Camps stepped aside, waved us to the chairs opposite his desk. He went around the other side, sat in his chair. He placed his elbows on his desk, propped his chin in his hands and leaned forward. "What questions do you have?"
"You said you didn't know Ann Baker well. But, do you know how much contact she had, through her job, with Beatrice Menifee?" Bernie placed the recorder on the desk.
I flipped through my notebook for my notes on our first conversation with him. It had been a short interview because Fran showed up. He'd told us then that Baker was sometimes confrontational, but he'd also known her to be helpful and encouraging to others.
Camps cleared his throat. "Well, yes, prior to her promotion Ann did have contact with Ms. Menifee."
"In what capacity did she have contact?" I asked.
"She was responsible for Beatrice's case for a short time. I recall there wasn't much in the way of notes from Ann because she was promoted soon after Beatrice came into the reunification program."
This round of questioning sounded like a dead end. "Mr. Camps, does your sister-in-law ever come here to see you?" I figured I might as well try to get Bernie's twenty bucks.
Camps blinked. "Why do you ask?" He flushed, looked around the room. Uh-oh. What was up? Bernie might have been right. It wasn't Fran. Damnit.
"Please answer the question," Bernie said.
"Rebecca comes here," he said. "We have lunch when she's in the area."
"Was she here today?" I asked.
"She stopped in, but just for a few minutes. Then, she left. Can I ask you a question, Detectives?"
"You may," Bernie said.
"Did you see her? She left a while ago." Camps picked up a bottled water. He watched us as he twisted the lid.
"We think we saw her." Bernie glanced at me. "Detective Valentine thought she was your wife."
Camps choked on his water. He plucked a Kleenex from the box on his desk and wiped his mouth. When he'd recovered, he gave me a thin smile. "Easy mistake. They do look a lot alike."
I glanced at Bernie, who might have been thinking of the twenty bucks I owed him. "Did you ever have cases with Judge Cecil Franklin?"
"Most of us have. It's a shame what happened to him." He looked down at his desk blotter.
"What type of judge was he?" Bernie asked. "In your opinion, of course."
"He was fair. He followed the law, but he was seen as pro-parent."
"Pro-parent?" I asked.
"Sure. He wanted families to make it. He'd give the parents more chances than most of us thought they deserved."
"I see." I had thought of a question while Camps was talking, but had lost it and I couldn't bring it to the forefront. I hate when that happens. I should've written it down. "Mr. Camps, I can't think of anything else right now, but if I do, I'll be in touch." I pushed my notebook into my pocket as I thought about losing the twenty dollars. That's what happens when your mouth writes a check your butt can't cash.
"That does it for me, as well," Bernie said. "Thank you, Mr. Camps." We left his office and stood by the elevator. I remembered what I wanted to ask him.
"I need to ask him something else." I headed back to Camps' office. Bernie trailed behind. The door was open, but I knocked anyway.
He looked up from his writing. "Yes, Detective?"
"I have one more question." I stepped into his office. Bernie joined me.
"Go ahead." Camps tapped his pen and placed his hands over the paper.
"How do Fran and Rebecca wear their hair now?"
"Today?"
"Yes, that's what now means," I said.
"Well, Becky changes hers from day to day. She also wears wigs, but Fran doesn't, not usually."
"Their current hairstyle, Mr. Camps?" Bernie said. "I'm assuming you saw them both today."
"Fran's hair is reddish blonde. She had it dyed recently. It's a little past shoulder-length. Becky's is short and black. You said you saw her."
"All right. That's it for me. Thank you." I slid my notebook into my jacket pocket and turned to Bernie. "What about you?"
"I'm good."
As we left the building, Bernie held out his hand. "Well?"
"Well, what? I said I'd owe you."
"Tell you what. How about you buy lunch today? They take credit or debit cards." He grinned, rubbing it in.
"That's a deal." I held out my hand and he shook it. "Give me the keys to the car. My choice on where we go." It was my turn to grin now. He tossed me the keys, backhanded.
I drove to The Vegan Garden. Bernie saw the sign and clutched his throat. Oh, brother.
"Cut it out. It's not that bad." I pulled into a parking space.
"That's because you're used to eating this crap."
