by Cindy Sample
Almost.
I joined Tom on my comfy but outdated flowered sofa, picked up my wineglass and took a sip. Yummy. The blend of raspberry and spices in the Grenache was perfect for a romantic winter evening.
Tom rested his head against the back of the sofa. He stretched his long legs, encased in beige cords, under the table. “Ahhh, this is the first chance I've had to relax all day.” He sipped his wine, set the glass on a coaster and turned to me. “Any chance I can lure you down to my end of the couch?”
How easy did he think I was?
In less than two seconds, I was cuddled against Tom's chest, my head resting against his rock hard pecs like I belonged there. His fingers stroked the fine strands of my hair. For a big man, he was amazingly gentle. His tender touch moved down my body and any annoyance I had felt toward him melted away as if those lost weeks had never occurred.
“I've missed you,” he said, his breath warm against my ear. My insides felt like one of those chocolate molten lava cakes. Steamy, sweet and ready to erupt.
I turned to respond and his hungry lips met mine. All the feelings I'd tried to forget came roaring back like a category five hurricane. I kissed him as eagerly as he kissed me. We clung together until the phone rang, interrupting an embrace that could have led to trouble.
We broke apart with a start. I jumped up and smoothed down my skirt, which had ridden up my thighs during our prolonged kiss. I raced into the kitchen to answer the unwelcome call.
“What?” I muttered ungraciously after seeing that my caller was only Stan.
“Hey, what's the matter?” he said. “Did I interrupt a romantic interlude?” He hooted knowing that 99.9% of the time he would have been right in surmising the answer was a resounding no.
“Yes. No. I mean, what do you want?”
“I thought you were all hot to get Irina's address.” Stan sounded frustrated and I didn't blame him. A mere four hours ago, the widow's address was my top priority. It was amazing how one sizzling kiss could distract me from my sleuthing. Heaven only knows where my overheated hormones might have taken us if we hadn't been interrupted by my pal.
“Sorry. I have a lot going on right now. Did you have a difficult time getting it from Anya?”
“Anya said she didn't have it with her so I asked Boris.”
“I'm not sure it was a good idea to tell him I wanted Irina's address. Did he look suspicious?”
“Boris always looks suspicious. Are you sure he's not ex KGB?”
“No, I'm not. Hopefully Boris won't be suspicious of...” My voice trailed off as I realized Tom was leaning against the doorway, a frown darkening his face.
Stan babbled on about his success. “Anyway, Paula was in the office talking to Boris when I stopped by. She found Dimitri's address and phone number in her Blackberry. I told them you were dropping off a baby gift tomorrow tonight and that seemed to satisfy the big guy.”
I wrote the address on a notepad, said good-bye then turned to Tom. I pointed to the bottle of red. “More wine?”
Tom eyed the bottle then shook his head. “Nope, I need to keep a clear head, especially when I'm talking to you. Now why do you need Irina's address?”
“I have a baby gift for her. She's been through so much with her husband's murder and the birth of their child. It's the least I can do.”
He threw one of his practiced “I don't believe a word you're saying” looks at me. “Why do I think you have an ulterior motive for this visit?”
“You know I think Dana is innocent. Someone needs to help her. Her husband's arrest in the office today could only have compounded her distress.”
“She has plenty of stuff to worry about. In fact, they both do.”
“So what's going on with Mr. Chandler? You haven't mentioned him all night. I hope you weren't kissing me to distract me from asking questions.” I laughed then stopped when I realized he wasn't joining in.
Instead, he stood silent in the doorway, his face reflective. I couldn't tell if he was thinking about our brief moment of passion or if he was back in official mode contemplating how much he could share with me.
“You already know we hauled off your boss because of his attempted assault on a police officer.”
“Yes, but he didn't actually hit the deputy,” I felt obligated to point out. “How long are you planning on keeping him in jail, or did his attorney get him out already?”
“It's not easy to get bail if you're arrested on a homicide charge.”
“Homicide? What are you talking about?”
“We have witnesses who placed him at the scene of Dimitri's murder.”
I froze. “Gordon Chandler, the president of the bank, was at the dance studio the night Dimitri was killed?”
“Yes, he was. Funny how he failed to mention that to the authorities.”
Funny how he'd failed to mention it to me.
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* * *
TWENTY-EIGHT
* * * *
Tom's revelation stunned me. Mr. Chandler had encouraged me to play detective when he'd actually been at the scene of the crime.
“Why on earth would he kill Dimitri?” I asked. “He's the president of the bank. CEO's don't commit murder.” As soon as the words left my lips I realized how naive it sounded, but I still couldn't imagine my boss doing anything that would ruin his reputation.
A murder rap would sure do that!
“Anyone can commit murder with the proper motivation,” Tom replied.
“So how did you find out he was on the premises?”
“That elderly nurse, Nanette?” Tom looked at me for confirmation and I nodded my head. “She noticed the license plate on his car when she left the studio after Yuri collapsed. On the night Dimitri was killed, the parking lot was full so she had to park on the street, right behind a Mercedes with a license plate boasting # 1 BANK. Talk about stupid criminals.”
