A First Date with Death

by Diana Orgain

  I grumbled and sipped my bourbon. I agreed with Dad. “Right now, I’d rather give Edward an opportunity to pay off his school bills than pick Paul at the end.”

  “And anyway,” Dad said, “just because the doctor needs the money doesn’t mean he came on the show to get it.”

  “It seems pretty likely, though,” I argued.

  The medical school bills plus a little pharmaceutical habit. That seemed enough for me not to select him in the end. Only I wouldn’t tell Dad about the pills—that would freak him out and bring on another lecture.

  Dad swirled the bourbon in his glass. “And just because Scott may have lied about being married doesn’t mean he isn’t looking for love.”

  I buried my head in my hands. “Are you helping, Dad?”

  He laughed. “Well, honey, I’m considering all the angles. You know, you can’t hurry the crop.”

  “I don’t need pithy quotes from The Farmers’ Almanac right now, Dad.”

  He chuckled. “Everyone needs pithy quotes at all times.”

  “What I need is an Internet connection, that’s what I need. I’ll do my own research. You have your phone on you?” I asked.

  Dad handed me his cell phone. I looked at it and laughed. “A flip phone? Really, Dad? I need Internet access!”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t needed to upgrade. They keep asking, believe me, but what the heck do I need Internet access on the farm for?”

  “E-mail, texts—”

  “I can text!” he said defensively.

  I waved my hand around. “Never mind, I know that. I know I’m not going to convert you into High-Tech Man right now. Your Luddite ways are safe for the moment. Does the hotel have a business center?”

  Dad laughed. “Are you seriously calling this place a hotel? It’s at best a motel and, no, of course it doesn’t have a business center.”

  I looked around the room. There were Internet cables on the desk to connect a laptop, but I didn’t have a smartphone, much less a laptop. I rubbed my temples and moaned, willing my mind to connect the dots somehow.

  “I can’t believe I’m so trapped like this,” I said.

  Dad patted my back. “Come on, peaches. We’re never trapped. We can think of something.”

  “The library?” I asked hopefully.

  He nodded. “Sure, where’s that?”

  The idea hit me then, that not only were we stranded without a car, we didn’t have access to Google or MapQuest to look up where the library was.

  “How am I supposed to know? We don’t even have—”

  Dad opened the desk drawer and pulled out a brochure on Carmel. “Peaches, we do it old-school. What’s the matter with you? Internet access doesn’t replace your brain, does it?”

  “Right. You’re right,” I said, suddenly cheered up. I was with Dad—he could pretty much figure out any town.

  We rifled through the Carmel brochure; there was a map of the downtown area in the centerfold. Dad opened the map across the small desk and traced a finger along the yellow row of restaurants, cafés, and tourist attractions. He immediately found the main street of Carmel-by-the-Sea.

  “Let’s see,” Dad said. “These old towns all have the main library near the courthouse . . .”

  Bingo.

  Next to the courthouse was a building labeled LIBRARY. A small code beside it said A6, corresponding to a legend on the other side of the map. We flipped it over; the hours for the library were listed: daily, ten A.M. to six P.M. I glanced at my watch. It was just past eight P.M.

  “Argh!” I screamed and flopped onto the bed.

  He watched me with amusement. “Are you going to have a temper tantrum now, peaches?”

  “Isn’t it just my luck that the library would be closed right now?”

  He shrugged, one shoulder going higher than the other. “We need a plan B. That’s all.”

  I sat up. “What’s our plan B?” His phone rang in my hand and I glanced down at the caller ID. “Ick. Broom-Hilda.”

  Dad pulled the phone away from me; he wiggled his eyebrows and smiled as if to say, Watch this.

  “Yel-low?”

  I snickered into a pillow.

  “Well, sure, Cheryl. I’m free right now.”

  Alarm coursed through me. “Dad! You can’t leave me! We need a plan B!”

  “Ten minutes? Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Plan B!” I hissed.

  He winked at me and ignored my frustration. “Sure thing, see you in a few.” He hung up and looked at me. “How’d I do?”

  “How did you do with what? You’re abandoning me!”

  “No, no. Don’t look at it like that. See it as an opportunity.”

  “Opportunity for what?” I asked.

  “Maybe you can borrow her phone, with the Internet access and all that stuff that you need.”

  “Please! It’s against the rules for me to use the Internet. I’m not supposed to research these guys! She’s never going to lend me her phone.”

  “I didn’t say she’d have to know about it.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “And just how am I supposed to borrow her phone without her knowing about it?”

  He sipped his bourbon, then waved a hand in defeat. “I don’t know, peaches. You’re the one with all the bright ideas.”

  A moment of silence passed between us.

  I cleared my throat. “What restaurant are you going to?”

  “Place called the Vaca Loca on San Carlos Street.”

  “How far is that from here?” I asked.

  He glanced down at the map. “About three blocks.”

  “Am I supposed to follow you guys there and steal her phone?”

  He thought for a moment, scratching his chin. “Hm, okay, let’s go down to the lobby and see if there is somewhere we can do a handoff.” He moved toward the door.

