Watchin' The Detective: A Mystery Dinner Romance

by Louise Hathaway

  “It was her shoes. When she got out of the car, I looked at them and noticed that she was wearing the exact same pair the night of the murder. I noticed them that night because they were such an unusual style and I absolutely loved them. Plus, the table she was sitting at was right across the room from us. I got a good view of them under the table. I know it was her! Now, what was she doing there?”

  “Isabella, there could be a thousand reasons. Maybe she was meeting someone to play golf.”

  “It was dark, Nicole.”

  “Maybe she had some things to work out with the restaurant?”

  “Like what?”

  “Geez! I don’t know! Now you’re making me nuts! This is taking up way too much room in your brain! Why can’t you just let it go and let the police handle it?”

  “I’ll bet the detective would like to know about her. I’ll bet he would!”

  “Then call him, for heaven’s sake! Then maybe you can return to the living and help me out here! We’re both way behind and the director is starting to breath down our throats, if you know what I mean. Let’s get out there and promise me you’ll put your Nancy Drew-hat away until you get home. Promise?”

  Isabella smiles and touches Nicole’s arm. “I promise. I’m sorry again. I’m going to make sure I get here on time. Maybe it’s time to get another alarm clock.”

  “Now you’re starting to make sense again. That’s a good sign!”

  They laugh, stand up, and hug each other.

  “Try to think about the detective. That sounds like a lot more fun that that woman!” Nicole says.

  “It sure does. It sure does,” Isabella answers, as they both walk back to their desks, piled high with books and papers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What a day!” Isabella thinks, as she throws down her purse on the coffee table in her front room. While checking her mail, she gets the sudden urge to cheat on her Slimfast diet, and go get a chocolate croissant at the bakery in South Coast Plaza. I deserve a treat! I’ve been such a good girl on this diet. She grabs her purse, gets into her car, and heads out to the mall.

  Standing in line at Vie de France, waiting to order her croissant, she glances over at “Missoni”—the store where she bought her expensive dress. The store’s window displays are fun to look at: they show brilliantly colorful dresses, purses, and shoes that she’d love to have. She pays for her croissant and walks over to the window display to get a closer look. Some shoes with a very unusual design capture her attention: Wow! Those are the same shoes that Karen Black was wearing the last time I saw her!

  She enters the store and says, “Hi,” to the salesgirl.

  “Isabella!” she answers.

  “You remember my name!” Isabella says.

  “Of course I do. I know how special that dress is to you.”

  “It was a once-in-a-lifetime purchase for me.”

  “So did your investment pay off?”

  “As a matter of fact, it did catch the eye of a handsome detective I like.”

  “That’s great! What brings you in here tonight?”

  “Well, I was admiring those shoes,” she says, pointing to the window display.

  “Oh, yes. We just got them in a few weeks ago. What do you think of them?”

  “I love them. I’m not even going to ask the price, though.”

  “They cost almost as much as your dress did.”

  “Phew! How can people afford to shop here?”

  “Some people have all the luck.”

  The salegirl’s attention is caught by a woman who’s just come into the store. She says, “Hello, Paula. It’s nice to see you again!”

  Isabella looks at the woman and is taken aback. She boldly asks her, “Aren’t you the sister-in-law of the man who was murdered at the dinner theater?”

  “Yes. I am. How did you know?”

  “I was there that night, too.”

  “Oh yes. I remember you, too. You were dressed like Joan in ‘Mad Men’.”

  “And you were dressed like Audrey Hepburn.”

  “Well, that was the look I was going for. I don’t know how well I pulled it off. Your friend looked a lot more like her than I did.”

  Isabella says, “Do the police have any idea who killed your brother-in-law?”

  “If they do, they’re not telling the family anything.”

  “It’s such a tragedy what happened. I’m so sorry for your family’s loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How’s your sister holding up?”

  “She’s having a rough time.”

  “I’m so sorry. Tell her I’m praying for her.”

  Isabella scolds herself: Why did I just say that? Praying for her is the last thing I’ve been doing.

  The salesgirl says, “Isabella was admiring the shoes in the window.”

  “Yes. The ones my sister and I have.”

  Isabella pats herself on the back. Yes! I knew it!

  Paula says, “I’m here to buy a pair in another color.” She points to some shoes that she likes.

  “Great!” the salesgirl says. “I’ll go get your size.”

  She comes back with a shoe box and helps Paula try them on. Paula walks around in them to see if they’re difficult to walk in.

  Isabella says, “Those look fantastic on you. What a knock-out you are! Your husband had better keep an eye on you when you go out of the house in those shoes!”

  Paula laughs, “Thanks for the encouragement.” She says to the salesgirl, “Brenda, I’ll take them.”

  As Brenda rings them up, another salesgirl enters the store and says to her, “Here I am at last. Sorry I’m late. Thanks for covering for me.”

  “It’s okay.” Brenda tells her and grabs her purse.

  “My shift is over,” she tells Isabella and Paula. “Would you girls like to go out for a drink?”

  Isabella answers, “Oh, I don’t want to interfere.”

