Valentine's Day Is Killing Me (3 page)

“At least he didn’t stand you up,” her sister said comfortingly.

“For Christ’s sake, will you try to focus!” Julie Kay hissed into her cell phone. She slammed on her brakes so she wouldn’t hit the unmarked car in front of her. Her date had enough problems without being put in traction as well. “I have a big fucking problem here, and I’d like you to
help me
.”

“Sweetie, I’m a homemaker, not Matlock. What do you want me to do?”

“Can I go off and leave him?” she asked anxiously. “It’s not like we have this deep, meaningful relationship.”

“He said he didn’t do it, right?”

“Yeah, but
I’m
not Matlock, either. If he’s innocent, the cops or the D.A. will figure it out. Right?”

“Riiiight,” her sister said doubtfully.

“So what’s my date responsibility here?”

“It’s a new one on me,” her sister admitted. “I’m just glad he turned out to be alive.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a left on Hiawatha, “there’s that.”

“So, that’s an improvement, right? Especially if he’s telling the truth about not killing—who’d he supposedly kill?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, I hate to go all Miss Marple on you…”

“Let me talk to him first. If they’ll let me, I guess. Man, oh man,” she muttered. “And I thought Valentine’s Day was killing
me
…”

“That’ll learn you. Silver lining behind every cloud, and all that.”

“You’ve been super-helpful. And by that I mean, of course, you have not been remotely helpful, and I’m hanging up now.”

“Call me back!” her sister begged. “Tell me whodunit!”

Like I’m going to have a clue myself,
she thought, and slapped the phone closed.

“Well,” her date said cheerfully. “This is awkward.”

“It’s not funny, Scott.”

“I’m with you, but it’s either try to make a joke out of it or burst into unmanly tears, and I’m trying to make a good impression on you.”

“It’s a little late for that,” she pointed out.

“Thanks for coming to the station.”

“Mmmm.”

It was an evening of firsts: she was standing outside a holding cell, which Scott had all to himself. Getting in to see him had been relatively simple, once she’d signed about six reams of paperwork. It had certainly gone better than her last annual review.

“So, what? What happens next?”

“Well, I called my dad and he’s sending a lawyer down to try to get me out of here…”

“You haven’t seen a lawyer yet? You saw me but not your attorney?”

“What can I say. That black cardigan makes my heart go trippity-trip.”

She yanked the cardigan closed. “Scott, this is serious.”

“I know. You can tell because, the more serious it is, the more dumb jokes I’ll be cracking.”

“How old are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“If you’ll take a peek at my rap sheet, you’ll see I’m a doddering twenty-four.”

“Well, even if this murder thing wasn’t hanging over our heads, I could tell you this never would have worked. I’ve got almost ten years on you.”

“So? You speak your mind and you’ve got an ass that won’t quit. That’s really all I require in a woman.”

“Scott, I’m not sure you’re getting exactly what’s going on here…”

“Sure I am. Somebody killed our waiter while I was in the men’s. I fell over the body and got blood all over me.” He gestured to his dark shirt which, Julie Kay now noticed, had a dark stain on the upper left shoulder.

“You fell on the dead guy?”

“Yeah, and it’s as gross as it sounds, believe me. Basically, I did everything you’re not supposed to do…I mean, have I not seen any episode of the
Law & Order
franchise? I rolled the guy over, tried to see if he was okay, got my prints all over the shrimp fork—it was my shrimp fork, by the way—”

She covered her eyes. “Oh, boy.”

“—started yelling for help and, annoyingly,
that’s
when people noticed the body: when they looked over and saw me crouching practically on top of him.”

“Great.”

“Worst date ever,” he finished.

“I was just having that same thought.”

“Honey,” he told her, giving her a penetrating look from those amazing eyes, “you’re out there. I’m in here. So I win the Worst Date Prize.”

“Agreed. So, now what?”

“I tell my lawyer what happened—when he shows up—and justice prevails.”

