Details of my parting conversation with Ashley reverberated in my head as I drove to Lazarro’s. How had I given her the impression I was interested in Jake? Was it that obvious? How could I go on a date when my husband was still missing? Milo had been gone barely a month. Granted, he was presumed dead, but hello, grief period? And how could I possibly be interested in anyone romantically for whom I hadn’t conducted a thorough Google screening? I was slipping. I felt at once like a heartless shrew and a sloppy researcher. My emotional distress had taken a toll.
Yes, Jake was good-looking and he had the best blue eyes I’d ever seen, but I was a hot mess, grief and guilt mixed with anxiety, cloaked in suspicion. Ever since Adrian had mentioned the word homicide in relation to my father’s death, my churning stomach and knotted neck and shoulder muscles told me fear had started to tighten its grip on me. Who could I trust? How did I know Jake was who he said he was? What if he was a killer? Had he been following me? He had a white car, and I’d noticed a white car had been following me since my father’s death. Why was he always showing up everywhere I went? Was he stalking me? Was I his next victim? Why on earth had I accepted a dinner invitation from a possible murderer at a secluded restaurant? Was I out of my friggin’ mind? He’d even called it a date. Was he referring to a romantic date or a date with danger? I really didn’t want to go. Maybe I should have texted him and canceled.
I drove with my head in the clouds, vacillating between continuing on to Lazarro’s and turning around and going home to Iris. I missed Iris. All I wanted to do was hold my warm little fluff ball in my arms.
Before I knew it, I was pulling up to the valet parking at Lazarro’s. The next moment, Jake pulled up behind me. There was no turning back now.
I bolted out of my car like a skittish deer and flinched when someone behind me touched my elbow.
“Excuse me, miss. Could you leave the fob please?”
“Wha-at? Oh, the key, the fob, of course. So sorry.”
I spent the next two minutes wresting the fob from my key ring. I glanced up and the eyes of two valets, Jake, and another customer still in their car were all on me, patiently waiting as I fumbled to pry apart the key ring. Every time I managed to pry it apart it snapped back before I could slide the fob around and off. My thumbnail pulled apart a little more from my nail bed with each attempt, a special form of torture, but finally I managed to keep it open long enough to slide it off.
Jake strolled over to me with a smile on his face. “Success.”
Heat flushed my face. “It just now dawned on me that I should have dismantled the plastic fob from the metal part and given it to the valet, leaving the metal part on the key ring. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I know very well what I was thinking. I might have arranged a date with death.
“Shall we?” He started up the steps to the entrance of the restaurant.
Lazarro’s was a little bungalow that had been transformed into a renowned farm-to-table restaurant, noted for its owner chef who had the ability to turn organic produce and sustainably selected fish and fowl into delectable works of art. It had ivy and twinkle lights and the ocean could be heard in the background.
“Any more nasty notes on your windshield lately?”
“No, thank goodness. But there was a note my neighbor left on her door that looked similar to that note. Adrian and I want to ask her about it. The note on her door wasn’t menacing, though. It just said she was called away due to a family emergency. It’s somewhat disturbing to think that my sweet neighbor, who’s demonstrated such kind behavior to me and to my dog, might have left me a menacing note. She’s also the one who contradicted Milo’s last text to me about my dog. It’s like she has a split personality. She finally responded to a text I sent her and said she’ll get back in town tomorrow. I plan on confronting her when she returns.”
“Confront is a strong word. You’re not one to beat around the bush, I see.”
“Well, you know, ask her to explain why the two notes look alike.”
“Or perhaps were made to appear that way. I’d reserve judgment about your neighbor until she has the chance to explain everything. What my job has taught me more than anything else is that things aren’t always as they appear. In my line of work, I’ve found if things don’t add up, there’s usually an error somewhere, either in the evidence observed or what goes unobserved. It boils down to basic logic.”
“You sound just like a PI I know.” I was glad to see he talked the talk.
“Oh? Who? Maybe I know them.”
Well, this was embarrassing. The PI I was referring to, and the only PI I knew “personally,” was Kinsey Milhone, a fictional PI created by my favorite author, Sue Grafton, in her alphabet murder mystery series set in a Santa Barbara look-alike town called Santa Teresa.
“You probably wouldn’t know her.”
“A woman? Then you’re probably right.” He blushed and chuckled. “The only female PI I know from around these parts is a fictional character in one of my favorite mystery series. Have you read any of Sue Grafton’s books?”
Best blue eyes and loves Sue Grafton? What’s not to like?
After bonding over books, our conversation turned to favorite movies and TV shows. We were a lot alike, both being fans of the same independent films (Sideways and Little Miss Sunshine), TV dramas (Scandal and How to Get Away With Murder), crime procedurals (Major Crimes and Law and Order: SVU), and sitcoms (Mom and Modern Family). Plus, we both loved Larry David. We also both shared a passion for fitness.
