Mistress

Chapter 9

I kick the Triumph to life, throw on my shades, and turn in the direction of the Lexus with the two guys just to get a quick look. Each of them is Caucasian, steel-jawed, muscular, and constipated. Okay, constipated is just a guess. I don’t know their deal, but now is not the time to find out-not when I lack the element of surprise, they’re two and I’m one, and they’re in a car and I’m on a bike. Besides, I’ve aroused enough suspicion for one morning.

I drive back to my house slowly, giving them a chance to follow me. They don’t. So maybe they have no interest in Diana. Maybe they just wanted a glimpse of the Potomac from their vantage point. Maybe they’re bird-watchers.

Diana would ride with me on the Triumph sometimes. It was the best time I ever had on the bike, with her arms nestled around my waist, her chin on my shoulder, sharing an adventure. I haven’t yet come to grips with the fact that she’ll never ride with me again.

We were going to be a couple. I know that. The best couples are the ones who start out as friends first, like Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. Except let’s face it-she was way too cute for him. Anyway, most people come together through sexual attraction and then try to figure out if they’re compatible. The sex distracts them, then they realize too late that their pieces don’t fit together. Diana and I, we were different. We were pals. Buds. True, I wanted more, but her resistance forced us to develop a different kind of relationship. Once we got to the romantic part, we would’ve already checked off all the other boxes.

Or maybe I was just dreaming. I’ll never know for sure.

Because somebody killed her. I’m sure of it now. She loved those apple geraniums. Even if she wanted to die, she would’ve taken care to step around them before taking the plunge. She wouldn’t have willy-nilly barreled over the side and taken them with her.

I can imagine a cop laughing at my analysis. The Case of the Fallen Geraniums. Someone in this room is a florist!

You’d have to know her like I do.

Anyway, the video surveillance in her apartment will tell the story. I’ll just have to wait until the police clear out-

Wait. Wait. Did Diana know somebody wanted to kill her?

Is that why she asked me to put the surveillance equipment in her apartment? She never volunteered why, so I never asked. But it makes all the sense in the world.

Why would Diana go to the trouble of having me install eavesdropping devices in her apartment if she were going to commit suicide the same night?

She wouldn’t. That confirms it. Diana Marie Hotchkiss was murdered.

Oh, Diana. Were you afraid for your life? Why? What did you do? What situation were you stuck in? Did you know something you shouldn’t have? Did you do something you shouldn’t have?

And why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?

I should go to the police with this. It’s a critical piece of information. They’ll know Diana was afraid of somebody, plus the surveillance cameras should solve the crime.

But I’m left with the same problem I’ve had since the moment I left her that night, dead on the sidewalk: I was in her apartment only minutes before she fell. And I fled the scene.

The minute I go to the police, I become the prime suspect in her murder.