to change the subject from Madame Verdene. “How’s the catfish?”
“Delicious. I have to say that New Orleans has some of the best food in the South.”
After they settled up the tab, they headed toward Metairie, just west of New Orleans. “I wonder why Chris decided to give uphis share of the house and live outside the big city.” Rachel plugged his address into the GPS unit.
“Maybe we’ll find out,” said Red.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a spacious ranch house perched at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was of whitewashed brick and had a neatly trimmed lawn. A garden gnome sat at the corner of the flower bed, with a WELCOME sign in his stubby hands. Rachel had always thought that garden gnomes were a little creepy: small bearded men with smiles on their faces but distrust in their eyes, like they were plotting something evil. She eased the rental car next to a white Mercedes, resisting the urge to run the gnome over.
“A lot different from where Matt lives, huh?” Rachel walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
“Maybe living in a hundred-year-old mansion in the heart of New Orleans isn’t Chris’s style,” Red said.
“Obviously not,” Rachel agreed as they waited.
A beautiful blond woman opened the door. “Hello, you must be Rachel Scott?” She held the door open for them. “I’m Melinda O’Malley, Chris’s wife. Please come in.”
Melinda O’Malley looked like she had just stepped out of
Vogue
magazine. She had on a navy-blue pencil skirt with a crisp, white button-down shirt and a hint of lace camisole peeking through. She towered over Rachel in her four-inch heels. Her blond hair was just past shoulder length and was worn sleek and straight. Her green eyes were framed perfectly in flawless makeup that avoided being too heavy. She led them through the foyer and into a spacious living room. The smell of something wonderful baking in the oven wafted throughout the house.
“Chris and Matt are outside on the deck. I’ll go let them know you are here. Make yourself comfortable.”
The interior of the house looked like it was straight from a
Pottery Barn
catalog. Nothing about it seemed warm or lived-in. Two supple leather couches were clustered around a massiveantique-looking leather chest that doubled as a coffee table. There was a huge, flat plasma screen mounted above the fireplace and surrounding bookcases. The open floor plan gave the home a roomy, modern feel. Rachel admired the kitchen and breakfast room that were situated behind the living room. From where she sat on the couch, Rachel could see gleaming white granite countertops, stainless steel top-of-the-line appliances, and a gorgeous dark wood table and chairs in the breakfast room.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Rachel whispered to Red. “But unlike Matt’s place, it looks like a museum. I’m afraid to sit on the couch.”
“The bail bond business must pay very well,” he said.
Rachel looked down at her jeans and tennis shoes. “I feel underdressed next to Melinda. Maybe I should’ve changed before we came here.”
“She’s a real knockout, all right,” Red said, ignoring her comment. He was clearly smitten with Melinda. “She reminds me of that lady in the movie
Lost in Translation.
”
“Scarlett Johansson?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Hmmm…maybe a little.” Rachel wasn’t surprised that Red found Melinda attractive. She decided not to tell him that she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman, who was clearly trying too hard. Rachel knew a few women of that type back in Miami. They dressed immaculately whether they were making a quick run to the grocery store, picking up their kids from school, or running errands around town. They dressed to impress each other and to stake a claim to their position in the social chain. Money and status were of the utmost importance to these women. And Melinda seemed to fit in the same category.
Rachel picked up one of several photo albums that sat
“Delicious. I have to say that New Orleans has some of the best food in the South.”
After they settled up the tab, they headed toward Metairie, just west of New Orleans. “I wonder why Chris decided to give uphis share of the house and live outside the big city.” Rachel plugged his address into the GPS unit.
“Maybe we’ll find out,” said Red.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a spacious ranch house perched at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was of whitewashed brick and had a neatly trimmed lawn. A garden gnome sat at the corner of the flower bed, with a WELCOME sign in his stubby hands. Rachel had always thought that garden gnomes were a little creepy: small bearded men with smiles on their faces but distrust in their eyes, like they were plotting something evil. She eased the rental car next to a white Mercedes, resisting the urge to run the gnome over.
“A lot different from where Matt lives, huh?” Rachel walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
“Maybe living in a hundred-year-old mansion in the heart of New Orleans isn’t Chris’s style,” Red said.
“Obviously not,” Rachel agreed as they waited.
A beautiful blond woman opened the door. “Hello, you must be Rachel Scott?” She held the door open for them. “I’m Melinda O’Malley, Chris’s wife. Please come in.”
Melinda O’Malley looked like she had just stepped out of
Vogue
magazine. She had on a navy-blue pencil skirt with a crisp, white button-down shirt and a hint of lace camisole peeking through. She towered over Rachel in her four-inch heels. Her blond hair was just past shoulder length and was worn sleek and straight. Her green eyes were framed perfectly in flawless makeup that avoided being too heavy. She led them through the foyer and into a spacious living room. The smell of something wonderful baking in the oven wafted throughout the house.
“Chris and Matt are outside on the deck. I’ll go let them know you are here. Make yourself comfortable.”
The interior of the house looked like it was straight from a
Pottery Barn
catalog. Nothing about it seemed warm or lived-in. Two supple leather couches were clustered around a massiveantique-looking leather chest that doubled as a coffee table. There was a huge, flat plasma screen mounted above the fireplace and surrounding bookcases. The open floor plan gave the home a roomy, modern feel. Rachel admired the kitchen and breakfast room that were situated behind the living room. From where she sat on the couch, Rachel could see gleaming white granite countertops, stainless steel top-of-the-line appliances, and a gorgeous dark wood table and chairs in the breakfast room.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Rachel whispered to Red. “But unlike Matt’s place, it looks like a museum. I’m afraid to sit on the couch.”
“The bail bond business must pay very well,” he said.
Rachel looked down at her jeans and tennis shoes. “I feel underdressed next to Melinda. Maybe I should’ve changed before we came here.”
“She’s a real knockout, all right,” Red said, ignoring her comment. He was clearly smitten with Melinda. “She reminds me of that lady in the movie
Lost in Translation.
”
“Scarlett Johansson?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Hmmm…maybe a little.” Rachel wasn’t surprised that Red found Melinda attractive. She decided not to tell him that she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman, who was clearly trying too hard. Rachel knew a few women of that type back in Miami. They dressed immaculately whether they were making a quick run to the grocery store, picking up their kids from school, or running errands around town. They dressed to impress each other and to stake a claim to their position in the social chain. Money and status were of the utmost importance to these women. And Melinda seemed to fit in the same category.
Rachel picked up one of several photo albums that sat
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