“It’s not like you had a motive, right?”

“Never saw the guy before tonight. Although, I was kind of annoyed he didn’t give us a better table.”

“Well, for God’s sake, keep that to yourself. Maybe somebody at the restaurant saw what happened.”

“If someone did, no one said shit to the cops while I was there. Of course, they could have feared my murderous rage and clammed up as a result…”

“Sure.” Who could fear long legs and blue eyes and a narrow waist? Scott was a little on the skinny side, but she liked tall guys. And he was really tall. Yum. “Well, I guess I’ll just wait with you until your lawyer gets around to showing up.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that,” he protested as she looked around for a place to sit. “You should go grab something to eat. Aren’t you hungry? It’s after nine o’clock and we never got a chance to…”

“I couldn’t eat. Not after seeing that poor guy. Did you see his eyes?” She shivered. “I’ve never seen a real dead guy before. TV doesn’t count.”

“I have,” Scott said glumly. He had a place to sit, she noticed—a small bench in the far corner, not to mention the toilet—but didn’t. Instead, he stayed close to the bars. Close enough to reach out and touch her, if he wanted. “I used to work in a funeral home.”

“And you left to design greeting cards?”

“What can I say? I wanted something in the fast lane.”

She gestured to the holding area. “It doesn’t get much faster than this.”

“Honey, that’s the truth.”

“Don’t call me honey.”

“Darling? Sweetie pants?”

“I told you, this isn’t going to work.”

“It’s the cloud of murder hanging over my head, right?”

“No, I already told you. The age difference.”

“Oh,” he yawned. “That.”

“Look, let’s stay on track here, all right? Can I get you something? Or is a detective going to offer you a sandwich and then play bad cop?”

“Honey, I have no idea. I’ve never been arrested before.”

“Well,” she said, “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“Stop that.”

“This is getting weirder and weirder. I mean, the evening just keeps topping itself.”

“It’s like adopting a dog,” Scott said, glancing over her shoulder as she signed page after page. “Look at all the stuff you have to fill out! Is there anything there about me having all my shots?”

“Ho-ho. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Because we’re in lurrrrrrrrv?”

Because she couldn’t stand the thought of him in that grungy cell when she knew to her bones he was innocent. Because she wanted him to like her. Because she’d lost her fucking mind. Because his shirt was off.

Yep, he was standing there in his dark slacks and his shoes, but his bloody shirt had been taken as, she assumed, Exhibit A. His chest was exceedingly distracting: wide shoulders, a light fur of hair running between his nipples and down into his pants, flat stomach, nipples the size of quarters. Christ!

Focus focus focus.

“Have him back here at 1:00 P.M. tomorrow, Miss About.”

Whew! Something to focus on besides Scott’s nipples. “That’s ‘Aboot’,” she corrected the lady detective, whose name, she had since learned, was Hobbes.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Aw,” Scott said, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had recently been removed. “I think it’s cute.”

“Shut your nipples, Scott.”

“What?”

“Mouth. Shut your mouth.”
Oh, God, I didn’t just say that, did I?
“So, Detective Hobbes, you were saying—back here tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes. And you were telling him to shut his—”

“Never mind. He’ll be here. Guaranteed.”

“Yes, I know,” Hobbes said cheerfully, scooping up the ream of paperwork Julie Kay had just signed. “It’s not like we can’t track you down.”

“So that’s it? I can really leave?”

“As I said earlier, we don’t have enough to hold you overnight. But we’ll be chatting with you again tomorrow.” Yes, the lady was weirdly cheerful for a murder cop. Maybe it came from being a redhead? “And between now and then we’ll be conducting a number of interviews.”

“You’re thinking, if I have a super-secret motive, you’ll find it.”

The smile slipped off Hobbes’s face. “Yes. That’s what I’m thinking.”

There was an awkward silence, and then Julie Kay tentatively touched Scott’s bare shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“So, should I get a cab or do you mind giving me a lift back to my—”

“I promised your lawyer and the cops that I’d vouch for you showing up tomorrow.”

