Blind Dates Can Be Murder Read online

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Cover by Terry Dugan Design, Minneapolis, Minnesota

  Cover photo © Rubberball Productions/PictureQuest

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  BLIND DATES CAN BE MURDER

  Copyright © 2006 by Mindy Starns Clark

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Clark, Mindy Starns.

  Blind dates can be murder / Mindy Starns Clark.

  p. cm.—(A smart chick mystery ; bk. 2)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7369-1486-4 (pbk.)

  ISBN-10: 0-7369-1486-2 (pbk.)

  1. Dating services—Fiction. 2. Identity theft—Fiction. 3. Women detectives—Fiction. I. Title II. Series:

  Clark, Mindy Starns. Smart chick mystery ; bk. 2.

  PS3603.L366B58 2006

  813'.6—dc22

  2005032216

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 / BP-MS / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This book is dedicated to

  my brother,

  David Robert Starns.

  Your talents, wit, and wisdom have rescued me

  more times than I can count.

  Thanks for always giving so selflessly and

  for being such a joy in my life.

  And to David’s wife,

  Amy Hanson Starns.

  Had I searched the world over, I couldn’t have found

  a dearer sister-in-law—or friend.

  And to David and Amy’s children,

  Andrew and Sarah,

  for bringing me love, insight,

  and an enormous amount of laughter.

  I love you all more than you can imagine!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many special thanks to…

  My precious husband, John Clark, who has gone above and beyond, yet again, to make this book a reality. You are my hero, my helpmate, and my very best friend.

  Lissa Halls Johnson, Dan Higgins, and Tom Morrissey, for invaluable information and insight in helping to shape the characters of Lettie and Chuck.

  Fran Severn, for giving me Chewie.

  Robert M. Starns, M.D., for medical information.

  Jackie Starns, for fabulous proofreading.

  Russ Bishop, for teaching me about the wide world of professional stock photography.

  Kim Moore and all of the amazing folks at Harvest House Publishers.

  Pastor Dave Sharpes and the ministerial staff of FVCN.

  Technical advisors in a variety of areas: Major Mark Schneider, Leslie Budewitz, Anne Tomlin, Lois Foster Hirt, Joyce Yale, Deborah Raney, and all the members of Murder Must Advertise and DorothyL.

  ChiLibris, for unwavering support, ideas, suggestions, information, and brainstorming. Your wisdom and kindness astound me daily.

  My sweet daughters, Emily and Lauren Clark, for suggestions, contributions, brainstorming, and infinite patience.

  Finally, to Ned and Marie Scannell, whose generosity and hospitality helped to make this book a reality. God bless you both.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Welcome to www.TipsfromTulip.com

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  About the Author

  Discover The First Smart Chick Mystery

  1

  Jo Tulip didn’t know if she was ready for this or not. Still, she pulled open the heavy wooden door of Tenderloin Town and stepped inside, letting it fall into place behind her. She had come early so that she could get settled at the table and collect her thoughts—and still have enough time to make a last-minute escape if she lost her nerve.

  She approached the hostess and asked for the reservation for Dentyne, party of two. Sounded like a chewing gum to her, but that was the name Dates&Mates had given her: Brock Dentyne. Jo would have canceled the blind date based solely on the name, but she didn’t want to seem shallow.

  The bouncy blonde checked something off her list, grabbed two brown leather menus, and led Jo through the noisy room to a table for two near the back. Once Jo was seated, the hostess disappeared, only to be replaced by a deeply tanned young man wearing the steakhouse uniform of Western wear complete with hat and bandanna.

  “Something to drink while you’re waiting for your party?” he asked, flashing an unnaturally bright smile.

  “Iced tea, please,” Jo replied, resisting the urge to tell him he ought to back off on the tooth whitener—not to mention the self-tanning lotion. “With lemon.”

  “You got it.”

  Jo watched him walk away, wondering where waiters went on dates. Did they go to restaurants? Or was that just too much like going back to work?

  Jo opened the menu and scanned the choices, but her mind was too scattered to focus. Absently, she reached up and ran a hand over her flyaway blond hair, wondering what Brock Dentyne was going to think of her. Would he be pleased? Disappointed?

  Did it matter?

  The one fact she hadn’t admitted on her blog was her main motivation for doing this: Her agent wanted her to explore the current dating scene for publicity purposes. Jo’s posts online frequently discussed relationships, and her words seemed to resonate with many of her readers. Apparently, there was always a sharp spike of activity on her website when she wrote about her love life (or lack thereof). According to her agent, the dating angle seemed to be such an effective tool that he wanted her to expand upon it greatly.

