A height-deprived man, with a few remaining wisps of dark curly hair atop his head, came into the restaurant and scanned the room. We made eye contact as he strolled my way, smiling. I hoped it wasn't Greg. The man looked nothing like Greg's profile photo. Surely, this couldn't be him. He stood before me, threw his shoulders back like a uniformed officer saluting the brass, and cleared his throat. "Sydney?"
Crap. "Yes, that's me. And you are?"
"Greg. Don't you recognize me?" His smile twitched. "You look just like your pictures." And you don't. I managed not to roll my eyes. He was still grinning, widely now, revealing grayish green teeth. I felt like throwing up. Mac would say 'ewww.' That sounded about right to me.
He held out his hand. I've been eating mostly vegetarian for years; however, I do enjoy the occasional grilled fish. His hand reminded me of something that hadn't hit the grill yet. I slid from the barstool. Although I wore flats, I towered over him by at least four inches. Five-ten my ass. He was no more than five-four by my estimation. I'd had enough.
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go." I forced a smile and held up my cell phone. "Family emergency. I'll email you." Already thinking about what I was going to say, I backed away.
"But..." His face drooped. He plopped down on the stool I'd vacated. I felt bad about leaving, but figured he had it coming. Did he think I wouldn't notice the six-inch difference in his height? And what was with those teeth? I strode out the door and took a deep breath of the crisp night air. The scent of orange blossoms wafted around me. A full moon gleamed in a dark night sky sprinkled with stars. I spotted my car and headed that way while I called Mac. She knew about the date and she'd be longing to hear the scoop. I waited for her to pick up. No answer. She'd gotten a new cell phone and number. Her cheerful outgoing voicemail message played. I go with the default one. I don't like the way my voice sounds on a recording—like a child of about nine or ten. I waited for the prompt and wondered if there was a way to interrupt or bypass the outgoing message and go straight to the prompt.
"Watch out!" Someone screamed.
"What..." An engine growled behind me. I spun and spotted a single headlight, a motorcycle, roaring toward me. Fast! Blinded by the glare, I leapt to the side. Too late. Something banged into my back. I rammed my knee on the grill of a car as I rolled over it. My hands skidded across the pavement when I landed. I lay there, tasted blood. I rolled onto my back and groaned. I touched my lip. Blood. I sat up, kneeled, and tried to catch my breath.
"Are you okay?" Someone tapped my shoulder. "Sydney!"
I peered up at Greg. With his help, I pushed myself up and stood. I wobbled, so I leaned on the nearest car. My ankle felt sprained. Grit covered my bloody palms. My back hurt like hell. Blood seeped through the knee of my torn jeans. A crowd of people murmured and pointed. A siren wailed in the distance. I scanned the crowd. "I'm Detective Valentine of San Sansolita PD. Did anyone see what happened?" Nobody said a word. Not to me. No surprise there.
"Sydney, are you going to be okay?" Greg held his hands out as if he thought I might topple over. He handed me the broken pieces of my phone. "Whoever it was had a baseball bat or something!" His gaze darted around, wide-eyed. "It looked like he was going for your head, but you dove out of the way!"
"I think I'm okay. I might have a sprained ankle." I put most of my weight on the non-injured ankle as I took another survey of my injuries. I didn't think anything was broken. My denim jacket and long-sleeved T-shirt had ripped at the elbow. I could see and feel my skinned, bloodied, and banged up elbow underneath.
"Sydney?" Greg held up a plastic bag with a rock in it. "I think he threw this at you." I stuffed it in my jacket pocket. He'd also picked up my purse, handed it to me.
The paramedics and patrol cars had arrived. I gave the officer my limited statement and left them to interview Greg and others. I planned to deal with the rest tomorrow. I let the medics patch me up, but refused to go to the hospital. I went home and took ibuprofen PM with a glass of orange-mango juice. I let my jacket fall to the floor, then climbed into bed fully clothed. Sleeping sporadically, I dodged Harleys and Ducatis in my dreams throughout the night.
