyer to see if I could locate any of them when a hand gripped my elbow and hauled me back into the chapel.
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TWENTY
The chapel was as dark as the inside of a coffin. The hand clasping mine was too strong and I couldn't break away. Was my assailant the killer? Which bald man would it turn out to be?
No big bad baldies here. Just one angry detective.
"Tom,” I said in relief, my heart still beating like a bongo drum on speed.
"I thought I ordered you not to come,” he growled.
I yanked my hand from his and folded my arms over my chest. “Who do you think you are ordering me not to attend the memorial service of a man who was the kindest, most compassionate and intelligent man I've ever met, present company included. His loss is incredibly tragic, and the least I can do is share memories of the last moments of his life with his family."
I turned on my heel, but my dramatic exit was stymied because it was too dark to see the door. All of a sudden both doors flung open. A familiar profile appeared in a beam of light.
Hank.
My ex rushed to my side, fist raised, ready to come to my rescue. Tom glared at him then stomped out without another word.
"What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, frustrated with all of the men in my life.
"I was talking to some friends when I saw that man grab you and pull you in here.” Hank put his arm around my shoulder and drew me close. “Are you okay? Who was that guy? You know I'd do anything to keep you safe."
I took a long hard look at Hank. He seemed sincere, but an ex-husband's sincerity was questionable on the best of days. I brushed his arm away, opened the massive door and re-entered the lobby. “I didn't expect to see you here. How do you know Jeremy?"
"We ran into each other at a Sig Ep fraternity reunion last August,” he replied. “Jeremy was a year ahead of me and we didn't hang out that much during college. He wasn't much of a partier."
Spoken by the Panty Raid Prince of Sigma Phi Epsilon.
"When I found out he was practicing medicine I asked for his business card. Remember a couple of months ago when I hurt my back? I haven't had any medical insurance since our divorce, so he was willing to give me a break on his fees."
Hmmm. Did Jeremy discuss any of his financial issues with his former frat buddy? “So did you guys chat about anything other than your injury?” I asked.
"We talked about the construction business, how it's really been in the tank. I sort of hinted maybe he'd like to hire me to build him a house. He's a doctor. He must have tons of cash."
I had visions of Hank running around the frat house wearing a pair of tightie-whities over his head. Just the kind of guy I'd hire to build a custom home. “Any luck with that?"
"Nah, he wasn't interested. He did say he was having some loan issues and wondered if I could help him out. I told him that was your area of expertise. In fact I gave him your card."
Hank moved closer, mere inches from me. “So is that how the two of you ended up dating?"
I moved back, stumbling as my foot caught in the carpet. Hank caught me. He was so close I could taste the onions on his breath. Before I could respond, Liz appeared at my side. “Bugger off, Hank,” she said, with a look so scathing even my ex could get the hint. Liz had always intimidated Hank and apparently she still did. He quickly melted into the crowd.
She curled an arm around my waist. “Are you okay, luv? Did Hank say something to upset you?"
"No, but I was surprised to see him here. I didn't realize he knew Jeremy from college. Hank said he gave him my card but Jeremy didn't mention the connection when we first met."
"Jeremy probably thought you wouldn't go out with him if you knew he and Hank were acquainted,” Liz said.
"Good point. Did Brian say anything to you about us being here? Tom went ballistic. I sort of intimated he couldn't touch Jeremy when it came to intelligence and compassion.” I reached into my purse, grabbed a tissue, and blew my nose. “But he's absolutely right. We don't have any business being here."
"Bollocks. These men are all alike. Brian wasn't happy I was here either, even after I told him your theory of finding the bald headed guy. It would serve them right if we discover something."
"Absolutely,” I repli
ed, feeling somewhat mollified. “It's not like Tom's been able to discover the murderer. And look what happened when Anne in HR found out about my relationship with Jeremy. Now my career is on the line as well as my reputation."
"Let me say goodbye to my honey. I'm sure I can get him to come around to my point of view when he comes home tonight,” she said, with a lascivious wink at me. She flicked her hand through her bronzed curls and sauntered over to Brian. Even in a suit, Liz could make her curvaceous hips swing seductively. The man didn't stand a chance.
