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  “A spokeswoman? For what?”

  “Animals. You know, save the stray cats. Neuter your pets. Things like that.”

  “So she liked animals?”

  “I guess. But she liked money more. She wanted a bigger career. Still counting on her looks, she decided to get a boob job. She liked Dr. Beardsley’s work, so she had him do her nose next. Not that there was anything wrong with the original. By that time, the poor man was hooked like a big, dumb sturgeon. He dumped his sweet wife Lorraine and married Bonnie.”

  “When was that?”

  “About two years ago. Bonnie quit working, of course. Got in with the so-called society set. Tennis, charities, all that. Vane Beardsley makes bundles of money, but Bonnie has been doing her best to spend it.”

  “Sounds like she has it made. Why would she run off?”

  “She’s man-crazy. Being married didn’t change that; it just made her sneaky.”

  “Do you think she was sneaking around on Dr. Beardsley?”

  “ ’Course she was.” Maybelline stabbed at her lasagna.

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “He had to. Everyone knew. He pretended not to. Shamed him, though. High price to pay for a trophy wife, if you ask me.”

  I had been wondering how Maybelline knew so much about Bonnie Beardsley, but apparently the hospital grapevine had worked overtime on the Beardsley gossip. Everyone knew. I would have pressed her for more, but one of her volunteer buddies stopped by our table to chat. I left the two of them and went back to the library.

  Maybelline had given me plenty to think about. The police always suspect spouses first, and according to her, Dr. Beardsley had an obvious motive. I couldn’t help but worry about the missing woman’s fate, but in a flash of pure selfishness, I realized that the fate of my budding career might depend on whether Bonnie Beardsley turned up safe and sound.

  On my way out at five o’clock, I was relieved to see Orrie Mercer replaced by a clean-cut young security guard who said a polite, “Have a nice night, Miss.” Even better, the foul-smelling Dumpster in the alley was gone.

  I stood outside my car with both doors open to let the interior temperature drop to a safe level. August in Timbergate was often the hottest spot in the entire country and I didn’t look forward to my sweltering studio apartment with its temperamental swamp cooler. My budget was so tight I would need to work several months at my new job before I could afford to move out of my grandparents’ llama barn and rent an apartment of my own in town.

  In exchange for free rent, I did chores and watched the place for Amah and Jack when they were away on adventures involving Jack’s career as an outdoor writer. Their Highland Ranch property was in Coyote Creek, a ranching community eight miles east of Timbergate in the Cascade Range foothills.

  My petite and active Amah is my father’s mother, on the Portuguese side of the family. She and Grandpa Machado were divorced before I was born, and she’s been married to Jack Highland ever since I can remember. When I was a baby, she asked my mother about the Chinese word for grandmother. Mom explained that the word for paternal grandmother is pronounced a-ma, but it’s sometimes confused with amah, a devoted family servant similar to a nanny. Amah joked that either name fit, since she was frequently called into service as a nanny when both my parents were working. She’s been our dual-purpose Amah ever since. She and tall, lanky Grandpa Jack love the outdoors and frequently hike with their llamas. They’re in their early seventies, but I can’t see any signs that age has slowed them down.

  After a few minutes, the interior temperature of my car had dropped to a level I could tolerate, but instead of heading home, I called Harry and told him I was on my way to his condo with Mexican take-out and wine. I wanted his perspective on the doctor’s missing wife. Harry isn’t just my little brother, he’s my very best friend. At twenty-six, he’s two years younger than I am and already making his fortune designing and constructing commercial buildings. He’s a lefty with an ambidextrous brain. I think that gives him an edge. He decided on dual majors in architectural engineering and business when he was in the eighth grade, finished high school in two years, and college in three. What makes me most proud is that he hasn’t let his success as a boy wonder architect or his reputation as a playboy go to his head.

  We devoured our tacos in the cool comfort of his living room, where the air-conditioning never failed. With the world news on mute, I filled him in on my first day at work.

  “Bouncy Bonnie’s missing?” Harry grabbed the remote. “Wonder if we’ll hear anything on the local news.”

  “Bouncy Bonnie? What are you talking about?”

  Harry flashed his wicked grin. “Bonnie and I were in middle school together. She was a cheerleader—the first girl in sixth grade to develop in the chest area, if you get what I mean.”

  “I get it. And you can say ‘breasts’ in front of me.”

  “Guys don’t say ‘breasts.’ Doctors say ‘breasts.’ Librarians say ‘breasts.’ Old, boring librarians.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point. Any chance you can explain why she would go to Dr. Beardsley for a boob job if she was so well endowed?”

  “Probably because they weren’t the same size.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Give me a break, Sis. You know how guys talk about stuff like that.”

  “In middle school?”

  Before he could answer, the local news came on, and Harry turned up the volume. Milton Palmer, the genial evening anchor with a bad toupee, kicked off the six-thirty segment.

  “A local doctor is questioned in the disappearance of his wife. More after these messages.”

  Chapter 2

  During the break, Harry muted the TV and filled me in on what he knew about Bonnie Beardsley’s television career.

