Steve Demaree - Dekker 09 - Murder on a Blind Date

by Steve Demaree

  "I do. That's why I called you. I want you find out everything you can about everyone involved. The owners and those who have used the service. And if you can, find out if the two dead men sent back green cards, yellow cards, or red cards, just in case both of them sent the same color card back. I want to have all the cards I can have in my favor. Do you have any idea how long it will take you to get copies of these applications? If I have a murder suspect, I might want to copy her answers verbatim. Well, whenever it applies."

  "Cy, slow down. I mean go ahead, but just do something close to who you are the first time. Just use a fake name, address, and profession. But remember to use an address where you can have mail delivered. Otherwise it won't do you any good to send it off."

  "What do you think about using the police station? Do you think anybody will bother to check?"

  "I was thinking that you might use the address of one of our mortuaries, but alert them that you might get mail there."

  +++

  I hung up, not sure how to proceed. I went back to the two clues I was given. Floyd Kramer made sense, but it didn't tell me who the murderer was. Just that there was probably a connection. But I had no idea what the weather had to do with someone's date. It was January. Almost February. Did it mean to look for someone who cancelled a date because of the weather, or someone who didn't?

  12

  I ambled over to the computer, found the application, and reached down and hit "Print." It was time to fish or cut bait. I took it out of the printer, studied it, then sat down to fill it out.

  I sat there, like I was ready to write a novel, and I needed the perfect name for my main character. I thought of a few and wrote them down. Then one by one I crossed them off until I had the right name for the first guy I was going to be. Actually, I didn't know if the name went with the character or not. If not, I doubted that I would have a best-selling novel.

  Next, I thought of an address I could use. It wasn't as if I had a Monopoly board full of empty rental property. Coming up with the right address was tougher than giving my character a name. Then, I came to the boxes under Sex. I smiled as I thought of the guy who marked F rather than M, because Friday fit into his schedule better than Monday. Quickly, I marked M and moved on.

  I had come to the fun part. Occupation and hobbies. At first I thought of making my guy the night watchman at a laundromat, but then opted for an occupation more ridiculous. I was beginning to think my date wouldn't be the CEO of some large company. I gave the character I would be playing hobbies, too. I remembered that one time someone mentioned Ed Wood, so one of the hobbies of the guy I was to be was watching Ed Wood and other unappreciated movies. And hanging out in locally-owned used bookstores to smell the books. I gave him a couple of other hobbies, so that I could spread a larger net, then quit and figured out I would capture a different type of woman with my next persona. If it turned out that I excelled at characterizations, I might think of becoming an actor at a dinner theater.

  I moved on to the next part, which was Dates That Will Not Work For You. I refrained from writing "Women who chew tobacco and spit in public," "Women with buck teeth," and "Women who are fifty pounds overweight who don't cover up their middle," and instead put "None." I was smart enough to realize they wanted to know any days of the week that I wouldn't or couldn't date. I wanted to get this over with, so I left open all the days of the week and finished the application. I stuck a one hundred dollar bill inside, even though I knew that I shouldn't send money through the mail, but figured they might be suspicious if the name and address on the check was different from what was on the application. Once I had finished I folded the application and put it in an envelope. I was curious as to what kind of woman they would send to me. I was also nervous. I thought of Sam's idea of having back-up, but figured I was safe at The Cheesecake Factory. Maybe I could get a parking place close to the entrance.

  I drove to the post office to mail my application, then called Lou to tell him that I had gone through with it. He promised me he would lie and say good things about me at my funeral. I told him I was sending a second application with his name, address, and phone number. He wasn't sure if I would or not, so he backed off.

  Five days later I received an envelope in the mail from Just For You Dating Service. I tore open the envelope and saw that my first encounter would be with a woman named Bambi and that we were to meet the following Friday at 7:30. The name Bambi conjured up thoughts, none of them about a deer. I wondered if they were pairing Fake Cy up with a young, exotic dancer. They envelope contained the three color cards, but evidently I would have to buy my own carnation.

