A Line To Murder (A Puget Sound Mystery) (21 page)

“It’s no big deal. I’m just sorry you’re sick. When did you get the flu?”

“Monday. I felt kind of punk Sunday but I didn’t think much about it.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“I am—was. Anyway, I’m not now and I need your help.”

Oh, ugh. I hate doing favors.

“Sure. If I can. What?”

“I have to go get Dominic Sunday. He’s been gone a week longer than spring break as it is. Before Dominic left, I explained the situation to his teacher and arranged for her to send along his lessons, but it’s time for him to come home. Can you come with me and help drive?”

“Why don’t your parents just put him on the bus?”

“It’s a long trip with a number of stops. I’m not comfortable with it.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. What time do you want to leave?”

“I’ll pick you up at six. We can stop for breakfast on the way. I want to go up and back in one day.”

“All right. I’ll bring a thermos of coffee.”

I hardly heard my own words over a series of sneezes followed by another vigorous use of a handkerchief—one of those big red ones?
Doubtful.
Then he croaked out something about being sorry to miss the dinner and hung up.

On Friday, Missy took a late lunch and returned about the time I was getting ready to leave for the day. Reminded of what she probably had to teach me about men, I tried to be nice, but her sexual magnetism, and the way the men in the office acted around her, irritated me to no end.

“Have a good weekend. Got any plans?”

"
Of course. It’s the weekend, isn’t it?”

Of course. It’s the weekend, isn’t it? Pffffft.

“Doesn’t this rain suck?”

“You walking home in it?”

“I like rain.” I sounded like some impossibly cheerful canary. “It’s good for the complexion.” I changed into sneakers, grabbed my umbrella, smiled at her suspicious look and left.

Nice try, Mercedes, but I don’t think she bought it
.

Actually the rain had let up. A playful wind frolicked around my ankles. Water splashed merrily down the gutters and into the open maw of the storm drains. I remembered Gene Kelly tripping around a light in
Singing in the Rain
and smiled.

At the top of the hill on old Cliff Avenue, I turned left and started past the Stadium High School commons. Stadium was a beautiful brick building that sat on a bluff overlooking the harbor. Initially it was being built for use as a hotel, but a fire and the Financial Panic of 1893 put paid to the idea. In a last minute reprieve, the city bought the castle-like structure and turned it into a high school, retaining the stained glass windows and turrets. Lost in thought about the good old days, I all but walked into Kyle Hamilton.

“Hey, Mercedes. Hello. Walking again, I see. How are you?”

“I’m fine—er, Kyle.”
Well, he started it
. I stopped to catch my breath
.
“Thanks for asking.”

He grinned.

I looked at the school and then back at him. “You’re not in uniform.”

“Youth group.”

“Ah.” Ordinarily, I could make effortless, meaningless conversation with almost anyone, but for some reason his amazing eyes and impossibly long eyelashes had me tongue-tied.

“Where’s your pepper spray?”

“In my purse. You know, it may not be apparent, but I’ve got a beautiful cardiovascular system.”
Cripes. Is there no flirt in me at all?
However, Kyle laughed.
It might be nice to check out what made his heart race, strictly for medical reasons, of course.

Students filed past us, alone and in groups. He nodded to some of them. “Did you get your apartment straightened out?”

“Yeah. My books needed dusting anyway. I used two rolls of Scotch tape and ironed a lot of the pages. That helped.”

“I’d like to see it sometime. The apartment, I mean, now that it’s put back together. It looks like a great place to live.”

Whoa! Will ya look who’s bringing it on.

For the briefest moment we made eye contact. The wind ruffled his hair attractively and blew mine across my face.

“If you feel like going to a dinner party tomorrow night, you can see it.” I fished the strands out of my mouth.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?”

“Then the answer’s yes. What time?”

“Dinner’s at seven. Dress is casual. Come at six. A senior citizen client who should know better gave me a bottle of his homemade wine. It’ll gild your tongue.”

Kyle laughed. He had a nice laugh. Comfortable grooves creased his cheeks. Had I actually hit Scenario Three? No. I still had those fifteen pounds. Then, never having been a femme fatale and being me, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. I had, after all, issued the invitation.

Oh well. The die’s cast. I’ll enjoy Best Case Scenario while I can. What goes up always comes down.

Chapter 19

At home, I emptied my mailbox. Five churches had responded to query about the vicar. I hurried up to my apartment and plopped on the couch to open them. Not one of the church secretaries who responded knew him but each included a church bulletin and invited me to attend services.
Time to move on to the Lutheran churches, I guess
. I tossed them on the coffee table and went to call Dave. I always felt better if someone knew where I was going and with whom when I had a date, and he had a better grip on my wardrobe than I did. He came over after dinner. While I sat cross-legged on the bed, he rooted through my closet.

“This dress.” He pulled out a lightweight wool with a swingy shirt that buttoned down the front, “and these shoes.”

“The heels are awfully high.”

“That’s good. You want to be arm candy, remember.” Dave had spotted the Italian-made, barely-worn shoes at a garage sale. “They say ‘these shoes were expensive so I can afford to be casually elegant.’”

Since Dave always looked expensive and casually elegant, I took his word for it, but not without a parting comment. “I’ll probably fall, and are you sure about the wool dress? Won’t it be too warm?”

“No because I want the buttons open to here.” He pointed to a spot halfway between my breasts.

“I doubt it.”

“You gotta get some game, girl.”

“Why is everyone so worried about my lack of a sex life?”

