shoes, so when you’re ready for a new pair of ugly boots, she can help you out.”
Hannah smirked, and Jolie, a loner all of her life, admired their teasing relationship.
“Have you heard about the bash at the High Museum tomorrow night?” Hannah asked, her tone slightly mocking.
Carlotta leaned forward, her eyes shining. “No—what is it?”
“A wine tasting for the big contributors, eight o’clock. The guest list is hush-hush, so I’m guessing there are some important people attending.”
“We have to go!” Carlotta said.
“I have to work it,” Hannah said, sounding disappointed.
“Jolie will go with me,” Carlotta said, then turned to Jolie. “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”
Jolie felt sheepish. “I’m kind of on a tight budget.”
Carlotta pshawed. “I got you covered. Do you know where the entrance ramp to the museum is?”
Jolie nodded.
“Meet me there, eight thirty sharp.”
Her mind raced and it occurred to her that the kind of people that Gary had worked for could be found at such get-togethers. Who knew? She might be able to find out something about his “work,” and maybe a clue to the identity of his scary ex.
When her practiced excuses not to socialize rose in her mind, Jolie reminded herself it meant she wouldn’t be sitting at home alone, imagining herself with a big red X on her head. “Okay…but what should I wear?”
“A black dress and great jewelry. Oh, and bring a biggish purse.”
Five
T he next evening Jolie was lucky enough to find parking along Peachtree Street, a mere block from the High Museum of Art. When she climbed out of the car, her stomach fluttered with nerves. Had she worn the right dress? Would she say the right things? Would she stumble across someone who knew Gary? And more immediate, how much, if any, of the story of Gary should she share with Carlotta?
She had sidestepped Michael Lane’s questions at work, thinking that even if he’d seen the news, he couldn’t possibly connect a car and a woman being pulled out of the river with her comment that her boyfriend was missing. She’d simply told him they were checking in with her. In fact, in the light of day, it was easy to convince herself that everything would work out all right. In was only after the sun set, like now, that her imagination went into overdrive, projecting all kinds of atrocities onto the slightest sound or movement.
She had taken only a few steps down the sidewalk whenfrom the depths of her “biggish” purse, her cell phone rang. She stopped under a streetlight to remove the phone. She didn’t recognize the local number, but she punched the CALL button anyway.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Goodman, this is Detective Salyers. Is this a bad time?”
“Um, no,” she said, stepping back to allow a well-dressed couple to walk by.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, I got slammed yesterday and today. I did have a chance to go through the box of items you dropped off. I assume you looked through them, too.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did anything jump out at you as being odd?”
“You mean other than the photo with my head crossed out?” she asked wryly.
“So you did see the pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that Mr. Hagan was the person who drew that X over your picture?”
Jolie sighed. “I just don’t know. I can’t imagine why he would do something like that. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless he was getting ready to break off our relationship, and that mark was some kind of joke.”
“Did you recognize anyone in the other pictures?”
“No.”
“Did you send Mr. Hagan the note with the lipstick print?”
“No.”
“And you don’t have any idea who might have?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you realize that Mr. Hagan was heavily in debt?”
“We didn’t discuss our finances with each other.”
“When you were out together, did he use cash or credit cards?”
She squinted, trying to remember. “Cash, mostly.”
“His bank
Hannah smirked, and Jolie, a loner all of her life, admired their teasing relationship.
“Have you heard about the bash at the High Museum tomorrow night?” Hannah asked, her tone slightly mocking.
Carlotta leaned forward, her eyes shining. “No—what is it?”
“A wine tasting for the big contributors, eight o’clock. The guest list is hush-hush, so I’m guessing there are some important people attending.”
“We have to go!” Carlotta said.
“I have to work it,” Hannah said, sounding disappointed.
“Jolie will go with me,” Carlotta said, then turned to Jolie. “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”
Jolie felt sheepish. “I’m kind of on a tight budget.”
Carlotta pshawed. “I got you covered. Do you know where the entrance ramp to the museum is?”
Jolie nodded.
“Meet me there, eight thirty sharp.”
Her mind raced and it occurred to her that the kind of people that Gary had worked for could be found at such get-togethers. Who knew? She might be able to find out something about his “work,” and maybe a clue to the identity of his scary ex.
When her practiced excuses not to socialize rose in her mind, Jolie reminded herself it meant she wouldn’t be sitting at home alone, imagining herself with a big red X on her head. “Okay…but what should I wear?”
“A black dress and great jewelry. Oh, and bring a biggish purse.”
Five
T he next evening Jolie was lucky enough to find parking along Peachtree Street, a mere block from the High Museum of Art. When she climbed out of the car, her stomach fluttered with nerves. Had she worn the right dress? Would she say the right things? Would she stumble across someone who knew Gary? And more immediate, how much, if any, of the story of Gary should she share with Carlotta?
She had sidestepped Michael Lane’s questions at work, thinking that even if he’d seen the news, he couldn’t possibly connect a car and a woman being pulled out of the river with her comment that her boyfriend was missing. She’d simply told him they were checking in with her. In fact, in the light of day, it was easy to convince herself that everything would work out all right. In was only after the sun set, like now, that her imagination went into overdrive, projecting all kinds of atrocities onto the slightest sound or movement.
She had taken only a few steps down the sidewalk whenfrom the depths of her “biggish” purse, her cell phone rang. She stopped under a streetlight to remove the phone. She didn’t recognize the local number, but she punched the CALL button anyway.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Goodman, this is Detective Salyers. Is this a bad time?”
“Um, no,” she said, stepping back to allow a well-dressed couple to walk by.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, I got slammed yesterday and today. I did have a chance to go through the box of items you dropped off. I assume you looked through them, too.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did anything jump out at you as being odd?”
“You mean other than the photo with my head crossed out?” she asked wryly.
“So you did see the pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that Mr. Hagan was the person who drew that X over your picture?”
Jolie sighed. “I just don’t know. I can’t imagine why he would do something like that. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless he was getting ready to break off our relationship, and that mark was some kind of joke.”
“Did you recognize anyone in the other pictures?”
“No.”
“Did you send Mr. Hagan the note with the lipstick print?”
“No.”
“And you don’t have any idea who might have?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you realize that Mr. Hagan was heavily in debt?”
“We didn’t discuss our finances with each other.”
“When you were out together, did he use cash or credit cards?”
She squinted, trying to remember. “Cash, mostly.”
“His bank
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