“My boss is not a stupid criminal. He's a very smart criminal.” My face reddened when I realized my defense needed a little work. “I mean he's not a criminal at all. Just because he happened to be at the scene of the crime isn't sufficient evidence to arrest him for murder. Did the DA put you up to this? You know he doesn't like Mr. Chandler.”
Tom's jaw tightened. “Are you accusing me of conjuring up evidence in a murder case?”
“Um, no, of course not,” I gulped. “But what else do you have?”
“That is none of your business. I've already told you far too much. Trust me, hon, we know what we're doing.”
I bristled. What did he mean it was none of my business? Of course it was my— Wait a minute. Did he call me hon?
Focus, Laurel.
I rested my back against the counter. “I thought the reason you stopped by tonight was that you wanted my insight into Dimitri's murder.”
“Oh, that was simply an excuse to talk to you.” His face colored a little. “I wanted to discuss why I broke it off after Thanksgiving. I felt I owed you an explanation about what was going on in my head.”
My heart rate ratcheted up to a billion beats per minute as I waited for his explanation.
Tom approached as I stood frozen in place. Part of me was anxious. The other dreaded his revelation. He wrapped his arms around me. I resisted for all of two seconds then relaxed in the warmth and strength of his embrace. Despite the one-foot height difference it still felt like we belonged together. Why had he broken up with me after a brief two-week relationship?
I tried to remain silent, waiting for his explanation, but the urge to know why he'd suddenly disappeared out of my life was too strong and I pushed him away.
“Only a few weeks ago, we were sitting in there.” I pointed in the direction of the living room. “Locked in each other's arms. You got a call, left for an investigation and never returned. Never even called to tell me why.”
He started tracing patterns on my countertop with his index finger. “I was scared. That's basically the reason.”
That was not the answer I was expecting. “Scared?”
“Frightened of being in a relationship. Falling for someone so hard that if something happened to them it would tear my heart and life apart. Again.”
It was barely two years since Tom's wife died so I could understand his concern.
“But we only saw each other a few times,” I protested.
“Yes, but I was...falling for you. After all hell broke loose with that last investigation, I didn't know if I would ever see you alive again. I wondered if I could handle that kind of emotional involvement. Maybe someday, but I don't know if I'm ready for it yet. Especially given my chosen profession.”
He rubbed a hand over his five o'clock shadow and gave a mirthless laugh. “Although for some reason my profession has me running into you in the most unexpected places. Now why is that?”
In the words of the bank president, I have a knack.
Tom grabbed my hand in his. “This case seems to be wrapping up—” he held up his palm as I started to interrupt, “even if you don't quite see it the way we do. We have info you don't, Laurel.” The look in his eyes grew soft. “Maybe we can spend some time together up in Tahoe. We'll both be there for Liz's wedding.”
“How come you're not in the wedding party?”
“Brian has several good friends. And my schedule is too unreliable, especially given your propensity for tripping over dead bodies.”
He reached for me but we were interrupted by the raucous sound of Tom's cell playing “Jingle Bells.” He noticed my amusement and mumbled “Kristy's idea,” before walking away to carry on a conversation with the other party.
He listened, frowning. “I have to go.” He slapped his phone shut.
“Everything okay?”
“No. Definitely not okay.” A perplexed expression crossed his face. “Yuri's tox results came back.”
“Tox results?”
“We ran a toxicology screen on Yuri. The lab results indicate traces of something that would have been highly unusual for him to have imbibed normally.”
My eyes widened at the implication. I had assumed like everyone else that Yuri had overdone the caffeine with his multitude of energy drinks. Or that he had an undisclosed heart condition that caused his collapse.
“Do you think he was poisoned?”
He nodded. “Most likely at the dance studio. Interesting that Dana was there for the first time since Dimitri was killed. And her husband happened to accompany her that night as well. Too much of a coincidence for me. “
I slumped against the counter. Despite the fact that Mr. Chandler had withheld some damaging information from me and the detectives, I still couldn't believe he was involved with Dimitri's murder or Yuri's poisoning.
“Did Yuri wake up from his coma? Maybe he ate something that accidentally poisoned him. You can't assume the Chandlers had anything to do with it,” I protested.
“We aren't assuming anything, but unless Yuri normally added antifreeze to his energy drinks, there's a strong possibility your boss committed both murders.”
My eyes widened to the size of the dinner plates sitting in my sink. “Both murders,” I squeaked.
“There was another piece of bad news.” Tom drew me closer in preparation for his announcement. “Yuri died a few minutes ago.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
TWENTY-NINE
* * * *
The next morning I was more determined than ever to visit Irina. I still couldn't believe that two male dance instructors from the same studio had been killed. There had to be some correlation despite the fact they were murdered using different methods.
Or were there two different killers?
A frisson of fear shot through my body. That was too horrible to contemplate. But equally tragic was the thought of our bank president imprisoned in a jail cell.
