Love at First Sight

“I was afraid you were lost,” Howie said. “Oh, look at your dress! You really should have gotten cold water on that right away. It’s going to be difficult to get that spot out now.”

She looked down at the huge red stain and was startled to see how much it resembled blood against the pale blue of the velvet. No wonder the man with Liz had looked so surprised.

But it didn’t explain the way he’d reacted to Liz. Or her to him. Not that it was any of Karen’s business, she reminded herself. Until this morning, she hadn’t even seen Liz since high school. Almost sixteen years.

That’s why she’d been so surprised when she’d run into her on the street in Missoula and Liz had insisted they talk over a latte at the corner coffee shop. Karen became even more uncomfortable when her former classmate, who had nervously kept watching the door, confessed that she’d done something she probably shouldn’t have, then blurted out that she’d been seeing a mystery man, someone she’d met through the personals column in the newspaper.

“I really should get home and soak this dress, don’t you think?” Karen said to her neighbor’s grandnephew and her very-last-ever blind date.

She couldn’t wait to get out of the dress and end the date, and not in that order. Nor did she want to think about Liz and the man in the hotel hallway. Liz was a grown woman. She knew what she was doing.

But even as Karen said it, she feared Liz had gotten in over her head. She kept remembering the way the two had reacted to each other in the hallway. That was one romance headed south.

Twenty minutes later, Karen was trying to gracefully close her apartment door on Howie Iverson and the entire evening, when she was literally saved by the bell.

The phone rang. “Thank you again, but it isn’t necessary,” she said politely to Howie’s offer to have her dress cleaned. Hurriedly she shut the door, bolted it and ran to answer the phone.

“Hello?” She could hear breathing. “Hello?”

The line clicked.

Karen stared at the receiver.

Had it been Liz? Maybe.

Or a crazed serial killer checking to see if she was home alone? Probably.

Or a wrong number, she thought, trying to corral her imagination and shake off the ominous feeling she’d had since opening the door to find Howie peeking through a bouquet of the strangest-looking flowers she’d ever seen.

But as she started to hang up the phone, she knew it wasn’t the date—as awkward as it’d been—that had her so jumpy.

On impulse she hit star 69. The phone number the automated voice repeated didn’t sound familiar. A wrong number, just like she’d thought. The line began to ring. Hang up! You’re going to look like a fool!

“Good evening, Hotel Carlton.”

Her pulse pounded at her temples. Had Liz called her? “Yes. Could you please ring Liz Jones’s room?”

“One moment, please.”

It suddenly struck Karen that Liz wouldn’t have registered in her own name. Actually, she probably wouldn’t have registered at all. While Karen didn’t know much about clandestine affairs, she thought the male lover acquired the room, and probably under some assumed name like Smith.

So why was she still waiting on the line when she knew the clerk would come back any minute to say there was no Liz Jones registered?

The extension began to ring. Liz had registered—and under her own name? Well, it was a new decade for women.

Someone picked up after the first ring but said nothing.

Karen swallowed. “Liz?”

No answer. Just soft breathing.

What was she doing? Karen quickly hung up and stood staring at the phone. Who’d answered? More important, who’d called her from the hotel in the first place? She blinked. The answering-machine light blinked back at her, bright red.

Quickly she rewound the tape, surprised to find herself trembling. Jeez, she felt like a kid who’d been caught playing phone games. “I saw what you did. I know who you are.” I’m an idiot. Come and get me.

Except she hadn’t seen anything and knew even less. Not true. She’d seen Liz with a man. The lover who’d insisted his identity be kept secret? And now Karen had not only seen him—he’d seen her!

She jumped as the answering machine clicked on and Liz’s distraught voice filled the room. “Karen? Please pick up. I really need to talk to you. I found out who he is. You know, the man I told you about. I found out everything. This is so freaky.” Pause. “All right, I guess you’re not home. I need to talk to him first, anyway. You know, give the bastard a chance to…explain, huh?” She sounded close to tears and getting more angry by the moment. “I can tell you one thing. I’m not going to let him get away with this. He’s going to pay.” A knock sounded in the background. “That’s him now.”

The line disconnected, the silence too loud, too final in the suddenly morguelike room.

Liz had called. Karen checked the time on the answering machine: 7:48. That would have been just after Howie spilled her wine all over her dress while explaining greenhouse flower pollination. And just before—

Her pulse roared in her ears. My God, Liz had been on the phone calling her at the same time Karen had rounded the corner in the hotel and seen the 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?”