Your Eight O'clock is Dead Read online

  Scream and get out of here.

  My thoughts, and to some extent my panic, was interrupted by the door opening. I sucked in fresh hallway air like a drug user snorting coke.

  Ahhh. Much better, at least for the moment.

  Tom stuck his head into the room. "I'm going to take you one at a time to be fingerprinted and interviewed. After that, you're free to go."

  At least they weren't planning on keeping us. That was a relief. Not that any of us were guilty, but you never knew when dealing with the authorities.

  "Dr. Daley, if you'll follow me, please." The detective held the door open, and he and Dr. Dick disappeared leaving Granddad and me alone in the room.

  "Why didn't you tell me that O'Malley had been murdered?" Granddad asked.

  I put my fingers up to my lips to indicate that Granddad should be quiet. Either he didn't recognize the signal, or he chose to ignore me. I'm guessing it was the latter.

  "Becca, this is serious. The killer could still have been there when you came in this morning." He leveled his grandfatherly gaze on me. I knew he meant well, and I really couldn't be mad at him.

  "It's okay, Granddad. Everything is going to be all right."

  I held his hand and gave it a squeeze - one he returned. Even though I'd spoken the words, I wasn't sure that I entirely believed them. A strange feeling crept up my spine and a rock formed in the pit of my stomach. I tried to dismiss my stray thoughts, but they lingered in the back of my mind. This murder was going to change everything.

  After a bit, Detective Tom reappeared. "Mr. Reynolds, you're next."

  Granddad patted my shoulder and then followed Tom out of the room.

  I didn't like being left here alone. It occurred to me that whoever was observing me may not entirely believe that I didn't stab Mr. O'Malley. Maybe they were waiting to see if I'd crack under the strain of being the last to get out of the room. Don't be ridiculous, I scolded myself. The stress of the day was finally taking its toll. That and this stupid box of a room without windows.

  Feeling brave, I got up and opened the door. Sticking my head out into the corridor, I checked both ways. Empty. Surely they should have posted a uniform cop to guard us and make sure we didn't leave.

  Well, hmmm. This was pretty cool. I could get out of the room and stretch my legs. Maybe even find the restroom. Yeah, that was a plan.

  Tiptoeing without knowing why, I looked down the hall in the direction we'd come and decided to head the other way. I crept past closed doors until I reached the end of the corridor. Left or right? Decisions, decisions. I picked right for no good reason other than it looked promising.

  And at the first doorway, I ran smack into a policeman and another man.

  I started to lose my balance, but a pair of strong arms reached out to steady me. When I looked up, I found the softest pair of brown eyes staring down at me.

  "Are you okay?" His accent was clearly foreign. Russian, I decided.

  I nodded and chalked up a new record on losing the ability to speak in a single day.

  "Good." He offered a smile that was both genuine and calming.

  "Come on, Chernov, you can make time with the ladies after you're released." The uniformed cop tugged on the man's arm and did a push-pull action.

  The man called Chernov flashed another smile in my direction and shrugged as if to say if it were up to him he would not have been so quick to leave. I smiled back at him.

  The cop continued to push Chernov down the hall toward a room on the opposite side. Looking back over his shoulder the cop said to me, "What are you doing back here?"

  I swallowed hard, sure that both men had heard me. "I'm here to be fingerprinted and give a statement." At this point, the truth was my only salvation.

  "Over here then." He pointed to where he stood with Chernov.

  "They shouldn't have left you to find it on your own," the cop growled.

  I hesitated and he shot me a look that I interpreted to mean, get my butt over to where he stood this minute.

  "Lady, I don't have all day. C'mon."

  Dropping my head and wondering how I'd explain this to Detective Tom, I obeyed the uniformed officer.

  He shoved Chernov into the room and pushed on his shoulder until the Russian took a seat. The cop nodded for me to sit, as well.

  Since Chernov, and not the cop, had been a gentleman when I'd bumped into them and had tried to save me from falling on my face, I decided he couldn't be that bad. So I took the seat next to him.

  "Your first time?" Chernov asked softly.

  "First time?" I replied dumbly.

