Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  TUESDAY • JULY 23

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news: Chad’s still alive. The bad news: Chad’s still alive. I got the scoop when I finally worked up the courage to call Heather at the bookstore today. The fact that she answered the phone confirmed that Chad’s still in the land of the living.

  “How’re you doing, Heather?”

  “Oh, kinda tired. My feet and hands are super swollen. Even my face. And what’s really weird is I have morning sickness again, all the time. I thought I was done with that after the first trimester.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you should be working. Can you go home?”

  “I wish. But no. Chad left for Las Vegas super early this morning to play in a golf tournament with some old college friends. I’ve known about the trip for a while, just didn’t know I’d be feeling like this.” She paused to holler, “I’ll be right there!” and then came back on the line. “You know when you were in here looking for him on Sunday? Well, it turns out the old guy he left with was his golf teacher, and according to Chad, he needed to work on his chipping and putting. Just wish he’d told me, ’cause I got super worried. Sometimes Chaddie can be such a scatterbrain.”

  This afternoon, I went to the printers, picked up the Clunker job, and headed to the dealership. I pulled into the lot and parked as close to the office as possible.

  I was hauling the boxes from the back of my car, when another pair of hands reached in. “Let me help you with that.”

  I turned and fell into the big brown eyes of Mr. Chuckles-Matthew. Without clown makeup, he was drop-dead-divine. Maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. Tall, olive-skinned, dark, wavy hair, curly ends brushing his collar.

  “Matthew?”

  “I’m surprised you recognize me without my clown wig.”

  “Your voice.” And your smile. And your big brown eyes.

  He grinned, probably reading my mind. “Where are these boxes going?”

  “I’m delivering them to Uncle Charlie.”

  “Then follow me.”

  I followed Matthew to Uncle Charlie’s office. He could have stepped into oncoming traffic, and I probably would have followed.

  Uncle Charlie’s secretary stopped us before Matthew opened his door. “Don’t go in there. He’s in a meeting.” June flashed a “yikes” face and said, “IRS.”

  Uncle Charlie’s angry voice boomed through the glass door. “What do you mean, penalties and interest? You can’t squeeze blood out of a stone, you know. The economy is killing us.”

  “Where can I set these boxes, June?” asked Matthew, glancing around.

  “Put them in the corner behind my desk. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

  Rats. I really wanted to give him the job. And bask in his praise. “May I leave my bill with you, June?”

  “Yes,” she said, taking it. “I’ll give it to accounting and they’ll send you a check.”

  Matthew cleared his throat, looking shy, sexy, and sweet. “Want to get a coffee?”

  OMG. A coffee date—the gateway date to a dinner date. “Sure.”

  He led me to the lobby to one of those big chrome coffeemakers that you can rent for parties. Not exactly the coffee date I’d envisioned.

  He filled a Styrofoam cup with the steamy, pale liquid, handed it to me, and poured another for himself. I dosed mine with sugar and powdered creamer and then we sat at a sticky table beside a sunny window.

  Sipping my scalding, atrocious coffee-wannabe, I peeked at him over the Styrofoam rim. The bright light forced me to reassess my earlier age guess. Maybe more like twenty-two or twenty-three. But so darn cute, I wanted to pinch his two-day stubbled cheeks. Oh well. Too young for me. Rats.

  “So. Katy. I see you still have your Volvo.”

  “Yup. You told me to keep her. Remember?”

  “Yeah.” He chipped off a piece of Styrofoam and twiddled it between his fingers.

  I watched his fingers, thinking salacious thoughts about what else they could be twiddling. Get a grip, McKenna. He’s a child and you can’t have him. “Do you work here full time?”

  “Part time. Finishing my education.”

  “What are you studying?” I felt like I was conducting a job interview.

  “Marine biology.”

  “This is certainly a good area to do that. With the ocean a few minutes away, and, you know, all of its…” His damned fingers were still twiddling. “…biology.”

  Matthew stretched out his long jean-clad legs, and I became fixated on the dark hairs on his tanned ankles. I decided that if he asked me out, I would say yes and to heck with the age difference. Ruby keeps telling me I need to get laid, so lay it on me, baby!

  Matthew pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen.

  Oh puh-leeze. Am I really that boring? Forget you, buddy.

  “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Just checking the time. I have to put on my clown makeup and get to work.”

  Forgiven. I stood, still clutching the vile liquid. “Then I better get going. Thanks for helping with the boxes and…” I waved the cup. “…the coffee.”

  He laughed. “If you can call it that.”

  I returned the laugh and picked up my purse, ready to exit but not rushing it. Waiting, waiting…

  “Can I have your phone number?”

  Yes! Imaginary fist-pump. “Sure.” I acted all cool as he gave me his phone. I added my number to his contacts and handed it back.

  “Okay if I text you later?” he asked.

  I shrugged a whatever. “Sure.”

  He beamed. “Great. See you.”

  I nonchalantly strolled toward the door, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder to see if he were watching. But that would have demolished my cool vibe, and if truth be told, I knew I’d be disappointed if he weren’t watching.

