Love at First Sight - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,2
man knocking at Liz’s door!
Karen felt a shiver. Had that been Liz who’d called a few minutes ago? Then why hadn’t she said something? And who’d answered the phone in Liz’s room when Karen had called? The secret lover?
This is none of your business. Except that Liz had involved her in it by confessing it all to her. Now Karen felt as if she’d just sat through an unsettling movie, only to have the projector break down before the end. She needed an ending. Preferably a happy one.
“Maybe I should call Liz’s hotel room again,” she said to the silence, worried that neither of them was going to get a happy ending.
Get a life, Sutton. And get out of this dress!
CHAPTER TWO
Sunday morning
It wasn’t until very early the next morning that Karen, half-asleep, got the news.
Howie brought it, along with some of his aunt’s still-warm homemade fried pies and a spray can of spot remover.
Karen opened the door barefoot, in the old T-shirt she’d slept in and a pair of thrown-on worn jeans. “Howie?”
He stuck the fried pies under her nose like smelling salts.
She took a whiff and a pie and stumbled groggily into the kitchen, following the smell emanating from her automatic coffeemaker. What time was it, anyway?
Howie trailed after her into the tiny kitchen. “Like I was saying, I have this friend at the Hotel Carlton flower shop. She says the police have been swarming all over the place since she got there this morning.”
Sleepily, Karen took a bite of the palm-size, lightly frosted, still-warm apricot fried pie and chewed, moaning in pleasure. Better than chocolate. Better than sleep. Better than even— She stopped chewing. “What?”
Howie handed her a napkin and pointed to a crumb on her chin. She wiped at it robotically as she watched him pull down a cup and fill it with coffee. He handed it to her.
Police? She took a gulp of the hot strong coffee, desperately needing to get up to speed. Her head cleared a little as the caffeine started to kick in. She took another drink. Her eyes began to focus. They focused on Howie.
He smiled in acknowledgment and refilled her cup. Somehow she hadn’t expected to see him again after last night. How long did his aunt say he’d be in town?
“It turns out someone was murdered at the hotel last night,” he said as he handed her the full cup. “Can you imagine that?”
She stared at him. Unfortunately, she could imagine that. What the caffeine hadn’t yet completely accomplished, the word murder did. “Who was murdered?”
“Her name hasn’t been released yet,” he continued, his interest appearing to wane as he obviously got to his real purpose for waking her this early on a Sunday morning. “I came by to see if this spot remover works. If you’ll get me your dress…”
She barely heard him. A woman had been murdered? Her heart picked up a staccato beat while her pulse buzzed in her ears. Just because a woman had been murdered at the hotel last night, didn’t mean it was Liz. After all, it was a huge place. What were the chances the victim was even someone she knew?
“Karen?” Howie waved the can of spot remover in front of her to get her attention. “The dress?”
She pointed absently in the direction of the couch, drained her coffee cup and looked around for her purse.
“You did soak the dress overnight in cold water, didn’t you?” he asked.
She hated to tell him.
“I don’t see the dress,” he called back to her from the other side of the breakfast bar.
She pointed again, this time more in the direction of the corner, as she dumped the contents of her purse on the kitchen counter and sorted through it feverishly for the number Liz had given her. She and Liz had exchanged phone numbers on coffee-shop napkins, but at the time she’d figured she’d probably never see Liz again—let alone call her. But her instincts told her that Liz wouldn’t have stayed at the hotel last night. Not after learning the truth about her lover.
With relief, she spied a latte-stained corner of napkin, pulled it free and reached for the phone.
“Oh!” she heard Howie exclaim. He must have found her dress where she’d thrown it last night.
The line began to ring. Pick up, Liz. Come on. Answer your phone.
When the answering machine came on, she hung up, not wanting to leave a message. What message would she leave, anyway? “Call me if you’re not dead?