I looked around for the rest of my retinue. Stan was conversing with a thirtyish man of average height and build. I scrutinized the back of his head—good, at least one baldy was being investigated. Of course, knowing Stan, he was trying to determine which team the guy was slugging for.
Mother was chatting with a heavyset woman in a tweed suit, and a tall man with a full head of hair. As I walked up, I overheard her say, “Laurel thinks she saw the murderer. That's why we came here tonight. To see if she could recognize him."
Some detective she was turning out to be. Before the end of the evening, she would probably tell every bald man at the service that we were in the process of investigating him. Fortunately, the man she spoke to was Peter Tyler. The woman I recognized as Penny, the longtime receptionist from the Centurion office.
"Sssssh,” I hissed in Mother's ear. She looked confused so I moved closer and whispered, “You're not supposed to tell everyone what we're doing. You might tip off the murderer."
"Don't be silly, Laurel. They won't tell anyone about our detecting, will you?"
Penny's eyes sparkled as she responded. “Are you kidding? This is great stuff. I'm gonna get me a magnifying glass and a deerstalker hat and help. Big bad bald headed guys, ha ha ha.” She whacked me on the back and strode off chuckling.
Mother looked miffed as she stared at the departing receptionist. I wagered Penny wouldn't be laughing in the morning. The last thing an employee wanted to do was get on the wrong side of Barbara Bingham's desk.
Peter was busy placating my mother. “I'll keep everything you've said confidential. But don't you think this could be dangerous?"
"Trust me. If we find out anything we'll immediately share it with the police. I don't want to be a hero. I just want my life to return to normal. I'm tired of being a suspect in two murders.” “You've involved in two different murders?” Peter's eyebrows jumped a couple of inches and his voice ratcheted up to a tenor.
"Umm,” I was trying to figure out how to respond when Liz and Stan appeared, rescuing me from having to go into any further detail. Peter said goodbye without mentioning anything about dinner the following week. Did that mean our date was off? A woman suspected of two murders probably wasn't considered a social asset in the top producer circle.
The four of us climbed into the car and headed for Mark Slater's house.
"This investigating is way more difficult than I thought it would be,” Liz said. “I asked two couples what they were doing the Saturday night Jeremy was killed and they both walked away. Do you think I insulted them? Maybe I need to be a little more subtle."
"You think?” Stan mocked her. “You know, the sheriff's department may be able to use the storm trooper approach, but we civilians need to be more discreet."
"So what did you find out, Mr. Discreet?” Liz punched Stan in the shoulder.
"Hey. Watch it. I found out one of Jeremy's neighbors is gay and we're meeting for a drink tomorrow night.” Stan grinned. “His name is Barry and he's been single for a while too."
"Terrific,” Liz said. “What if he's the killer? Did he have a bald spot?"
"Practically every man attending the service was balding somewhere on his cranium, including Jeremy's brother. We need to check him out too,” Stan said. “You know, in ninety percent of murders, it's a close friend or relative."
"True,” Mother replied, “but don't forget they also say to follow the money."
"Exactly what we're going to do,” I announced. Someone had to take charge of this group. “The one thing we know for certain is that Jeremy was about to buy a house in Lake Tahoe. But he had some concerns about the purchase."
"What kind of concerns?” Stan asked.
"He never had a chance to tell me. But if anybody can squeeze information out of a bereaved mourner, you guys can."
Liz and Stan exchanged glances. Okay, as pep talks went, it kind of sucked.
"We're here,” announced Mother as she maneuvered the car into a parallel parking space. Parking skills are obviously not a genetic trait. The last time I parallel parked, I ended up on the sidewalk, less than an inch from a fire hydrant.
The Slaters’ house was located in the country club side of Serrano, an area of huge homes fronting the Robert Trent Jones designed golf course. I stopped to confirm the address, but by the time we climbed the limestone steps of the imposing French Manor style mansion, there wasn't much doubt this was the Slater residence. Lights blazed out of every gabled window.
It took all four of us to push open the massive paneled front door. As we stepped on the ivory marble floor, Mother nudged me, and pointed to the enormous chandelier hanging twenty feet over our heads, shooting out Aurora Borealis rays of light.
