Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (3 page)

"Sounds good."

Now that I had committed to it, I had to
double check my schedule and make sure I hadn't overcommitted.

* * *

I had just returned home and set my new
plants down on the counter when my cell phone rang. Grabbing it
from my back pocket, I saw that the caller was Brent London. He was
asking for a video chat.

Feeling I was presentable enough, I clicked
it on.

"Hey you," he said, sporting a half grin on a
face that was still handsome, if not a bit more seasoned now that
he was pushing sixty. He still had a full head of rich, gray hair
and gray-blue eyes.

"Hey back," I said, thinking that it must
have been mental telepathy that he should call, since he had been
on my mind lately.

"Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," he
said.

"You didn't." I figured that working on my
plants could wait.

"Do you have any dinner plans?" he asked.

"No."

"Good. There's a nice place called Cheri's on
Hagadorn Avenue. It will be my treat."

"Yes, I've been to Cheri's a few times," I
said. "They have great food."

"I think so too. So are we on?"

"Yes, I'd be happy to have dinner with you,
Brent. We can catch up."

He nodded. "I'd like that. What time should I
pick you up?"

I pondered his request. Though I felt quite
comfortable with him, knowing Brent as I did, I didn't want to give
him the wrong impression with the dinner date by making it seem
more personal than it was. Especially since, the last I knew, he
had a lovely young girlfriend, whom I couldn't possibly compete
with. Not that I wanted to. As far as I was concerned, anything
romantic between us was ancient history. Fortunately, we were still
able to stay friends.

"Actually, why don't I meet you there," I
told him. "I have a few errands to run in the area first. How about
we have dinner at say, six?"

He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the
corners. "Six works for me. See you then."

"Goodbye, Brent."

When I disconnected, I couldn't help but
wonder if he wanted to have dinner for some reason in particular.
Or was it simply to get together for a friendly chat between former
lovers?

I would find out soon enough. It also
occurred to me that this might be a great time to offer my two
cents about him accepting a teaching position at Elk Community
College, assuming the offer was still on the table.

* * *

I dropped some things off at the post office
just before five, and then stopped by a department store to buy a
new tablecloth, which I planned to use when Peggy and her fiancé
came to dinner next week. After that, I headed over to the
restaurant to meet Brent. Though our friendship had remained steady
over the years, I was happy that we had ended the romance when we
had. For one, he had a terrible track record when it came to
successful relationships, with four ex-wives and more than his fair
share of girlfriends during and after, including his current one.
His first ex, Sheryl, had literally dropped dead of a heart attack
two months after the divorce and well before I came into the
picture.

Wife number two, Deidre, had lasted for a
year before she filed for divorce, according to Brent, citing
irreconcilable differences. One month after their divorce was
finalized, she married a local farmer named Mitt Carter.

Brent's third wife, Ashley, came into the
picture after I bowed out as his possible bride. In fact, I had
known Ashley indirectly. We both had the same hairdresser and
actually ran into each other there once—whereby she happily
announced her engagement to Brent. After he verified this to me,
second thoughts crept up about the one I'd let get away. Those
regrets ended quickly enough when I realized that we weren't right
for each other, no matter how many women came after me.

I wished him well and actually attended their
wedding.

The marriage lasted three years before Brent
set his sights on the woman who would become wife number four,
Margo London. In the meantime, Ashley would move on too, eventually
marrying a newspaper editor named Dean McGowan.

Margo, also a novelist, though hers were
romance novels, seemed like a good match for Brent. She was also
the closest to his age and appeared unfazed by his previous failed
marriages.

Brent gave every indication that Margo was
the true love of his life, displaying public affection whenever I
happened to come along for the ride at some event. I was genuinely
happy for them and not at all jealous, as I was content with my own
life and career.

Then last year, things grew sour in their
marriage with Brent accusing Margo of cheating on him, which she
apparently conceded was true, while making no apologies. After a
brief separation, then an attempt to reconcile, they called it
quits for good.

Brent appeared to have come to terms with the
breakup and divorce, pouring himself into his writings, before
starting to date his latest girlfriend, Karla Terrell, a local
model who seemed to have little in common with him. Not that this
had stopped Brent before, so who was I to say it wouldn't work?

I pulled into an open slot in the restaurant
parking lot, while again wondering about the purpose of the dinner
invitation.

Could it be that he was planning to go down
the aisle for the fifth time and wanted to share the news with a
dear old friend?

If so, I promised to support whatever
decision he had made on his future, just as he usually respected my
choices in how I lived my life.

CHAPTER
THREE

Brent was waiting inside the lobby when I
stepped into the restaurant. He was several inches taller than me
and several pounds heavier than when we first met. But he remained
well put together, dressed in a black sport coat, light blue shirt,
and dark slacks.

"Riley," he said in a deep voice, giving me a
formal peck on the cheek. "Glad you could make it."

I smiled. "You know me—I never pass up a good
meal, especially when it's free."

He grinned. "And I'm never one to pass up
good company."

I blushed. "Always a charmer."

"I'm afraid not everyone appreciates old
fashioned charm the way you do, Riley," he said.

I met his eyes. "I'm sure your girlfriend
does."

He frowned. "We broke up last month."

"Oh, sorry to hear that," I said, wondering
how many times over the years I'd had to repeat those same words to
him.

"Don't be. It was mutually agreeable. Well,
truthfully, I wanted out more than she did, but Karla understood
that the romance had run its course."

"In that case, perhaps it was for the best,"
I muttered, but still felt sorry for him, as he deserved to find
someone who could make him happy for the long run. Or was that
asking too much?

"Yes, I think it was for the best," he said.
Brent held my elbow like a true gentleman as the hostess led us to
a table.

We both ordered wine while studying the menu.
"Any suggestions?" I asked.

"Try the honey glazed duck breast," Brent
said. "It's really good. I think I'll have the teriyaki marinated
sirloin."

I took him up on that when the waitress came
to take our orders, adding spinach-mushroom salad and dinner
rolls.

When the waitress left, Brent asked, "So how
have you been?"

"Fine. Busy as ever, and I imagine you could
say the same."

"Maybe not quite busy as
ever
," he
said, "but busy nevertheless."

I tasted the wine thoughtfully while
wondering what was on his mind in inviting me to dinner. As I
waited for him to be forthcoming, I decided to say what was on my
mind.

"I ran into Emily at Elk Community College
the other day."

"Oh? Are you taking classes there too?"

"Just one," I told him. "An art class."

"That seems to suit you, with your artistic
flair," he said.

"I suppose it does." I smiled slightly.
"Emily told me that the school asked you to teach a course on
writing."

"Yes, they thought I might have something
useful to offer students interested in writing fiction as a
career."

I waited for him to say more, but he didn't.
So I said, "I think that's a marvelous idea."

"You do?"

"Yes. With your success as a novelist and
your understanding of the creative process, I'm sure you would have
a lot to offer."

Brent tasted his wine, frowning. "Maybe at
one point in my life, but not now."

I wanted to leave it at that—recalling that
Emily had told me his reason for declining the invitation was that
he didn't have time—but decided to do some more probing. "May I ask
why? I know you probably get such offers all the time and have to
be selective, but—"

"I have Alzheimer's disease," Brent muttered
quietly.

My eyes popped wide in disbelief. "What?"

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," he
said.

"But you're only in your mid-fifties."

"It's still in the early stages," he said,
"and obviously it's early onset. I've started forgetting little
things, which my housekeeper Luisa has noticed, but hasn't figured
out yet. And I've even forgotten some bigger things, though I still
clearly remember other things. But this isn't something I can run
away from."

"Oh, Brent," I said emotionally, as if he
were dying, which in some ways he was. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "I have a pretty good
life and hopefully I'll have enough time left to do some good.
Unfortunately, trying to focus on teaching a class isn't in the
cards, even if I could perhaps bluff my way through it. But I will
continue to write for as long as I can process my plots,
characters, and promote what I've written adequately."

The waitress brought our food and refilled
the wine glasses.

I sliced into my honey glazed duck breast
while pondering Brent's devastating news. In doing volunteer work
at the Senior Center, I knew some senior citizens with Alzheimer's
disease and it broke my heart to see such minds going to waste with
nothing that could be done to reverse it. To see a friend, much too
young, have such an affliction was sad, though he seemed to be
taking it well, considering.

"Have you told Emily?" I asked.

Brent sighed, while cutting into his steak.
"I've wanted to, but I'm just not sure she's stable enough to be
able to handle it."

I met his eyes. "Are you saying she's had a
relapse?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "She hasn't
exactly been herself lately, but then I haven't been either, so
maybe I'm just projecting that on her."

"But you'd rather not burden her with your
situation until you're sure?"

"You've got it."

I ate some salad and thought about Emily's
exchange at the college with her friend Tony. Could they have been
arguing over money for drugs? Or, as my mother used to say, was I
making a mountain out of a molehill?

"Is something on your mind, Riley?" Brent
asked.

"I was just wondering if you know Emily's
friend, Tony. I met him when I ran into her at the college."

Brent studied the question. "Yeah, I've met
him. They've had an on-again, off-again relationship. Last I knew,
it was off. Maybe now it's on again." He shrugged. "She could do
better, but the more I talk about it, the less she seems to
listen."

"What is it you don't like about Tony?" I
asked curiously.

"I just think he's a bad influence on
her."

"You mean like supplying drugs?"

"Maybe, though I have no proof." Brent took a
sip of water. "Maybe you could talk to her...see where her mind
is."

I lifted a brow. "I'm not sure that's such a
good idea," I said honestly.

"Emily's always respected you, perhaps more
than she does me," he said. "If she's in trouble, I want to be able
to help her, while I still can."

Though I wasn't convinced that Emily
respected me all that much, I felt obliged to do what I could to
help him as a friend. "I'll talk to her."

He grinned. "Thanks, I owe you one."

My mind started racing. "Actually, maybe you
could return the favor..." I told him.

"All you have to do is ask," he said
coolly.

"My book club meets every month. The last
book we discussed was by your former research assistant and
protégé, Pierce O'Shea."

Brent smiled. "I'll be sure to pass that
along to Pierce. I'm meeting with him tonight after we finish
dinner. He'll be pleased to hear that he's reached book club
status."

"Not sure about that," I said. "Though we
enjoyed breaking down the novel's strengths and weaknesses,
everyone seemed to be on the same page, so to speak, that your
writing was far superior."

"I'm flattered, but I've also been writing
longer. It doesn't happen overnight that you just put it all
together and master your technique and storytelling ability."

"True, but as I recall, you won high praise
for your second novel and never looked back."

Brent chuckled. "Actually, I always look
back, remembering where I started to keep me on track for where I'm
going. Now, of course, those memories are more important than
ever." He lowered his eyes gloomily, and then smiled up at me. "Did
you ever say how I could return the favor?"

I dabbed a cloth napkin to my lips and
considered whether or not it might appear insensitive to make this
request to him. But then I decided it might be just what Brent
needed to exercise his mind, while he was still pretty much in
control of it. "If you could make an appearance at our next
meeting, I'm sure the book club members would be thrilled to have
you."

He nodded. "I'd be happy to, but I can't
promise to have all the answers they may seek. Just let me know
when and where."