  "Getting prints taken."

  "Yes, oh my, yes. I've never been in any trouble before. Not that I'm in trouble now. I saw something and touched something and now they need my prints and a statement about what I witnessed. I'm not a criminal. No, I'm definitely a law-abiding citizen." Suddenly realizing what I was implying, I rushed to add, "Not that I think you're a crook. I so did not mean to imply that. It's just been a really bad day. I'm not usually like this at all. Okay, I may be a tad scattered some days, like today, for instance, but—"

  "It's all right. I completely understand. You're nervous," he said almost in a whisper, the most charming smile playing about his lips.

  In an effort not to miss a word, I leaned my head a bit closer to his, fascinated by his accent and pulled in by those soulful, dark chocolate eyes.

  "You must think I'm an idiot." I looked down at my hands folded primly in my lap.

  His index finger took a stroll along my spine and I jerked up straight, as though I'd been touched with a live wire. "Shoulders back, head high, no matter what. Understand? Never look like you are defeated." His words were strong, but his voice remained kind and calm.

  For some reason, the intimacy didn't freak me out. Instead, it drew me to him all the more. Quite simply, I was mesmerized by this man. Finally remembering my good manners, I held out my hand. "Becca Reynolds."

  He took my hand lightly in his.

  "Max Chernov, my-ah sladkaya."

  I didn't know what my-ah sladkaya meant, but for some reason the lyrical words caused heat to infuse my face and neck like I'd bitten into a hot chili pepper. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Chernov." How lame could I get?

  "Max. Please, call me Max."

  This guy was hot. Who knew a good place to meet guys would be at Police Headquarters? And then it hit me. Was he here because he'd seen something that the police needed to question him about, or was he actually a criminal? Just my luck to meet a good-looking, gallant foreigner and he'd turn out to be a Jack the Ripper. Or worse.

  My face must have betrayed my thoughts.

  "You are right to be careful, Becca. You don't know who I am. I can tell you this. I am a friend, not an enemy. Trust your first instincts."

  "Chernov, over here," the uniformed cop called out.

  "Now I must leave you, Becca."

  Max stood and reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver business card case and extracted a card. "Should you ever need a friend…."

  I took the card, and he smiled and followed the uniformed officer into a cubicle.

  The card was plain but expensive looking. It listed his name and two phone numbers. I opened my purse and tucked it safely inside my wallet. You never knew when you were going to need a friend, especially a handsome Russian one.

  "Becca, what are you doing here?" Granddad's voice made me jump.

  "I decided to save Tom a trip back to get me."

  Granddad looked confused and then his eyes narrowed to slits. He knew I was up to something. Before he could say more, Tom came up behind him.

  "Okay, Mr. Reynolds. You're free to go." When Tom spotted me sitting in the chair, he did a double-take. "How did you get here, Miss Reynolds?"

  I settled for the truth, just not the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "A uniformed officer told me to come in here."

  Tom looked around and seeing no one, in particular, seemed to act like I must be telling t
he truth. I suspect he really thought I wasn't smart enough to find the room on my own. Probably right.

  "Okay, let's get you fingerprinted and take that statement." Tom pointed toward the cubicles on the far side of the room, the same way Chernov had gone. My heart kicked up a notch at the thought of seeing the sexy Russian again. And then just as quickly it settled back into its normal rhythm when I remembered why I was here -- to talk about a murder.

  "See you later, Granddad." I waved half-heartedly and followed Tom.

  We passed several cubicles and without thinking I peered into each one. Damn. I did want to see Chernov again. Well, who could blame me? Shoulder-length dark brown hair that perfectly complimented his eyes. Strong Slavic cheekbones, even white teeth, a killer smile. Oops, there it was again. That measure of doubt. What was he doing here?

  Tom ushered me into the fourth cubicle. "Wait here. I'll go see if the fingerprint area is free." He disappeared, and I took the opportunity to survey my new surroundings. The nameplate on the desk read Tom Donovan.

  So now I knew Detective Tom's last name.

  There were no papers on the desk to speak of. A double tray held loose sheets of paper. A computer terminal and keyboard rested on the far side of the work surface.