  Back in my car, I barely noticed the scorching leather seat as I headed to the closest Starbucks. A few minutes later, I was sitting on the patio, sipping a light mocha Frappuccino, extra whip, and reflecting on my possible upcoming date.

  Halfway through my drink, my phone chirped a text from Matthew asking me to go to Farmer’s Market on Thursday night. Santa Lucia’s Farmer’s Market is a sprawling affair, covering the main street downtown for several blocks. Lots of food vendors, crafts, veggies, and musicians. The perfect first date.

  I let him wait a few minutes. Didn’t want him to think I’d been staring at the phone, willing it to ring like a high school girl. Instead I texted Samantha. Guess what? I have a date! 4 reals!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  THURSDAY • JULY 25

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Part One

  I had lunch today with Samantha at Suzy Q’s. She’s always late and I’m always early. I was seated by the front window when she slid into the seat opposite me.

  “I’m all yours for an hour and a half, then I have to pick up Casey at preschool, take Chelsea to soccer practice, and run to the store.”

  A waitress stopped at our table and asked if we were ready to order.

  “I’m going to have the kale salad and a side of garlic truffle fries with aioli,” I said. “And I’m fine with just water.”

  “I haven’t had time to look at the menu yet,” said Sam. “But I’ll have the kale salad too. And iced tea.” She looked at me. “Wanna share your fries?”

  Not really. “Okay.”

  The girl gathered our menus. “I’ll bring an extra side of aioli.”

  Yeah, and an extra side of fries.

  “I have some bad news,” said Sam. “On my way over, I stopped by the hospital to get the Crazy, Stupid, Love DVD out of my locker that Chloe loaned me and found out that Heather’s in the hospital.”

  “Did she go into labor? She still has a couple of months to go, you know.”

  “No. She has ges
tational hypertension.”

  “What’s that?”

  “High blood pressure. It’s a serious problem, Katy. It could lead to preeclampsia, then possibly eclampsia and then she and the babies are in big trouble.”

  I pulled my phone from my purse and googled preeclampsia. “Oh my God. Heather and the babies could die.”

  “If it goes into eclampsia the babies will have to be delivered, or she could stroke out or bleed out. They all could die.”

  “That’s awful. How long will she be in the hospital?

  “Her doctor needs to get her blood pressure stabilized, then she can go home.”

  “Will she need to stay in bed?”

  “No, that used to be the recommended therapy but that can lead to blood clots. But she does need to stop working and take it real easy. The goal is to go full term, especially with triplets. Problems like this aren’t uncommon with multiple births.”

  I shook my head. “And Chad’s out of town. Can I call her?”

  “Maybe later. I would think that Chad’s on his way home.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  FRIDAY • JULY 26

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Thursday, July 25

  Part Two

  Matthew and I had made plans to meet downtown at 5:45, an easy walk from my house in the railroad district.

  I did my usual what-to-wear panic, and let me tell you, dating someone a few years younger (okay, several years younger) adds another layer of pressure. I wanted to look younger, sexy, and edgy. A combination of all three probably wasn’t going to happen.

  No sexy shoes because I was walking and nothing looks unsexier than a woman trying to walk with aching feet. No tight jeans because I like breathing and eating. And I do not own anything that I would consider edgy.

  So that left cleavage. I don’t have any of that either, but I have an amazing pushup bra that will give anyone (according to the online reviews, it’s the number one choice of transvestites) cleavage, so I put that on and topped it with a silky scoop-neck coral tunic.

  I clipped my hair up in a loose mess and added a fresh layer of makeup and a pair of sparkly, long earrings. During my metamorphosis, my personal beauty consultant, Madame Daisy, sat on the bathroom carpet watching the magic happen, her tail banging the floor with approval.

  At the front entry, I adjusted my ginormous décolletage in the mirror and then broke Daisy’s heart by telling her she couldn’t go on my date.

  She gave me her super sad look, so I turned on Animal Planet. “Look, sweetie, your favorite show. Celebrity Dog Swap.”

  When I was half a block from our meet-up location, I saw Matthew chatting with some skateboarders dressed in beanies and hoodies. He looked sexy in dark jeans and a button-down. He waved when he saw me, and the kids skated off.

  “Hey. You look incredible.” His eyes slid to my big boobies. “I like your hair.”

  “Yours looks good too.” I wanted to reach out and comb my fingers through it. “Are those kids friends of yours?” Please say no.

  He laughed as if to say, “as if,” then pulled out his phone. “Let’s do a selfie.” I wanted a photo to show Sam, so I held up my phone too and we grinned for a double selfie. I sent mine to Sam so she could drool with envy.

  Matthew took my hand and we strolled down the street, stopping to listen to a reggae band. Swaying to the music, all I could think about was my hand cradled in his. At the puppet show, he threw his arm around my shoulders and my knees went rubber.

  “Why don’t we go sit down over there?” I panted, pointing at a group of tables in front of a yogurt shop.

  Matthew led me over and pulled out a chair for me. “Would you like a yogurt?”

  “No, thanks. A water would be good though.”

  While he was inside the shop, I noticed the skaters across the street about three doors down, flipping their boards and goofing around, surreptitiously glancing in my direction.

  My phone chirped a text from Sam. OMG, he’s hot!! Have fun!!