  A few days later I called Sam to find out anything else he could tell me about the dating service, and if he had any information about a woman named Bambi. He laughed when he found out I was serious. He called back later to let me know that the only thing he had so far was her last name, which wasn't Deere, and that she had recently had chicken pox and had to miss a week of school. I was sure he was lying about that part. He embellished too much when he threw in that her dad was itching to try out his new shotgun, and that Bambi was excited about getting her first pair of shoes to wear on the date.

  I looked at the calendar. It was Groundhog Day, and the sun was peeking through the clouds. I wondered if that meant if the murderer saw his or her shadow that we would have six more weeks of murder. I shook my head enough that I hoped it woke up my brain. It was time to concentrate on the matter at hand.

  I focused in on my Friday night encounter. Just in case Bambi and I arrived at the same time, I wanted to be in character. I called George Michaelson to see if he knew anyone who had an old truck that I could borrow, one that would make it to Lexington and back. He told me he would get back to me. I should have been suspicious when George didn't ask any questions. And he came through for me. Friday came. I called Jennifer late that afternoon to get her to pray for me, but she didn't answer her phone. George told me where I could pick up the truck, and I found the place, way out in the country, outside of Hilldale. Way outside of Hilldale. I was told to leave my van there in case the guy needed to go somewhere. He thought he would be home all night because he wasn't wrestling anywhere that night, but one never knows when an emergency might arise. I couldn't drive two vehicles, and I wasn't about to take anyone with me, so I left my van there and hoped a tree didn't fall on it.

  I headed for Lexington. It wasn't until I arrived and parked near a light in the parking lot on the edge of Fayette Mall that I noticed how pretty the rust color of the guy's truck looked in the light. Well, at least the truck had started on the first try, but I wish I had told George that I wanted a truck with shock absorbers. I promised myself that I would take the hills at a slower pace on the way home. Unless Bambi was chasing me.

  I got out of the truck, cringed at the sound the door made when it opened and closed. I looked around, but saw no one looking my way. I looked down at the boots I had bought for the occasion. I didn't plan to have a second chance to wear them. If I go to Texas, they will just have to know I'm from somewhere else. I wrapped my heavy coat around me as tight as I could. I didn't want the wind to get any closer to me than the woman I was about to meet.

  I tried to be inconspicuous as I walked the four miles to the front door of The Cheesecake Factory, but I refrained from crouching and darting from car to car. I knew the mall had a security force that might check out suspicious-looking characters.

  I stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of my destination and took the shortest distance between two points. I walked in the door and looked around. There she was. She looked at me and grinned. Bambi. Bambi Fontaine, only I wasn't supposed to know that her last name was Fontaine. She was my first "date" and Sam was still gathering information about her. I knew only her last name, and had no idea if she had dated either of the dead men.

  She sat there, still grinning. The buttons on her pale yellow dress with a gray, black, and white geometrical design were working overtime. Either her dress
didn't grow when she had, or she liked her dresses two sizes too small. Also, about two feet too short. It wasn't a miniskirt but she needed a dress that came down to her ankles. Maybe she wanted me to know that she had shaved her legs for the occasion. She wasn't the size of someone who should be afraid of a person carrying a harpoon, the way I used to be, but she did need to meet Jenny Craig. She wore hose of a dark brown color, and black shoes with thick heels. I looked around. She seemed to be the only woman there wearing a dress on a cold January night. From across the room I could tell that she, and not God, had chosen her hair color. It was closer to Goldenrod than Platinum. I automatically wiped her off my suspect list. She didn't look dumb, but she didn't look smart enough to kill somebody. But then sometimes those are the ones who murder people. She didn't look like a woman who had dated a lot, even at three for one hundred dollars. I figured the only men who didn't have their red cards out when they first saw her were ones missing most of their teeth. I hoped I wasn't her last chance. She seemed nice enough. She continued to grin as I walked over. On the way over to introduce myself I wondered why in the world I let Heather talk me into doing something like this. I almost stumbled when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lou, Thelma Lou, and Jennifer, waiting for a table. Jennifer looked at me and breathed a sigh of relief. I could tell she wasn't worried about this one as a murderer or someone who would take me away from her the way Calgon Bath Oil Beads might. Not that I would ever use bath oil beads.