  Brenda says, “We’d be happy to have you join us. Wouldn’t we, Paula?”

  She says, “Sure. Come with us.”

  “Let’s go to Wolfgang Puck’s,” Isabella says. “Their wine is half off tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” the others say. They take a shortcut through the Macy’s Men Store and dodge the ladies standing at the top of the escalator who are trying to get them to sample cologne. When they enter the restaurant, the server says, “Hi, Isabella. Your table is free.”

  Paula asks her, “You have your own table?”

  “I come in here a lot.”

  “Then it has to be good.”

  They chit chat about clothes as they have their first drinks. By their second drinks, their voices are getting noticeably louder, and everything seems funny to them. The wine makes Isabella bold and she decides to broach the subject of Paula’s brother-in-law’s death. She says, “So do you have any idea who killed him?”

  Paula answers, “Who knows? That man was traveling all the time. He could have a whole other family for all I know.”

  “Really?” Isabella says.

  “Well, he was an outside salesman for an electronic distributorship. He was always going to Las Vegas. He told my sister that it was for business, but I think he went there to gamble.”

  “Interesting. So did he have a gambling habit?”

  “My sister thinks so.”

  “Were they having financial troubles?”

  “Not that I know of. He was still spending money like there was no tomorrow.”

  “Were they happily married?”

  “My sister loved him. I never could understand why. He was a bastard, in my humble opinion.”

  The waitress comes over to their table and asks, “Are you ladies going to have anything to eat?”

  Paula says, “Yes. We better get something in our stomachs after all this wine.”

  They order a fennel sausage pizza.

  After the waitress leaves, Isabella asks Paula, “So, why did you say your sister’s husband was a bastard?”r />
  “We think he was having an affair.”

  “Really?

  “My sister found some credit card receipts from The Hotel Laguna.”

  “He went there without her?!”

  “Yes!”

  “She must have been so mad when she found them,” Isabella says.

  “Yeah. She was mad, but really hurt, too.”

  “Men can be such jerks sometimes.”

  Brenda says, “So, ladies. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

  Damn. Just when it started to get interesting, Isabella thinks.

  They spend the rest of the meal talking about the new season of “Girls” and Isabella doesn’t have the courage to ask Paula any more questions about her sister’s marriage.

  *******

  When Isabella comes back to her house, she takes a long bath and starts thinking about the detective again. I wonder if I should call him and tell him what I’ve discovered tonight. He might be interested in learning the guy had gambling and marital problems. I don’t know. Maybe I should wait until I know more before I start bugging him again. She closes her eyes and fantasizes about the detective once again. Hearing Paula talking about the secret tryst at the Hotel Laguna really got her thinking. She imagines sitting on a blanket at the beach and watching the sun go down with “Don”—as he told her to call him. When the sun disappears behind the waves, Don offers his hand to help her up from the blanket and takes her to a room he’s rented for the night at The Hotel Laguna. He’s made some arrangements beforehand at the hotel, and when they enter their room, she sees a beautiful bouquet of a dozen red roses in a vase on the table, along with a bottle of champagne that’s chilling in an ice bucket. The king size bed has rose petals strewn across it. He takes some candles out of a drawer, along with some massage oil. She looks at him with amazement, and says, “These aren’t usually in the drawers, are they? Did you buy these in advance and tell the hotel to put them in our room?”

  He says, “Yes. I wanted it to be special.”

  You think of everything, don’t you?” she says, lovingly gazing into his dark eyes.

  He laughs and lights the candles. “Would you like me to give you a massage?” he asks.

  “Only if you let me give you one first,” she tells him.

  The sound of her phone ringing breaks up her revelry. Who the hell is calling this late?!

  *******

  Isabella steps out of the bathtub and grabs her robe. “This better be good,” she says aloud. Listening to the message, she hears Nicole’s insistent voice saying, “Call me back tonight, okay?!”

  Isabella calls back and says, “What’s up?”

  “There you are. I was getting worried!”

  “Why?”

  “You were acting so strange today. It’s like you’re totally obsessed with this guy.”

  “Well, I do like him, you know.”

  “I’ve never seen you so far gone.”

  “I hope he feels the same way about me.”

  “Maybe he does; but feels he can’t tell you until the investigation is over. Maybe he considers you as a witness at the murder scene and fears someone might think it’s a conflict of interest if he dates you.”

  “Well…Inspector Morse gets romantically involved with his female witnesses and suspects sometimes.”

  “And it never works out, does it?”

  “No. The woman he likes is usually the one who did it.”

  “Or there’s some other obstacle.”

  “Where were you when I called?” Nicole asks. “Were you listening to your aunt’s 1980’s albums again?”

  “No. I was taking a bath, if you must know. I’ve had a very interesting evening. I’ve been talking to the sister-in-law of the guy who got murdered. She told me that he had gambling problems and was having an affair.”

  “What?! How did you find all this out?”

  “Nancy Drew has ways….”

  “No. Really. How did you find out?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow at work.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Bye for now.”