"Waterford."
Wow. Knowing what one Waterford crystal wine glass cost, I couldn't imagine the dollars invested in that light fixture. I bet they didn't get it at Home Depot.
We followed other dark suits into the living room, which was close to the size of my entire house. The two spotless ivory sofas flanking the fireplace would never have survived a day around my kids. The perfectly coordinated yellow and blue chairs, and matching draperies and rugs, looked like something out of Architectural Digest. I was both impressed and disappointed. Mark Slater certainly didn't need any of Jeremy's money, unless they were mortgaged to the hilt.
I glanced at some of the paintings hanging on the walls. Original works of art including some early twentieth century artists. Definitely not the thirty-nine dollar landscapes I've bought at weekend sales at the Holiday Inn.
Many of the guests seemed to be acquainted with each other, probably relatives, or friends and neighbors. A petite woman with spiked blond hair, dressed in a clingy black Lycra spandex dress more suitable for clubbing than mourning, waved at us. I didn't recognize her but Liz waved back.
"Who's that?” I asked.
"That's Tara. Don't you remember her from Jeremy's office? She's the receptionist with the acne issue."
Liz swirled her head to the left and the right. “Lots of good spa candidates here. I should have brought more business cards."
"You're going to market at a memorial service?"
My brash friend chuckled. “Hey, with my health and beauty tips, these women can live ten years longer. Didn't you hear that collagen loss is approaching epidemic proportions? They need me.” With that remark, she crossed the room and greeted Tara.
Stan noticed his new acquaintance, Barry, standing by the enormous limestone fireplace, so he wandered over to expand on their friendship. The next thing I knew, my mother was striding across the room, smiling animatedly as she joined two elderly couples.
So much for my team.
My stomach gurgled. It had been eight hours since my last meal. Even Nancy Drew didn't look for clues on an empty stomach. The best place to start was obviously wherever the food was being served.
I maneuvered through the crowd in the living room and across the entry into an equally enormous dining room. The glossy mahogany table, which could have been Sheraton or Chippendale, but definitely not Ikea, was covered from one end to the other with plates of colorful pungent food. The aromas of garlic, onion and chocolate perked up my salivary glands.
I contemplated getting two plates, to keep myself balanced, but decided it would be difficult to shake hands with potential suspects. There was only one other couple in the room. The man's bald dome was almost as bright as the highly polished table. He was in his late sixtie
s or early seventies, tall and stooped. I couldn't imagine anyone that age being able to knock Jeremy into the river. But, timing was everything. If he surprised Jeremy and pushed him just the right way, it might have worked. I would begin with them.
I sidled closer to the elderly couple and extended my right hand. “I'm Laurel McKay, a close friend of Jeremy's. Are you members of the family?"
"Oh, hello there,” the man responded, setting down his wine glass in order to shake my hand. “Yes, Jeremy is, or rather was, my nephew. I'm Henry Slater and this is my wife Bonnie.” Bonnie nodded at me with red-rimmed eyes as she stared at her plate of hors d'oeuvres.
"I'm so sorry for your loss.” I always feel inept talking to relatives of the deceased. “I will truly miss Jeremy."
Henry Slater focused his watery blue eyes on me. “How were you acquainted with my nephew, my dear?"
"We were friends, um, social acquaintances.” No point in going into more detail. I tried to think of something relevant to ask them. Interrogating required far more tactical skills than I seemed to possess.
"This is a lovely home. Mark must be very successful in his line of work.” I grabbed a piece of bruschetta and bit into it. Yum. Great caterer.
"Yes, he is.” Henry answered my implied question. “Mark is an attorney. He works with me in my law firm. In fact, the whole family consists of lawyers, with the exception of Jeremy. I guess you could call him an ambulance receiver, not an ambulance chaser, as my profession is often derided."
All attorneys. So money probably wouldn't be a motive among this family. Not unless someone was a really lousy lawyer.
"I wonder who the beneficiaries are in Jeremy's will,” I said, as I crunched on the bruschetta. Unfortunately my mouth and brain were not working in tandem. Henry seemed taken aback by my lack of tact and stepped away from me.