  Of course, that meant Jo needed to start dating again, something she purposely hadn’t done for six months—and for good reason. But once her girlfriends started getting worked up about Dates&Mates, she reluctantly decided to join them and sign up herself.

  Now here she was, surprised at how she was feeling. Up until today, this had been more of a business move than a personal one. So why was she so nervous, like a girl on her first date? She was twenty-seven years old, for goodness’ sake. She’d certainly had her share of dates.

  On the other hand, after six months of specifically not dating, Jo wasn’t sure if she remembered how to be interesting and engaging. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she knew how to converse about anything at all beyond the topics of her dog, her job, and her friends.

  Jo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She couldn’t believe she was really doing this. She was out on a date for the first time since last September,
when she was jilted at the altar by her groom.

  Danny couldn’t believe Jo was doing this.

  His hands were on a basketball, but his mind was across town, on a blind date with Jo. For months—ever since the groom had taken a powder at Jo’s wedding—Danny had listened to his best friend work through her issues about love and romance and men. For months Danny had heard her talk about her temporary “moratorium on dating” while she attempted to fix what was wrong in her heart that kept leading her to make such stupid choices in men. For months he had loved her in silence, waiting for the moment when she would announce that she was ready to start dating again, so he could tell her that he loved her, that he wanted to spend a lifetime showing her just how much.

  He’d had big plans, all right: The minute she was ready, he was going to sweep Jo Tulip off her feet, showing her that the only man in the world for her had been the one who was there all along. He had no doubt that she loved him too—she just needed help understanding what was in her heart.

  “Yo! Earth to Danny! We playing or what?”

  Danny’s head snapped up to see four other guys poised for action, looking at him expectantly.

  “Sorry,” he said, dribbling the ball.

  With a vengeance, he made his way down the court, aiming for a layup, his eyes on the rough gray net hanging from the rim. As he went, he pictured himself as he had been last Saturday, when he was working at Dates&Mates as a photographer, taking portraits of their clients for their computer profiles. It was a new photography gig for him, just three hours a week, but lucrative. Jo Tulip had strolled into his makeshift photography studio there precisely at 10:30 AM, and Danny had smiled, telling her he couldn’t chat for long because he had a 10:30 appointment.

  “I know you do, silly,” she replied. “I’m your ten thirty appointment.”

  Dumbfounded, Danny had gone through the motions of a photography sitting, asking her questions as he did so, trying to ascertain when and how she had come to the decision to sign up with the dating service. A dating service! She talked about her agent, Milton, and her website traffic and the group of girlfriends who had been pressuring her to do it anyway, and all he could think was, Don’t you know that the only man you’ll ever need is already smack-dab in the middle of your life?

  Danny knew he needed to tell Jo how he felt about her, but he had been too shocked and tongue-tied to say anything at that moment. In the week since then he still had not found the nerve or opportunity to say the words.

  Why hadn’t he said the words?

  Danny leapt up into the air and slammed the ball through the hoop as hard as he could. When he came down, he realized that the staccato squeaks of rubber soles on the hardwood had stopped—and two of the guys were on the floor.

  He hesitated.

  “Did I do that?” he asked, gesturing toward them.

  “Yeah,” his brother-in-law Ray replied in a low voice, pulling him aside. “Come on, bro. Lighten up. This is just a pickup game, not NBA tryouts.”

  “Foul,” someone yelled.

  Personal foul, Danny thought as the other team threw the ball back inbounds. I hope Jo doesn’t encounter any personal fouls tonight.

  If she does, I sure hope she’s playing good defense.

  Jo spotted a squat, older man with a bald head and a bulbous nose waving at her from across the restaurant. At first, she thought he might be waving to someone behind her. But as he made his way toward her, Jo’s heart leapt into her throat. Was this—could it possibly be—her date?

  No way.

  “Jo Tulip, right? Hi, how ya doin’? I knew it was you right off, soon as I came in the door.”

  He sat without waiting for her reply, picked up the napkin roll in front of him, and let the silverware clatter out onto the table. Then he tucked the napkin into his shirt, at the neckline, and sucked in a deep, ragged breath.

  “Scuse me a sec,” he rasped as he pulled a small yellow device from his pocket. “My asthma’s been acting up all week.”

  He stuck the device into his mouth and inhaled deeply. Jo was speechless, her mind racing in a thousand different directions. This was her match? This was the man the computer said would be physically, intellectually, and emotionally compatible with her? That was impossible! The guy was twice her age—not to mention half her height. Surely, there must be some mistake.

  Closing her mouth, Jo could feel the heat rush to her face, embarrassed at her own reaction. She knew you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

  But what a cover!

