Just in Time. Suzanne Trauth
at the bar and Gillian, our twenty-something waitress, serving the last of the dinner customers. I was over the moon to have an early night. A glass of chardonnay, the latest thriller by my favorite mystery author, a speedy check of my Facebook page, and a date with my bed.
Then I recalled Carol’s reminder. My birthday was creeping up, and though I’d casually mentioned the date and a possible celebration, Bill had not picked up on my hint. Without warning, the hairs on the nape of my neck quivered and I shuddered—my radar whenever something was bothering me. Was it the wind blowing in the driver’s side window? My birthday? Or something else?
2
A ping from my cell phone coaxed me awake—and away from a beach where I was luxuriating on warm sand, the sun hot on my back, sea gulls wheeling overhead. Now that should be my summer vacation. My cell pinged again, demanding attention. I reached for the phone and scanned the messages: the first was from Bill, asking if I was up and wanted to meet for breakfast at eight thirty at Coffee Heaven. Of course, I texted back. The second was from Carol asking if nine thirty was too late for my Snippets appointment. Not at all.
In the shower, the water was warm on my shoulders as I lathered my hair and rinsed my thick mop. I pulled on lightweight khakis and a pink cotton blouse, which complemented my Irish hair and complexion, and grabbed the car keys. I had settled into the Metro’s front seat when my cell rang. It was Bill. He was eager this morning.
“Hi there. I’m on my way.” I lowered my voice into my sexy register. “Little impatient today, aren’t we? I mean I know that—”
“Sorry to cancel. There’s an incident down by the highway. An abandoned car,” he said.
“Isn’t that something Ralph could take care of?” Ralph Ostrowski was a patrol officer on the Etonville police force—genial, mildly capable, and a regular at the Donut Hole coffee shop. Talk about a walking cliché.
“He’s directing traffic on Belvidere. A streetlight blew out.” Bill grunted. “I haven’t had my first hit of caffeine yet.”
“I’ll swing by Coffee Heaven and deliver it to you on the job.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not sure how long—”
“No bother. See you soon,” I ended the call. After all, this is what couples did—tended to each other’s needs—right?
I analyzed our relationship as I cruised down Ames and over Fairfield. Bill and I had had a great couple of months sharing our homes and getting to know each other. Sometimes we binge-watched Netflix while exploring Bill’s latest gastronomic marvel; or sipped wine in front of his fireplace while a sexy Norah Jones serenaded us. Or I modeled new lingerie from Betty’s Boutique, Etonville’s version of Victoria’s Secret. Occasionally, we wandered the streets of Greenwich Village in New York, experimenting with new restaurants. I was getting into the girlfriend routine.
I pulled into a space in front of Etonville’s old-fashioned diner: a handful of booths and tables, a traditional breakfast menu, and two or three coffee specials in an affirmation of the twenty-first century. My obsession was caramel macchiato.
The welcome bells above the door jingled as I entered and made my way to the counter.
“Hiya Dodie? The regular?” asked Jocelyn, the Coffee Heaven waitress.
“Sure. Make it to go, and add a black coffee.”
Jocelyn put her hands on her hips. “The chief’s car zipped away a bit ago. Wondered if he’d had his coffee yet.”
Our relationship had become the go-to topic of conversation around Etonville. Folks asked “how we were” with a wink—as if we were the town mascots. I’d become accustomed to Etonville’s prying eyes, but Bill was still skittish.
Jocelyn placed lids on the take-out cups and then leaned over the counter. “Speaking of relationships…”
I groaned inwardly.
“Have you seen Walter lately? He’s looking really fine,” Jocelyn murmured.
Walter? The ELT Walter? The temperamental guy with the crazy warm-up exercises who still had it bad for Lola? “Well…uh…I was at the theater last night to see a rehearsal and Walter was…” How to explain Walter’s demonstration of the difference between a squeal and a swoon? “He was working with the actors. I saw Act One. The show is coming together and—”
“But what about Walter?” Jocelyn asked optimistically. “I’m inviting him to dinner one night next week.”
Uh-oh. “Jocelyn, are you and Walter…” Talking? Interested in each other? Did Walter know Jocelyn existed outside of waiting tables at Coffee Heaven?
“A couple yet? Nah. But I figure with Dale Undershot moving in on Lola, I’d better get ready to claim some territory before Walter decides to play the field again.”
“Right.” I paid and left in a hurry before I had to listen to more of Jocelyn’s strategies for organizing Walter’s love life. I tried to imagine the two of them. I pointed my red Metro in the direction of State Route 53.
Within minutes, I had veered onto the access road that ran parallel to the highway. Up ahead, I could see Bill’s black and white cruiser, lights flashing, parked in front of a blue automobile. I eased off the roadway and came to a stop several car lengths behind the blue car, a Toyota Corolla. It was familiar. Where had I seen it before? An ambulance swooped in and ground to a halt in front of me. This was more than an abandoned vehicle.
Bill’s hand punctuated the air, as he appeared to be speaking rapidly on his two-way radio. I carried the container of coffee to the rear of the Corolla, but an emergency medical technician halted my progress. “Sorry. Can’t let you by.”
Bill waved me over, the technician nodding as I passed him.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I thought it was an abandoned automobile.”
“So did I. Turns out the vehicle wasn’t abandoned.”
Ralph drove up in another police cruiser, his siren blaring.
“Cut the sound,” Bill shouted.
“Copy that, Chief.” Ralph alighted from the car. “Heard over the scanner that you had an 11-83.”
Bill shot a look at Ralph. “Don’t you have an 11-66 over on Belvidere?”
Ralph jammed his hands in his pockets. “They’re about done repairing the street light. Need help here?”
“Make yourself useful and get on the horn to Timothy’s. We’ll need a tow truck to get this thing off the shoulder.”
“10-4.”
Ralph was a cop in search of an incident, though he was usually assigned crowd control whenever there was an incident. “Is he or she…?” I asked carefully.
“Yes. Had to jimmy the lock to open the door.”
The emergency technicians were in the process of moving the body from the car to a gurney.
“Oh no,” I murmured. Something wasn’t right. The blue car, the size and shape of the deceased…
Bill’s walkie-talkie squawked. “Yeah Suki?” He had a brief conversation with his second-in- command, and then pivoted to me. “The car’s registered to a Passonata, first name—”
“—Ruby!” I cried. My heart pounded. Dead. Wait until the theaters found out—
“You know the vic?” Bill asked.
“It’s Ruby. Don’t you recognize her?”
“No. Why should I?”
“The rehearsal accompanist for Bye, Bye, Birdie?” Then I remembered that Bill had come to only a couple of rehearsals, begging off with the excuse that he had to work most other nights.
Suddenly,