“Great. So—”

“So, you’re staying at my place.”

“We are in lurrrrrrrv!” he said delightedly.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, Julie Kay, thanks. You’re a girl in a million.”

“I haven’t been a girl in twenty years, and shut up.”

“I mean, most girls would have fled screaming into the night, not gone to the jail with me and got me released and promised to haul me back the next day.”

“Most girls are smarter than me.”

“Not hardly.”

“Well, thanks, but there’s got to be an explanation.”
Besides his yummy nipples.
“I think I have a fever,” she muttered, unlocking her car. Then, “Aren’t you freezing? You look…uh, cold.”

“Well, I am, a little. But it seemed kind of lame to complain. What’s being cold compared to being dead?”

She rummaged around in her backseat and found another cardigan. He shrugged into it without complaint. It wouldn’t button—he was too broad—so he just held it as closed as he could.

“Home, Jeeves,” he mock-ordered, and she almost shuddered. She really had lost her mind. How was she ever going to
explain
all of this?

“You just better not be guilty, you perky-nippled son of a bitch.”

“Have no fear. Drive on.”

“Well, this is it.” She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter. “Home sweet hell.”

“It’s nice,” he commented, glancing around the small house she rented from her brother-in-law. “I used to live in Inver, back when I was a student at the U.”

“Yeah, what, six weeks ago?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.”

“I hate apartments. I always feel like a bee in a hive. So when my brother-in-law moved into a bigger place, he let me rent this one. It’s worked out for everyone.”

“Mmm.” He was prowling around the living room and dining area like a big, brunet panther. “I have an apartment, and I know what you mean. But I’m almost never there.”

“Where are you?”

“Work, usually. That’s why I was really glad when you decided to go out with me. I mean, I have no social life.”

“But you’re so…” Gorgeous. Delicious. Fabulous. Tall. “…smart.”

He shrugged. “I was always the tallest kid in my class,
and
the skinniest. But I was bad at sports. So who’d want to go out with a big gork like me?”

Oh, I dunno, anyone with half a brain?

“Uh, let me see if I can find something better than my old cardigan.” She turned to go into her bedroom, but he came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s the least of my problems, believe me. What the hell am I going to do about that poor guy at the restaurant?”

“Uh…well, I…uh…” Blue eyes were filling her world, her universe. They were getting closer and closer. There was nothing else: no house, no living room, no cardigan, no dead guy.

She felt his lips on hers and put her arms around him—she could hardly reach, his shoulders were so broad. Her mouth opened beneath his and his tongue touched hers, tentatively and then with more assurance, licking her teeth and nibbling her lower lip. She pulled, and the cardigan was on the floor, and her hands were running across his fine chest, and…

(dead guy, dead guy!)
…she yanked herself away. “Stop that! This is totally inappropriate!”

“Hey, you kissed
me
.”

“I did not!” Oh, wait. Maybe she did. “Well, it doesn’t matter. This isn’t the time or place.”

“I
know.
That’s why I didn’t kiss you. Although, I have to say,” he added cheerfully, “I’ve been dying to all night. But you’re right, this isn’t the right time. Bad sweetie.”

“Oh, like you were really fighting it!”

“It seemed rude to give you the brush-off,” he said, sounding wounded. “You know, me being a guest in your home and all.”

“Well, never mind that. Let’s stay focused. Put your sweater back on.”

“I didn’t take it off,” he grumbled, but did as she asked.

“Let’s figure this out. We have to be back there in fourteen hours. So, if you didn’t kill the guy—”

“Charley Ferrin.”

She gasped. “You know him?”

“No, no.” He held his hands up, palm out. “Calm down, don’t have a coronary.”

“I’ll have one if I damn well please!”

“It’s not like that. Detective Hobbes told me his name. I swear, I have no idea who he is. The name meant nothing to me.”

