Not One Clue_ A Mystery Part 17

"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 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 b.u.mper.

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 s.h.i.+fted 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 m.u.f.fled as he licked his cone.

"What the h.e.l.l 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," he said, and shoved his right hand forward as proof.

"An ice-cream cone? An ice-cream cone?" My voice had risen into the range where only gerbils and c.o.c.kroaches can hear it. "I don't want a d.a.m.ned ice-cream cone. I want to be able to walk into a parking lot without having the bejeezus scared out of me by some hulking-"

"You don't want it?"

"No, I don't ... Oh, give me that," I said, and yanked it from his hand. It was starting to drip.

I licked the perimeter. Chocolate vanilla swirl.

"So I scared you?" he asked.

I gave him a glare. "What the h.e.l.l were you doing lurking like a ..." I searched for the proper words. "... gargoyle between the d.a.m.ned-"

He laughed. Golden-haired and beautiful, he looked like a happy angel. "I didn't think you got got scared, Chrissy." scared, Chrissy."

The ice cream was beginning to chill my nerves and restore the usual munificence I reserve for all mankind. "I didn't think you you were an idiot." were an idiot."

"Really?" When he smiled his dimples popped out. It was like trying to stay mad at Buddha.

"But I was obviously wrong," I said.

He put a palm to his chest. It looked broad and capable. "That's the meanest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Yeah, well ..." I opened my car door. "Stick around," I said, and he laughed.

"I was hoping hoping for an invitation." for an invitation."

I scowled over the driver's door at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Me?" He could look as innocent as a choirboy when he wanted to.

I gave him a look. He dimpled again.

"I came in for the premiere of the new Jonas Brothers movie."

I stared, waiting for him to crack a smile. Nothing. "You're a Jonas Brothers fan?"

"Don't you think they're dreamy?" I canted my head at him.

"I have two nieces living in Covina," he explained finally. "They a.s.sure me the Jonas Brothers are are, in fact, dreamy."

"You came all this way to see a boy band?" I was going to have to readjust everything I knew about this man ... which, admittedly, wasn't much. But maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. This was, after all, California. Half the population was invited to red carpet s.h.i.+ndigs. Westwood Village was always s.h.i.+ning with starlets.

"Well, for that," he said, "and to ask you to have s.e.x with me."

I shook my head and put my foot inside the Saturn.

"Chrissy?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you'll have s.e.x with me?"

I snorted and lowered myself toward the seat. I had almost quit shaking.

"Don't you even check your backseat?" he asked.

Sometimes I truly hate men. "Thing is," I said, "I find that the real crazies are in the parking lots."

"Hey," he said, and stepping forward, crouched in my open doorway. "I have a question for you."

"No s.e.x in the backseat!" I snapped.

A woman walked past holding a little girl's hand. She scowled through the winds.h.i.+eld at me. We watched them go by in silent tandem.

"Wow," Tavis said as they disappeared from sight. "That was embarra.s.sing. Anyway, I was wondering if you've heard anything about something called Intensity."

I scowled, licked off my cone, and watched him. "Is this some sort of lead-in to more s.e.x talk?"

"Do you want it to be?"

I put my key in the ignition, but he put a hand on my arm, and even that little touch did something odd to me. Fear sometimes heightens my libido. I know it's weird. But so are emu.

"I'm serious as a heartache, here, Chrissy. Intensity ... you heard anything about it?"

I lowered my hand and stared at him. He did, in fact, look serious. And ridiculously handsome. "What is it? A new form of Russian roulette or something?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

I shook my head and he sighed.

"Meth's a problem in Kern County, but I think there's some new s.h.i.+t hitting the fan."

"How do you mean?"

"We had two kids die in the past month."

"Teenagers?"

"Yeah."

"From overdose?"

He shook his head. "Nothing showed up in the tox reports."

"And there were no other signs of trauma."

"Coroner says they died of asphyxiation."

"Some weird s.e.x thing?"

"There was no sign of anything s.e.xual."

"So you thought of me?"

He laughed. "I was wondering, you being a psychiatrist-"

"Psychologist."

He grinned. "Thought maybe you'd heard something."

"Why do you think there are drugs involved?" He shrugged, heavy shoulders lifting and falling. "There was some erratic behavior reported concerning the girl."

"Erratic?"

"Friends say she was doing great for weeks. Happy. Good grades. Then one day she became aggressive. Thought everyone was out to get her. The next morning she was dead."

"Did she have a history of drug abuse?"

"Not that anyone knew of."

"Lots of kids are good at hiding their addictions."

He nodded and backed away so I could close the door. "Well, call me if you hear anything, will you?"

I agreed.

"Or if you change your mind about that backseat," he said, and I drove away, squirming a little.

By the time I got home, I was dreading seeing Solberg, but the house was notably sans irritation.

Laney smiled as she took a ca.s.serole from the oven. Domesticity in blue jeans. "How was your day?"

"Weird," I said. "Where's Solberg?"

"I didn't think you'd feel too neglected if he ran a few errands while we ate."

"I'll try to survive."

She had the table neatly set. The pile of reading material I usually keep atop the place mats was M.I.A. Every woman should have a wife.

We were eating in a matter of minutes. The ca.s.serole was something involving broccoli. Which normally would be a bad thing, but there was cheese and crunchy onions and some kind of noodles.

"Solberg made this?" I asked.

"Full of surprises, isn't he?" she asked.

"I hope not," I said, and finished off my plate. "I've been thinking about those letters."

She scowled. "You shouldn't have to worry about that."