Page 97 of A Dead End Wedding

I said eight really terrible words loudly. Then I ran to unlock my office door and dial 911. I wasn't some too-stupid-to-live coed in a horror film going down into the dark basement. I was totally calling for help.

Max looked at me. "Why wouldn't Bear have noticed this?"

"I get the feeling Bear doesn't notice much," I replied.

Max waited with me in the office until the police arrived, and we walked outside together. The younger of the two cops stopped dead to stare at Max. He couldn't help it; it was some kind of chemical response that men had to her.

Luckily for my self-esteem — and my chances of ever getting out of the parking lot — the other cop was quite a bit older and only spared a single appreciative glance for Max when I walked up to him, holding out my hand. "I'm December Vaughn. I called you. This is . . . was . . . my car."

"Deputy Reardon, ma'am. Do you know anybody who might have a reason to do this?" He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and scratched his scalp through his thinning hair. "Some of these comments are pretty personal. Sounds like somebody with a grudge."

Gina popped into my mind. But I hesitated to say anything that might cause serious problems for her with no proof. "Well, not exactly. But I got this phone call . . ."

His ears perked up, and even Junior took a break from gazing worshipfully at Max (who was oblivious to all of it) and stepped over to us. He had gelled his hair into spikes, which, however unfairly, made me wonder about the quality of his police work. I mean, gel spikes? In a sheriff's deputy? It just seemed wrong, somehow.

"Ma'am?"

I blinked. Deputy Reardon peered at me, then jotted down another note. It probably said: VICTIM IS A FRAZZ BRAIN.

Shrugging, I told them about the phone call.

"That sounds pretty concerning. Did you report it?" Gel Boy asked, staring at me. Not in a "wow, you're hot," way, but in a "how do I know your name," way.

Or maybe I was just paranoid.

"No, it seemed kind of silly, like some teenager playing a prank. Should I have?"

Reardon gave me his blank cop face. "If it happened, you should have reported it."

It took me a beat to catch the "if." "Ifit happened? What are you implying, officer?" I could hear my voice ratchet up a notch.

Max, who'd stayed quiet up till then, put a restraining hand on my arm. "December," she murmured. "Calm down. The nice deputy is just doing his job, aren't you?" She flashed one of her stock pageant smiles at Reardon. He seemed unimpressed, but Gel Boy nearly fell over, hyperventilating.

Reardon shrugged. "I'm just saying, a smart woman like you might figure out a way to take some attention off herself when she found herself in the news, for example."

Darn. Why does everybody have to read the newspaper?

I took a deep breath. "No, but a smart woman like me would know enough not to give false information to the police. They teach us that in law school. 'No lying to police' is a first-year course, in fact."

Reardon shoved his notebook in his pocket. "All right. We'll follow up and see what we can find out." He jerked his head at Gel Boy, and the younger deputy asked me for some contact information. Then they headed out of the parking lot.

"Do you want to take pictures of the damage?" Max asked, as we watched them drive off.

"What? Like I want a souvenir of this?" I kicked a stone off the sidewalk in disgust.

She sighed. "No, D. For the insurance claim."

"Right. I wasn't even thinking of that. Duh. Yeah, I'd better get some pics. Why don't you go home? You must be beat. It's not like the perps will hang around in the bushes, after all this time."

"Perps? Have you been watchingCopsagain? And no way am I leaving you here alone. I'll go inside and get my digital camera. Be right back."

As she walked back inside the office, only thirteen hours after we'd gotten there that morning, I thought about Reardon's reaction to the phone call.

And Jake's, come to think of it.

Maybe the savage sinus stalker was more of a menace than I'd thought?

Funny how I go all alliterative under stress.

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