  “A handoff? Are you going to steal the phone from her?”

  He stopped and glanced in the mirror on the back side of the door. He smoothed down the right side of his hair. “I’m going to try.”

  “My dad, the pickpocket. I’m so proud.”

  He smiled. “Please don’t judge me.”

  I pulled open the door to the room. “Stop checking yourself out in the mirror; you look fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “All right. Handsome, smashing. She’s lucky to be in your company.”

  We laughed as he closed the door behind us. We walked down the red-carpeted corridor toward the elevators. He handed me a key card for his room. “Here, they gave me two cards when I checked in. You have to leave the phone on the desk when you’re done with it. Be out of the room by ten.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going back to your room after dinner?”

  He pushed the button for the elevator. “I might be able to entice her into a nightcap, but either way I guarantee she will be interested in getting her phone back.”

  The elevator doors opened. There were two businessmen in suits with severe expressions. We stepped into the elevator and the doors whooshed closed. We fell into the awkward silence of elevator rides and listened only to the pings of the floor numbers lighting up as we descended.

  When the elevator doors opened, Dad and I stepped out together, followed by the businessmen. We let them pass us in silence. As soon as we were alone, we surveyed the lobby. There was a huge potted plant near the elevator doors, the front desk, and two benches on either wall.

  “You can always hide behind the potted palm tree,” Dad joked.

  “I don’t do a good impersonation of Lucy Ricardo.”

  Dad snickered. “You do it better than you think.”

  I whacked his arm. “Will you be serious? I need to figure things out.”

  He looked appropriately chastened. “Right. Serious biz. Show biz.”

  “Not the show biz. I don’t care about that.”

  Dad leveled a look at me.

  “Okay, okay. I care about that.” I wan
ted to research Scott a bit more but I had bigger fish to fry. “I have to figure out where Teresa was on the night Aaron died.”

  The clerk working the front desk asked, “Can I help you folks?”

  Dad suddenly turned to me. “Georgia, go upstairs to the room. I’ll send the phone up to you.”

  “What? How are you going to do that?”

  Dad’s face warned me off. I nodded and turned toward the elevator. My finger pressed the button as I heard Cheryl screech, “Howdy, Gordon!”

  Ack! I was almost caught by the dragon lady!

  I stiffened and repeatedly pressed the elevator button.

  “Well, hello, little lady,” I heard Dad say.

  There was the sound of kissy-kissy smooching noises and I was dying to turn around and look at them, but I simply dug my finger into the button instead. I tried to make myself a bit smaller and, yes, was tempted indeed to duck behind the potted palm.

  “Now, now, none of that,” I heard Dad say.

  “Sorry, Gordon, I was only checking to see if . . . oh, wait, what are you doing?” Cheryl squealed.

  “Can you live without your phone for a few hours?” Dad asked.

  Cheryl giggled. “Of course I can. I just—”

  “Good!” Dad said.

  There was a moment of silence, then I heard Dad say, “Can you please put this in room 312 for safekeeping?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors mercifully slid open. Thankfully, I slipped in as I heard Cheryl protesting. “Now, Gordon, don’t be silly. I won’t check it during—”

  “No, no, no,” I heard Dad say. “Now, let’s hit the road. Got to make hay while the sun shines, or at least I gotta put in my order before they close the kitchen.”

  I pressed myself against the side of the elevator, out of view, and strained to listen as I held the Open Door button.

  All I could hear was Cheryl giggling and then more kissing noises. I released the button to close the door and pressed the button for the third floor. If Dad was as much of a Casanova as he thought, the clerk should be arriving on the next elevator with the phone in hand.

  Twenty-five

  I was ready to slip the key card into the door when I heard the ding of the elevators. I turned to see the front desk clerk exiting the elevator.

  In his hand was the key to my research. I smiled from my head to my toes.

  “Howdy,” I said.

  “Evening, miss,” he said.

  I held my hand out to him. “Thank you. I’ll take that.”

  He looked at me curiously. “Oh? You’re in room 312?”

  I could see his hesitation. “Don’t worry. I’m not staying. It’s my dad’s room. I just need to fix a few things up for him.” I leaned in toward him to snatch the phone away, but he slipped it into his pocket.

  “I need the phone. He wants me to order his girlfriend some flowers.”

  “The front desk can do that, miss. Maybe I should hold the phone for him there.”

  “Give me the phone,” I said, sounding more desperate than I’d intended.

  “Oh!” he said, a look of surprise crossing his face. “I didn’t . . . well . . . I just don’t want to be giving the phone to the wrong person.”

  “It’s okay—look, I have a key.” I put the key card into the lock, only I did it upside down, so nothing happened. “Wait, wait.” I jammed it into the card reader again and slipped it out too fast. The lights on the reader flashed yellow.

  “Here,” the clerk said, taking the card from me. He slid it into the reader and the lights turned green, a delightful little click sounding.

  The door opened and he pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Here you are, miss. Sorry about the confusion,” he said.

  The phone was hot in my hand.

  Finally things were going my way!

