Both the ring tone and the caller ID told her it was Ben. She excused herself and stepped away from the table to take the call.
“So, Red, how’s your day going? Got anything you want to tell me?”
“My day’s going fine. I’m having lunch with your friend Mick. He was just about to tell me the cause of death.”
“Really? I spoke with him earlier and he didn’t say anything about the cause of death, but he did assure me you’re not a suspect.”
“Uh-huh. That’s right,” she said, as she smiled at Mick who had looked up.
“Okay, I get it. You can’t really talk. I’ll call you later. Remember you can call me if you need anything.”
“Uh-Huh. Love you, B-bye,” she responded as she hung up.
The waiter came, cleared away the empty dishes, and offered them dessert. They declined and asked for the check. Lane looked back at the detective, still waiting to hear the cause of death. The waiter dropped off the check. They both reached for it.
“Detective, what if I pay the check and you tell me the cause of death.”
Mick smiled, flashing big white teeth and a smile that said he had been on a first name basis with an orthodontist at some point in his life. “As long as it’s not a bribe or anything.”
Lane took the cash from her wallet and put it with the check. The waiter came by. She nodded to him and told him she didn’t need change.
“Mr. Gardner was stabbed. One wound at the base of his skull.”
Lane looked at him in disbelief. “Wouldn’t a stab wound cause bleeding? A lot of bleeding? Remember, I shook the guy. I didn’t see much blood.”
She closed her eyes. Her mind was reeling and it was almost as if she could smell the acrid smells of the movie theater. Lane felt Mick take her arm as he helped her stand and then he guided her toward the exit. Mick couldn’t believe it. Three meetings with this woman, and she’d sent him to the dry cleaner twice. Clearly, she needed fresh air before she made it three for three.
“Breathe,” he said as he pushed her through the door.
He’d misread the signs she thought. She was not light headed, or nauseous. She was confused and her brain was processing the information she’d just gotten as quickly as it could. She closed her eyes against the bright July sun and took several deep breaths. She began rummaging through her purse. He led her to a bench in front of the restaurant and gently pushed her into a sitting position.
“Your headache’s back. Give me your keys. It’s my duty as a man sworn to protect and serve to keep you off the road.”
He was right. Stomp was back. She handed him her keys and continued her blind search through her purse.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Moving, she thought, was totally out of the question right now. Moments later, he pushed a bottle of water into her left hand and then dropped three tablets into her right hand. Ah, the god of headache remedies was smiling on her.
“Tylenol. Take them.”
She heard the deep velvety voice swimming through the noise and pain. She gratefully obeyed and then with eyes closed resumed rummaging through her purse.
“What are you searching for in there?” Swam the voice again.
“Sunglasses. I can’t open my eyes until I find them. The sun’s a killer when I have a headache.”
He reached over, pulled her sunglasses from the top of her head, and put them in her hand. “How often do you get headaches and just how debilitating are they?”
Lane donned her sunglasses and turned her head toward the direction of the velvet voice as she slowly opened her eyes to a squint. “Sometimes, I go a whole week without a headache. Some are worse than others,” Lane said slowly. “What time is it? I have a staff meeting at two o’clock.”
“It’s one-thirty. I’m not sure you have any business going back to work. I know you have no business driving. We’ll take my car.”
Mick took her arm and guided her to a huge black SUV. Lane’s head hurt too much for her to care what the make and model were. Mick unlocked the door, sort of pushed her up into the passenger seat, reached around her, and fastened the seat belt. She braced herself as he gently closed the door. Lane put her right elbow on the door ledge, closed her eyes, and held her head.
The swimming voice said, “Try to save the upholstery,” as he pressed a plastic bag into her left hand.
If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she’d have seen some humor in this, but as it was, she needed to concentrate on not losing her lunch. It had been a delicious lunch and she was sure it would be horrid coming up, not to mention that it would be extremely embarrassing. She heard the engine start and then felt the vehicle start to move. She squinted her left eye open and could see Detective McGuire eyeing her cautiously. Who could blame him for pushing the plastic bag into her hand?
The smoothness of the 15-minute ride to her office surprised Lane. Detective McGuire stopped in front of the building and walked around the car to open Lane’s door.
“Should I walk you in,” he asked as he released her seat belt and helped her get out.
Lane assured him she’d be all right, as she handed the empty plastic bag back to him. She hated these headaches, which were triggered by several things, among them, stress, tension, or allergies.
To Mick’s amazement, she walked unwavering toward the building.
She walked to the building nodding slightly to the guard as she entered. She waited until she was in the elevator to remove her sunglasses. Meg, God bless her, took one look at Lane, asked if she wanted to cancel the staff meeting and followed Lane into her office.
“What have you taken for it,” Meg asked. She knew that there was no way Lane dared to bend over right now; so Meg leaned down, took a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge, opened it, and handed it to her boss.
“Three Tylenol about twenty minutes ago. It’s almost tolerable now. The caffeine will help.” Lane took a drink and then held the cold can to her right temple. “Any calls while I was out?” She asked as she began to gather notes for the staff meeting.
“Ben called earlier. He said he’d try your cell.” Meg opened the door to the conference room. “And Craig Turner called to say he couldn’t make your staff meeting,” Meg said as she handed Lane the messages. “And that guy, Mick McGuire, called just before you walked in. He said he’d pick you up at five o’clock in front of the building. You’re supposed to call his cell if that’s not a good time. The number’s on your desk.”
Lane knew Meg was curious. She also knew that Meg would never come right out and ask. Meg knew how important Lane’s privacy was. Besides that, Meg was a patient woman.
Lane had five people who reported to her. Meg, Bob Carlson, and three other directors who reported to her directly, and Craig Turner, Senior Legal Counsel who worked with her office to analyze and interpret new legislation pertaining to privacy. Lane wanted to talk about the software companies they’d evaluated so far. She also needed to know if Craig had anything new to discuss. The states of California and Massachusetts, it seemed, were constantly enacting some new privacy legislation. The meeting, which was scheduled to last for an hour and a half, lasted less than an hour without Craig Turner.
Lane verified that she had no other pressing issues that afternoon, and took a BC as she used her desk phone to dial the number Meg had given her for Detective McGuire. After several rings, she heard the velvety voice.
“McGuire.”
“Detective, this is Lane Parker. My assistant gave me your message. I appreciate your offer, but my meeting is over and I don’t have anything for the rest of the day. I thought I’d just grab a cab and head home now.” Lane had already begun powering down her laptop.
“I’ll be there in ten.” Mick replied, and Lane was listening to dial tone.