Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
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whether my friends believe I’m guilty, it’s that I have no problem with them not defending me in public. I’m trying to save their reputation with their family and friends.”
“You are like the bestest friend I have,” Dawn laughed.
I held the door open for her as we walked into the hallway. “And don’t you forget it.”
***
My gym regimen consists entirely of using equipment that will do most of the work, such as a treadmill, elliptical or stationary bike. Even when I’m doing laps in the pool, the water is helping in some capacity. Through diet, some exercise and the benefits of good genes, it’s not hard for me to stay in decent shape. I have nothing against the barbell and weight lifting devotees, although having biceps the same shape and feel as a small bag of potatoes is beyond my understanding. On the machines, I can also catch up on the world by watching sports, news and sometimes cooking programs, which are broadcast on the suspended television screens. Why a gym member would want to view The Chocolate Channel at 6:30 a.m. while trying to lose weight is also beyond my comprehension.
After working up a mild sweat, I found Dawn soaking in the sun on a lounger with a fruit drink in one hand and the tour book in the other. “Good workout?” I kidded her as I reclined in the chair beside her.
“Sun tanning is being considered for the next summer games, if you must know,” she replied.
“In that case, I’d like to submit an application for the official Lotion Applier position. I have good hands you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Dawn smirked. “Even so, I’ll have to equally consider all applicants before choosing you.”
“Is that so?” I countered. “Would the same apply if I started to train as a pole vaulter and needed someone to help with my–”
“Vaulting techniques? Yes, definitely.”
We both laughed, secure in the knowledge that over the past few months, our male and female friends with benefits had slowly been set aside to pursue a monogamous relationship.
Noticing Dawn was reading one of the first chapters of the book, I asked, “What’s the deal with the McDowell murder anyhow? Did he do it or not?”
Dawn set her drink on the side table and sat up, flipping to the final chapter. “Rodney wasn’t kidding about it being a circumstantial case,” she replied. “For the detectives everything came down to Lucy’s life insurance policy and Eric’s cheating. Case closed.”
“Was there any physical evidence Eric had stabbed Lucy?”
“None, but remember it was his house. His fingerprints and DNA were already all over the place.”
“No matching shoe prints or hairs in her blood on the floor?”
“Nada.”
“What about the killer’s voice from the 911 call? Did they identify it as Eric’s through some sort of high tech audio analysis?” I inquired, not wanting to go zero for three.
“They did run tests but the results came back inconclusive,” Dawn said.
“Sounds like Eric’s jury was made up of angry insurance agents and spurned spouses,” I offered. “There were no other suspects?”
Dawn turned a few pages. “Not really. Rodney and his partner talked to all of Lucy’s friends, co-workers and parents of the children she taught. The only problem was, they all had alibis, and no one had a motive to want her dead, especially not in such a violent way.”
“The stabbing was a very personal act, along with the taunting beforehand,” I agreed. “I take it Lucy was portrayed as the good wife, trusted friend, and amazing teacher of our youth, without a mean or deceptive bone in her body?”
Dawn closed the book and picked up her drink. “Pretty much.”
“The question remains, why is her mother so adamant Eric was framed?”
“Maybe she has a sixth sense.”
“Maybe she’s the killer,” I said, “or knows the real killer, but is too frightened to reveal them to the police because she likes to breathe.”
“Both scenarios sound far-fetched, although I’d still love to see you prove either one,” Dawn responded.
“I’ve seen stranger outcomes,” I replied, as I removed my t-shirt and settled back into the lounger. “Do you want to grab some lunch, maybe check out those boutiques and bookstore around the corner in awhile?”
“Let’s aim for noon, do some sightseeing and then get back here for more rays.”
“You got it.”
Dawn put on her headphones and I flipped through Rodney’s book of murderous tales, enjoying the additional information he didn’t have time to relate during the tour. Like when reviewing other investigators’ surveillance reports, as I read I found myself thinking, Investigated that, investigated that, dated the subject’s girlfriend after I investigated that, investigated that. A majority of the cases consisted of life’s three necessary evils: money, sex and jealousy.
I set the book aside and closed my eyes, envisioning the time when Dawn’s newly tanned skin would be against my own pale white skin in some way, shape or form, preferably all three. Sleep came quickly and the next thing I knew, Dawn was gently waking me, having already packed everything up.
“Hey sleepyhead, what about that lunch? I’m starving.”
I slowly returned to the land of the living and stretched my arms above my head. “High noon, already?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Dawn said with a grin.
We walked through the hotel lobby to the city’s touristy shopping district, a nice section of shops, restaurants with outdoor patios and a waterfront ice cream parlour advertising its 34th year in business. Deciding a light lunch was all that was required, we settled on Book A Lunch, a combination independent bookstore and sandwich shop. A former residence, the living room and dining room areas had nice oak shelves featuring new books, all of which had their covers facing out for quick review. The sandwich shop was conveniently located in the kitchen on the main floor, where four bistro tables were set up for customers.
“I love this place,” Dawn commented to the sole female employee. “Everything has a very warm and cozy feel to it. Have you been open long?”
“Almost a year now,” came the reply. “I’m Dara, the owner of this fine establishment. I take it you are visiting our lovely waterfront this weekend.”
“We are,” I said, as I noticed a shelf beside the checkout counter displaying three novels written by one Dara Revin. “An author who owns her own bookstore. Is this how you cut out the middleman?”
Dara glanced at her novels and smiled. “Trust me, I’m not making my living off those self-published books, although owning the store allows me to generate a little more interest in them. Better out in the open than in my basement.”
Dawn walked to the shelf and picked up the one I knew would attract her attention. “The Beginning of Dawn. What’s this one about?” she asked our genial host.
“Dawn is a young widow trying to start life over.”
“I like the tagline on the back cover,” Dawn said. “A coming-of-age story, if you believe life begins at 28. I’m going to buy it. Would you autograph it for me?”
Like a seasoned pro, Dara replied, “When I’m asked that question at book shows my response is usually, whenever there’s a signing event, I figure I should be there for it.”
We all laughed as Dawn set the book on the counter and handed over a $20 bill that Dara set to one side, not ringing it through the cash register. As she inscribed the front inside cover To Dawn – Today is just the beginning! the