Chapter Thirty-One

Wednesday, 2:45 p.m.

I stared at my board in dismay. What was it Sam had said—get the information together and you’ll see it all? I didn’t see a damn thing except colorful sticky notes. I wasn’t any closer to solving this than police who had a bull’s eye drawn around my face.

What about the police? Maybe I needed to spend an evening with Hank. Too bad it wasn’t Sunday. I could show up at Geneva. Even if he didn’t want to talk, he might inadvertently divulge something.

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it.

“Am I forgiven yet?”

My muscles tensed at the sound of Brad’s voice. I’d hung up on him the previous night when he went ballistic over my conversation with Paula. Apparently her “exclusive” set off an explosion at Channel 8. I’d calmed down Reba after fibbing that I ran into Paula and she took my words out of context.

“Am I forgiven?” I asked. “I didn’t know Paula would use that. You and I talk regularly and you could say the same type of stuff. You could mention my fear of being followed.”

“It would betray your trust. I couldn’t do that.”

“That’s the difference between you and Paula.”

“You’re forgiven,” he said with a sigh. “Am I?”

“We-l-l-l..yes!”

“Good, how about relaxing tonight? Can I tempt you with hot dogs and beer? I’ve got seats in the company box at Dodger Stadium.”

The box held twelve seats and I shuddered to think about who else might be there. Visions of Vincent and Gwen leaped into my head.

“I reserved the box as a treat for the weekend crew. Lindy will be there and that director kid. Peter, his wife, Cindy Jamison and her husband are coming.” Cindy was co-anchoring with Brad.

“No Gwen?”

“She’s beyond the weekend crew. Everyone knows you got a raw deal, so how about it?”

The idea appealed to me. I hated sitting at home alone. “I’m not answering any questions about the case, okay?”

“No problem.”

****

I pulled the baseball cap down across my forehead as Brad guided me through the crowd at Dodger Stadium. He stopped to greet people who recognized him, but with large sunglasses covering my face, I hoped to remain anonymous. I knew I could be unrecognizable without makeup, so I kept it to a minimum.

The company box brought sanctuary. It hovered above the field, so I didn’t worry about anyone spotting me. The interior consisted of two rows of seats with a wet bar along the back wall. Bags of chips, peanuts, and popcorn were laid out on the counter, along with a tub filled with ice, soft drinks, and beer.

Tension sizzled in the box like a hot dog on a grill. The disbelief on familiar faces did not bode well and I hesitated. Suddenly Lindy let out a happy whoop and hopped to her feet.

“Kimberly!” She nimbly vaulted over the seats. “I’m so glad you came.” She resembled an enthusiastic teenager in shorts and a T-shirt as she hugged me.

“How are you?” I asked, checking her face. She no longer wore a bandage on her cheek or the wrap on her wrist. The only visible reminder of her accident was a tiny scar along her lower jaw.

“I’m doing great.” Her tone rang with exuberance.

“Holy shit, look who is being seen in public.” Reba stood and tottered toward me. She wore skin tight leggings and an oversized Dodgers jersey and three-inch high sandals. She snapped her fingers. “Someone call a photographer quick.”

For an instant I panicked, glancing around like a hunted animal. She let loose with her familiar cackle before hugging me and whispering, “I ought to punch you for speaking to Paula.”

Peter Murphy watched the scene with a cynical smile but he caught my hand as I walked down the steps.

“They let you out of jail?”

I gave him a false smile. “They haven’t built the cell that can hold me.”

“Or her ego,” Reba teased.

Peter watched me with a knowing grin. “When are you gonna give your station an inside scoop?”

Brad stepped between us. “She’s here as my guest and you’re off duty, Peter.”

“And out of line,” Lindy added, to my surprise. She stood with her arms crossed, staring him down like a mother protecting her young.

Peter held up his hands. “Sorry, folks.”

The show of support sent a pang of regret through me. Reba, Brad, and Lindy had been there for me, helping when I needed support. Maybe I owed them something.

I turned to Peter. “Okay, on the record, and then we drop it okay? Let’s say that I have confidence in the Mira Loma Police to uncover the truth. If a reward will help, I’ll offer it. I have an investigator looking into the case because I want the killer caught. Rick was my…” I paused. I couldn’t say he was my friend. I wanted to see his killer caught to spare me a murder rap.

“We can say that?” Reba asked in a hushed voice.

“Word for word,” I said, hoping it didn’t anger Oliver. I wanted to do this for my friends.

To my horror, Peter pulled his cell phone from his pocket and the sound of my voice filled the room. “Mind if I use this instead?”

Our collective gasp was audible. Leave it to Peter to be so crass. But as I looked at Reba’s expectant eyes, I couldn’t refuse.

“Sure. But no more.”

