My idea of a breakfast meeting sat on the red vinyl passenger seat of my 1957 classic Thunderbird as I drove through the small Southern California town of Lake Elsinore. The smell of the cream cheese-filled muffins made my stomach growl. I tried not to think about what those muffins would do to my thighs. The memory of my years as a soccer mom in stretch shorts and tent dresses momentarily killed my hunger. But I’m no longer that woman. Besides, the workout of driving my T-bird without power steering or brakes would make up for the muffin calories.

    In my new role as a mentor, I was helping Faye Miller to launch her business, Faye’s Printing and Design, by having her design and print advertising brochures for my dating service. I had a cool slogan--Get Hot With Heart Mates. I’d bought Heart Mates after my husband died of a peanut allergy as a tribute to our love since we had met there. Then I discovered that I had been married for thirteen years to a panty-collecting drug dealer who got himself murdered by one of his mistresses. Oh, and that he’d planned to run out on our two sons and me with a half million dollars of stolen drug money.

    That’s when I turned my back on happily-ever-afters for myself and instead concentrated on finding happiness for my clients.

    Love was my business and I meant to make Heart Mates into the most successful dating service in Southern California. Which was why I hoped the brochure Faye designed would bring me new clients. Right now, Heart Mates was a small two-person operation. Actually, coming up with the money to pay the phone bill and lease on my office suite was a monthly adventure.

    Pulling the T-bird into the Night Haven Motel, I longed for a cup of the hot coffee Faye had promised to have ready in her room. Having left her husband a while back, Faye lived in the motel but planned to move to an apartment soon. I passed by the small rental office and strained to see the numbers on the bright teal doors set into textured terra-cotta walls. They began with one hundred. I spotted Faye’s room, 120, at the end of the row and closest to the Fifteen Freeway. The tightly closed, heavy blackout drapes probably helped to block out the constant roar from the freeway traffic. The Night Haven Motel was situated in the south end of Lake Elsinore, close to the upscale gated community of Canyon Lake, and surrounded by fast food, car dealers and other assorted businesses.

    Parking the car next to Faye’s eye-catching purple Volkswagen Beetle, I grabbed the bag of muffins and my purse. The foggy morning air instantly undid the twenty minutes I’d spent with anti-frizz gel and a blow dryer this morning. I could almost feel my blonde-streaked hair going into frizz-spasms, but for once I didn’t care. Excitement danced in my stomach. Today was another step in the road to my dream. Turning Heart Mates into a success. Despite a few set backs, my determination to succeed never wavered.

    I looked down to double-check my mentor outfit, brown leather pants topped by a white stretchy silk shirt that crisscrossed over my breasts. I’d had my breasts enhanced after my husband died, shocking the entire world of PTA and soccer moms that I had once belonged to. But one thing I’d learned, I would rather have them talking about the choices I’d made than the stuff my panty-chasing husband did behind my back. Satisfied with my choice, I walked on my sling back heels to knock on Faye’s door.

    I hoped she had the coffee brewed and ready. My stomach growled impatiently. I knocked again, listening. I thought I heard the voices of one of those network morning news shows over the constant reverberation of the traffic. If Faye was in the bathroom and listening to the TV, she might not hear me.

    I could go back to my car, scarf down both muffins and then come back to knock when Faye could hear me. My mouth liked that idea, but I had promised Faye I’d bring breakfast.

    I knocked again, pounding harder on the door. There were few cars in the parking lot, so bothering others didn’t worry me. The sound of cars whipping by on the freeway muffled noises inside the room, but I knew I heard faint TV voices. Shifting the muffin bag, I reached out and turned the knob.

    Locked. Motels had those automatic door locks that engaged when the door closed and required a key card. Chewing on my lip, I debated my options. Would she hear the phone over the noise? Shifting my big leather purse, I dug inside for my cell phone.

    "Locked out?"

    Surprised, I looked up at a woman in a pink maid uniform. "Uh yes, can you open the door for me?" It was only a little lie since Faye expected me, and besides, I was hungry.

    The maid smiled and pulled a master key card out of her pink pocket—the card was attached to one of those phone cord things. A silver clip kept it latched firmly on her pocket. "It happens all the time," she said as she slipped the card into the lock unit. She turned the knob and the door opened. "You probably didn’t even realize you’d forgotten your card when you ran out to grab some breakfast." She dropped her eyes to the white bag in my hand.

    "Thanks." Giving her what I thought passed for an embarrassed smile, I fled in the door and quickly closed it, then leaned back on the cool wood.

    Guilt and pride had me breathing hard. Dang, that was pretty cool and I didn’t even need those slick tools that my private-eye boyfriend had. Of course, I wasn’t really breaking in.

    The roar of the freeway was muffled now, and I could clearly hear the TV. "Faye?" With only the light from the flickering TV screen, I looked around the standard room. On my left was a dresser holding the TV and empty coffeemaker.

    Damn, no coffee. That was a disappointment.

    Gazing over the small dressing area, closed bathroom door, double bed covered in a green spread, small nightstand with a lamp, clock radio, phone and paperback book, I looked to my far right and yelped in surprise.

    In the shadowy light from the TV, I stared at Faye slumped over a small round table in the middle of computer equipment. In her outstretched hand, I caught sight of the bright blue-and-poppy brochure. It took me a second to realize that Faye was sound asleep. She must have worked a good part of the night on the brochure and fallen asleep.