  “Before you say anything,” he told her, tucking away the inhaler and holding up two stubby hands. “I lied about my height on the application. Lied about my age too. But the rest was all true, I swear.”

  At that point, Jo swallowed, finding her voice.

  “I’m sorry if I seem surprised,” she said, “but I’m only twenty-seven years old. Doesn’t this seem vaguely inappropriate to you?”

  “I’m fifty-four,” he replied, shrugging. Then he grinned. “Works for me.”

  Lettie positioned herself near the side cash register and waited for the chance to make her move. She usually wrapped things up and slipped out of town on Fridays, and if all went well tonight would be no exception.

  Since coming to the Jersey Shore two weeks ago, Lettie had been working three part-time jobs—at a gas station, a beauty parlor, and here at the discount store. Though she had put in hours at all three places, the jobs were merely a front for her real work. After tonight, that work would be done and it would be time to move on to somewhere new.

  Again.

  With a heavy sigh, Lettie pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and watched as a group of college-aged kids came into the store. Though she was only twenty-three herself, watching them giggle and preen made her feel decades older. Had she ever been that young?

  Had she ever been carefree?

  Lettie hated working this particular cash register because there was a mirror across the aisle, above the cosmetics display. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to know what she would see there: An unattractive girl in thick glasses, wearing washed out, shapeless clothes and sporting long, stringy bangs that covered half her face. When she was a girl, the other kids would tease her for wearing her hair down in her eyes, but that was the style she preferred. There was something quite comforting about being able to hide behind her hair. If she could, Lettie would spend her life in hiding.

  “Hey, guys,” one of the young men called, pausing at a display rack. “I told you they’d have flip-flops here.”

  The whole group seemed a little drunk, which might provide a useful distraction for the manager. Sure enough, when they finished choosing flip-flops, they moved on to the toy aisle, where they began fooling around with the rubber ball display. Lettie watched the manager head in their direction, and then she quickly went to work.

  It didn’t take long. She reached for the credit card machine, flipped it over, and slipped away the back panel. Reaching inside, she pulled loose the digital skimmer, a tiny, silver disc no bigger than a watch battery. It may have been small, but that disc contained a record of every single credit card transaction that had been run through the machine in the last two weeks. Lettie had put it there herself, and now it was time to take it out and harvest the data.

  She slipped the tiny disc into her pocket, replaced the back panel, and flipped the machine over. Done, and no one the wiser.

  The twentysomethings were in the snack aisle now, rounding up a cart full of nuts and chips and salsa, and the manager had given up on trying to contain them. Instead, he was walking in Lettie’s direction, his head shiny under a bad comb-over. Self-consciously, she slipped one hand into her pocket and fingered the little disc.

  “I hate Friday nights,” he whispered to her, his breath sour with the stench of the coffee he nursed day and night. “Brings out all the freaks at the shore.”

  “It’ll be closing time before you know it,” she replied softly in consolation, wishing that
was true. She was counting the minutes until she was finished and out of there for good.

  “You know, you’re even better looking than I expected,” Brock Dentyne said as he lavishly buttered a roll. “You’re one hot mama.”

  “I…uh…thank you,” Jo stammered, unable to form a more intelligent reply. She had received compliments from men before, but no one had ever called her a hot mama, at least not to her face.

  “I gotta admit,” he added, “I thought I knew what to expect on account of I seen your little photo in the newspaper. The one they put with your column? But it hardly even looks like you.”

  “Didn’t you see my photo at Dates&Mates?”

  “Oh,” he said, looking a bit startled. “Of course. That too. Did you see mine?”

  “They told me you hadn’t had yours taken yet.”

  “Good,” he said. “I mean, I just had it done, so I guess it ain’t in the system yet. But you, you don’t look nothing like your picture in the paper.”

  Jo bit her lip and studied him. The photo in the newspaper was actually of her grandmother, taken when she first created her daily newspaper column, Tips from Tulip. Jo had inherited the column last year when her grandmother died, but Jo had kept the original photo in place for continuity’s sake.

  “That photo’s from 1948,” Jo replied. “I—”

  “No kiddin’?” Brock coughed, interrupting her. “I guess that means you’re lying about your age too. Geez, you musta been young when they snapped that picture.”

  Jo nodded, swallowing the rest of her comment, mentally composing her complaint letter to Dates&Mates:

  To Whom It May Concern: Your service is a joke, and not only do I want my money back, I want everyone’s money back. I want your company cited for incompetence, I want all of your employees to write me a letter of apology, and as long as you’re at it, I want you to invent a machine that reverses the rotation of the earth so I can get the last half hour of my life back!

  Her date began coughing and wheezing again. For about the fifth time since sitting down, he pulled his inhaler from his pocket and put it in his mouth.