"It's not crap. Try it before you ridicule. You might like it." I started to get out of the car, then looked over my shoulder. "Never took you for a coward."
He glared at me. "If I throw up you still owe me lunch."
"Okay. Fine. You're still a coward though. It's just food for chrissakes." We entered the restaurant and took our place behind a line of people. Several sat on wood benches along the wall. Bernie was frowning and maybe wondering what all the fuss was about. As far as he was concerned, it couldn't be the food.
It didn't take long for us to be seated. Bernie studied the menu cover, then opened it. I laid mine down, already knowing what I wanted. I waited. When he had continued to read the menu, turned it over, then read it again, I knew I needed to step in or we'd be here all day.
"Would you like me to order something for you?"
He folded his menu, laid it on the table with his hands folded over it. "Yes, please. I don't have a clue. How's the lemonade? The picture sure looks good."
"It's the best." I waited for one of the wait staff to approach, then ordered lemonade, side salads, and two eggplant lasagna entrees. I tapped the picture of the lasagna on the menu rather than naming it because I didn't want Bernie to know about the eggplant yet.
Our salads and lemonade arrived and we dug in. Bernie munched on his salad without complaining. What a surprise. Several minutes later, our lasagna arrived. Bernie stared at it. It smelled delicious. I was going to wait until he tasted it before I started eating, but if he took too long all bets were off. He sliced off a small piece and sniffed it. Good grief. He lifted his brows, then put the lasagna in his mouth. He nodded and gazed at me.
"It's not bad." He sliced off a larger portion, started eating faster, and finished before I did.
I paid the check. "You didn't throw up, so my debt is paid."
"Right. That was the deal." He held the door open for me as we walked through. "I hope I won't be hungry in two hours. I feel like I haven't eaten."
"That's because you usually eat until you're about to explode." I unlocked our car doors. "Will you eat there again?
"Yeah, maybe."
I doubted that. Not without me, anyway.
Chapter Fifteen
After lunch, we headed for the station where I'd hoped to pick up my car. That didn't happen. One of the techs responsible for going over my car had left the garage to do something that had a higher priority. The other tech had called in sick. Yeah, right. I bet he was at the beach, riding a wave. After asking Bernie if he'd drop me off at Mac's, I called her and asked if I could borrow her car because I had a hot date. Yes, I did. Mac had a few requests, shall we say, before she was willing to hand over the keys to her precious car, a silver Chevy Cruze. First, she made me promise to tell her about the date afterward. I was going to do that anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. Second, she asked me to run with her that evening. Okay, fine. Third, she had wanted me to try not to get myself killed. I mean, come on. Had I ever tried to get myself killed? I figured she was just afraid I'd get blood on her seats. Once she decided I wasn't suicidal, I got to drive home in her car.
I had begun to have second thoughts about this online dating stuff. I'd decided to give it a few more tries before I pulled the plug, though. I didn't want
to wimp out too soon, but even I had my limits. I hopped in and out of the shower, then pulled on a red T-shirt and Levi's. I grabbed a pair of red cowgirl booties, then changed into dark brown ones. Feeling carefree, I wore my hair loose and curly. I flossed, brushed my teeth and rinsed with mouthwash. After putting on a dash of lipstick, I was good to go. I threw my running shoes, anklet sweat socks, headband, and shorts in a gym bag. It was time to hit the road. I headed for the 10 toward San Bernardino. We'd planned to meet for happy hour at TGI Fridays. I'd read a tip on the dating website that said couples should plan a short date for the first meeting. That way, you don't have to sit through a long meal trying to think of a way to end the date if you didn't click. That made sense, although I hadn't had a problem walking away from my date with Greg, the Chili's guy, and Mr. 'Serial Dater'. I think I hurt Greg's feelings though.
I pulled into the parking lot, which had started to fill with the after-work crowd. I texted Mac to let her know I was still among the living, then watched the people strolling along, trying to pick out Brad, my date. He'd included photos in his profile. If they were recent, I had a good idea of what he'd look like. I spotted someone who resembled his photos. Cute. He stood at the entrance, looking around the parking lot. We'd told one another the type of car we drove. He'd be looking for my Altima, of course, which was sitting in the garage at the station. He drove a red Ford F-150 and I hadn't seen one come into the parking lot. He turned to go inside and I opened my door.