    Obviously exhausted, and with the background noise of the freeway traffic and TV, it was easy to understand why she didn’t hear me knocking. I didn’t want to scare her. Going a couple steps to the coffeemaker, I looked up into the mirror. "Faye, wake up. You must have worked all night." I dropped my gaze to look for a can of coffee. I didn’t see one.

    "Faye, where’s your coffee grounds? I’ll get some started…" I lifted my gaze to the mirror and froze.

    Faye hadn’t moved.

    "Oh God." Turning around from the mirror, I looked at Faye’s still form. Her thick chestnut hair fell in straight, layered clumps to cover her face. The glossy brochure stuck up life a flag in her loose fingers. "Faye? Wake up!"

    Asleep. She had to be asleep. I’ve done a little private detective work, so I knew these things. "Please God, let her be asleep." My heart whacked unevenly against my rib cage as a bunch of thoughts slammed into my brain. Pushing my purse back behind my right hip, I walked a couple steps back to the door and flipped the light switch.

    The overhead light flooded the room. I couldn’t see her face beneath her hair. "Faye? It’s Sam." I had to force my feet, stuffed into high heels, to walk around the table toward her. Part of my mind detached and measured the steps I took. Three small steps from the light switch to the edge of the bed. "Remember, Faye, I’m here to look at the brochure you are making for Heart Mates?"

    Two more steps. I could touch her. I had to touch her. Wake her up. "Faye?" I stuck out my hand and touched her hair.

    She didn’t move. Oh God. Wait, I had seen dead people before. She didn’t look dead. Not that I could see her face covered in all that hair. Normally, I envied Faye her Jennifer Aniston hair, but now it looked limp and tangled. She wore blue checked sweat pants and a matching crop top. Had she been exercising? Faye was into jump rope to try and slim down what she called her big-boned frame. What if she overdid the exercise and passed out? I looked at her back covered in the blue checks for any signs of respiration.

    No movement.

    Was she holding her breath? That didn’t make sense. What should I do? Closing my eyes, I desperately wished I were anywhere but here. "Please God, let her be all right. Just asleep. Even a little bit sick. Sick’s okay. I know how to do sick, God. You remember how many times my two boys got sick, right, God? I did okay with that, so I can deal with sick."

    I opened my eyes. She still wasn’t moving. Taking one more step, I crouched down beside the chair. Faye’s stomach rested against the edge of the table with her head lying on her sprawled arms. If she was asleep, she was going to have a sore neck and a backache.

    I had to know. I had to. The fear seeped out as the need to help Faye took over. Considering myself her mentor meant I had to help her. Carefully, I reached up from my crouching position and put my hand around her bare upper right arm.

    It felt like the cool plastic arm of a doll. Not real. Yanking my hand back, I clamped my jaw together on a panicked scream. My thighs quivered in my crouched position, and I tried to get my balance on my sling-back heels. At the same time, Faye must have woken up because she moved.

    Startled, I jerked and fell backwards. Instinctively flinging my hands out behind me, I got my wrists entangled in the strap of my purse. My back hit the carpet just as Faye slid off the chair and fell on top of me. Hard.

    My chest hollowed. I couldn’t breathe. I stretched my mouth wide, desperately trying to suck in air. A chunk of chestnut hair fell into my mouth while my paralyzed lungs refused to work. Faye was a dead weight on top of me.

    Dead! I knew she was dead.

    Suddenly my chest unlocked and I could breath. Gulping a lung full of air, the horrible panic swelled as my brain regained enough oxygen to realize that Faye was not breathing, had not taken a single breath since I’d been in the room. She was dead and sprawled on top of me. Taller and heavier, Faye had landed on me slightly crossways, so that her head lodged under the bed frame, and jammed her right shoulder up beneath my chin.

    I tried slipping out from under her but there was no room to escape. With the bed on my right and the legs from the table and chairs on my left, plus assorted computer equipment, I was trapped.

    Trapped beneath a dead woman. Panting in fear, my ears rang and black spots danced in front of my eyes. I did manage to get my left hand free to reach up over Faye’s shoulder and yank the hair out of my mouth.

    A dead woman’s hair. Almost gagging, I wondered why these things don’t happen to other people. I had to calm down. Had to. I had two sons to think of. I could not die of fright beneath a body. Maybe I should scream? But the TV was still on and the freeway traffic—

    My cell phone! It was in my purse. My purse was stretched from my right shoulder, beneath my back to my left side. Using that hand, I dug around to get out the cell phone.

    "Don’t think about Faye." I talked out loud, trying to keep calm. My hand closed around the cool plastic phone. I had to yank my shoulder far up into the socket to pull the phone out of my purse. Bending my elbow, I pushed my chin down into Faye’s shoulder to see the numbers on the phone.

    So far so good. I could dial, then get the phone close enough to my mouth to yell. But whom did I call? What choice did I have? I dialed 911.

    Hearing a ringing, I bent my arm to get the phone as close to my mouth as I could. My breathing sounded like a woman in the throes of childbirth. Hysteria crawled around in my head, chanting--you’re trapped beneath a dead woman.

    A voice came out of the phone, "911. What’s your emergency?"

    I stared at the black phone, took a breath and told them. "Help! A dead body’s fallen on me and I can’t get up!"

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TO BUY: