Page 52 of Lethal Seduction

“Being real.”

He nods and walks away. I close the door and lean against it. Could he really be this perfect for me?

22

MICHAEL

When did Thursday sneak up on me? I scramble around the kitchen, regretting my offer to cook for Patrick. Whenever I get stressed about making a meal for someone special, it always ends up burnt. Should I just order pizza?

Shaking my head, I decide against it. Pizza wouldn’t exactly impress him. Time to face reality. I swing open the refrigerator door and gasp.

“What the hell happened to all my food?” Oh, right. I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but then Joe, my partner, got a lead on the case we’ve been working on.

That case is slowly driving me insane. We’ve barely made any significant progress. Every lead we’ve chased so far has led to dead ends. It’s beyond frustrating. Joe even mentioned the words “cold case” the other day, alluding to the fact that we might get reassigned with we don’t start making progress. But I’m not ready to give up just yet. Yesterday’s lead still holds promise, at least for now. Another victim found in the area. Not at a country club, but not far enough away from Who’s Your Caddy to completely rule it out.

In fact, the DNA of the possible perp found on the latest victim, came back as male. Not surprising, but it’s a solid lead for once. The District Attorney managed to get warrants for DNA samples from all the employees at both country clubs. It shouldn’t take too long to test everyone and narrow down our suspect pool.

Closing the refrigerator door, I turn to the pantry. There are at least four boxes of pasta and some sauce. Lasagna it is. Glancing at the time and quickly calculating, I grab the pasta and sauce from the shelf. After making sure there’s ground beef in the freezer, I take that out too and get to work.

Before I know it, the house is filled with the heavenly aroma of cooking lasagna, bringing back memories of cooking with my mom when I was younger. We used to attempt recipes from her grandmother, doing our best to follow them. My ancestors would probably disapprove of using jarred sauce, but my mom always said adding a few seasonings and fresh basil made it homemade.

My mom’s the best.

Suddenly, I’m adding the final layer of mozzarella cheese to the top of the lasagna. The oven is preheated and, after checking the time again, I realize there’s just enough time to cook it before Patrick arrives.

My stomach flutters at the thought of him. His smile, the way he talks with his hands, how excited he gets over the little things—it all makes me fall even harder for him. I was so nervous last night about him coming over, I had trouble sleeping. Usually, I’d resort to my tried-and-true method of quickly relieving stress, but I wanted to save myself for tonight.

The phone rings, and I answer it straight away.

“Hey, Michael, it’s Dan.” He’s my neighbor next door. We’re not exactly friends, but we’re decent enough neighbors.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Your sprinklers have sprung a leak, man. My wife said your entire backyard is flooding.”

“Oh, shit!” I run to the back window and see two of the sprinkler heads spraying water six feet in the air. “Thanks, Dan. Gotta go.”

Without hesitation, I rush outside and search for the irrigation kill-switch. Where did the real estate agent say it was? I haven’t lived in the home long, and I haven’t had any trouble with the irrigation system until today. Ah, the east side of the house. That’s right, next to the switchbox.

I quickly locate the irrigation control, switch off the water, and hurry back to the tiny flood waiting for me in the yard. As I reach it, I slip and fall flat on my backside.

“Nice one,” Dan yells over the fence. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I wave him off. “Thank you. I think I’ll handle it myself.”

Despite my annoyance, I can’t help but laugh. My entire backside is drenched, soaked in muddy water and now stained by the grass. I stand and examine the broken sprinkler heads up close. How did this happen? If I’d run them over while mowing the lawn, I would have noticed days ago.

Picking up the broken sprinkler head, I notice jagged edge marks on the plastic. Someone intentionally damaged them. This wasn’t an accident. A sense of being watched sends shivers down my spine. Rubbing my finger along the edges, I start forming scenarios in my mind. Did Joe and I disturb the killer? Is he aware we’re getting closer? Or is this just a way to mess with me?

Shaking my head, I try to clear my mind but make a mental note to tell Joe about it tomorrow. For now, I need to clean up this mess and make sure the sprinklers aren’t further damaged below the surface. A water leak could be costly if left unchecked, not to mention the damage it could do to the landscaping.

After grabbing a shovel from the garage, I’m soon elbow-deep in mud. Fortunately, it seems like everything is fine, and the repairs should be relatively inexpensive.

Sitting in the wet grass, I start fiddling with the broken sprinkler heads, trying to determine the size and type so I can buy replacements.

“There you are,” Patrick says as he rounds the side yard into the back. “I’ve been ringing the doorbell, but no one answered.”

I jump up from the ground, dropping what I was working on. “Damn, so sorry.” Looking down at myself, I realize I must look like a mess.

---