1 Who Killed My Boss? (14 page)

“Okay. I’m ready.”

“You look great.”

Hating the flush I felt on my cheeks, I said, “I’m wearing the same thing I had on earlier.”

“You looked great earlier too.”

I smiled as we put on our coats. It seemed I was smiling a lot tonight.

“If it’s all right with you,” Michael said, “I’d like to get the business done first. Then we can enjoy our meal and our date.”

I agreed that it was a good idea.

We drove in a companionable silence for the few blocks to The Rectory. One of the downsides of living in a small town is that the dining choices are limited. So I’d be here two nights in a row, with two different guys. I definitely thought it was cool, even if one of them was George.

As we walked the half block from the parking lot to the restaurant door, Michael took my hand and said, “There are some things I want to clear up with you. You wanted to know what I was doing at Burns’ office, what I was doing in the ER the night Charlie Schneider was acting up, and about my relationship with Carolyn Burns.”

My mouth dropped open. Not only was he holding my hand in public, Michael was going to answer my every question, and maybe at some point he might answer my every need. I could hope anyway.

Nonchalantly, I replied, “If you really want to tell me all that, I guess I can listen.”

“Please don’t play dumb. I like it much better when you are yourself. You are one smart lady, and I like that.”

The guy was gorgeous, he was kind, and he wanted to tell me everything I wanted to know. So I guess it was time for me to get dizzy.

THIRTEEN

“S
orry, Michael.” I wobbled.
“I’m feeling a little woozy. Maybe I need some food.”

“Well, just to be safe, I’ll make sure we get a small table and I’ll sit close so I can catch you if you fall.” He smiled. I thought he was kidding, but wasn’t quite sure.

Michael pulled open the Rectory’s large oak door with stained glass inserts and stepped aside so I could enter first.

“Sam, welcome. It is so good to see you.” Anthony, the owner, hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. His hearty laugh reverberated throughout my body. “And who is this young man with you?”

“Anthony, this is Michael O’Dear, he’s new in town.” I disentangled myself from my friend. “And Michael, this is Anthony Lasorda. He owns The Rectory and don’t ask him if he’s related to the former Los Angeles Dodgers’ coach. He’ll talk all night.”

They exchanged pleasantries as Anthony escorted us to a much-coveted table. He then kept us busy with a run down of his large family. This one started college, that one got married, this one joined the army. I never could keep up with his kids’ names. It was difficult enough keeping track of my own family.

Finally we were settled, and, after gaining my assurance that I liked it, Michael ordered a bottle of California merlot.

Anthony beamed. “An excellent choice, Mr. O’Dear. If you permit, I will make a special meal for you. It’s not on the menu, but you will love it. Are you a vegetarian like Sam or may I put some seafood in your portion?”

Michael admitted he was a practicing carnivore and that any kind of meat or fish would be fine with him. This was the first and only strike against him.

Anthony left to personally prepare our dinners and Michael turned his attention to me. “We said we’d get business out of the way. Are you ready to talk?”

Was I ever. “Sure.” It was hard acting nonchalant.

Michael began, “I was at the clinic because I was meeting with Burns. He’d hired me after clinic employees complained someone had been rifling through the patient files in his office. Things were out of place. Nothing had been taken as far as anyone could tell, but things had been disturbed. A file clerk was the first one to notice and mentioned it to Burns. When it happened a few more times, he brought me in. He claimed he wasn’t concerned about it though.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Also some patients were threatening to sue him over alleged improprieties.”

“What were they?”

He looked adorable as he refused my request. “You know I can’t tell you that. Therapists aren’t the only ones bound by confidentiality. Anyway, I took the job and found it only mildly interesting.” He almost absentmindedly fiddled with his silverware. “I hadn’t really gotten into it much before Burns was killed. So that’s why I was at the clinic.”

“Okay, I buy that. But why were you at the ER in the middle of the night?”

“I was there because of Charlie Schneider. I told you Mrs. Burns wanted me to do some investigating about the murder.” He broke off a piece of Italian bread and buttered it. “I’d heard from some former employees that Burns and Gwen Schneider had been involved in a long-term affair and I was checking her out as a possible suspect. Her brother was a real loose cannon. Half crazy. Burns had told me he was seeing Charlie as a patient as a favor to Gwen. I was following him that night and got to the ER waiting room just in time to knock the gun out of his hand. By the way, I convinced the DA not to prosecute. He’s already on probation for some minor offenses, and they’re just going to continue supervision, as long as he continues therapy with someone. Charlie’s a sad case. He lost his wife and kid at that hospital and has never been the same.”

