Read Online Steve Demaree - Dekker 09 - Murder on a Blind Date by Steve Demaree - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Demaree
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wondered if that meant if the murderer saw his or her shadow that we
would have six more weeks of murder. I shook my head enough that I hoped it
woke up my brain. It was time to concentrate on the matter at hand.
I focused
in on my Friday night encounter. Just in case Bambi and I arrived at the same
time, I wanted to be in character. I called George Michaelson to see if he knew
anyone who had an old truck that I could borrow, one that would make it to Lexington and back. He told me he would get
back to me. I should have been suspicious when George didn't ask any questions.
And he came through for me. Friday came. I called Jennifer late that afternoon
to get her to pray for me, but she didn't answer her phone. George told me
where I could pick up the truck, and I found the place, way out in the country,
outside of Hilldale. Way outside of Hilldale. I was told to leave my van there
in case the guy needed to go somewhere. He thought he would be home all night
because he wasn't wrestling anywhere that night, but one never knows when an
emergency might arise. I couldn't drive two vehicles, and I wasn't about to
take anyone with me, so I left my van there and hoped a tree didn't fall on it.
I headed
for Lexington . It wasn't until I arrived and
parked near a light in the parking lot on the edge of Fayette Mall that I
noticed how pretty the rust color of the guy's truck looked in the light. Well,
at least the truck had started on the first try, but I wish I had told George
that I wanted a truck with shock absorbers. I promised myself that I would take
the hills at a slower pace on the way home. Unless Bambi was chasing me.
I got out
of the truck, cringed at the sound the door made when it opened and closed. I
looked around, but saw no one looking my way. I looked down at the boots I had
bought for the occasion. I didn't plan to have a second chance to wear them. If
I go to Texas , they will just have to know I'm
from somewhere else. I wrapped my heavy coat around me as tight as I could. I
didn't want the wind to get any closer to me than the woman I was about to
meet.
I tried
to be inconspicuous as I walked the four miles to the front door of The
Cheesecake Factory, but I refrained from crouching and darting from car to car.
I knew the mall had a security force that might check out suspicious-looking
characters.
I stepped
up onto the sidewalk in front of my destination and took the shortest distance
between two points. I walked in the door and looked around. There she was. She
looked at me and grinned. Bambi. Bambi Fontaine, only I wasn't supposed to know
that her last name was Fontaine. She was my first "date" and Sam was
still gathering information about her. I knew only her last name, and had no
idea if she had dated either of the dead men.
She sat
there, still grinning. The buttons on her pale yellow dress with a gray, black,
and white geometrical design were working overtime. Either her dress didn't
grow when she had, or she liked her dresses two sizes too small. Also, about
two feet too short. It wasn't a miniskirt but she needed a dress that came down
to her ankles. Maybe she wanted me to know that she had shaved her legs for the
occasion. She wasn't the size of someone who should be afraid of a person
carrying a harpoon, the way I used to be, but she did need to meet Jenny Craig.
She wore hose of a dark brown color, and black shoes with thick heels. I looked
around. She seemed to be the only woman there wearing a dress on a cold January
night. From across the room I could tell that she, and not God, had chosen her
hair color. It was closer to Goldenrod than Platinum. I automatically wiped her
off my suspect list. She didn't look dumb, but she didn't look smart enough to
kill somebody. But then sometimes those are the ones who murder people. She
didn't look like a woman who had dated a lot, even at three for one hundred
dollars. I figured the only men who didn't have their red cards out when they
first saw her were
would have six more weeks of murder. I shook my head enough that I hoped it
woke up my brain. It was time to concentrate on the matter at hand.
I focused
in on my Friday night encounter. Just in case Bambi and I arrived at the same
time, I wanted to be in character. I called George Michaelson to see if he knew
anyone who had an old truck that I could borrow, one that would make it to Lexington and back. He told me he would get
back to me. I should have been suspicious when George didn't ask any questions.
And he came through for me. Friday came. I called Jennifer late that afternoon
to get her to pray for me, but she didn't answer her phone. George told me
where I could pick up the truck, and I found the place, way out in the country,
outside of Hilldale. Way outside of Hilldale. I was told to leave my van there
in case the guy needed to go somewhere. He thought he would be home all night
because he wasn't wrestling anywhere that night, but one never knows when an
emergency might arise. I couldn't drive two vehicles, and I wasn't about to
take anyone with me, so I left my van there and hoped a tree didn't fall on it.
I headed
for Lexington . It wasn't until I arrived and
parked near a light in the parking lot on the edge of Fayette Mall that I
noticed how pretty the rust color of the guy's truck looked in the light. Well,
at least the truck had started on the first try, but I wish I had told George
that I wanted a truck with shock absorbers. I promised myself that I would take
the hills at a slower pace on the way home. Unless Bambi was chasing me.
I got out
of the truck, cringed at the sound the door made when it opened and closed. I
looked around, but saw no one looking my way. I looked down at the boots I had
bought for the occasion. I didn't plan to have a second chance to wear them. If
I go to Texas , they will just have to know I'm
from somewhere else. I wrapped my heavy coat around me as tight as I could. I
didn't want the wind to get any closer to me than the woman I was about to
meet.
I tried
to be inconspicuous as I walked the four miles to the front door of The
Cheesecake Factory, but I refrained from crouching and darting from car to car.
I knew the mall had a security force that might check out suspicious-looking
characters.
I stepped
up onto the sidewalk in front of my destination and took the shortest distance
between two points. I walked in the door and looked around. There she was. She
looked at me and grinned. Bambi. Bambi Fontaine, only I wasn't supposed to know
that her last name was Fontaine. She was my first "date" and Sam was
still gathering information about her. I knew only her last name, and had no
idea if she had dated either of the dead men.
She sat
there, still grinning. The buttons on her pale yellow dress with a gray, black,
and white geometrical design were working overtime. Either her dress didn't
grow when she had, or she liked her dresses two sizes too small. Also, about
two feet too short. It wasn't a miniskirt but she needed a dress that came down
to her ankles. Maybe she wanted me to know that she had shaved her legs for the
occasion. She wasn't the size of someone who should be afraid of a person
carrying a harpoon, the way I used to be, but she did need to meet Jenny Craig.
She wore hose of a dark brown color, and black shoes with thick heels. I looked
around. She seemed to be the only woman there wearing a dress on a cold January
night. From across the room I could tell that she, and not God, had chosen her
hair color. It was closer to Goldenrod than Platinum. I automatically wiped her
off my suspect list. She didn't look dumb, but she didn't look smart enough to
kill somebody. But then sometimes those are the ones who murder people. She
didn't look like a woman who had dated a lot, even at three for one hundred
dollars. I figured the only men who didn't have their red cards out when they
first saw her were
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