She dressed and went to find Ben.  He was on the patio grilling salmon steaks.

“What’s this all about,” she asked as she held the bracelet in the air.

“It’s the present I brought you.  And, don’t even try to tell me you can’t accept it.  First of all, it’s for your birthday and secondly, I bought it in Italy and thirdly, it can’t be returned.”

He took it from her hand and put it on her left wrist.  It was exquisite.  He took her hand and led her to the table that he’d already set with china and crystal.  Yes, china and crystal on the patio.

“Red, you know how I feel about you.  It’s about time you decided what you’re going to do about it.”

They’d met three years earlier not long after she’d first moved to Kansas from Omaha.  The church she attended was having a garage sale and since she was gutting and remodeling her kitchen, she had donated the appliances that had come with the house.  Ben had come with a mini van and a helper to make the pick-up.  Since Lane was donating an entire set of kitchen appliances - stove, refrigerator, microwave, dishwasher, along with a washer and dryer as well, it had taken more than one trip.  Ben had seen all of the moving boxes around the house and had come back alone, after the last trip, just to see if she needed help with moving anything.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.  No one believed that she was pushing 50.  In fact, she would be 49 a week from today. And, except in the winter when she sometimes woke up a little achy and stiff, she didn’t feel her age.  However, she still struggled with the thought of dating someone to whom she could almost have given birth.   Ben was handsome, smart, witty, and self-sufficient.  They’d been doing what she called “hanging out” nearly every weekend for almost three years.  Eight weeks ago, over a long Memorial Day weekend, Ben had helped her find the kidnapped son of one of her oldest friends.  Before the weekend was over, he’d kissed her and she had kissed him back and that was all it took, their relationship had turned romantic.

Ben served the salmon.  Lane sat staring at the bracelet on her wrist formulating something to say.  She didn’t think of herself as beautiful, and had difficulty reconciling the fact that this gorgeous thirty-six year old man wanted her.

Then there was her history with men to consider.  She’d been married and divorced twice.  A friend once told her that she was a slow learner.  She preferred to think that she just didn’t choose wisely in love.

Her first husband, Gus was a longhaired rock musician.  They met during her first year of college and married after knowing each other about three months.  He was in a band that cut an album and even got some airtime on the local radio stations.  The band spent a lot of time on the road trying to make it big.   Lane divorced him 18 months into the marriage after he’d come home with a little communicable disease he’d caught on the road.

Three years later, she married her second husband, Phillip Parker.  They met through friends and married after dating for four months.  They’d been married for eight years when Phillip came home from a business trip to Chicago; made love to her and then told her he didn’t love her any more.  He’d said that in fact he wasn’t sure he had ever loved her.  He said he didn’t have a girlfriend on the side.  He wasn’t lying.  Then he told her that he was gay.  Phillip left her with two kids, Jake who was nearly six, and Jess who was almost two, and because of the parting gift of pity sex, a third little surprise, Jamie, was on the way.

Then several years ago, she had met David Dixon at a charity auction.  He was in pharmaceutical sales and seemed to be well established.  After her earlier mistakes, she’d decided that short romances weren’t the best foundation for a happy marriage.  They dated for over six months, and thankfully, before things had progressed too far, she discovered he’d forgotten to get divorced from his first wife.

She was still trying to figure out what to say when Ben bent down and kissed her.  Not just a little peck on the cheek or a gentle mouth kiss.  This was a kiss to curl her toes.

“There, think about that while I get the wine.”  He said as he went into the house.

She sat there alone in the twilight, Frank Sinatra crooning I Could Write a Book in the background, and thought about it all right.  She felt flushed.  Maybe it was a hot flash.  Ben came back out and poured the wine.  They talked about the salmon, about her birthday plans, about her kids, about his trip to the homeland, about the case he’d be going to trial with next week.  What they didn’t talk about was the bracelet, the kiss, or the murder investigation she’d become a part of.

Before Lane knew it, it was 9:30.  Time to go.  Her house was only a short drive away.  She liked to be home before the 10:00 news.  It was part of her routine.  She’d turn on the TV in the bedroom, brush her teeth, and wash her face while she listened to the 10:00 news.  Then she’d get in bed and do her devotional reading before moving on to whatever mystery novel she was currently reading.

Chapter 3

I really hate Mondays

Lane wasn’t much of a morning person.  Her theory was that if Flex Hours meant you could come in between 7:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m. she’d aim for the latter and hope she didn’t have a nine o’clock meeting because she liked to have ten to fifteen minutes to get organized in the mornings.  That was especially true for Mondays.  The problem was that she suffered from what she called Anticipatory Anxiety.  Translation: she didn’t sleep well on Sunday nights.  So, when the alarm went off Monday at 6:30 a.m., she hit the snooze for an hour.  Luckily, her office was only 15 minutes from home.   She walked into her office at 8:45 a.m. and checked the messages her administrative assistant had left on her desk while she docked her laptop and turned it on.  She used an iPhone and usually checked her calendar Sunday night so she’d know what to expect on Monday.  She’d forgotten to do it last night and now she had only a few minutes before her first meeting.  Her administrative assistant, Meg Kelly, had everything ready.  All Lane had to do was grab her teacup, and open the door to the adjoining conference room.  One of the benefits of being the CPO (Chief Privacy Officer) for a wireless telephony company is that her administrative assistant took very good care of her.  A pot of hot water and a tray of bagels and fruit were waiting on the credenza in the conference room.

She sipped tea and listened, as the dog and pony show droned on.  People selling new software they touted would help get a handle on the customer base and at the same time ensure the privacy of the personal information of and about customers.  Privacy issues were near and dear to Lane’s heart, but she just didn’t believe everything that sales people promised.

Meg rapped on the door, opened it, and handed Lane a note.  It read “Urgent call from Mick McGuire – holding.”  She nodded and excused herself from the meeting leaving Bob Carlson, Director of Privacy Issues to listen to the droning.  She had to be honest, she left not so much because the note read urgent as because she needed a break.  She walked into her office, and grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper from the mini fridge as she went to her desk.  She made the connection between Mick McGuire and Detective McGuire as she picked up the phone.  Family, friends, associates, and corporate foes will tell you that Lane didn’t scare easily.  In fact, in a prior job life she’d helped negotiate Union contracts with the Communications Workers of America.

Still, a sense of dread crept up as she spoke.  “This is Mrs. Parker.”

“Ms. Parker, Detective McGuire.  I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“Catch,” why the use of that word,” she wondered.   She couldn’t tell anything from his tone.  “Actually, Detective, I owe you a debt of gratitude.  You rescued me from a very boring meeting.  What can I do for you?”