  “Here you go.” Matt gallantly opened my water and set it on the table.

  “Thank you. Got a little headache.” Actually, I had killer cramps, which is so typical. Haven’t had a date in eons, so of course…

  I slapped my overpacked mini cross-body bag on the table, unzipped it, and several super-duper tampons exploded across the table. I snatched them up, found the ibuprofen, and jammed the tampons back into the purse.

  “You missed this one.” Oblivious to my mortification, he handed me a tampon that had landed in the gutter. “Wanna get something to eat?”

  Anything to move this date forward to the next scene. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Pasta?”

  “I love pasta. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

  “I’ve never been to Bada Bing, but it’s my parents’ favorite restaurant.”

  “It’s good.” The food’s not that good, more like just okay, but the ambiance is cozy and romantic.

  The hostess seated us outside under the grapevine-covered arbor. An elderly man was doddering around the tables, badly playing an accordion. After the busboy poured waters and handed us gigantic menus, the waiter appeared. “Buonasera. My name is Lorenzo. Would you like to see the wine list?”

  “Sure,” said Matthew with a big grin.

  Lorenzo placed the bulky wine binder in front of my date. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

  Matthew flipped a page or two, then handed it to me. “You pick.”

  “Do you want a bottle or a glass?”

  “Let’s share a bottle.”

  “Red or white?”

  “I’m good with either, so you pick.”

  I have always assumed that when asked out on a first date, the asker pays, but maybe the rules have changed since I’ve been out of circulation. A part-time used car salesmen/college student can’t be making much, so although I saw several local wines I love, I decided to go with the cheapest deal—a carafe of the house red. I figured a decent restaurant would have a decent house wine.

  I went the same route with my dinner order. “I’ll have the half order of fettuccine Alfredo.”

  Lorenzo nodded. “We have a bellissimo carrot bisque this evening.” He kissed his fingers to accentuate bellissimo. “Topped with crème fraiche and a drizzle of truffle oil.”

  Ooo. I love carrot bisque. “No, thanks.”

  He cocked a bushy black eyebrow and tried again. “Perhaps the lady would care for a salad to start?”

  “No, thank you. Not really that hungry.” I was ravenous.

  He gave up and turned to my date. “And you, sir? What would you like?”

  “I’ll have the lobster and a Caesar salad.”

  Lobster? Are you kidding? I ordered the cheapest wine and a half-order of cheesy noodles.

  “Will that be the twenty-four ounce or the forty-eight ounce, sir?”

  “The forty-eight ounce.”

  Forty-eight ounce? Seriously? I glanced down at the menu for the price. Crap! Market price. He must be loaded. Is it too late to change my order, or would that be tacky?

  “Very good, sir. Do you care for an appetizer?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a shrimp cocktail.”

  Of course, he wants a damned appetizer.

  “Very good, sir.” The waiter snapped me a chilly smile, then plucked the menus from our hands. “The busboy will bring your carafe of house wine.”

  Lobster, Caesar salad, and a shrimp cocktail? I grabbed a crunchy breadstick and chomped on it. I was going to eat every damned breadstick in the restaurant.

  The aging accordionist now stood by our table playing that super-romantic Titanic song, “My Heart Will Go On.” He made up for his lack of talent with volume and a lot of winks at me.

  “Wow, this place is really fancy, huh, Katy?” shouted Matthew. “No wonder my mom and dad like it so much.”

&nbs
p; The fuzzy-cheeked busboy filled our wineglasses and set the carafe on the table. I was about to sample mine when he asked for our IDs.

  “Seriously?” I said. “You want to see my ID?”

  “The rule is, if you look under thirty, we have to see your ID.”

  He thinks I look under thirty! I opened my purse on my lap under the table to avoid another tampon stampede and extracted my license. “Here you go.” I flashed him a flirty smile while he glanced back and forth between me and the photo on my license, taken in my early twenties. He scrunched his brows, squinting at me.

  “Yeah. It’s me,” I snapped. “My hair was a different style then.”

  “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He handed it back and turned to my date.

  He called me ma’am? How rude! “Your turn, Matthew,” I said, tasting my rotgut burgundy.

  “Uhh, this is a little embarrassing, bro, but I lost my wallet the other day. But she can vouch for me.”

  I try not to overuse the word “awkward,” but it’s the perfect word for moments like this. I had no idea what Matthew’s exact age was, but I did know that I’d tried the old “I lost my wallet” gambit plenty of times when I was underage. It had never worked.

  “Sir, I have to see a valid ID. Your moth…” He caught my freaked-out expression and continued. “…friend can’t vouch for you.”

  “Dude. Come on. I’m twenty…” He glanced at me. “…five. This is ridiculous.”

  Fuzzy-Cheeks said, “If the Alcohol and Beverage Control people come in here and see you drinking, they’ll ask for your ID, and if you don’t have it, I’ll lose my job and get a big fine. For all I know, this could be a sting.”

  Matthew gave him a pleading look, his tone sliding into whiny, “Oh come on, dude. Give a bro a break.”

  “Sorry, bro. Your food should be out soon.” He picked up Matthew’s wineglass and left.