Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [39]
My last client left my office at 8:57. Outside the strip mall where I work, it was almost as dark as the inside of my head. I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the previous night and the early morning jog had only made me more tired.
My little Saturn was one of the few cars left in the parking lot. It sat like a quiet sanctuary under a tall light. I had strategically parked there in case of an attack of turbaned men, irate junkies, or old flames. But suddenly the asphalt stretched in front of me like a desert. The night seemed abnormally quiet. There was not a person in sight. Had there been a music reel to my life it would be playing the kind of spooky stuff that makes moviegoers hold their breath and wait for the blood.
As for me, I stood frozen, also waiting for the blood. A noise clicked off to my right. I turned, ready to scream, frozen. A marmalade cat trotted around the corner, tail tweaked at the end, looking jaunty.
I put my hand to my chest and said a little prayer just as a man stepped into view. He lurched toward me. I squawked like a chicken and jerked up my Mace, fumbling madly for the button, ready to spray, but at the last second, a few commonsense cells filtered erratically into place.
“Ms. McMullen! Don’t shoot!”
It was then that I recognized Willard Benson from the office three doors down. I lowered my weapon and tried to do the same with my blood pressure. No go. It was off the charts and rising.
I slumped back against the building. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Holy cow! Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” Be an idiot.
“That’s okay. No problem. Best to be careful,” he said, but there was a little more hustle in his step as he scurried away.
I remained as I was, still breathing hard, hands still shaking, until I felt I could convince my knees to do my bidding. Taking a deep breath, I shook my head at my own foolishness and headed for the Saturn.
All was well. I realized now that there were half a dozen patrons in the nearby coffee shop. I strode across the asphalt almost like a normal person. I was not abandoned to the miscreants of the world. I had my Mace and my cell phone close at hand.
I popped the locks on the Saturn and rounded the front bumper.
I felt his presence, even before I heard the rustle of his movements behind me. Even before he spoke.
“Don’t scream,” he rasped, and I didn’t.
14
Conscience … nature’s way of making sure we don’t have too much fun.
—Officer Tavis, who didn’t
actually believe there was
such a thing as too much
fun
“What do you want?” My voice sounded like the croak of a waterlogged bullfrog.
The man behind me pressed a little closer. I swallowed and tried to breathe. “What are you offering?” he rumbled.
“My wallet’s—” I began, but in that instant my memory clicked into place. This same scenario had played out just a few days before. I took a deep breath through my nose, straightened slightly, and shifted my gaze cautiously to the left. “If you’re Rivera I’m going to kill you,” I said.
There was absolute silence, then, “What if I’m not Rivera?”
Something thumped in my chest. I think it was my heart hitting the light pole. I turned slowly, then glanced up.
Officer Tavis stood not three feet away. Tall and handsome and as innocuous as flan. He was eating an ice-cream cone that he held in his left hand.
“I take it you and Rivera aren’t quite ready to tie the knot,” he surmised. The words were a little muffled as he licked his cone.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” I asked. Tavis was a cop for a McTown nestled quietly up against the mountains a half a lifetime to the west of L.A. I’d met him while checking into a grisly murder that had taken place in sleepy little Edmond Park. He’d propositioned me within the first ten minutes. I wish I could say I resented that.
“Me? I just brought you an ice-cream cone,