  “Bye,” Isabella says, and goes into the living room to put on one of her aunt’s 1980’s albums. Squeeze’s song, “Is That Love?” is the last thing she hears before she drifts off to sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following morning, Isabella struggles to get her clothes out of the dryer without dropping anything on the floor. Damn! How could one person create so many dirty things? she thinks, as she bobs and weaves with an armful of warm clothes into her bedroom. Dumping everything onto the bed, she looks out her window and sees birds flying in and out of her small backyard. She smiles while folding her clothes thinking about how nice everything is and how perfect it all seems. Well, everything except for him. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? she asks herself, as she folds some t-shirts that she wears to bed. He’s on my mind all the time! She wants to call him and tell him about her dinner with Karen’s sister-in-law. She thinks it will help him with his investigation, but can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to start getting his fill of her annoying calls. She imagines how proud he would be of her sleuthing abilities and how skillful she was in getting so close to the family. She’s pretty proud of herself, if truth be told. Looking outside, she imagines the view from his bedroom window. In her fantasy, she is in his bedroom folding his laundry, like a good little wife, and he walks into the room, sneaks up behind her, and pulls her down on top of the warm folded clothes on the bed, messing up all the work she’s just done; but neither of them care. Aw, who am I kidding?! she thinks. He doesn’t feel that way. This is just a young girl’s fantasy.

  Putting the last of the folded clothes away, she passes by the telephone in the den and sees the answering machine blinking. With much anticipation, she runs over to it and presses play.

  “Hello. This is UCI’s Breast Imaging Center calling to confirm your appointment for a mammogram tomorrow at 11:00. Please provide 24 hour notice if you must cancel your appointment.” She and her hopes slump as she listens to the recorded message.

  Ugh! Welcome back to the real world. She remembers finding the lump in her breast and her doctor insisting she get a mammogram. I am not going to freak out over this, she tells herself. Yes, I am.

  *******

  Isabella sits in the waiting room at UCI’s Breast Imaging Center and looks around at all the other scared patients. Some women have brought along their husbands for moral support; others hold x-rays that they brought from their doctor’s office. Little kids run around, some crying, as are one or two of the waiting women.

  The receptionist finally calls out Isabella’s name and takes her to a small room with lockers. She says, “You can put your stuff in the locker. Put on the robe open in the front. I’ll give you a few minutes while you dress.”

  After a few minutes, Isabella is taken to a room with an X-ray machine. “The technician will be in shortly,” the receptionist tells Isabella and leaves the room. It seems like it takes hours for the technician to finally come. This is Isabella’s first mammogram and she doesn’t know what to expect. She heard it’s painful. Right now, she isn’t afraid of the pain. Bring it on, she imagines saying. It’s the mental anguish if something’s wrong that causes her the most grief.

  The technician takes several X-rays; then tells her to wait until she shows them to the radiologist. Okay, Isabella thinks. This is all just routine. She breathes a sigh of relief when the technician finally comes back; but her hopes are dashed when she hears the technician say, “The doctor wants to take some more pictures of this mass right here.” She puts up the x-ray on a lighted screen and shows Isabella the area where the radiologist circled.

  Fuckin’ A!! Isabella thinks, looking at the circled mass.

  More x-rays are taken and the technician leaves the room, once again. Isabella starts to cry. She fears that her life is over. I was so happy before. Now I’m going to die, without ever having sex with the detective
. He will not want me if I don’t have any breasts. They were always the one part of her body that she wasn’t ashamed of. Men seemed to really like them. Would he really be that shallow if I didn’t have any? she asks herself. Then, she starts thinking about her own funeral. What will people say about me? What kind of music would they play? Would it be a Catholic Mass or a grave side service? Where do I want to be buried? What will my headstone say?

  The technician comes back into the room and says, “The doctor wants to do an ultrasound on the mass.” Isabella lets loose her tears, and the technician says, “Don’t worry. It may just be a cyst. Okay? Let’s stay positive!” Isabella hugs her like she’s her best friend.

  The technician takes her into another room, tells her to lie down on a bed, and rubs some gel on Isabella’s breast. “Sorry it’s so cold,” she tells Isabella.

  “That’s the least of my worries,” Isabella tells her.

  The technician zeroes in on the area in question, and rolls a wand over Isabella’s breast. She says, “I think it’s a cyst, but I have to ask the doctor. Try not to worry about the mass, okay?”

  Isabella says, “I’d be a lot less worried if you stopped calling it ‘a mass’.”

  The technician smiles at her and says, “I know just what you’re feeling. This will all be over soon.”

  The technician leaves Isabella alone once again to show the results to the radiologist. Isabella bargains with God: Lord, please help me right now. I’m sorry I haven’t been going to Mass lately, but I promise I’ll start going every Sunday if you just make it not be cancer.

  After about fifteen minutes, the technician comes back with a smile. Good news! It’s just a cyst. It will probably go away on its own. The radiologist said that you need to come back for another ultrasound in six months; but otherwise, things are good and you can go home.”

  Thank you, Jesus! Isabella thinks. She feels like jumping up and clicking her heels. She leaves UCI feeling like she has a whole new lease on life.