the house to go Christmas shopping.”
“Oh.” Nora was a recovering alcoholic and the holidays were difficult. Her husband, Ralph, hired them to discreetly head her off at the town liquor store. To Kristen, it was a touching, face-saving gesture. He trusted his wife, but was providing support in case she needed it. “In that case, I hope you don’t find her.”
“I hope I don’t, either.” But her father didn’t look too hopeful.
Kristen thought wistfully of the kind of love Ralph Beckman had for his wife. It was rich with an understanding ripened by time, the kind of love nice, decent, emotionally mature men had for their life partners. Oddly, the same kind of men who wouldn’t mind driving red trucks bearing plastic Santa torsos when the situation called for it.
Not that Kristen was having any such thoughts about Mitch for herself, because she could stand only so much vanilla before she needed to crunch on some Rocky Road.
Kristen returned to her desk and started to work on the routine background investigations her father assigned to her.
A significant portion of Noir Blanc’s business came from women investigating the background of men they were dating, a practice Kristen heartily endorsed after being burned a few times herself. Besides, she discovered that she really enjoyed snooping. Yeah, she was ready to call it character research for her acting in case anyone asked, but no one did.
Noir Blanc had a few male clients, as well, but theywere a definite minority. Kristen didn’t know if men were more trusting in the dating scene, but from what she’d seen, they shouldn’t be. Maybe the men only hired Noir Blanc when they were already suspicious because Kristen had discovered way too many women out there giving the sisterhood a bad name.
And speaking of trust, Mitch sure trusted his partner. Yeah, friendship and loyalty and all that were admirable but Kristen didn’t think Mitch’s situation was anything like the realistic trust Ralph Beckman had for his wife. Maybe she was just overly cynical. However… However, it was none of her business. Literally.
She ran the routine checks and didn’t find any red flags, which would guarantee a nice holiday for their clients. Everybody was on the up-and-up this season. Good will toward men and all that. After writing the reports, she printed them out and put them on her father’s desk.
Finished. All done. Phones silent. Computer humming. Lipstick fresh. Nails filed. Thumbs twiddling.
And so Kristen did what she knew she’d been going to do ever since Mitch had honked the ho ho ho horn. She ran a background check on him.
K RISTEN Z ALESKI’S LIPS exactly matched the red Christmas lights The Electric Santa used, so naturally, Mitch thought about her the rest of the day. Stringing lights didn’t exactly require deep thought—other than remembering how many lights he’d strung together so he didn’t overload the circuit—which meant Mitch had plenty of time to think. About Kristen. And her lips. And other body parts.
He tried to recall any high school memories, but the Kristen that came to mind bore no resemblance to this Kristen, and that was fine with him. He liked this Kristen better.
On the way home, Mitch stopped at a video rental store and wandered down the classics aisle. He identified the film noir movies by the actresses on the cover of the case—they looked just like Kristen, except that they were in black-and-white and Kristen, or rather her mouth, was in living color. Christmas red, to be precise.
Mitch picked a handful of videos with names like KISS ME DEADLY, DARK PASSAGE and THE BIG SLEEP, added a few packs of microwave popcorn and a two-liter bottle of Coke with lime—just in case there was a trace of vitamin C in it—and headed for home.
N OT ONLY WAS HE plain vanilla, he was white bread. Cream of wheat. Macaroni and cheese—hey. Macaroni and cheese. Yum. Kristen had never been a mac and cheese eater as a child, but the idea
“Oh.” Nora was a recovering alcoholic and the holidays were difficult. Her husband, Ralph, hired them to discreetly head her off at the town liquor store. To Kristen, it was a touching, face-saving gesture. He trusted his wife, but was providing support in case she needed it. “In that case, I hope you don’t find her.”
“I hope I don’t, either.” But her father didn’t look too hopeful.
Kristen thought wistfully of the kind of love Ralph Beckman had for his wife. It was rich with an understanding ripened by time, the kind of love nice, decent, emotionally mature men had for their life partners. Oddly, the same kind of men who wouldn’t mind driving red trucks bearing plastic Santa torsos when the situation called for it.
Not that Kristen was having any such thoughts about Mitch for herself, because she could stand only so much vanilla before she needed to crunch on some Rocky Road.
Kristen returned to her desk and started to work on the routine background investigations her father assigned to her.
A significant portion of Noir Blanc’s business came from women investigating the background of men they were dating, a practice Kristen heartily endorsed after being burned a few times herself. Besides, she discovered that she really enjoyed snooping. Yeah, she was ready to call it character research for her acting in case anyone asked, but no one did.
Noir Blanc had a few male clients, as well, but theywere a definite minority. Kristen didn’t know if men were more trusting in the dating scene, but from what she’d seen, they shouldn’t be. Maybe the men only hired Noir Blanc when they were already suspicious because Kristen had discovered way too many women out there giving the sisterhood a bad name.
And speaking of trust, Mitch sure trusted his partner. Yeah, friendship and loyalty and all that were admirable but Kristen didn’t think Mitch’s situation was anything like the realistic trust Ralph Beckman had for his wife. Maybe she was just overly cynical. However… However, it was none of her business. Literally.
She ran the routine checks and didn’t find any red flags, which would guarantee a nice holiday for their clients. Everybody was on the up-and-up this season. Good will toward men and all that. After writing the reports, she printed them out and put them on her father’s desk.
Finished. All done. Phones silent. Computer humming. Lipstick fresh. Nails filed. Thumbs twiddling.
And so Kristen did what she knew she’d been going to do ever since Mitch had honked the ho ho ho horn. She ran a background check on him.
K RISTEN Z ALESKI’S LIPS exactly matched the red Christmas lights The Electric Santa used, so naturally, Mitch thought about her the rest of the day. Stringing lights didn’t exactly require deep thought—other than remembering how many lights he’d strung together so he didn’t overload the circuit—which meant Mitch had plenty of time to think. About Kristen. And her lips. And other body parts.
He tried to recall any high school memories, but the Kristen that came to mind bore no resemblance to this Kristen, and that was fine with him. He liked this Kristen better.
On the way home, Mitch stopped at a video rental store and wandered down the classics aisle. He identified the film noir movies by the actresses on the cover of the case—they looked just like Kristen, except that they were in black-and-white and Kristen, or rather her mouth, was in living color. Christmas red, to be precise.
Mitch picked a handful of videos with names like KISS ME DEADLY, DARK PASSAGE and THE BIG SLEEP, added a few packs of microwave popcorn and a two-liter bottle of Coke with lime—just in case there was a trace of vitamin C in it—and headed for home.
N OT ONLY WAS HE plain vanilla, he was white bread. Cream of wheat. Macaroni and cheese—hey. Macaroni and cheese. Yum. Kristen had never been a mac and cheese eater as a child, but the idea
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