My children were now officially out of school and on winter break. Since I wouldn't be home until late, I told Jenna to warm up the previous night's leftover spaghetti for their dinner. I warned my son if there was any evidence of him hiding vegetables in the house or in the kitten's stomach, that he definitely would receive only a lump of coal for Christmas. Ben's face whitened but he could tell I was serious. I had no idea how I would discipline him after the holidays were over, but at least for the next three days, I held the upper hand.
The atmosphere at work was total doom and gloom as employees congregated throughout the office debating the future of the bank. Those reflections eventually led to the staff wondering about their own continued employment. Fortunately with only two days until Christmas Eve, most of the local shopkeepers were too busy minding their own stores to worry about closing their bank accounts.
At lunchtime, I ran out to get a sausage sandwich at Hot Dog Haven. The proprietor of the tiny bistro asked for my financial advice. “So what's the deal with Chandler?” Marty asked, slathering my bratwurst with half a bottle of mustard. “Do I need to find another bank?”
The guy standing in line behind me interjected, “The rumor is your president is up Hangtown Creek without a paddle.”
I rolled my eyes and turned around to address the guy. Based on the size of his gut, he must be a regular at the Haven. The woman standing behind him, the owner of a downtown nail salon, chimed in. “I heard the bank was shutting down and we need to get our money out fast.”
“The bank is fine. Your deposits are insured, so they are fine. And Mr. Chandler will be fine.” That last comment was spoken with my hopes high and my fingers crossed. My nerves were stretched so thin, the screech of Marty tearing paper made me jump. He wrapped my sandwich then tucked it into a carryout bag festooned with his “hot doggy” logo, a golden retriever licking his lips. I opened my wallet and handed him a five-dollar bill.
“Well, I don't cotton to murder,” said the guy behind me, “but if Chandler killed that dancer fella cause he was humping his wife, you can't honestly blame him.”
“Men,” muttered the salon owner.
“Mr. Chandler did not murder anyone,” I said with gritted teeth. “And Mrs. Chandler did not fool around with the two dead dancers.”
“She was screwing two of them dancers?” He shook his head in amazement. “Now don't that beat all?”
I grabbed my paper bag from Marty and headed back to work before I could wreak further damage to the Chandlers’ reputations. That conversation reinforced my desire to do whatever I could to help the president.
With my mission to save my boss and therefore the bank on my agenda for tonight, I left the office at five sharp and drove over to our local big box store. Based on the number of cars circling the lot in search of a parking space, the local Budget Mart was not struggling for business. I hovered for a full five minutes as one family packed up their two double strollers and buckled four children and a load of parcels into the back seats of their van. If I thought my life as a single mom was hectic, what would it be like to have four toddlers at home, plus a husband?
After snaring their parking spot, which I almost lost to an overzealous SUV driver who attempted to sneak in while the family slowly backed out, I entered the over-decorated, over-stocked and overly noisy store.
Wild-eyed parents pushed shopping carts filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes as well as screaming children of all shapes and sizes. I dashed over to the children's apparel, which in this superstore was located at least a half-mile from the entrance. The infant-sized sleeper in red and white stripes with a matching stocking cap should put Irina in a festive mood. The two-pound box of deluxe chocolates definitely would do the trick.
The toy section seemed a football field away from the baby department. I selected two of the Nintendo games on Ben's list. That meant two gifts down and forty to go, if he had his way. Which of course, wasn't going to happen. As his elder sister said, we were on a budget this year.
My own budget could dwindle to the size of Ben's allowance if Mr. Chandler's arrest had a huge impact on the ban
k. Our customers had plenty of banking options to choose from at local branches of nationwide banks. If we lost deposits, it would diminish our ability to make new loans, leading to reductions in staff.
My shoulders slumped as I stood in line waiting to make my purchases. It felt like not only my family's welfare, but the wellbeing of the entire bank rested on my ability to solve the murders. My spirits flagged as my line moved forward a mere two inches while the cashier installed a new roll of paper tape into her register. At the rate we were going, it would be Christmas by the time I reached Irina's house.
The store manager must have been equally anxious to ring up more purchases and get the customers out of the store, because three more registers opened up. I zipped over to the express cashier, grabbed a foil-wrapped marshmallow Santa Claus for energy, and was back in my car a few minutes after six. I tucked the baby outfit and candy into a holiday gift bag and stuffed in a few sheets of red tissue. I consider gift bags to be one of the greatest inventions of the century, almost on a par with my DVR recorder.
It seemed rude to show up at Irina's doorstep without any warning, so I stuck my Bluetooth on my ear and dialed her number. The squalling of an infant confirmed that I'd reached her home phone.
“Allo?”
“Irina, this is Laurel McKay from the dance studio. Liz Kendall and I bought a baby gift for you and I wondered if I could drop it off tonight. I'm not too far away from your house.”
The baby's cries diminished to a distant murmur, which made it easier to hear Irina's response.
“Da, I suppose you can come by to the house although I have company here. Hold on.” The sound of the phone clattering on a hard surface assaulted my ear. “Yes, is okay, my company is leaving. You know where we live?”
“I found directions on the computer. You're a few miles down Black Horse Road, right?”