“Okay, okay.” She forced herself to calm down. He was right, this was no time to burst a blood vessel. “So, if you didn’t do it, who did? Who had a motive and could do it quick, and avoid the cops, and stick you with a murder charge?”

“Honey, I got nothin’. I’ve been trying to figure it out all night. I was minding my own business, waiting for you, and the next thing I know, I’m wearing handcuffs. And not in a good way.”

She felt the blood rush to her face as she pictured him cuffed to her headboard. “All right. Did you overhear any arguments? See anybody fighting? Anything weird at all?”

“No.”

“Come on. There must be something.”

He shook his head. “No. And no, and no. I told the cops all this already.”

“Well, now tell
me,
” she snapped.

“Don’t boss me!”

“I’ll boss you if I like! If it wasn’t for me you’d still be rotting in jail!”

“The hell. My lawyer would have vouched for me.”

“Yeah, I could tell what a great job he did by the way it took him
hours
and
hours
to
not
show up.”

“Listen—mmph!”

She had kissed him again. What was wrong with her?

“Not that I mind,” he gasped, extricating himself from her grip, “but, again, don’t you think this is a little inappropriate? Given the circumstances?”

She got up to pace. “Of course it’s inappropriate—it’s nine kinds of inappropriate! What the hell is wrong with me?”

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to the punch. “I’ll tell you, it’s this fucking holiday! It’s killing me! It’s making me act in ways I would never normally act! God, I hate it, I hate it,
I hate Valentine’s Day!”

“Take it easy,” he said, and rose to cuddle her in his arms. Sulkily, she allowed it. “You’ve had a tough day.”

“A terrible day.”

“Yes, just awful. You poor baby.”

“I never should have said yes when you asked me out. I like being single!”

“Aw, come on,” he said to the top of her head. “And miss all this excitement?”

“Mmph.” Her chin was resting in the middle of his chest and it was wonderful, thank you very much. They swayed together in her small living room, dancing slowly to unheard music. He was rubbing her back and she could feel his breath on the top of her—

On the top of her head.

She jerked out of his embrace. “You’re really tall.”

“Six-five. But it’s not, you know, contagious or anything. Here, come back for another snuggle.”

She resisted the snuggle command. “But the stains on your shirt…they were on your shoulder!”

He blinked. “Well, yeah. I think I got blood on me when I leaned down to roll the guy over, see if he was okay.”

“But—think about this. If you’d stabbed him with your shrimp fork, don’t you think—”

“The blood would be lower, given where he was stabbed, and where the stains were.” His eyes widened. “Holy shit! And to think I hated being tall when I was a kid! It’s just saved my ass!”

“We’ve got to tell Hobbes! They should be looking for someone shorter, not trying to pin it on you! And you know that’s what they’ll be doing…if they have a suspect, they try to make the puzzle fit around that suspect. They won’t be looking for a new guy.”

“How do you know that?”

“TV,” she said. “Lots and lots of TV.” She lunged for her cell phone, which beeped at her the moment she had it in her hand. She flipped it open and said, “Not now.”

“But whodunit?” her sister asked breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting hours for you to call.”

“We don’t know.”

“‘We’?”

“But we know Scott didn’t do it.”

“But didn’t you know that before?”

“Yes, but now we really, really know.”

“Is he there? Is he with you? What’s he like? Is he nice? He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“He’s fine. Look—”

“Will you go out with him again?”

“One thing at a time,” she said. “First I’ve got to clear him.”

“You’ve got to clear him?”

“Long story. I have to go.”

“Wait! When—”

She disconnected the call, then stopped. “What do I do? Do I dial 9-1-1 and ask for Detective Hobbes?”

“I think we better go back down to the station.”

“But what if they arrest you again?”

He slapped his forehead. “Duh, we call my lawyer and tell him what we’ve figured out.”

“Oh.” She felt exquisitely stupid. “Right, of course.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he said, correctly reading her expression. “It’s different when it’s real life.”

“I’ll say.”