In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [25]
“I did. But you’re a big boy. Now I’ll leave you to take care of yourself. You have been warned.”
He laughed so heartily that people turned to look. Impulsively, Mel leaned across and took his hand again. “I know I sound like the voice of doom, but Mr. Vincent, honey, you have to protect yourself.”
Her fingers were smooth and warm on his. She was a long, lanky streak of lightning, and she had an off-the-wall appeal that got to him. “If I promise to do just that, will you help me find the killer?”
She groaned. “I knew there was a catch to this smart lunch. I’ve done my part, I’m out of here, on my way home. . . .”
“Only you know what the killer looks like,” he reminded her.
She thought about that. “Okay, so I’ll help. But remember, I’m a working woman and a mother. I live in LA. I can’t just take off and play detective.”
“We’ll employ a private eye.”
He was holding her arm as they walked from the restaurant. His strong hand beneath her elbow made her feel small and cherished instead of the tall, klutzy female she really was. A limo pulled up to the curb. “Where are we going?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Bill is taking you to the airport. I’m afraid I have to get back to the office. Order up that P.I.”
He was laughing at her now, and she said sternly, “Don’t forget, this is serious.”
“I won’t forget. And I need your address and phone number. To report progress.”
She pulled a cheap spiral-bound notepad from the tangle in her bag and wrote on it. “There.” She tore the page off and handed it to him. “That’s me.”
“Melba Eloise Merrydew,” he read. He looked at her and grinned. “Honey,” he said, “you are straight out of Fitzgerald. They should have called you Zelda.”
“Huh, Zelda indeed.” She sniffed.
“I’ll be in touch, Zelda,” he said, closing the car door.
She turned to look as the limo pulled away. He was still laughing.
“Zelda.” She snorted, snuggling down into the soft leather seat as she was wafted off to Kennedy Airport. But there was a pleased smile on her face. And at least he hadn’t called her Scarlett.
19
Mel said to Detective Camelia, “Ed hired that private investigator. The P.I. checked with the Charleston police and the hospital. The police accident report said I’d skidded into a tree that had then toppled onto the truck, completely wrecking it. The hospital report confirmed that I’d suffered a hairline fracture to the skull and a severe concussion that had caused memory difficulties and confusion. Plus a cracked cheekbone. So far, I had checked out.
“But then the P.I. went over the beach house with a special laser that made ‘invisible’ or ‘hidden’ traces of blood—he said it was what was left when blood has been cleaned up—show up as fluorescent white marks. It showed bloodstains on the rug in the library. There were more leading out to the garage.
“Ed knew then that I was speaking the truth about the dead man. And he also found there was money missing from the wall safe.
“The P.I. deduced that it was a simple robbery gone wrong—one robber shot the other and took off with all the money—and that there was no murder conspiracy against Ed. Ed wouldn’t tell the cops about it because he didn’t want to involve me. He told me he was worried because I could identify the killer. He thought it was me who might be in danger, not him.”
Despite his better judgment, Camelia thought she was speaking the truth.
“Now will you let me see Ed?” she begged.
20
Mel was perched on the edge of the chair by Ed’s bed. Camelia had given her ten minutes with him, that’s all. Ten minutes for the rest of his life. She was recalling what happened after the P.I. had completed his investigation. Private stuff she hadn’t told Detective Camelia. About Ed— and her. About the next time she had seen him. It seemed light-years away now, with Ed dying in a hospital bed right in front of her eyes, and the