  I guess you're Edgar," she said, in a voice that was very much what I expected.

  I was so nervous I almost corrected her, and then I remembered that the name I put on the application was Edgar Norman.

  I tried my best to act the part of the guy I was pretending to be.

  "Yep. That's me. You come here often?"

  "Nope. This is only my second time."

  I felt relieved. She had at least one more shot at finding happiness.

  "I've been waiting a few minutes, so they ought to have our table ready soon."

  I wasn't thinking I was any better than she was, but I didn't want to run into anyone else I knew. So, the less time I spent in that place with her the better. I would try to think of a way to get even with Lou and Jennifer some other time.

  Neither of us knew what to say. Goodbye didn't seem appropriate, so I stayed quiet, and tried not to look at those three smiling people sitting across the way. Five minutes later God intervened and they called us to our table. I was hoping it was a table way back in a dark corner, far away from any other tables, maybe out near the dumpster, but with heat. A minute later, after she sat down and made an effort to pull down her dress that was several inches too short, I too took a seat, then looked up and realized that I must have done something to ruffle God's feathers. There, in a booth, just across the way, sat George and his wife, and Frank Harris, our medical examiner, and his wife. Frank almost had to go to work, because they were working on their appetizer and George was chewing when he looked up and saw me with my date. I looked around, figuring the whole department was there somewhere, but I didn't recognize anyone else I knew. I made a mental note to stay away from everyone I had worked with for at least six months, but I doubted if any of them would forget that night so quickly. I turned and tried to focus on Bambi, and her bright red lipstick that was popular when I was a child.

  13

  "I'm nervous," I said. "I can't remember what we're allowed to talk about and what we're not."

  "If I remember right from last time, we can talk about everything except our last name, our phone number, and where we live. That guy last time lied to me. He said he liked Ed Wood movies, but he hadn't even seen Plan 9 From Outer Space in five years."

  I was glad I honed up on her interests, and that I'd found two of those awful movies to watch.

  "Really?" I replied. "I love that scene in the cemetery."

  "Speaking of cemeteries, are you really a grave digger?"

  "Yep. Dig most of them at night. It's easier then. No one around."

  "You ain't afraid of no ghosts?"

  "Nope. I'm always through before midnight. They don't usually come out until then."

  "Well, no wonder you like Ed Wood movies," she said as she moved on to the next one.

  After she started talking about Jail Bait, I decided to change the subject. That wasn't the other Wood movie I had found.

  "I understand you like calamari."

  "Yep. It's good with ketchup. Crunchy and all that. Kind of tastes like you might think an octopus would taste."

  I was running out of subjects that might make me lose my appetite, so I changed the subject again.

  "You like the food here?"

  "It was good last time. Especially those two pieces of cheesecake, and that other stuff wasn't bad, either."

  "What did you have last time?"

  "I can't remember. That was a couple of weeks ago. But it sure was good. A lot better than that liar they fixed me up with."

  I wanted to pull out my badge and tell her that I didn't really make extra money from tractor pulls, but I decided to wait it out. Luckily, a few seconds later, my best friend, our server, showed up. I figured I could keep the menu in front of me for a while, which would mean I wouldn't have to make conversation, and I could hide somewhat from Frank and George. I had already realized that they would eat slowly and make sure they left just after I did.

  Silence was fine as long as we held menus between us, but eventually our server came and took our order, and I couldn't keep sitting there doing my Harpo Marx imitation, so I reopened the conversation. I asked her what kind of work she did and she told me she managed a trailer park down in Jessamine County. She figured she could tell me that much, since there are several trailer parks in Jessamine County. I asked her what she did all day and she told me that she watched Drew and Ellen and some other things, and part of the time she got on Facebook and YouTube. I wasn't sure who Drew and Ellen were. They could have been a couple of her neighbors, or somebody on TV. The only TV I watched were classic comedy shows and movies. I didn't remember a Drew or an Ellen in any of them, but they could have done the shows I watch before they became famous.