  “No problem,” I said over my shoulder. “Thank you!”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed. Now I’d be able to get some answers. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the bed with my feet folded under me.

  I tapped on the screen only to be greeted by a low battery message.

  “Damn!” I screamed to no one in particular.

  What kind of cursed life was I living?

  A knock on the door jolted me, my heart racing. What now? Was Dad back so soon?

  I dropped the phone like it was on fire and jumped off the bed, ready to hide in the bathroom.

  Oh, God, what if Dad and Cheryl had decided to skip dinner and were ready to move right to the nightcap? Where was I supposed to hide? Eventually, she would need the bathroom. Maybe the closet would be better. I dove toward the closet.

  “Gordon?” a voice called out.

  A voice that stopped me in my tracks.

  I turned toward the door and swung it open. Paul stood there, unshaven, hands in his pockets, and looking chagrined. He took a step back when he saw me, a surprised expression on his face.

  “Georgia!”

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  “I . . . I came to talk to your dad. What are you doing here?”

  “About what?” I demanded.

  He looked around the hallway. “Can I come in?”

  “No!”

  I had limited time, limited battery, and limited patience.

  “Come on, G; don’t make me beg for forgiveness from the hallway.”

  I must have made quite a face, albeit involuntarily, because Paul recoiled. “Beg for forgiveness?” I asked.

  He took a step forward. “Honey, let me in.”

  “I’m not your honey and I’m not letting you in. I’m busy.”

  He looked over my shoulder and called, “Gordon?”

  “Oh? You think he’s going to be any nicer to you than I am? He’s ready to break your legs.”

  Paul hung his head. “I don’t know if I can explain but at least—”

  “Save it.” I closed the door in his face, my blood boiling.

  He knocked again. “Georgia! Open the door. Don’t be ridiculous!”

  I flung the door open. “I’m not being ridiculous! You’re ridiculous! What kind of man leaves a woman at the altar and then tries to worm his way into her life again via a reality TV show, no less!”

  “I’m not worming—”

  “Worse, you’re worse. You were going to try and talk to my dad—”

  His brows furrowed and his eyes flicked to the left. “Because I didn’t know how to find you.”

  “Oh, stop. You didn’t even look for me.”

  He looked offended. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you! Tell the truth, you big liar, did you even go over to the Prevost to look for me?”

  “Well, I—”

  I slammed the door on him again and made my way back to the bed. I grabbed the phone and messed with the settings to use less battery; even still, it beeped obnoxiously in my hand at the same time that Paul pounded on the door.

  “Georgia! We have to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” I said from my position on the bed. I brought up a search engine. “I’m working.”

  “Open the door,” he roared.

  Suddenly I heard another voice in the hallway. “Hey, calm down, man. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, buddy. Mind your own business,” Paul said.

  There was the sound of a door closing in the hallway. Paul pounded on my hotel room door again. “Georgia,” he called.

  The hotel phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Hello, miss, this is the front desk. I got a call from your floor about a commotion. Is there . . .”

  “An unwanted visitor, yes. Can you please send up security?”

  “What?” Paul called from behind the door.

  I hung up the phone and said, “Security is on the way.”

  I squinted through the peephole. Paul was leaning his forehead against the door. He was silent.

  For a second I felt bad. Then the faces of our gues
ts who had come to our wedding and waited for him flashed before my eyes and the feeling faded.

  “What do you get from being on the show, Paul? Was Aaron on the show for the money? Do you get to keep the prize money?”

  Through the peephole I saw him step away from the door. His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for an answer.

  “It’s over between us, Paul. I’m not your doormat anymore.”

  “G, you were never my doormat.”

  “No, but you treated me like one.”

  The ping of the elevator sounded faintly and then a voice said, “Sir.”

  Paul turned toward the elevator, then back toward the peephole. I could see his face plainly now. He didn’t look half as miserable as he should. He didn’t love me; he wasn’t here to get me back. He was here for something different altogether.

  What could it be?

  He held up his hand and said to the security guard, “I’m going, I’m going.”

  Pressing my head against the door, I tried to let the feel of the cool wood calm me down. After a moment, I glanced out the peephole again. I couldn’t see anything anymore, and the hall sounded quiet. I retreated to the phone and brought up the search engine. The low battery message flashed again.

  I picked up the hotel phone and called the front desk. “Thank you for sending security,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, miss,” the clerk said.

  “I need another favor.”

  “What is it?” the clerk asked.

  “Do you have an iPhone charger handy?”

  Silence greeted me.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Sorry, miss, I was thinking. Let me check and if I find one I’ll bring it right up.”

  I hung up and fiddled with the phone again. I didn’t have access to any of the databases I did when I was a cop, so I did the next best thing.

  Called a cop I trusted.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, who’s calling?”

  I laughed, realizing the information that showed up on her phone was Cheryl’s name and number.

  “Lisa, it’s G.”

  She screamed. “Girl! Where are you? Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “You have? Why?”

  “Well, when the guy had the bungee-jumping accident off the Golden Gate, all hell broke loose here. We all knew it was your show and then Paul took time off to go to L.A. to be with you.”