“So far, so good. Now what is the real relationship between you and Carolyn Burns?” I waited expectantly, hoping that he’d give the answer I wanted.

“It’s exactly what I told you. She hired me because the murderer is still on the loose and she felt the need for a bodyguard. That’s it. She doesn’t mean anything to me. I mean, it’s kind of cool to have a famous novelist in Quincy. So I’ve been having fun with it.”

I looked at him.

“Close your mouth. It’s true. And that’s that. Now I’d like to hear what you know. Fair is fair.”

I figured I’d better tell him what I knew so we could get to the important stuff, like our date.

Anthony returned with the wine, let Michael sniff and swirl, and poured our glasses full after Michael nodded approval. After we clinked glasses and each took a drink, I answered Michael’s question. “I don’t really know much. I know that Gwen Schneider and Charlie Schneider did not kill Burns. Charlie confessed to try to save his sister. I don’t know why Gwen confessed, but she didn’t do it. I’m positive of that.”

“I’m probably going to be sorry I asked, but how do you know that Gwen didn’t do it?”

I ignored his smart-ass comment, because I was ready to fall in love with him. “Okay, I’ll tell you. She doesn’t
feel
guilty. Before you start laughing at me, I gotta tell you something about me. See, sometimes I feel things; I get vibes about people. And sometimes I’m right and sometimes I’m wrong, but most of the time I’m right. And I’m 100% sure on this one. Just like I’m 100% sure that Carolyn killed her husband.”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading Carolyn’s thrillers.”

Once again, I ignored his smart-ass comment. Did he realize just what I was going through to show my interest in him?

“She just
feels
guilty, Michael. In fact, the feeling is so powerful that I get dizzy or sick whenever I’m around her. And it’s not the flu or an upset stomach. She literally makes me sick. I cannot stand to be around her. She’s evil.”

My intense feelings about the woman propelled me into a standing position. My hands were flat on the table and I loomed over Michael.

Michael looked directly into my eyes as he said, “I just don’t buy it. I mean, I think you believe it, but I’m not into that stuff.”

“I’m not into that stuff either. This is just part of who I am. I’ve always been this way. Even when I was a little kid I’d get these feelings about people and I’d get twitches and stuff all over my body.”

“Twitches?” He tried and failed to suppress a disbelieving grin.

“Yeah, twitches.” I sat. “And sometimes dizziness and other times just feelings, just vibrations.” I found it hard to explain this to anyone, especially this gorgeous hunk who would now never touch me except to push me away.

He hesitated, then spoke softly, “You get dizzy around me too.”

I put my hand on his, then quickly withdrew it. “What I feel around Carolyn is nothing like what I feel around you. I promise.”

He relaxed against the back of his chair.

I continued. “I know it sounds crazy. That’s why I haven’t told many people. I’m telling you because I need you to believe me. Carolyn killed her husband. No ifs, ands, or buts. She did it. Period. End of quote.”

“Okay, let’s say you’re right.”

I smiled.

“This is just for argument’s sake. Let’s say you’re right. How in the world could the police arrest Carolyn for her husband’s murder without any evidence?”

“Aw, come on, Michael. Cops arrest people without evidence all the time. Don’t you watch television? Anyway, what we need to do is find the evidence and then we can turn it over to my brother, Rob, who will notify Detective Lansing and then Rob will be promoted. I’ll be vindicated. And you…” I hesitated.

“And I’ll what?”

“And you’ll believe me.” Gee, I almost slipped up there and said, “…‌you’ll fall in love with me.” Where did I get this crap? I hadn’t felt like this in more years than I cared to remember.

“What did Gwen Schneider say when you asked her why she confessed?”

“What?” I practically stuttered.

He began to repeat his question, “What did Gwen—”

I interrupted, “I heard you. I said ‘what’ because I can’t believe I’ve not asked her why she confessed. In the beginning everything was moving so quickly and then she was arrested and was in jail. I just didn’t think of it.”

