Love at First Sight. B.J. Daniels
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that he’d have something to give to Denny. Not that Detective Kirkpatrick deserved anything after the trick he’d played on Jack that morning, getting him out of bed at daybreak.
“Average height, brown hair, medium build,” Karen said. “His face was shaded by a baseball cap.”
“You just described half the guys in the United States.”
“I know,” she groaned. “I just saw him for a second. Then later in silhouette.”
Jack took another shot at it. “What about the way he was dressed?”
“Blue jeans, jean jacket, baseball cap.”
Dressed like that, he’d be Joe Blow Invisible in Montana.
Jack tried not to let his disappointment show. She seemed so anxious to help. “Anything about him strike you as odd or unusual?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “There must have been something or I wouldn’t have recognized him again this morning.”
Jack wished he could be sure about that. But he couldn’t even be sure she’d been chasing the right guy. There were always mug-shot books. Or a police artist. But he doubted either would be productive. She couldn’t provide enough for a good composite, let alone pick him out strictly from a more than likely outdated mug shot.
“You believe he was her secret lover?” Jack asked. “The one from the personals?”
Karen nodded. “I’d put money on it.”
A betting woman. Wouldn’t Denny love her? He clamped his jaw down on the thought.
“Why?” he asked, curious, since he suspected she didn’t take her bets lightly.
She proceeded to tell him about Liz’s message on her answering machine.
“What’s eerie about it is that at the same time Liz was calling me to tell me she’d found out who he really was, I was coming down the hallway. She was expecting him. On the tape, I heard a knock at the door and she said something like, ‘That’s him now.’
“Add to that the way she greeted him at the hotel, trying to slap him, and his reaction, pushing her into the room as if he didn’t want anyone to hear their conversation or to see them together,” she concluded.
“You think he’s married?”
“Seems likely, huh?”
He finished his coffee. It was time to turn all of this over to his partner. And time for Jack Adams to get on with his so-called vacation. Denny could handle it from here. So why was Jack dragging his feet? Did he even have to ask? He smiled to himself. At thirty-four he knew himself pretty well.
“We need to get you, your information and that message on your answering-machine tape to Detective Kirkpatrick at the police department,” Jack said finally.
She nodded. “You’re not on the case?”
He laughed and looked down at his clothing. “I’m actually on vacation.” Kind of.
She smiled. “You must be very dedicated, chasing speeders on your vacation.”
He almost told her about seeing her at the Hotel Carlton, about making a bet with himself about her, about thinking there was something interesting and suspicious about her, about picking up the coffee-stained napkin she’d dropped and following her. “Just a chance encounter,” he said.
“Just my luck.”
He wasn’t sure how to take that, but she was smiling.
He met her gaze and almost laughed at the tension that sparked between them. Sexual tension? It had been so long he almost didn’t recognize it. Almost.
“What now?” she asked, her eyes large and expectant.
Several thoughts leaped to mind. He wondered if she had plans for later tonight. Except later tonight, he’d be frying freshly caught fish over his Coleman miles from here. Remember all those plans you had at the lodge?
“Oh, there is one other thing,” she said, toying with her coffee cup, the nervousness back. “The guy I saw at the hotel with Liz—” Her gaze came up to meet his. Fear darkened her eyes. “He saw me, too.”
Jack felt his gut clinch. “Did he know you?”
She chewed at her lower lip for a moment. “I don’t think so. He looked…surprised when he saw me, but it could have been because I had red wine all over my dress, which as you know looks a lot like dried blood.”
He nodded, remembering only too well. He finished his coffee, then excused himself. In the quiet of the men’s room, he punched in the number on his cell phone, telling himself he was doing the right thing. But he wondered if the woman back at the table would agree. She seemed to have a definite mind of her own.
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said, when he returned to the table. “By now the police could already have someone in custody.”
She looked relieved as she put down her empty coffee cup. “That is possible, isn’t it?”
“I’ll try to find out for you.”
She gave him her home number and he dug one of his cards from his wallet and wrote his cell-phone number on the back, still thinking he’d be fishing before nightfall. “Call me if you need anything.”
THE PAST TWENTY-FOUR hours felt like a twilight-zone roller-coaster ride. Karen drove back to her apartment in a strangely electrified daze, wondering when the ride would end and the old Karen’s quiet life would return. She couldn’t believe she’d tried to chase down a killer. Even a possible killer. That just wasn’t like her.
No, she wasn’t anything like the Karen Sutton she’d been prior to running into Liz yesterday morning. The old Karen Sutton had only read about murder and she’d definitely never been pulled over for speeding and frisked.
She felt her cheeks flush at the memory. Just the thought of Detective Jack Adams warmed more than her face. She’d even thought she felt high-voltage currents at the coffee shop. Crazy. She’d just met the man. He was a cop, for heaven’s sake. A cop who’d pulled her over for speeding. So how did she explain her reaction to him? Shoot, she couldn’t even explain her reaction to this new fearless her.
Maybe it was adrenaline. Adrenaline and too much sugar and caffeine.
She decided she’d take this new Karen home, get her cleaned up and properly clothed, then wait for Jack’s call. Once the sugar, caffeine and adrenaline wore off she’d be her old self again.
When she reached her apartment, she was actually glad to see Howie waiting for her on the front step. She needed a good strong dose of reality right now.
“I have a confession,” he said solemnly.
A confession. Great. She’d heard enough confessions for a while. But she and Howie did need to talk and she didn’t mind the company right now.
She opened her apartment door, just thankful to be home. She still felt numb from the shock of Liz’s murder. But at least it was out of her hands now.
She put Detective Adams’s card by the phone, cell-phone number up. Just in case.
“I’m not sure I’m up to any confessions,” she said and turned to find Howie inspecting her poor, deprived houseplants.
“Do you have any organic fertilizer?” he asked.
“Howie, we need to talk.”
“Your plants really need water—and fertilizer, Karen.”
She decided to take pity on her poor neglected plants, which she only remembered to water when they looked as if they were on their last stems, to ease her own guilt.
“I think there might be some Make-It-Grow that your aunt gave me under the sink,” she said,