Couldn't Cheat Death

by A. P. Eisen

  “Good evening. How are you?” A woman in her midforties bustled up to him. “Table for one?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “This way.” He followed her through the half-filled restaurant and was seated at a corner table. A candle flickered in the center atop a snowy-white tablecloth. Within seconds a busboy appeared to pour him water and plunk down a wicker basket filled with hot, crusty bread. His lunch seemed far away as he slathered on a pat of butter and munched.

  “Would you care for a drink? Wine, beer, or cocktail?” A waitress in the ubiquitous all-black of servers nowadays stood with her pen poised over a pad.

  “I’ll have a glass of Chianti.”

  “Very good. Our special tonight is osso buco, and the soup is Italian wedding soup.”

  “Thanks.” He picked up the menu to peruse the food choices while eating a piece of bread. He noticed he was the only single diner; everyone else was coupled up. In his twenties, he thought he’d be settled with a partner by now, but both Roland and Lincoln had destroyed his trust in people. He’d wasted almost eight years on men who made promises but couldn’t give him what he wanted: forever.

  The waitress came with his wine, and he ordered the chicken pizzaiola with vegetables, no pasta. The door to the restaurant opened, and Cliff watched as Paul Monroe entered, to be greeted effusively by the hostess as if he were a long-lost friend. Cliff met his penetrating gaze across the room, and his heart slammed in heavy beats. Paul gave him a crooked smile, bent to say something to the hostess, then walked over to his table.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. I just ordered dinner. Would you like to join me?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  Cliff arched his brows. “Intrude on what? My solitude? Please, sit.”

  Paul pulled out the chair across from him and sat. The candle did little to hide the lines of strain on his face and the dark, under-eye circles, and Cliff couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It must be hard spending your life surrounded by death all the time.

  “Tough day?”

  Paul glanced up as the waitress brought over his glass of wine. He took a healthy sip before answering.

  “Ah, that’s good. Yeah. You could say that. Tough. Frustrating. Time-consuming. We’re going through Jerry’s phone and computer, trying to cross-match people he might’ve seen or been involved with before his death.”

  “So you still think it has to be a personal acquaintance?”

  “At the moment we’re concentrating on that being most likely. Most murders are committed by a family member or friend.”

  Cliff stroked the stem of his wineglass as the waitress came over and took Paul’s order of chicken Milanese. Should he tell him what Amy had mentioned? It wasn’t confidential and could certainly help, especially if she forgot any of the details.

  “I had a talk this afternoon with Amy. She’s a longtime bartender, even longer than Jerry. She taught him the ropes.”

  Paul nodded. “I saw her name, yeah. I have a meeting with her tomorrow.”

  “She mentioned that Jerry had some interesting interactions, should I say, with two people in particular.”

  “Oh?”

  The waitress placed their salads before them, and Cliff started eating. It took him a moment to realize Paul hadn’t picked up his fork. “You want to talk about this first, huh?”

  He shot Cliff a smile, a mixture of impishness and shyness, and despite his resolution to be strong, Cliff felt weak at the knees. The decades hadn’t changed the impact Paul Monroe had on him.

  Cliff set his fork down and finished chewing. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me what she said, and then tell me what you know about her from her working in the hotel.”

  He braced his chin on his hand. “Hmm. I don’t know much. She’s fortyish, single, and raising a special-needs child. Comes to work, does her job, goes home. That’s really it.”

  “No gossip among the staff? Had she ever dated Jerry?”

  Thinking hard, Cliff couldn’t recall anything that would’ve indicated something more than a work relationship, but then again, he hadn’t known about the extent of Jade and Jerry’s relationship either.

  “I’ve never seen it, no. She told me something interesting, though, that Jerry helped her sometimes with Mason, her son.”

  “Maybe he had a heart of gold you weren’t aware of.”

  “Maybe so,” Cliff admitted. “After all, a lot of people keep parts of themselves hidden, for whatever reason.”

  A dark flush rose over Paul’s cheeks.

  “Yeah. Anything else?”

  “Let me see…” He thought for a moment. “Jerry had two arguments in the hotel this past week—one with a cover model and the other with an author.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll make sure to check that out.”

  As they spoke, Paul took out the notepad he always carried and jotted down notes. Cliff bit back a smile, wondering if he kept it next to his bed and took notes after sex.

  “Can I eat now?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I get so immersed in a case during an investigation, I forget what time it is.” He smiled. “And that not everyone is as invested in the outcome as I am.”

  “I am,” Cliff blurted out, and Paul raised his brows. Cliff added hastily, “I mean, Jerry was my employee. Of course I want to see who killed him get caught and punished.”

  They finished their salads and ate half their main courses before Paul spoke again. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “You come here a lot, I gather?”

  Cliff had eaten enough and set his fork aside. The portions were generous, and he could take some home for another night’s meal.

  “At least once a week, sometimes twice. The food is amazing, prices are good, and Maria is wonderful.”

  “She’s the owner?”

  “Yeah. She and her husband owned it; then after he died, she continued on with her children.”