Michael spoke softly, “See, Sam. You’re a social worker, not a cop.”

I ignored his statement and continued, “Will you help me?” I tried not to beg.

“Under one condition. That you let me do it. It’s my job. You’re a social worker, not a cop, not a private investigator. A social worker.”

Same song, different singer. Ho-hum. “Okay. I’ll stay out of it.” I carefully avoided eye contact. Gee, this lying and not looking people in the eye was a lot easier than I had anticipated.

“Let’s change the subject, and talk about you,” Michael said.

“And you,” I added.

I noticed that “you” and “you” didn’t add up to a “we,” but that only meant it was our first real date. “We” could become a reality.

The rest of the all-too-short evening was delightful. Michael asked all the right questions about me, my kids, marriage, and family. Since I’m a therapist, I asked open-ended questions. He rewarded me with rich conversation.

No, he’d never been married. Been close a few times. Yes, he moved here recently, liked Quincy, and would like to stay for a while. Born and raised in St. Louis. He learned his skills as a military policeman in the Army. No, he’d never met Carolyn Burns before her husband’s murder. She’d found his name in the yellow pages and didn’t know beforehand that he’d worked for her husband.

Okay, those aren’t the responses to open-ended questions. Maybe I did interrogate him a little, but I was entitled. I’d waited a long time for a real date, and getting together with Michael had proven to be very problematic. Finally, my equilibrium had stabilized, my hair was behaving, and even my mouth was cooperating. Not much cussing tonight.

Then, in a gesture I was eagerly anticipating, Michael touched my hand and leaned toward me. As he did so, I wondered if we were having an earthquake. My balance was disrupted. I nearly fell off my chair, but two strong arms caught me and kept me vertical.

“We need to get you home, Sam.”

“No, I’m fine.” This time I whined.

“I’m not going to argue with you. It’s home and to bed.”

He meant alone.

FOURTEEN

“
…as he approached me,
I fancied he had ideas about my virtue. His eyes were heated, as was my body. I waited for him to speak, but no words escaped his lips. He merely touched my bodice, and delicately undid the top button, being very careful not to touch the skin underneath. I feared I would swoon, but did not. Instead I looked at him with eyes that were as lustful as his own. A sigh escaped my lips and I…”

DING!

Thank God. It was over.
Listening to Mrs. Abernathy was like reading a steamy romance novel.

“Mrs. Abernathy, I’m sorry. Your time is up for this session.”

“Oh no, Ms. Darling. I was just getting to the interesting part of my dream. Couldn’t we just stretch the time a bit so I can describe the rest? I know you will be able to appreciate it.” Her bottom lip quivered as her chest heaved. My heart was palpitating a bit as well. Mrs. Abernathy did a wonderful job of describing her dream. It was amazing that her dreams were so sexual and so vivid. She was a short, rotund, elderly woman wearing a conservative black frock, and she was homely. That was the kindest adjective I could summon to describe her. Her dreams, however, were erotic enough for the letters section of a porn magazine.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Abernathy. Your time is up for this session.” I learned the broken record routine years ago in a not-needed assertive training class. “We can continue next week. Make sure you confirm your appointment with Mrs. Schmitt at the front desk. Good-bye and have a wonderful week.”

“But, Ms. Darling…”

I stood and assisted Mrs. Abernathy to the door. “I look forward to talking to you again next week.”

“All right. Perhaps I’ll write down my dreams during the week to make sure I won’t forget any of them.” She had a hopeful look in her eye.

“Certainly. That will be fine. ’Bye.” Oh, joy. I’d have to listen to her dreams for another hour.

My first patient at my new job. What a disappointment. I had visions of helping people sort out real difficulties in their lives. Instead I got Mrs. Abernathy. I no longer wondered why Marian and the others had grinned at the staff meeting when I received Mrs. Abernathy as my first client. I guessed that she had already been a part of their caseloads and had been passed from person to person.

I could empathize with Mrs. Abernathy because I wanted to note on her chart, Diagnosis: Lonely, Bored and Horny. While I was trying to do a diagnostic interview, she spent the hour energetically describing the erotic dreams she’d been having. When I got to know her better, perhaps I would recommend she try writing romance novels. She might be quite successful.