We dined on delicious ribbons of handmade handkerchief pasta with pesto, fillet of sole with shelled English peas and baby artichokes, and organic field greens and goat cheese salad. All was paired with an excellent Jorian Hill Syrah, from a local boutique winery in Santa Ynez.
When the server asked if we were interested in dessert, we simultaneously asked each other, “Do you want to split something?”
My giggling response was interrupted by the buzz of a text from Adrian. “Autopsy results are in—no drugs or alcohol in system, fatal blow likely from an instrument, not a fall. Homicide confirmed. Keep it to yourself while we investigate. We don’t want details made public.”
Everything ground to a halt. I had to muster all my will to text back my thanks and read Adrian’s response that he’d call me in the morning.
Jake’s smile had turned to a look of concern. “Everything okay?”
“Huh? Yeah. That was Adrian. They just completed the autopsy report on my father.”
Jake turned to the server. “Can you give us a few more minutes? Thanks.”
Jake’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “Hey, I need to take this. It’s a work call. I’ll be right back.”
I tried to focus on the dessert menu, forcing myself to hang on and not let the confirmation of my father’s murder spin my emotions out of control.
Jake returned and reached over and took my hand. “I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Finding out your father’s death was a homicide must be devastating.”
I nodded. I appreciated Jake’s sensitivity and caring. Jake definitely was the whole package.
“Do you think your father’s murder was related to your husband’s and your aunt’s? Do you have any idea what the link might be?”
“Unfortunately, no. Other than they were all related to me.” My face must have portrayed abject glumness, my chin quivered, and my eyes welled with tears. “Everyone I love gets murdered.”
Jake scooted his chair around to be closer to me. He put his arm around me. “Look, Tory, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”
Really? Jake was perfect in every way, except timing. This was not when I wanted to hear the “I’d like to get to know you better” spiel. I tried to subtly wiggle out from under his arm, but it was firmly planted there.
His eyelids fluttered quickly over his baby blues. “Over the last couple of weeks, I have to admit, I’ve been obsessed. That’s the type of person I am. I can’t be distracted once I’m after something.”
Whoa! Where is this coming from?
“Sorry, Jake. I need to use the restroom. Be right back.”
I hightailed it to the restroom to think. What on earth had triggered Jake’s sudden stalker-like behavior? Did my own neediness upon hearing the autopsy news somehow convey too much vulnerability? Did that elicit obsessive possessiveness on his part? We’d been fine up until Adrian’s phone call. As I replayed our last few minutes of conversation after the call in my head I suddenly realized something was off. Wait. One. Minute. All I’d told him was that my father’s autopsy results were in. I’d said nothing about cause of death being homicide. I was positive, because Adrian had told me not to reveal the results to anyone. Jake was the one who brought up the word homicide, not me. How would he know it was murder unless he was somehow involved? And then he proceeded to declare his obsession with me. Uh-oh. I needed to get out of here—and fast.
The problem was, I couldn’t slip out of the restroom without Jake seeing me. I needed to lure him away from our table so I could escape by the front door. I dug around in my handbag for my phone. My quivering hands made it difficult to type, so I kept it brief and to the point. Let’s see, what would make him leave the table?
I texted the first thing that popped into my head. “Hi, I’m sick and in the alley behind the restaurant.”
I peeked out the door as he read the text. He jumped up and headed toward the rear door.
As soon as he was gone I dashed toward the front door and gave my ticket to the valet. Of course, this was the weak link. It took forever. Jake appeared at the front door and spotted me.
His face reflected utter confusion—big eyes roaming around for answers and mouth open in stunned surprise. “Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you were in the alley.”
I cleared my throat and crossed my arms defensively. “Um, I was. But I felt better and decided it’s best I go home and rest up.” So feeble.
“Uh-huh. And you were going to convey that to me when?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. “After I got home and I could report I was safe and sound.”
“I thought we were having a great time getting to know each other better. I was, at least.” His drooped eyelids matched his downturned mouth.
But I wasn’t falling for it. I couldn’t believe that now he was trying to guilt me into feeling bad to make me look like the bad guy.
“Yeah, it was fun but—”
He rushed over to me and steered me back toward the restaurant. “Look, Tory, I really need to talk to you. I’ve been trying to tell you something all night. Every time I try we keep getting interrupted. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.”
Oy. I was so not into his intensity. “Look, Jake, you seem like a good person, but we hardly know each other.”
That confused look appeared on his face again. Did he really think the wounded puppy dog expression was going to fly?