  The waitress came and took Cliff’s half-eaten meal to box up. Paul had finished his entire plate.

  “Coffee or cappuccino?”

  “Cappuccino would be nice,” Cliff said.

  “Two, Teresa, please.”

  “Okay, Paul.”

  “You know everyone here, it seems.” Well-fed and warmed by a second glass of wine, Cliff lazed back in his chair.

  Paul’s expression sobered. “I investigated the murder of Maria’s husband three years ago. A longtime employee jumped him in the parking lot, stealing the week’s receipts.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It was, but the murderer was sloppy.”

  “Oh?”

  He took a sip of the steaming brew the waitress put in front of him.

  “Yeah.” Paul smiled grimly. “He’d been stealing from the restaurant for years, just small amounts, but he grew bold. That night he decided to go big. He didn’t know that Maria and Vinny—her husband—had decided to install security cameras. When Wesley came out after Vinny, his face was visible. We had him.”

  A bit shaken, Cliff picked up his cup for another sip. “It must be hard dealing with death every day.”

  Paul drank half his cappuccino down in one swallow. “Anytime I catch someone who committed a crime, I feel I’ve allowed the victim to rest easy and restored order. People shouldn’t get away with crimes. It isn’t right.”

  Cliff saw and heard the passion in Paul’s face and voice, and it stirred him. “You love your job, don’t you?”

  “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

  The checks came, and Paul plucked Cliff’s out of his hand. “You can get it next time.” He handed his credit card over.

  Cliff’s brows arched high. “Next time?”

  “Well, now that you’ve tasted Maria’s cooking, you’re going to return, right?”

  The food was delicious, and the restaurant was on his way home. No reason not to. “I most likely will.”

  “Then we’ll see ea
ch other again, I’m sure.”

  There went that smile that shot straight through Cliff. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  Paul took his credit card, and after Maria herself came out to say hello, they left the restaurant and stood in the parking lot in the cool night air.

  “Thanks for dinner. It was much nicer than eating alone.”

  “Even with all the talk about murder and crime?” Paul searched his face. “I know it’s hard for people to take.”

  Was that the reason Paul didn’t have a relationship? How sad. “It can’t be easy for you to meet people outside of law enforcement that get where you’re coming from.”

  Ducking his head, Paul plunged his hands into his suit pockets. “It’s not. I think you’re the first person outside of the precinct I’ve had a meal with in months. Years.”

  That made Cliff even sadder. He remembered Paul as a teenager always laughing and surrounded by his group of friends, but now he seemed so alone.

  “I guess you guys have lots to talk about. We tend to gravitate toward people with common interests.”

  “My partner, Rob, is married with three little girls. He’s my best friend, but we have little in common aside from the job.”

  Cliff sensed the mood of the evening slipping away but couldn’t think of anything to prolong their time together.

  “When will you be coming by tomorrow? I can have a room set up for you to interview people.”

  “At ten.” Paul gazed at him steadily. “I’m planning on going for a run in the park around seven thirty, so that should give me plenty of time to shower and change.”

  Was he getting mixed signals from Paul? Did he want Cliff to join him on his run, or was he simply making conversation? Cliff nodded, and keeping a neutral voice, said, “Okay, see you then. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He and Paul separated, got into their cars, and drove away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It’s not a date.

  Paul put on his sneakers, then jogged in place to get his blood flowing. He checked his watch and saw it was seven twenty-five. Shoving his keys and cell phone into the pocket of his running shorts, he headed out the door.

  Thornwood Fields sat across from his apartment. It was a lush, sprawling piece of parkland, around forty acres, with a small pond in the middle and three playgrounds at different ends. It boasted a soccer field, basketball courts, and a baseball field. A trail looped around the perimeter, which was what most of the runners used. At this time of the morning runners already dotted the path, and Paul, after casually glancing around to see if he spotted Cliff but coming up empty, picked a place to start.

  In a way, he should be glad. After all, what did he want? He couldn’t have it both ways—feeding the attraction sparking between him and Cliff and yet holding himself back from acting on it. He pounded out a steady pace on the path, trees flashing past him.

  But putting the undeniably attractive Cliff Baxter out of his mind was proving harder and harder. Paul could only concentrate on the murder investigation so long. And when he put those files away, it was Cliff his mind turned to. The quick smile and bright eyes. That trim, muscular body and fantastic ass. He’d like to bury himself balls-deep, feel the clench of its velvet heat around his cock…

  Paul stumbled, and a hand reached out to grasp his elbow and steady him.

  “Careful now.” He found himself staring into Cliff’s face, and his own heated over the very indecent images he’d been entertaining about the man.

  “Oh, hey.” They slowed and jogged off the path to stand on the grass. “I didn’t even see you.”

  “I know.” Twin dimples accentuated Cliff’s handsome face. “I took the chance you’d be running already. I had trouble finding parking and came a few minutes after seven thirty. I saw you after a bit. You have a good pace.”

