mind?” I knew what I had in mind.
“If I win, you have to provide a fresh rose for every one of my tables every night for a week.”
Not what I had in mind. “Could you pick something a little less costly?”
There was that adorable little twitch of his mouth again. “What’s the point of making a bet if it doesn’t cost you?”
“Fine. A rose for every table for a week.” Which meant I had to win because I couldn’t afford to lose. “And if I win?”
He sauntered to his chair, leaned back in it, and folded his arms behind his head. “You won’t.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
“I hope so.”
I had to laugh at him. Marco was the only guy I knew who could be arrogant and cool at the same time. “Okay, if I win I want you to make dinner for me. A real dinner, too, not carryout from the bar and grill.”
“Deal. So what are you meddling in today?”
“I’d like to remind you once again that I do not meddle. I solve problems. You know this wedding of my cousin’s I mentioned? Well, one of the groomsmen is missing in action and Jillian asked me to find him. He was last seen yesterday afternoon at the hotel where the wedding party is staying. I called the police, the jail, and the hospital with no luck. Since you’re the professional PI, I thought you might advise me as to what to do next.”
“Why isn’t the groom looking?”
“His nerves can’t take it. And the missing man’s parents are in Egypt. I already asked.” I smiled at him expectantly.
Marco scrutinized me for a long moment, probably trying to decide if it was worth the effort to argue me out of it. Finally he said, “Okay, here’s what I’d do. I’d start by notifying the police he’s MIA, then I’d interview his friends to find out his interests and where he likes to hang out. That should give you a clue where to look. It’s probably nothing more than the guy got drunk and is sleeping it off somewhere, but you don’t want to take any chances.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up before then. If not, I’ll be seeing the other bridesmaids tonight. I’ll start my questioning with them.”
At three o’clock that afternoon I drove into a ritzy neighborhood near my aunt’s, parked in front of Trudee DeWitt’s sprawling pink brick home, gathered my purse and notebook, and got out of the car. Trudee was standing in the doorway arguing with a teenaged girl with pink spiked hair and dangle earrings made of beer caps.
“You’d better be home at six o’clock on the dot, young lady, or—hi, Abby, I’ll be with you in a minute—you’ll be grounded for a month! Heather? Do you hear me?”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t give me whatever. I hate that word.”
“Could you yell it any louder, Mother? My eardrums are already bleeding.”
“You think that’s loud? I’ll show you loud. Go on inside, Abby. I’ll be right there.”
As the argument raged on, I let myself into the house through huge, double doors, where I gaped at the immense space around me. The home had only one floor, but the ceiling rose a full two stories high, a vast, oak-beamed structure with big skylights and hanging fans. I couldn’t begin to imagine what their heating bill was like.
Trudee’s husband, Don, was a self-made multimillionaire who had started his career selling bottled water. Trudee had been a savvy hair stylist who knew how to spot potential. She’d convinced Don to shave off his full beard, ditch the farmer’s overalls, and hire her as his accountant.
Now they jointly owned the water bottling plant, a fleet of trucks, and a vacation home in the Bahamas, where she’d developed a penchant for the tropics. She had decorated her New Chapel house accordingly, with lots of wicker and rattan, sisal rugs over Mexican quarry tile floors, an indoor waterfall, and ceiling fans with fake palm leaves for blades.
“Teens!” Trudee exclaimed, shutting the doors behind her. “What was I thinking?”
Trudee was built like a centerfold from the
“If I win, you have to provide a fresh rose for every one of my tables every night for a week.”
Not what I had in mind. “Could you pick something a little less costly?”
There was that adorable little twitch of his mouth again. “What’s the point of making a bet if it doesn’t cost you?”
“Fine. A rose for every table for a week.” Which meant I had to win because I couldn’t afford to lose. “And if I win?”
He sauntered to his chair, leaned back in it, and folded his arms behind his head. “You won’t.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
“I hope so.”
I had to laugh at him. Marco was the only guy I knew who could be arrogant and cool at the same time. “Okay, if I win I want you to make dinner for me. A real dinner, too, not carryout from the bar and grill.”
“Deal. So what are you meddling in today?”
“I’d like to remind you once again that I do not meddle. I solve problems. You know this wedding of my cousin’s I mentioned? Well, one of the groomsmen is missing in action and Jillian asked me to find him. He was last seen yesterday afternoon at the hotel where the wedding party is staying. I called the police, the jail, and the hospital with no luck. Since you’re the professional PI, I thought you might advise me as to what to do next.”
“Why isn’t the groom looking?”
“His nerves can’t take it. And the missing man’s parents are in Egypt. I already asked.” I smiled at him expectantly.
Marco scrutinized me for a long moment, probably trying to decide if it was worth the effort to argue me out of it. Finally he said, “Okay, here’s what I’d do. I’d start by notifying the police he’s MIA, then I’d interview his friends to find out his interests and where he likes to hang out. That should give you a clue where to look. It’s probably nothing more than the guy got drunk and is sleeping it off somewhere, but you don’t want to take any chances.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up before then. If not, I’ll be seeing the other bridesmaids tonight. I’ll start my questioning with them.”
At three o’clock that afternoon I drove into a ritzy neighborhood near my aunt’s, parked in front of Trudee DeWitt’s sprawling pink brick home, gathered my purse and notebook, and got out of the car. Trudee was standing in the doorway arguing with a teenaged girl with pink spiked hair and dangle earrings made of beer caps.
“You’d better be home at six o’clock on the dot, young lady, or—hi, Abby, I’ll be with you in a minute—you’ll be grounded for a month! Heather? Do you hear me?”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t give me whatever. I hate that word.”
“Could you yell it any louder, Mother? My eardrums are already bleeding.”
“You think that’s loud? I’ll show you loud. Go on inside, Abby. I’ll be right there.”
As the argument raged on, I let myself into the house through huge, double doors, where I gaped at the immense space around me. The home had only one floor, but the ceiling rose a full two stories high, a vast, oak-beamed structure with big skylights and hanging fans. I couldn’t begin to imagine what their heating bill was like.
Trudee’s husband, Don, was a self-made multimillionaire who had started his career selling bottled water. Trudee had been a savvy hair stylist who knew how to spot potential. She’d convinced Don to shave off his full beard, ditch the farmer’s overalls, and hire her as his accountant.
Now they jointly owned the water bottling plant, a fleet of trucks, and a vacation home in the Bahamas, where she’d developed a penchant for the tropics. She had decorated her New Chapel house accordingly, with lots of wicker and rattan, sisal rugs over Mexican quarry tile floors, an indoor waterfall, and ceiling fans with fake palm leaves for blades.
“Teens!” Trudee exclaimed, shutting the doors behind her. “What was I thinking?”
Trudee was built like a centerfold from the
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