The valet yelled. A second valet drove up in my car. I pressed a twenty into the first valet’s hand, hoping the extra tip would enlist his help in my getaway. I trotted to my car, where the second valet held open the door. I grabbed another bill from my wallet, hoping to come up with a five. In my frenzy to leave ASAP I plucked another twenty instead, but it was no time to split hairs at this point, I needed a team to back me up—that my team was comprised of two valets was irrelevant. Good enough, a backup team was a backup team. I jumped in my car and the second valet accommodated by shutting the door promptly while the first valet waved me on, blocking any interference by Jake. At this point, our server emerged from the restaurant, anxiously attempting to settle our dinner tab with a very agitated Jake. The last I saw of Jake as I peeled off was our server taking his credit card from him. Timing was everything. I didn’t feel one bit guilty over someone who was trying to suck me into who-knows-what type of sleazy song and dance about wanting to talk. Everyone who knows anything about criminals knows that was code for “hold still while I kill you.”
I flew along the highway, at once exhilarated and terrified. I called Ashley and brought her up to speed in a voice-mail message. Jake called and left me a voice mail urging me to call him immediately because he really needed to tell me something. He even had the gall to suggest meeting for a nightcap.
Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen, buddy. I blocked his number.
Once I pulled into my driveway, I took a long, careful look around to make sure no one was waiting to ambush me. Confirming that the coast was clear, I quickly exited my car. I looked over at Katie’s house and her bedroom light was on. She was back. I’d deal with her in the morning.
Iris was delighted to see me, evidenced by her minutes-long prancing routine around my ankles. Ashley called me back and invited herself over to spend the night. A true friend, she’d read my mind.
I was so relieved when I heard the doorbell. I ran to the door, and even though I knew it was Ashley, I still checked. When I looked through the peephole, it was Jake. I froze for a good thirty seconds, trying to figure out what to do.
He knocked on the door. “Tory, I know you’re in there. Please let me explain.”
Ashley’s voice rang out. “If you don’t leave this private property right this minute, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“But . . .”
“Now or I’m hitting the call button.”
Jake walked away reluctantly, calling over his shoulder, “You’ve got it all wrong.”
Ashley held up her phone. “That’s it. I’m calling the cops right now.”
The sound of a car starting up broke through the silence of the night.
Ashley yelled through the door. “Tory, let me in. He’s gone.”
Through the front window I spied the lights of a car driving away, confirming her statement, and I opened the door.
We hugged quickly, once she was inside and the door was locked and security system turned on.
“That was a brazen move, coming over here when he knows you don’t want to talk to him. Why didn’t he just call or text like a normal person?”
“Um, maybe because I blocked his number.”
“That would do it.”
“I liked Jake up until you told me on your message that you were about to share dessert. Reminds me of my narcissistic ex. Always wanting to share dessert. You know what I finally figured out? He wasn’t being romantic. He knew I was counting calories and would only eat a bite or two. More for him. Selfish dudes do that, all I’m saying.”
“OMG, Ashley, I think Jake’s a murderer, and that was your big takeaway after all this? Be careful of guys who want to share desserts?”
“No, there’s more. Then they want to split the bill. Don’t let them get away with any of that crap. He eats twice as much as me and then we split the bill? I don’t think so. How is that fair? If he really wanted to be fair, he’d pay for what he ate, not pretend to be a feminist when really you’re paying for more than your fair share. I’m on to that one. You’re lucky to have gotten off of that train before it left the station.”
Her rant had left my jaw hanging in disbelief. “What about him knowing my father was murdered before it was made public? And his persistent ‘we need to talk’ behavior to get me alone on our friggin’ first date? That didn’t raise any red flags for you?”
Ashley’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, and that too.”
We both doubled up with laughter and hugged each other, with Iris barking and dancing wildly in excitement. Ashley called Adrian and left him a voice mail to fill him in.
After she hung up, I went to sit at my kitchen counter and patted the stool next to me for Ashley to join me. “So, how was your date? Better than mine, I hope.”
“It wasn’t a date, just drinks. It was fun.”
At that moment, her phone buzzed with a text. Ashley smiled and turned to me. “Speak of the devil.”
After a couple of minutes of texting, she looked up. “He wanted to make sure we were both okay and locked in for the night. He’s having a car patrol every hour tonight to make sure Jake doesn’t bother us anymore.”
“That’s so nice of him. Please thank him for me.”
Her fingers typed out a quick reply. “Done. I told him thanks and we’re snug as bugs in a rug.”
I bobbed my head in agreement and displayed a wide smile, hoping to convey a confident outlook, knowing cops would patrol every hour. Behind my carefree mask, however, was hidden a whole heap of worry about everything, but mainly about the other fifty-nine minutes between each patrol.