I woke the next morning in such pain that I didn't want to leave my bed. I was thankful the plantation shutters allowed very little light in. My head throbbed, so I left the lights off. I rolled to the edge of the bed, then grabbed my legs to swing them over the side. I hurt everywhere. Both ankles were sore and swollen. Okay, so I'd injured them both. One elbow was stiff. Too angry to sit there, I forged on. Damnit, someone had tried to kill me! I inched my way to the bathroom. I wish I'd taken off my clothes last night. My bandages and wounds had stuck to my clothes. I grabbed a pair of scissors in the bathroom and cut off my shirt. I peeled it off carefully and let it drop to the floor, where I intended it to remain until...well, until whenever. I didn't care. I looked in the mirror and viewed a split and swollen lip, and a scraped-up face. I turned around and cringed at the long purple-and-black bruise across my back and shoulder. If Greg hadn't yelled, it might have been worse. Much worse. Perhaps, dead worse if he was right about the rider aiming for my head. I remembered the plastic bag he'd given me. I stood in the bathroom doorway and searched the gloomy bedroom for my jacket. I spotted a lumpy shadow on the floor near the foot of the bed. I shuffled over and held onto the mattress as I reached down to pick it up, grunting all the way down. I lost my grip and fell to my knees. I contemplated crawling across the floor and going back to bed. Then, I realized I still had to stand to get back into bed. Holding the jacket, I grasped the footboard and pulled myself up. The room tilted. With jacket in hand, I eased myself back to the bed and dropped onto it. I laid the jacket beside me, then the doorbell rang.
I picked up my robe draped over the foot of the bed. I pushed my arms into the sleeves, groaning with the effort. "Suck it up, Syd!" I snarled. "What's wrong with you?" It was a weak snarl. I hobbled from the room and down the hall, sliding my hands along the wall for support. The doorbell sounded again. "I'm coming!" Shit, it even hurt to yell. Maybe I'd pulled a muscle in my abs. I moved along as best I could. Finally, at the door, I opened it to Mac, dressed in pink New Balance running shoes and matching fancy sweats. Miss Perky Priss. A pink fanny pack encircled her waist. I'd forgotten about our morning run. Not gonna happen now.
"I've been calling..." She pushed her way inside and looked me up and down. "What happened? Did your date hit you?"
I stared at her, blinked.
"Okay. Stupid question." She circled me. "What happened, Syd?"
"Someone tried to kill me last night." I closed the door and hobbled to the La-Z-Boy, my favorite place to sit. It's a cozy place to curl up and relax. There would be no curling up today, though. I passed it by. Although more comfortable, getting myself out of the deep pillow-soft cushion would've been difficult. And painful. I shuffled to the sectional sofa and squelched a grimace as I dropped onto the corner cushion.
"How did they try to kill you?" Mac's eyebrows furrowed.
"A motorcycle almost ran me down. They hit me with a bat or something and sped away. I dove just in time. Well, in time for it not to be worse than this." I waved my hands over my battered face and body.
"Do you have any idea who it was? Or why?" She scanned the room with wide eyes as if she expected to find the person here, ready to try again.
"I don't know who or why." I spotted the landline in the kitchen. I now wish I'd gotten a cordless, or at least a longer cord. "I need to call in. The LT needs to hear from me about this. Can I use your cell?" I should've called last night, but hadn't. Not having my cell phone handy threw me off kilter. Well, okay, let's be honest. I had just wanted to go to bed. There, I said it.
"Sure, but what happened to yours?" She retrieved her phone from her purse, handed it to me.
"It's in my car." I took her phone.
"I can get it while you make your call." She removed my key from the hook on the wall and went out the door. I called the LT to inform him of my misadvent
ure. He'd already read the report and had called my cell this morning. I told him I needed to replace my phone. He said he'd see me on Monday, which was his way of telling me to take a day or two off. I'd already planned to do just that. Someone rapped on the door, then it opened.
"Got your phone." Mac replaced my key. "There's blood on it. Yours?"
"I think so." I showed her the abrasions on the heels of my hands. I made a mental note to call my cell carrier.
"Ouch!" She quivered, laid the ruined phone fragments on the coffee table and eased onto the sofa. "Did it get run over?"
"I don't know. Greg handed it to me like that after I got up off the ground."
