Dating Dead Men by Harley Jane Kozak Read Free Book Online Page A

out wandering around, and you keep looking over your shoulder to see who's following you, but you want to strand me in the middle of Ventura County at whatever time it is, hailing a cab? It's like a horror movie. I won't do it. You want my car, you take me too.”
    â€œHow do you know I'm not the killer? A killer doctor.”
    â€œYou may be a killer; you're not a doctor, ‘Doc.' Those paper slippers are supposed to be worn over the shoes, not instead of—you'd have learned that in surgery school. The guards noticed it too. And nobody at Rio Pescado dresses like you're dressed, it's a mental hospital. They only do simple stuff, like stitches, and they don't dress up for it. Anything complicated, they go to a regular hospital.”
    â€œThen what were these scrubs doing in a supply closet?”
    I shrugged. A thought occurred to me. “You're not a patient, are you?”
    â€œYes. I'm a patient. A dangerous one, with whom you do not want to—”
    â€œYeah? What meds are you on?” I took a bite of cruller and watched his mind working. “Meds,” I repeated. “Haldol, Thorazine, lithium. You're not on anything, and except for this obsession to drop me off places, you don't seem symptomatic.”
    â€œSymptomatic.” He looked out the window again. “Tell me something. Do you think every patient at Rio Pescado is crazy?”
    â€œIt's not a word I'd use. But it's a state hospital, so there's not enough money to keep them if they're not.”
    The bell-rigged door—not as musical as my shop's—made us turn. A man in a madras shirt and a name tag held the door for the departing trucker, then surveyed the crowd, which was us. “Hey, Douglas,” he said to the proprietor. “Coffee fresh?”
    â€œAlso—” I said, but Doc reached over and put a hand on my arm to silence me.
    â€œâ€”show biz!” we heard, then laughter. Douglas, behind the counter, talked a little louder than was strictly necessary, the way you do when you like being overheard.
    I was still transfixed by the hand on my arm, when Doc stood and leaned over the table. “Occupy them. The guy who walked in—don't let him leave till I get back.”
    â€œWha—”
    â€œYou can do it. You're very distracting.” He left me with my mouth open.
    This was the moment to walk outside, evict the ferret from my car, and drive home. That would be the act of a rational person. Grab a few hours of sleep before another day of blind dates and shop inspections.
    â€œIf you hurry,” Ruta piped up, “you could even get some vacuuming in before dawn.” I did a mental double take. Was that sarcasm?
    She had a point, though. I couldn't sneak off and leave him stranded, because I didn't believe he would do that to me. Plus, he'd just called me distracting. I got up, put my cruller down, and moved toward the counter. Create a diversion, I thought. You read espionage novels, you'll think of something.
    I sneezed. It sounded phony to me, but the two men turned and I fixed the madras shirt man with my best smile. “Allergies. Pollen. Powdered sugar.” I perched on a stool next to him, my heart palpitating over this lie.
    Douglas said, “What can I get for you?”
    â€œI'll have whatever he's having.” Then I remembered I'd spent my last dime on the cab. “No, I mean a napkin. Just a napkin for me.” I turned back to my quarry. The name tag was on his far pocket, and I couldn't make it out. Pumping seductivity into my voice, I said, “Working late?”
    â€œYeah. Dry cleaners. Two doors down.”
    â€œReally? Dry cleaning? I love dry cleaning—” I stretched across the counter until I could read the name tag. “—Raymond. Do you work all night long, Raymond?”
    He leaned back but his eyes stayed on me or, actually, on my breasts, draped over the counter. He was leaning so drastically I thought he might