  Pushing sweaty bangs off his forehead, Paul shrugged. “I try. You want to start again?” His gaze swept over Cliff, who, he was glad to see, dressed like him in casual clothes, not a designer wardrobe for running.

  “Yeah. I usually do two loops; how about you?”

  “Same.”

  They set out at an easy pace, and Paul, who normally used the time to think about his cases, found himself stealing quick glances at the man next to him. They were both in shape enough to talk while they ran. Paul had always run alone, but he had to admit it was nice to have someone—Cliff especially—there with him.

  “I didn’t want to spend the whole time at dinner talking about the murder investigation, but can I ask you a few questions now?”

  Cliff’s lips quirked in a smile. “Nothing like murder before muffins and coffee.”

  Paul grunted. “Sorry. I’ll wait until later, then.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. I have a feeling you can’t help yourself. What do you want to know?”

  “Aside from the people you mentioned last night, have you heard any gossip from the staff?”

  “Oh, yeah. They can’t stop talking about it. Everyone has an opinion.”

  “Oh? What’re they saying?”

  They turned the first curve of the oval loop, he and Cliff matching steps stride for stride.

  “Mostly it’s the female employees. It’s amazing how Jerry got around. I don’t know when he found time to work.”

  “Yeah? So he was sleeping around with more of the staff than Jade Kennedy?”

  Cliff’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I think that’s a safe assumption. Hotel maids, front-desk staff, restaurant workers…” A sound of disgust escaped him. “And I’m still in shock over Jade. She’s usually such a good judge of character. I can’t believe she allowed herself to fall for Jerry’s bullshit.”

  “When it comes to sex, people see what they want.”

  “I guess. I’m beginning to wonder if there was any other staff he slept with.”

  All that meant for Paul was more suspects to interview and more time passing before the killer was caught. The colder the case, the harder it would be to solve.

  “I think, in this instance, you ought to consider yourself lucky you weren’t one of his conquests.”

  “Yeah,” Cliff said as their feet pounded the pavement. “Jerry Gregoria wasn’t my type.”

  It was on the tip of Paul’s tongue to ask what Cliff’s type was, but he refrained and decided to take pity on the guy and stop with the work questions. “How’d you get into hotel management?”

  They ran for a minute or so before Cliff answered. “I wanted to do something people-oriented and get a chance to see more of the world than just Thornwood Park. So I chose hospitality. I’ve worked in California, Texas, and eventually went to one of their properties in Paris. I like solving problems, and the company began to see me as a sort of fixer. Someone who can come in, discover the weakness, and formulate a plan of action for recovery.”

  “How many years have you been at this location?”

  They’d done a full loop and reached the front of the park, and began the second mile of their run.

  “This is my third. I’m not planning on transferring anymore. I told them I want to stay put, and they agreed. After all”—Cliff gave him that bright, quick grin—“it’s not like Thornwood Park is a place people are coming to in droves. They were happy to have me stay, so they offered me the hotel-manager position. I’ve decided it’s time to put some roots down, and for me, the old saying ‘you can’t go home again’ isn’t the truth. I’m happy here. I like the small-town environment and the slower pace. Plus, we’re close enough to the beach to be a tourist spot, so we do get busy, and it keeps things interesting. It’s a win-win.”

  “Except now you have to deal with a murder investigation.”

  “But that’s temporary. Eventually you’ll find the killer, and things will go back to normal.”

  Paul wanted to say he appreciated the confidence but kept silent. Right now the list of suspects was growing rapidly. At this rate, he might have to call in the entire population of Thornwood be
tween the ages of twenty to forty for questioning. His head hurt at that prospect.

  They ran the rest of the path in silence, with Paul mentally going over his list of interviews. He was glad Cliff wasn’t the chatty type. Part of the reason he ran was to clear his head before he jumped feet-first into the day. Having Cliff beside him was an extra bonus.

  “Well,” he said, slowing down to a walk, then stopping at the entrance of the park, “I’d better stop now. Have to shower and make it to the hotel by ten for the first interview. I’m in the building over there.” Paul pointed across the street. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave?”

  The wind ruffled Cliff’s hair, and Paul smelled the warm scent of his skin. He hoped Cliff said no. He wished Cliff would say yes.

  I’m going out of my mind.

  “I’d better not. I have to be at the front desk by nine thirty, and that’s only an hour from now.” He dug his car keys out. “Rain check, though?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you over there.”

  “Good.” Cliff’s bright smile joined the sun, which moved out from behind a mass of fluffy white clouds. “I’ll have a room set up for you. Just ask at the front desk when you come in, and they’ll give you directions.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cliff raised a hand in farewell, and Paul squinted after him, watching as he walked away. His sigh was one of regret as he turned and headed back to his apartment.

  * * *

  Wilma r was their first interview of the day. The young, terrified woman sat in front of him and Rob, who was thrilled to get out of the station and stop staring at the computer screens and printouts Forensics had given them of what they’d found so far.

  Smiling at her, Paul began. “Ms. Simpson, I’m Detective Paul Monroe, and this is Detective Rob Gormley. We’re here investigating the murder of Jerry Gregoria.”