"Your date! I forgot about that!" She leaned in and did the rolling hand motion. "Come on. Out with it."
"Thanks for the concern over my near-death experience."
"Yeah, yeah. Give me the scoop already."
"The date lasted all of two minutes."
"You're kidding. Why?" Her brow furrowed.
"For starters, he lied about his height and looked nothing like his profile picture."
"How tall was he?" She was already smirking.
"My guess is five-four. He said he was five-ten in his profile." What a waste of time that was. "And his teeth were nasty."
Mac laughed. "What do you mean?" She'd removed her shoes and pulled her legs up under her.
"They looked like pond scum was growing on them." I shuddered. "I can't imagine kissing him."
"Ewww." The corners of her mouth had turned down. "Was that a deal breaker?"
"Yep." I nodded. "Even if he'd been five-ten. Oh, crap!" I struggled to rise. "Shit!"
"What's wrong?" Mac unfolded her legs and sprang from her seat. "Are you in pain?"
"Look at me. Of course I'm in pain." I sighed, dropped back into my seat. "Can you get my jacket off the bed, please?"
"Sure. I'll be back in a sec." She flounced down the hall.
"Mac, bring the bottle of ibuprofen from the bathroom while you're in there! Not the PM though!"
She came back with the goods. She had something else thrown over her forearm. She tossed me the ibuprofen. "You cut your shirt off?" She held it up. "You must've been a mess last night. You should've called me."
"I just wanted to go to bed. Hey, before you sit down, can you get me some juice from the fridge?" I opened the ibuprofen and shook out two capsules. I laid a Kleenex in my lap and used another to remove the plastic bag Greg had given me from my jacket pocket. I let the contents of the bag fall into my lap. "Oh, my God."
Mac set the glass of orange juice on the coffee table next to the cell phone. She stood over me, bent down, eyeing the bag's contents. "What is it?" she whispered.
"Evidence." I picked up the Kleenex by the edges and let everything slide back into the bag before I set it aside. "Can I use your phone again please?" I needed to call Bernie.
Chapter Eight
Mac handed her phone to me. "Scrabble letters? I don't understand."
"It's about a case." I dialed Bernie's number.
"All right. I'm going to clean up your kitchen before I pick Josh up from school." Mac headed to the kitchen.
Bernie answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"It's me. Sydney. You've got to come over to my place."
"Syd, I'm in the middle of—"
"Bernie, you've got to see this. It's important."
He sighed. "See what? You've got to give me more than this if you expect me to drop everything and run over there."
"Two words."
"C'mon Syd. Stop playing games and just tell me."
"Scrabble letters. Here. Now."
"Syd, that's four words."
"ASAP." I disconnected.
"That went well." Mac stood before me, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "What do the Scrabble letters mean?" She stared at the plastic bag.
"I can't share that with you."
"Sheesh. I won't say anything." She strolled to the kitchen, tossed the dishtowel on the counter, then spun around. "Does it have to do with Ann Baker's murder?"
"Thanks for your help today. Now, scram." I gave her a phony grin. "Don't you have to pick up Josh from school?"
"I'm on my way." She pulled open the door, then turned. "Don't forget about dinner."
"Dinner? Do I ever forget to eat dinner?"
She planted her hands on her hips. "Did you eat dinner last night?"
"Well...no, I didn't."
"Anyhoo, I was referring to dinner at Mom and Dad's. They're coming home today. Remember?"
"I texted Dad when I was at Chili's last night. I asked about tonight's dinner."
"What did he say?"
I shrugged. "Don't know. I didn't hear from either of them." I glanced at the broken phone.
"Right. Well, they told me we should come over at six."
"I can't go there looking like this." I pointed to my bruised face.
"Mom's going to freak when she sees you." Mac nodded and raised her brows. "They both might."
"Yeah. More fuel to the fire about Sydney's job being too dangerous."
"Knock, knock." Bernie stepped through the door.
"Hey, Bernie." Mac gave him a three-fingered wave.
"Hi, Mac." He studied her. "You've lost weight."
"Thank you!" She beamed. That made her day. "I have to pick up Josh from school. Will I see you tonight, Syd?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, you're not going to be healed for days. You can't avoid them that long without making them suspicious."
