Free In a Heartbeat by Elizabeth Adler

deprivation imprinted on his craggy face. Despite his wealth and success, he was certainly no fat cat. She wondered about his past.
    Over lunch and a bottle of wine, she told him her story, and about the conversation she had overheard where the killer named him as the intended victim. “And he said he wouldn’t miss next time,” she finished breathlessly.
    “You must believe me.” She clutched his hand urgently across the table.
“I was there. This happened.”
    “Why didn’t you go to the police?”
    “I did. They didn’t believe me either. Even my friend Harriet didn’t believe me, so how could I expect the cops to? Nor did the doctor. He said it was the concussion and that I was confused and I’d been dreaming.” She shrugged. “So I went back to the beach house with Harriet. I had to see for myself.
    “The door was locked and we couldn’t get in, but we looked through the windows. There was no dead body in the library. ‘See,’ Harriet said to me. ‘I told you you were dreaming.’
    “But, Mr. Vincent, I swear it’s
true
,” she said urgently. “
I
saw what I saw.
The killer tried to make me drive him across that flooded bridge
at
gunpoint
. I
know
what he looks like, I know his
voice,
his
accent
. . . . I
couldn’t
have dreamed all this.”
    She took a deep breath, then glanced at her watch. “So there,” she concluded briskly. “I’ve told you. And now I’m catching the six o’clock back to LA.”
    She gathered up her bag, spilling its contents in the process. Ed knelt beside her, retrieving the jumble of lipsticks and notebooks, photographs, pens and car keys, old shopping lists, store receipts, and sunglasses. He said, “You really did come all this way just to warn me?”
    “I did. But you’re a big boy. Now I’ll leave you to take care of yourself. You have been warned.”
    He laughed so heartily that people turned to look. Impulsively, Mel leaned across and took his hand again. “I know I sound like the voice of doom, but Mr. Vincent, honey, you have to protect yourself.”
    Her fingers were smooth and warm on his. She was a long, lanky streak of lightning, and she had an off-the-wall appeal that got to him. “If I promise to do just that, will you help me find the killer?”
    She groaned. “I knew there was a catch to this smart lunch. I’ve done my part, I’m out of here, on my way home. . . .”
    “Only you know what the killer looks like,” he reminded her.
    She thought about that. “Okay, so I’ll help. But remember, I’m a working woman and a mother. I live in LA. I can’t just take off and play detective.”
    “We’ll employ a private eye.”
    He was holding her arm as they walked from the restaurant. His strong hand beneath her elbow made her feel small and cherished instead of the tall, klutzy female she really was. A limo pulled up to the curb. “Where are we going?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
    “Bill is taking you to the airport. I’m afraid I have to get back to the office. Order up that P.I.”
    He was laughing at her now, and she said sternly, “Don’t forget, this is serious.”
    “I won’t forget. And I need your address and phone number. To report progress.”
    She pulled a cheap spiral-bound notepad from the tangle in her bag and wrote on it. “There.” She tore the page off and handed it to him. “That’s me.”
    “Melba Eloise Merrydew,” he read. He looked at her and grinned. “Honey,” he said, “you are straight out of Fitzgerald. They should have called you Zelda.”
    “Huh, Zelda indeed.” She sniffed.
    “I’ll be in touch, Zelda,” he said, closing the car door.
    She turned to look as the limo pulled away. He was still laughing.
    “Zelda.”
She snorted, snuggling down into the soft leather seat as she was wafted off to Kennedy Airport. But there was a pleased smile on her face. And at least he hadn’t called her Scarlett.

19
    Mel said to Detective Camelia, “Ed hired that private investigator. The P.I. checked