I entered the restaurant, took a few steps, and there he was. He had his back to me as he scoped out the bar. "Brad?"
He turned and smiled. "Sydney? Pleased to meet you in person." He held out a hand and I shook it. No cold fish grip there.
"Me, too." I felt myself smiling as well. He had a big smile, clean teeth. He smelled good. Brad's hair was short and blonde, combed back, with a slight wave. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Now. Thought you might not show." He edged toward the bar. "Will you join me?"
"Sure." I fell in step, but my guard was still up. Always the cop. We climbed onto barstools and ordered drinks. He got a Corona and a glass. I tried something new, a Coconut Colada 'Rita. It was a mix of Pina Colada and Margarita. "Did you come here straight from work?" I asked.
"No, I was off today. I had a long weekend." He picked up his beer.
"Oh, vacation?" I sipped my drink. It was summer in a glass. Who thinks up these drinks?
"You could say that. I was away. Just got back this morning." He looked around the room, then noticed me watching him. He smiled, poured more beer into his glass. "How's your drink?"
"Very good. It's like sunshine and rainbows." My radar had gone off. That was a dodged question for sure. "So, do you travel a lot?"
"I don't, but I seem to be doing a lot lately." His eyes had focused on my breasts. Why do guys stare at my breasts? They're not even that big. "What about you? Travel any?"
"I don't, but I should make the time to do more traveling." I tossed my hair. Oh, how cheesy was that? "I always seem to be too busy to think about getting out of town." He smiled again. Actually, it was more of a leer. Creepy. Here we go. I sighed.
"Are you tired? You should try a quick trip up the coast or something. It rejuvenates, even if you're only gone for a weekend."
He'd left himself open for the next question. "Where were you coming back from this morning?" I'm so nosey.
He blinked. "Uh, Laguna Beach." His gaze roamed the room. He stared at his Corona and shredded a napkin, one tiny piece at a time. He peered at me. "Ever been there?"
"I haven't, but I've heard it's gorgeous."
"It is. I have a condo. Maybe you could join me next weekend?"
"Thanks for the offer, but it's a bit soon for me to spend the weekend with you." I took a few sips from my drink. I started to feel a buzz. Slow down, Syd.
"Okay. I understand." He nodded. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't." I smiled, but my stomach quivered.
He stared. "Did you double-book?"
"Double-book?" I felt like there must've been a large neon flashing question mark floating above my head.
"Did you make another date, in case I was a dog?"
"Oh! No, I promised my sister we'd get together tonight." I glanced at my watch. "Actually, I have to get going now." I slid off the barstool.
"All right. Another time?" He grinned. Really nice smile there. I was tempted to call Mac and cancel, but a promise was a promise.
"Sure. Shoot me an email. Let me know." He walked me to my car. Well, Mac's car.
"Here's my cell phone number and personal email address written on the back. You don't have to go through the dating site's email." He handed me a business card.
I slid the card into the back pocket of my Levi's. "Thanks. I'll call and we can set something up." Unsure of what to do next, I started to back away. "Well, good night."
"Sydney?" He took a step toward me, reached out, and gave me a hug. I let him...until his hands moved up my sides, skimming my ribs, then edged up to my breasts.
"Okay, that's enough." I stepped away. "Good night." I opened my door, slid into the driver's seat. I watched him walk through the parking lot as I called Mac to let her know I was on my way. I thought about whether it mattered if he'd been with another woman in Laguna Beach. I guess it didn't matter...yet. We weren't exclusive.
I'd agreed to go on a run with Mac because it had been awhile since I'd run with her, or at all. She'd been running on her own, but I knew she needed someone to run with her for the pacing. She tended to run slower when she ran alone. Most people did, including myself.
I parked Mac's car in their garage. I grabbed the gym bag I'd tossed onto the passenger seat earlier, knocked on the door leading into the house, and then turned the doorknob. As usual, it was unlocked. The house smelled of fish, their dinner. If it hadn't been for the late lunch, I'd be starving.
Mike was coming from Josh's bedroom. "Hey, Syd. You just missed seeing Josh." He peeked into the room, smiled. The proud parent. "Mac's in the kitchen cleaning up." We ambled down the hall, through the great room and into the kitchen. Mac was stacking dishes in the dishwasher.
"Hi, Mac. I'm here." I held up my gym bag. "I'm going to go change." I went to their bathroom to shed the date clothes, and joined them in the kitchen.
"Honey, can you finish up so that we can get a run in before it gets to be too late? It's already dark outside." Mac was dressed in a turquoise warm-up suit and white New Balance running shoes. Of course, she hadn't forgotten the damn fanny pack. This one had reflective strips along the edges and matched her warm-up suit.
"Okay. Be safe." Mike began rinsing the remaining dishes in the sink and loading them into the dishwasher.
Mac pulled on a baseball cap. "Ready?"
I nodded. "If you are."
"Mike, we're leaving." She opened the door to the cool night air. We started out at an easy pace.
"Let's run past the park and go to Josh's school and back," I said.
"Race you." Mac picked up the pace. I hadn't run much since the Chili's parking lot incident. I felt like a slug. My side began to hurt. Side stitch! Mac was a block ahead of me, seeming to run effortlessly. Coasting. I bent at the waist, holding my side. Mac approached the park, two blocks ahead of me now. She seemed to slow down. I started walking. The stitch had begun to subside. I heard a motorcycle roar in the distance. Mac had started to walk toward me. Beyond her, a headlight shone. She leaned on a palm tree, stretching her quads. The roar got louder and the light brighter. High beams? It headed her way.
"Mac!" I started running. "Mac, run!"
Mac looked my way, hand cupped to her ear. "What?"
"Run!" I ran faster, tripped on something. My knee skidded into the sidewalk, but I jumped up and continued to run. The motorcycle raced toward her. She turned around, saw it and ran, but the motorcycle jumped the curb, circled her. The rider stopped near her and swung something downward. Mac put her
arms up. I heard a crack, like wood split by an ax. Then Mac screamed. I was breathless, limping, but almost there. The bike roared away before I got there. It had all happened in seconds. Mac lay on the sidewalk clutching her arm, moaning and crying. "Mac!" I knelt down, gasping for air, as I reached for her. "Let me see it." I touched her arm and she yanked it away. I forced her other arm aside. "Oh, shit." Her forearm had bent into a curved shape, but no bones had come through the skin. I pulled out my cell phone, called 911 for an ambulance, then called the station to report the incident and requested a BOLO. I also called Mike. He didn't answer. Mac was panting. "Mac, listen. Help is coming." Sirens wailed in the distance.
Mac shuddered. "It hurts. Syd, it hurts." She curled into a fetal position.
"I know it does. Keep your eyes on the moon, Mac." Her baseball cap had fallen off. I picked it up and put it on my head. I pushed her hair away from her face. "Just breathe slowly. Focus. Eyes on the moon." She inhaled and exhaled slowly, but continued to shudder. Her arm had begun to spasm. I called Mike again. No answer. I left a voicemail this time. The sirens got louder.
"Syd, I feel dizzy. I think I'm going to throw up."
"Take it easy. Try to hold on." I used my headband to wipe the sweat from her face. My cell phone rang. Mike. "Hello?"
"Syd, what's up?" I heard the television.
"Mike, there's been an accident. It looks like Mac's arm is broken."
He gasped. "How? Where are you?" The sirens grew louder and I couldn't hear him well.
"She was attacked near the park." The ambulance turned the corner. "Mike, the ambulance is here. We're on our way to San Sansolita Memorial Hospital."
"Okay. I'm going to get Josh up." He disconnected. I slid the phone into the side pocket of my shorts.
The paramedics evaluated Mac then loaded her onto the gurney and into the ambulance. I hopped into the back, watched them start an IV as we moved through the evening traffic. Mac still whimpered, but had managed to steady her breathing. The medic took her vitals, then placed a mask on her face and injected painkillers into the IV line. Mac closed her eyes. I hoped she'd be okay. This probably happened because of my case. No, it wasn't probably. It had happened because of that damn case. I thought of Mom and Dad. I'd have to call them once I got Mac into the ER. It was impossible to call now with the activity, the jarring ride, and the noise.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 11