  The only other item on the desk was a telephone. A bulletin board hung from the cubicle wall displaying several official-looking notices pinned up in random order. I had an overwhelming desire to align them and tidy them up, but I didn't think Tom Donovan would appreciate my help.

  "Okay, they're ready for you. Let's get you over there and move this along."

  Rising, I followed him.

  As I entered the other room, I saw Max Chernov wiping his fingers with a cloth. He winked at me. I couldn't help it; I blushed. This guy did something to me. My insides felt like jelly just being around him.

  And I'd thought Ryder was something. What a toss-up. Here I'd gone through a severe dry spell and now two guys could dissolve me into putty with just a look. Maybe my love life was looking up.

  "Miss Reynolds, over here."

  Tom's voice brought me back to the real world. The uniformed cop nudged Chernov along.

  As Max passed me, he said in a tone barely audible, "Until next time, my-ah sladkaya."

  My heart did a weird staccato beat. Before I could say anything, he was gone. I turned and watched him retreat. Just as good from the back as the front. I sighed.

  Probably a bit too loud.

  Chapter 5

  After what seemed like hours, Tom Donovan finished with me. For now, as he put it. That didn’t sound encouraging. At least he hadn’t Mirandized me, and I was free to go. I liked the sound of that. Free. To. Go.

  As I gathered my things, I heard a ruckus in the outer office. The voices grew louder. My natural curiosity drew me out of the cubicle.

  “My husband is dead! And you want to interview me. Here! I’ve never heard of such a thing. How completely insensitive are you?”

  “Calm down, Mrs. O’Malley. We gave you the opportunity to answer questions at your residence. You declined to cooperate. We had no choice but to bring you in,” Tom Donovan stated in a no-nonsense tone. “We’re dealing with a murder investigation.”

  Interesting. Edna St. Vincent O’Malley had resisted speaking to the police. So this was the sweet, church-going lady my granddad had described earlier. Why didn’t she want to talk to the cops? What did she have to hide? Could she have killed her husband? Questions pinged around in my brain, rapid-fire.

  I snuck toward Donovan and Mrs. O’Malley to get a better look at her. She was fortyish with soft blonde hair pulled back into a twist. Definitely a bit too matronly for her age, if you asked me. Her make-up was flawless, as were the designer clothes and shoes she wore.

  Nothing cheap or sleazy about Edna.

  She was the epitome of the well-bred Southern female right down to the strand of pearls encircling her aristocratic neck.

  Donovan spotted me lurking behind him. “Haven’t you left yet?”

  “On my way out,” I replied, a bit too cheery for the circumstances.

  “My goodness, Detective, it’s bad enough that you’re rude to me, but this child looks scared to death. What did you do to her? Use a rubber hose to extract a confession? Water torture? Screws?” Edna asked, not attempting to hide her sarcasm or her contempt.

  “I assure you, Mrs. O’Malley, we do not employ any such techniques. Miss Reynolds was just leaving after being very cooperative in giving us her statement concerning your husband’s death.”

  Edna’s hand flew up to her string of pearls. “You knew my Robert?”

  She was looking at me like I was her husband’s girl on the side or something. “It’s not what you think. I work for Daley & Palmer. I was the one who found your husband’s …” I cut myself off before I blurted out the word body.

  “I see.” Her tone held absolutely no warmth. I wasn’t sure if that was directed at me, at Daley & Palmer, at her dead husband. Or maybe it was directed at Tom Donovan. I decided to try again.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss. My granddad told me what a sweet person you are, and I know how hard all of this must be on you.”

  “Your grandfather?” she asked icily.

  “Martin Reynolds. I believe you know each other from church.”

  “Marty is your grandfather?”

  Her voice softened immediately.

  “Then you must be Becca. I’ve heard so much about you, dear. He entertains all of us with your, how shall I say it . . . ? Your exploits. He’s quite proud of you, you know.”

  And just like that Edna St. Vincent O’Malley had taken me into her inner circle. Who said there was an aloofness to native Richmonders? You just had to know someone they knew and then you were the long, lost friend they’d never met.