He grabbed his jacket. “I hate to miss the game, but I better go.” He hopped up the steps, leaving us in stunned silence.

“That fucking prick,” Lindy said. “No wonder he wanted to come.”

Brad put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s watch the game.” The tension evaporated with Peter’s exit. Lindy insisted on sitting beside me, and with Brad on my left, I felt insulated.

In the fifth inning, an usher appeared. “Miss delaGarza?”

“Yes?”

He handed me a slip of paper. All eyes were on me as I unfolded the sheet. The writing was small and masculine.

May I buy you a drink? It was signed M. Brookings and listed a box number.

“One of my friends has invited me for a drink,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“La-de-dah!” Reba waggled her brows at me. “You can’t take her anywhere without being bothered by her adoring public.”

“Are you going?” Brad asked, his brow furrowed.

I might have refused except that man knew things. This provided an opportunity to cultivate his company.

“Maybe a quick drink.” I re-folded the note and tucked it into my purse.

Lindy scanned the open windows of nearby boxes through a pair of binoculars. “I see! It’s Adrienne Underhill.”

“Adrienne is a big baseball fan. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t certain if she was the reason for my invitation, but I needed to warn her about my comments for TV8. Maybe she could soothe potential problems with Oliver. I stood and started for the door, but Brad followed.

“I’ll walk you over.”

He took my elbow as we stepped into the outer walkway, but I slid out of his grasp. “You’re very sweet, but I’m a big girl.”

“Who has people following her.” As though someone might be watching, he glanced around. “I’m sorry about Peter. I didn’t know he’d do that.”

“I did it for you, Reba, and Lindy. As for being followed, no one’s going to attack me in public.”

He caught my hand and squeezed it. “But I worry about you.”

Our eyes met and I read concern…and something more. I kept getting flashes of his interest, but I wasn’t prepared for it and couldn’t lead him on. Pulling away from his grasp, I smiled. “I’m fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As he walked away I wondered if I was ignoring a good thing. While he could spark my interest, he didn’t ignite heat.

And speaking of heat…

Miles Brookings answered my knock with a wide smile. He looked damned fashionable for a ballgame. Unlike Brad in his faded jeans and Nikes, Miles wore a cashmere turtleneck and wool slacks with Bally loafers.

“Welcome,” he said, beckoning me inside with a bow.

“Good evening.” While I presented him with my best smile, I had to force down the butterflies that set flight in my stomach.

“I’m so pleased you came over.”

I stepped into the hushed surroundings and felt like I’d exited the stadium for another world. Unlike our station accommodations with its two rows of padded seats and outdoor carpeting, this box was triple in size and offered three spacious rows of individual leather loungers. The Dodger-blue carpet was so soft and thick I wanted to shuck my shoes. Tinted windows shut out the outside world when they were closed—like now—leaving us in a private, hushed atmosphere. No odor of beer or brats in here! The place smelled of money.

As far as I could tell we were alone. “I thought Adrienne was here.”

“She’s a typical Dodgers fan. Two innings and she needs to beat the traffic. May I offer you a drink? I mixed a pitcher of martinis.”

“A good martini is always heavenly.”

He walked to the back of the booth while I settled into a seat. We were alone, except for thousands of fans who could turn binoculars onto this booth at any moment. How much did those tinted windows hide? I knew of at least one audience member who might be checking.

Miles approached with two glasses and handed one to me. “To the Dodgers.”

I joined in the toast. “Since they’re down five to one, here’s to a rally.”

Miles sat beside me, his handsome face growing serious. “I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to talk with you.”

My head seemed to nod of its own accord. “Me too. I never got a chance to thank you for helping me at the police station.”

He tapped my knee with a light fingertip. “I wanted to thank you too, but circumstances kept interfering.”

“Thank me?” That surprised me.

“Let me apologize for my daughter. I know Bobbi can be high-strung, but she didn’t mean to hurt you at the memorial service. I wanted to thank you for not telling police about her outburst. That was a difficult day for her.”

“For me too.” I tried to sound meek, rather than sarcastic.

“This ordeal has been overwhelming, and as I said, she is high strung.”

I recalled my glimpse of her in the john that day at Geneva. She’d reminded me of a temperamental thoroughbred.

When I didn’t reply, he gestured at my glass. “How’s the drink?”

“Very good.” I tipped my head toward him in approval. “And I’m a martini connoisseur.”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent strange vibrations through my middle. His blue-gray eyes held me. “So I noticed. You were enjoying yourself that first day I saw you.”

Had he seen me fall off the barstool? I cringed at the thought.

As though he picked up my negative vibrations, he tapped my knee again. “Let’s focus on something more pleasant.”

“Such as?”

His bright eyes pinned me with a laser beam. “You. I want to get to know all about you.”