Sketch of a Murder

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"How can I have a closet full of clothes and still be unable to find anything to wear?" Nita threw her hands up and continued to grumble. "Leave it to a reporter to pick someplace like Nell's on Greenlake for our meeting. Hope she doesn't expect SCaT to pick up the tab for her dinner." Hangers clattered as she flipped through slacks and matching jackets, white shirts and pastel blouses that looked far more utilitarian than fancy. "Damn it! I'm not going on a date. This is a business meeting with a reporter! Why should I care what I wear as long as I look professional?

"It's the place. Whoever heard of a business meeting at a fancy white-linen-tablecloths place where you'd take an important date? Not that I would know since I haven't had a date in fifty forevers!" She mumbled as she frantically riffled through her clothes.

"Enough of this! I ate beans for a week to buy professional looking clothes. If Ms. Dawn Samira doesn't like what I'm wearing too damn bad!" She snatched a pair of black slacks and a royal blue silk blouse from the closet. The blouse would hang nicely over the waistband of the slacks, concealing the Lady Smith and Wesson she carried in a back-of-the-pants holster. "Black flats, comfortable even if they aren't dressy." She confirmed out loud.

After a record-breaking shower, she slipped into her clothes. Since parking around Greenlake was always at a premium, she decided her Honda motorcycle would be easier to park than her Subaru.

I-5, empty after the glut of off-work commuters had dissipated, stretched out ahead of her with only a handful of cars sharing the multi-lane roadway. She kicked the bike up to the sixty-mile-per-hour speed limit, reveling in the feel of the wind snapping the sleeves of her blouse, tingling her skin, and whipping the cuffs of her slacks around her ankles. Free! On the bike, she flew without wings, but even eagles eventually reached their destination and settled among the treetops. She reached Nell's and parked the bike in a skinny slot between a monster SUV and a newer four-door sedan.

Hustling across the crowded restaurant, she stopped at the table and glanced at her watch. "You did say to meet at eight this evening, didn't you, Ms. Samira?"

Dawn gave her a gracious smile.

In that instance, as her thin lips morphed into friendliness, it seemed to Nita that the deep-summer blue of her eyes became warmer. A hint of laugh lines, bracketing her eyes and mouth, magically appeared. She's going to be one of those women who look better as they age.

"Thank you for taking time to meet with me, Sergeant Slowater. No, you aren't late. I have a habit of being early. Please, have a seat." She waved a manicured hand with beautifully shaped nails at the chair across from her. "You may call me Dawn. I don't feel old enough for the Ms., yet."

"You can call me Sergeant Slowater." She said as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

Dawn's smile faded a bit as she dipped her head in acknowledgement as the waiter arrived. He placed menus in front of the women then stood with his finger poised over an electronic order pad. "Would you like to hear about the specials?"

"Coffee with cream and sugar. And as far as I'm concerned, you can skip the spiel." Nita said in a business-like tone.

"Coffee, black for me, please." Dawn tilted her face toward the young man. "After I peruse the menu, I'll let you know if I want something explained. Thank you."

A firm believer that appearances presented clues to a person's hidden agenda, Nita carefully studied the woman across the table. The first two buttons of the ivory blouse were undone, revealing a small piece of scrimshaw etched with a cougar, hanging from a thin silver chain. Long, ash-blonde hair was pulled back to show off tiny pearl, post earrings that complemented the necklace. She was the image of a woman enjoying dinner with a friend. Dawn's appearance told her nothing about the reporter's real agenda.