  “Okay, you two. Great that you have all of this female bonding going on, but I’ve got a murder to investigate. The longer I stand here, the more of a head start the perp has.”

  Obviously, Donovan was not the social type.

  Both Edna and I turned toward the detective, and I’d wager both of our expressions were the same - disdain mixed with disapproval that the man just didn’t get the finer subtleties.

  Even during moments of extreme sorrow, there was still time to be civil, to be friendly and to show good manners – if you were a true Southerner.

  I leaned my arm on the counter while Detective Donovan tried to regain command of the situation. He pointed toward the door eager to separate Edna from me and get on with the process. “Miss Reynolds, let me repeat, you are free to go. Please. Go.”

  I decided I could talk to the widow later. As I moved my arm, all of the papers beneath it started to slide. I whipped around to try to save some of the falling pieces only to elbow a cup of coffee on the desk. Dark, thick liquid poured out on the counter surface pooling on reports and soaking through endless copies the job clearly required, turning them into a soggy mess.

  The sergeant who normally manned the counter came rushing forward to try to restore order to his work area. I pulled crumpled tissues out of my pocketbook and blotted like crazy.

  Unfortunately, instead of improving the situation, I was making matters worse. My tissues smeared the ink, leaving most of the documents unreadable.

  “I’m so sorry.” I continued to pull at the papers and dab here and there. The desk sergeant glared at me, his expression speaking volumes.

  Clearly, my help wasn’t appreciated.

  Donovan took me by the shoulders and tried to turn me away from the counter. I don’t like being manhandled. It doesn’t matter who’s doing the handling. The police were no exception. Instinctively, I shook free. I guess Tom wasn’t expecting that, or he didn’t have as firm a grip on me as he thought.

  His foot hit the slippery wet sheets of paper scattered on the floor. Somehow he lost his balance. Letting go of me, he grabbed for the counter. Instead of solid wood, he connected with more of the coffee and paper mess. And down he
went.

  I watched in horror.

  Edna stifled a chuckle and glanced away as good manners dictated under the circumstances. I guess I’d given her one more story to entertain Granddad and his church cronies. The desk sergeant hustled around the counter to try to help the overweight Donovan up since he seemed to be just lying there.

  “Good job, my-ah sladkaya.”

  Chernov. Oh great. Now my humiliation was complete. The sexy Russian had witnessed me single-handedly destroying police property and flattening a detective.

  “It was an accident.” I met his gaze and saw the sparkle in his eyes, the fire, along with something else. Admiration? I managed a shrug before he took my hand in his.

  “Come, Becca. I think both of us have outstayed our welcome.”

  And with that, I let Max Chernov guide me out of the interrogation area. Over my shoulder, I glimpsed the desk sergeant assisting Tom Donovan to his feet and pulling wet papers off of the detective’s rumpled brown suit. And I watched as Edna St. Vincent O’Malley straightened her spine. If Donovan thought I’d been difficult to deal with, I think he’d better up his game a notch for Edna.

  In the hall, I allowed Chernov to direct me away from the chaos that I had created. I always mean well, but somehow things rarely turn out the way I intend.

  We walked in silence. I sneaked a peek at Max Chernov’s face, surprised to discover he was smiling broadly. Instead of taking the elevator to the lobby, Chernov headed toward a curved staircase that I hadn’t noticed when I’d been brought in. He held my arm as we descended, and it felt like I was being escorted to a dance instead of from police headquarters. Not bad, Chernov, I thought, not bad at all.

  “Becca.”

  Oops. Ryder. Where had he come from?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked and could tell by Ryder’s brooding expression he wasn’t pleased about something.

  “I’ve got it from here, Chernov.” Ryder reached out and grabbed my free arm and tugged lightly.

  Max continued to hold on to me.

  Neither man squeezed too tightly, and it wasn’t like I was being man-handled - even though these two hunky men had me identifying with the wishbone at Thanksgiving dinner. As they continued their male stare-down, it became obvious that I was a pawn in some power struggle between Chernov and Ryder.