  Our server came back with something or other. I can't remember if it was bread, salad, or an appetizer, but whatever it was, I welcomed it. I filled my mouth and let her do the talking. Eventually our entrees arrived. I ordered shepherd's pie and it was delicious. She ordered some kind of chicken dish with rice. I told her it looked good. She offered me some, but she seemed relieved when I turned it down. I wasn't sure if she planned to eat all of it, plus another couple of pieces of cheesecake, or if she would save it for the next night, to justify spending one hundred dollars on a date, plus the price of her meal.

  Even someone who doesn't realize that dessert is the best course of a meal would realize that if they went to a place called The Cheesecake Factory. At a place like that you don't leave before eating dessert. She ate only one piece of cheesecake, but chose two more to take home.

  She turned to me and said, "Some people go to certain restaurants and hope to sample each kind of beer they have. I plan to come here as often as possible, until I've tried all the different kinds of cheesecake. I might try them other desserts, too. Of course all of that cost right smart."

  I didn't have an answer for that, so I kept my mouth shut. At least we didn't have to meet at one of those other kinds of restaurants where I would have to sit and watch her guzzle down six different kinds of beer.

  She took a piece of paper from her purse, unfolded it, and checked off three of the items. I could see that it was her cheesecake list. I wondered if she had the other desserts listed, too. It was almost enough to make me reconsider the card I would send back. The old Cy would have sent nothing worse than a yellow card, and might have sent a green card. The cheesecake she ate that night was some type of chocolate cheesecake. The two she ordered to take home were a raspberry one, and key lime. I ordered the turtle cheesecake, with hot fudge sauce to pour
over the top. I had managed to eat only half of my entree, and was pretty sure that I wouldn't be able to eat all of my cheesecake, but I did order a second piece to take home with me. There was no way I planned to get two cheesecakes to go. Just in case she was the murderer and didn't look the part, I didn't want to give her an additional motive. As I sat there counting the hours, I hoped Sam came up with more information for me on the other women in the area before I filled out an application with a different name and hobbies, for my second date.

  +++

  As I sat there, I was sure that the clock had struck midnight. The woman across from me had aged during the hours I sat across from her. And I wanted to get out of there before she ordered another entree, even though I saw no problem with her appetite. I had been there, done that.

  Finally the earth and the stars aligned and I realized that she had eaten all she was going to eat. For the last twenty minutes I sat there and thought of an excuse where I could leave first. My reason didn't have anything to do with her. It had to do with the people I knew in that place.

  "I know we're not supposed to leave together. Would you mind if I left first? I don't live near here and I'm afraid to leave so late, afraid I might fall asleep on the way home."

  I could tell she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth, and she wasn't quite sure. But she had no choice but to release me. I was thankful I didn't have to kiss those bright red lips goodbye, but I was more hoping that I could get away first and without George and Frank seeing me leave. I wasn't sure where Lou, Thelma Lou, and Jennifer were. They must have been seated in a different part of the restaurant. I wasn't able to leave undetected, but at least neither George nor Frank followed me as I left the restaurant.

  I walked back out into the cold and tried to remember where I had parked. I remembered that I had walked a long way. I headed off in the general direction where I thought I had parked, looking for my van. And then my uncomfortable boots reminded me that I had some wrestler's truck. I tried to remember what color it was other than rust, then I remembered it was a faded gray. Finally, I found it, reached for my keys, and realized that I needed his key instead. A key that I needed to insert in the lock and turn. I didn't look forward to driving out of my way, out in the country, late at night, to this guy's house, but I wanted my van back. I was afraid that if I kept the truck overnight the wrestler might think I wanted to swap and would sell my van. I wondered what this guy would have thought of Bambi. Maybe she has a rust-color truck, too.