Love at First Sight - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,3
Otherwise—”
Okay. Liz wasn’t at home. Still no reason to panic. Maybe she had stayed over at the hotel last night. Karen tried the Carlton number only to get a busy signal.
“Howie, I have someplace I have to go,” Karen said, shoving everything but the keys back into her purse and quickly finishing off her fried pie before she looked around for shoes. She spied her Birkenstock sandals poking out from the end of the couch and slid into their familiar worn comfort.
Howie was holding the dress out and tsk-tsking.
“Look, Howie—” That dress had been nothing but bad luck. She’d bought it on impulse because it was on sale and for just a moment, she’d seen herself in the dress having a romantic candlelight dinner with a still faceless Man of Her Dreams. Obviously sale dresses came with dream glitches she should have been warned about. “Here, give me that.” She snatched the dress and the spot remover from him, stuffed the spray can in her purse and tucked the cursed dress under her arm. “I have it covered. Trust me. I know just what to do.”
“Well, I really think—”
“No time for that now,” she said, cutting him short as she ushered him out the door ahead of her.
She left him standing in the courtyard as she hurried to her Honda. As she threw her purse and the dress into the passenger seat, she couldn’t help but notice how much the stain still looked like blood. A bad omen.
Omens now, Karen? Bad-luck sales dresses. When did you become so superstitious, anyway?
As she drove across Missoula toward the Carlton, she berated herself for being such a fool. She was wasting a perfectly good Sunday morning. The sun shone as bright orange as one of Talley Iverson’s apricot fried pies, making the day almost as wonderful, although a little cool considering this was spring in Montana.
Who was she kidding? It was March and it was still too cold for the way she was dressed. She flipped on the heater the moment the engine warmed up and cruised toward the mountains debating her own stupidity.
Why did she even think the murdered woman might be Liz?
Well, gosh, could it be the whole secret-lover thing? Or maybe the way Liz had reacted to the man in the hotel hallway last night? Or the way he’d reacted to her? Not to mention that strange phone call and the message from Liz?
All circumstantial evidence. Not even evidence at all. Just one woman’s hysterical jump to dire conclusions. She should be concerning herself instead with how to let Howie down easily—yet firmly. And what was with him and those warm fried pies this morning? It was as if Talley Iverson were pulling out all the stops. Karen knew she really should be doing something about Howie and his matchmaking aunt rather than worrying about Liz, a woman she hardly knew.
You just have to know what happened, don’t you? You’re as bad as your mother!
Oh, that hurt.
Not that it deterred her.
She was going to the hotel. She’d find out who was murdered. If it wasn’t Liz, she’d feel relieved and foolish. But she was all right with that.
She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked like a wild woman, her shoulder-length brown hair standing out in every which direction! Glancing around in the car, she found an old navy blue scrunchie and battled her hair into semicompliance while she drove. No easy task. Now all she had to do was get control over her life again.
Ahead she could see the Hotel Carlton etched against the clear dark blue of Montana’s big sky. As warm as it was in the car, she felt a chill.
JACK ADAMS SAW HER the moment she walked in. Not that she stood out particularly—even the way she was dressed. The lobby was such a zoo because of the murder, he doubted anyone else noticed her. He wasn’t sure what had made him look down when he did from the mezzanine where he’d been hiding out. Or what it was about her that held his initial attention.
Her hair looked pulled up into a ponytail of sorts. Stray strands of golden brown curled around her face making her eyes seem large and wide. Brown eyes, he guessed, although he couldn’t tell from this distance. Some freckles probably. Late twenties, early thirties. Jogs or works out at the gym three times a week, he figured. Teaches school or day care. Born and raised in Montana. Probably here