"Right. And they'll ask you if you've heard from me."
"Shoot. You're right." I could see her worrying.
"Go pick up Josh. I might show up and deal with it."
"Call if you need anything." She reached for the doorknob again. "See you Bernie."
"Bye, Mac." We said together.
"You got here fast."
"I was at the post office when you called. You look like you've been through the wringer." He was staring. "There's no way your face is gonna heal quickly. It’ll take at least a week." He parked himself on the sofa.
I touched my face. "I should say screw it because I'm not in the mood to hear about how dangerous my job is."
"Why do you think it has anything to do with the job? Maybe it was random. Some wacko."
"It's not random." Using tissue, I held out the plastic bag Greg had given me. "Take a look."
He dropped the contents in his lap the same way I'd done. "Scrabble letters?" He stared at me, then inspected the bag's contents. "Letters 'H' and 'L.' What's going on?"
"That's not all." I pointed. "Read the note."
"Mind your own business, cop bitch!" Bernie put the contents back in the bag, then peered at me. "So, you're a target now?"
I shrugged. "Guess so. What do you think?"
He stood and paced. "It has something to do with our case, obviously."
"If we combine the letters with what we've already got, it still doesn't make sense."
He watched me. "Do you recall anything about the bike?"
"Nope. It happened too fast and the headlight blinded me. Mostly, I was trying to get the hell out of the way."
"I heard they got various makes, models, and colors of bikes from our witnesses...such as they are."
"In other words, the usual."
"Uh, huh. So, you didn't see the rider either?"
"Again, too busy trying to stay alive. Did any bystanders see the rider or get at least a partial plate?"
"Nope. Zilch." He raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end in sections. "But, one person said the rear plate was covered."
I stared at him. "Are you still sick from the flu?" He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale.
"I feel like crap and wonder if I've caught a new bug."
I leaned away. "Are you contagious?"
His laugh turned into a cough. "You called me."
"I remember. Now that you've seen the bag, maybe you could st
op at the station on your way home and log it into the online reporting system. Then make sure it gets booked into the evidence locker."
"Do you need anything before I go?" He glanced at the door. "Something to drink?"
"Ice packs from the freezer would be nice. Thanks."
"Sure." He headed toward the kitchen.
"And an orange juice refill?" I held up my empty glass.
He brought the ice packs and the juice container. After refilling my glass, he was on his way. I went back to bed.
I awoke a few hours later feeling better. I still hurt, but was ready to deal with what was left of the day. I glanced at the bedside clock. "Four o'clock?" I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch of veggie pizza. Even so, I didn't feel particularly hungry. I decided to eat something light. A soy yogurt and fruit, with another dose of ibuprofen. I'm not averse to taking meds for pain management and recovery.
After taking a shower, I applied antibiotic ointment, fresh dressings on my wounds, and an ace bandage on each ankle. What a magical transformation. I felt ready to see my parents. Well, except I hadn't dressed yet. I'm a jeans and T-shirt girl. I had no clean jeans and no time to wash any. If I hadn't ripped the knees, then slept in the pair from last night, I could have worn them. Dinner was informal at my parents, so I chose to wear a navy running suit. It wasn't as fashionable as Mac's, but it would have to do. I needed to cover the bandage on my elbow anyway. My hands and face would be visible though. Nothing I could do about that. Okay, whatever. I'm a grown-ass woman with a sometimes-dangerous job that I happened to love. I decided to tell my parents what had happened.
I had enough time to stop and get a new cell phone before going to my parents' house. I still arrived at Mom and Dad's fifteen minutes early. Mom stood at the island pulling a head of red Romaine lettuce apart and tearing the leaves into careful bits, which she dropped in a large salad bowl. She had dyed her hair for the cruise. Her normal stick-straight auburn color was now a brownish-red with a soft wave permed in. Loosely piled on top of her head and secured with a clip, a few strands drooped over her eyes. She swept it back up and tucked it in amongst the others. Her favorite fragrance, Chanel No. 5, mingled with onions, spices, and the aroma of barbecue sauce. I tapped on the wall, stepped closer.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 6