  “She started out doing freelance commercials, then the station hired her to do feature stories for the eleven o’clock news, but her segments were filled with so many bloopers she only lasted two weeks.”

  “I heard she was a spokeswoman for animals.”

  “That’s right. She did a few spots for the Humane Society and the local animal shelter after the station let her go. No one could understand how she got hired in the first place until Milton Palmer’s wife sued him for divorce.”

  “Bonnie had a fling with Milton?”

  “Yep.” Harry looked puzzled. “I’m surprised you don’t remember all the gossip.”

  “I wasn’t here back then. I was in New Haven.”

  I had chosen Southern Connecticut State University for my library degree so I could spend my weekends and holidays with our Grandpa Machado and his wife in New York City. After he and Amah split up, he moved there and worked as a doorman in a luxury apartment building until he retired.

  “That’s right,” Harry said. “You missed the whole soap opera. Arnetta Palmer slugged poor love-sick Milton with a brutal property settlement. Soon as Bonnie figured out Milton was broke, she dumped him and latched on to Beardsley.”

  Harry turned up the sound at the end of the commercial break, and we watched Milton Palmer report on the disappearance of his former paramour. The story didn’t provide much insight. The police were following the standard missing person’s routine. Palmer introduced Willow Underhill as an officer of Bonnie’s favorite charity. The woman spoke tearfully about Bonnie and Everlasting Pets.

  “Her support of our full-service pet cemetery—complete with interment, cremation, cloning and cryogenics—will never be forgotten,” the woman said. “Bonnie was our greatest benefactor.”

  “That’s cold,” Harry said. “Their friend’s missing, and she’s turning it into a commercial.”

  “Cryogenics? They’re freezing dead animals? Is anyone really that gullible?”

  “Hey, leave the pet lovers alone. It makes them feel better. If they can afford it, what’s the harm?”

  I was trying to think of a good response when the meteorologist came on, predicting the next day’s high at 115
degrees.

  Harry turned off the set. “You’re looking pretty grim considering you don’t know the woman.”

  “I was thinking about something I heard at work. Her parents gave up on her and now they’re gone. Who will care if something’s happened to her?”

  “Her husband, for starters.”

  “Maybe, but you know what they say about spouses. You can bet he’s going to be a suspect.”

  “He probably won’t be the only one,” Harry said. “She isn’t exactly a saint.”

  “She must have some redeeming qualities.”

  A pensive look crossed Harry face. “You know, now that I think about it, she used to do a thing that was nice in a weird sort of way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She fed her lunch to the stray cats that hung around school. Almost every day, even in the rain.”

  “So she loved animals. That’s probably why she hooked up with the pet cemetery people.”

  “I guess so. Too bad she didn’t have that kind of rapport with humans.” Harry disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a gym bag.

  “Want to go to the dojo and work out for a while?”

  “Isn’t it a little hot for jujitsu?”

  “Only for wimps. My fourth degree black belt test is only two weeks away. Come on. Mark Takamoto’s out of town and I need another black belt to spar with me.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have my gi with me.”

  “No excuse. There’ll be an extra one in your size at the dojo.”

  I gave in because I needed the practice, too. I had earned my third degree belt a few months earlier but hadn’t been working out lately. One of the advantages of growing up as mixed-race kids in our predominantly white community was a healthy respect for self-defense. Our father started each of us in jujitsu when we turned seven, making us promise to use the art only as a last resort. I slipped up once in second grade. I broke a nasty boy’s little finger on the school bus. I got in a world of trouble, but the kid never asked me to show him my underpants again.

  The temperature in the dojo was close to ninety degrees, but Harry didn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on, Aimee, we’re not dancing here. Get serious.”

  Harry knew how squeamish I was about hurting anyone. He constantly reminded me that jujitsu was not just a sport, it was a weapon—the gentle art that could save my life. He thought I’d choke if I ever needed to use it for the real thing. I blamed that kid on the bus. I still got queasy thinking how ghastly his little finger looked sticking out sideways. I had to admit that Harry might be right. I could act the part in tournaments, but how would I handle myself in a life or death situation?

  After an hour of randori, I’d been tossed, twisted, and slam-dunked until my dinner was threatening to come up. I gave Harry an ultimatum. “We quit now, or you loan me your Jaguar for a week.” In five minutes we were in the car and headed back to his place.

  “What are you doing with the rest of the evening?” Harry asked.

  “Sleeping, if the swamp cooler in my apartment is working. Jack thinks it needs a new motor.”

  “I know. He asked me to have a look at it and I forgot. I could follow you out to Coyote Creek now if you want. See if I can do a patch job.”

  “No, it’s too late. Almost nine thirty.”

  “You want to stay over in my guest room?”

  “It’s tempting, but I can’t wear the same clothes to work two days in a row.”

  “Okay, it’s your call, but I don’t want the blame if you go home and die of heatstroke.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Did you have plans for the rest of the evening?”

  “Nothing important. Someone was going to come by at ten, but I’ve been looking for an excuse to cancel. You’re it.”

  Someone meant a woman. “Who is she? Someone new?”