While I watched, he picked out earrings and found a wrap I’d forgotten I owned.

“There. Too good for a cop, but what are you going to do?”

“Gay chauvinist Miss Piggy.”

Finished with his advice, Dave headed for the door. “I want you to call me on Sunday.”

“Trust me. I will. I really don’t want to go.”

“Then why didn’t you say no?”

“I couldn’t think fast enough to come up with an excuse.”

“Well, tell the cop, too, and let Andy know you did. Now I’ve gotta git. There’s a gallery walk in Bellevue. Remember, no perfume or body splash.”

“Huh? Why?”

“They don’t taste good.”

The pillow I threw bounced off the door closing behind him.

I followed its thump into the living room. Life was good. This was fun.

I’m actually in the marching band instead of hanging around the sidelines.

The phone’s answering machine light had been flashing when I got home. Now, I wound the tape back then pushed play.

“Mercedes Mackaill? This is Muriel Cruise. You left your name and number at my office. I’ve been out of town. Is there something I can do to help you? If so, please feel free to contact me at my office weekdays anytime between eight and five thirty.” She repeated the phone number.

I did? Muriel Cruise?
The name rang no bells and it was after nearly six. I wrote the phone number down and put it in my purse. I’d do it the next day. Then humming the song “Tomorrow” from
Annie,
I grabbed a jacket and my library card. I’d walk off my energy and treat myself to a good browse.

Kyle was prompt. I opened the door to his knock at exactly six. In his jeans, sport jacket and opened-neck shirt, he looked like Harrison Ford. I was glad there was no gold chain. Only Al Pacino and the male dancers in
Westside Story
looked good in gold chains.

Kyle’s hair was slightly damp, and a faint smell of Halston hovered in the doorway. The last time I looked, Halston ran around $15 an ounce. I wondered if he bought it for himself. A man shouldn’t think too much about his appearance. If it was a gift, it wasn’t from Mom. I could bet on that!

“Hi. Come in.” I stepped away from the door to let him pass. “Can I take your jacket?”

He took it off, looking around as he did so. “Great place.”

I hung the jacket on the hall tree and gestured him toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the wine.”

From the kitchen I watched him stroll around, hands in pockets, but I couldn’t tell what caught his attention and caused him to pause occasionally. I tried to see the room through a stranger’s eyes. Natural wood floors and walls, my own artwork hanging here and there and odds and ends I’d picked up while traveling. There were bright area rugs, a few nice antiques mixed with a comfortable but definitely older living room set, plenty of lights and lots and lots of books. And, of course, Jose.

Several years ago, I had a Franklin stove installed. At the time, friends told me it was foolish to put so much of my money into a rented place.

“You should be building equity in a house or a condo. You know every time you make an improvement, the landlord will raise the rent. He hadn’t so far, but they were probably right. Only I was happy where I was.

I put two wineglasses on a tray, added a plate of baby quiches and carried it to the coffee table. Kyle cleared a place and took the glass I offered him. He waited until I curled sideways on the couch before easing himself into an armchair with a grunt. With further effort, he crossed his right ankle over his left knee.

“Old football injury?”

“New one actually. On a bet one night, a group of us set up a game of touch between two rival street gangs. Some of us filled in to keep the numbers even.” He grimaced. “Their touch wasn’t gentle.”

“Gosh.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that dangerous? Couldn’t a gang fight have started?”

“We laid down the rules. They agreed. Neutral turf. It was okay.” Kyle held out his glass, “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” We sipped the dark red beverage, slightly thick as homemade wine sometimes was.

“Good stuff.”

“Thanks. Every fall I get a couple bottles from the fellow I mentioned who makes his own. I think he makes it for the fathers at his church.” I stopped.

“What?” Kyle asked, seeing I was apparently lost in thought.

I came back into the room from a long way in the past. “It just struck me that every policeman I knew when I was growing up, and it was at least half-a-dozen, was always involved, one way or another with kids.”

“Should I even ask why you knew so many?”

I leaned forward and said slowly, “If I tell you, I’ll be kicked out of the witness protection program.”

Kyle laughed. “I wouldn’t want that to happen, so keep it brief and don’t mention names.”

“Well, mostly just neighborhood stuff—just being around. Letting us ride to the dump in the backs of their trucks, fixing bikes, playing ball. I’m always impressed by people who give so much of themselves to others. At the end of the workday I’m exhausted, not physically so much as mentally. More people and more activity are the last things I want. If I don’t chill out a while, I can’t function well.”

Kyle gestured with his wineglass toward a painting I’d done. “Lots of quiet time painting.”

“Yes.”

There didn’t seem anything else to add to the comment. I was taking a healthy conversation and stabbing it in the heart. I let my gaze drift past his shoulder out a window to where trees limbs performed a hula.

“The world needs beauty too, you know. Where would we be if Shakespeare spent all his time in those English pubs playing darts?”

I laughed and forced the melancholy thoughts away. I’d been so psyched about this date nothing could have lived up to my expectations. I put my wine down and offered him the plate of quiches.

“These are great.” Kyle swallowed one and popped another in his mouth. “You make ’em?”

“Yes. They’re crab and cheese with freshly-chopped veggies. I like to cook.”

“Jill’s a great cook too.” The animation on his face disappeared.

“Jill?”

“My wife—ex-wife. We’re separated.”

“I’m sorry.” I was sorry but also uncomfortable. I don’t believe in people who are merely separated dating. Reminded me of a time out.

“Has it been long?”