  I was always a week or two behind on Harry’s love life. He had dated one girl all the way through high school and college, but she broke up with him a week after they announced their engagement. That was four years ago. Harry has been playing the field ever since. Once, after he’d had a few beers, he confided that his porcelain-skinned fiancée broke it off because her parents were afraid their grandchildren would look foreign.

  “Foreign?” I’d said. “What does that mean?”

  “Like me, I guess. Or they might have been homely, like you.” Harry had laughed, but it sounded like something was breaking inside. He made me promise never to tell our parents. There were other things we’d never told them, and we had made a blood vow long ago that we never would. I remembered it as a noble and exciting pact: Harry and me against the world.

  Back at his condo, he made his call while I sat on the balcony watching moonlight ripple across the Sacramento River below. A trace of breeze off the water had lowered the outside temperature.

  Harry came out with two glasses of iced tea.

  “I should go.”

  “Drink your tea first. It’s decaf; it won’t keep you awake.”

  “Thanks.” I sipped. “Are you going to tell me about this woman who just got the brush-off?”

  “Probably not.” He leaned against the balcony rail, looking down at the river. “She’s not important.”

  Would any woman ever be important to him? After four years, it didn’t look promising. With his dark good looks, he was never at a loss for a date, but his love life never got too serious.

  We made small talk until I finished my tea and said I had to get home. I made a stop in the bathroom, and Harry went outside to retrieve his gym bag from his car. I was washing my hands when I heard his phone ring in the living room. I debated whether to pick up and let the caller know Harry was home. While I stood there undecided, the answering machine clicked on. I couldn’t help hearing the caller’s message.

  Hey Machado, it’s Mark. I’m still in Sac at the convention. Heard a news flash about Bonnie Beardsley. Did she tell you she was going to split? Man, this is trouble you don’t need. You better hope they find the crazy broad in one piece.

  Harry opened his front door just in time to hear trouble you don’t need. He read the expression on my face and replayed the whole message.

  When it was finished, he shook his head. “Damn, I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

  I sank into the nearest chair, afraid I might faint.

  “Harry, what’s going on?”

  Chapter 3

  “Dammit, Harry, tell me. Do you know where she is?”

  “No, I swear. Bonnie called me last Wednesday afternoon, out of the blue. I hadn’t heard from her in years. She said she wanted to learn self-defense and she’d heard I taught at the dojo. She thought someone was stalking her, someone she met at the Natural History Museum. I told her to come to class Saturday morning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

  “There wasn’t any point getting you all worried for nothing. Odds are she’ll show up in a day or so.”

  “I’m your big sister, for God’s sake. I’m supposed to worry.” I couldn’t sit still, so I got up and paced the room. “What are you going to do if she doesn’t turn up?”

  “Nothing, because she will.”

  “You have to call the police. Tell them about the stalker.”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders and backed me into the chair I’d just left. “Will you please sit still and listen?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve already called the police. I told them everything I know.”

  “When did you call them? Why? How did you know she was missing? It wasn’t on the news until tonight, was it?”

  “That’s four questions. First, she didn’t make it to my self-defense class Saturday morning. I wouldn’t have given it much thought, but a couple of guys on the job were talking about her this morning. Their wives go to the place where Bonnie gets her nails done. Evidently she missed her appointment Saturday afternoon, and she didn’t show up for a tennis lesson this morning. Put
it together and she could have been missing for almost three days, so I called the police to tell them her stalker story.”

  “That’s good. So what did they say?”

  “They thanked me for the information and said don’t leave town.”

  “Oh, great. You know what that means, don’t you? You’re a suspect, Harry. This is serious. It could affect your mall project. We should call Mom and Dad.”

  “No. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. It’s too soon. Mom and Dad are thousands of miles away in the Azores. And don’t worry about the mall project. I have a contract that says the project is mine unless I’m unable to fulfill my end of the agreement.”

  “Even if you’re a murder suspect?”

  “Yes. Even then. Basically, they can only cancel my contract and hire someone else if I become incapacitated or drop dead.”

  “What if you get arrested?”

  “You’re overreacting, Aimee. This is not nearly as bad as you think, so let’s not get Mom and Dad involved. There’s no point in worrying them when this case will probably be solved in a day or two.”

  He was playing the guilt card, and we both knew it would work. Our parents had begun a construction business on a shoestring, and over the years, built it into a thriving enterprise. Along the way they had sacrificed plenty to bring us up with every advantage they could afford. When our father inherited property in the Azores six months ago, he and Mom decided to retire, so they turned the business over to Harry.

  Always up for a challenge, my brother had not hesitated to bid on the design and construction of a new three-story shopping mall for the City of Timbergate. To his competitors’ surprise, Harry’s bid won. Without our father’s exceptional reputation backing him, a multi-million dollar deal like that would never have gone to someone as young as Harry. The project would take three or four years to complete, and there were one or two disgruntled contractors in Timbergate who were betting Harry would not be able to see it through.

  As soon as the mall contract was signed and Harry took over the reins of the family business, Dad and Mom moved to their property on the island of Faial, where money stretches about five times as far as it does in the states. Dad teaches jujitsu when he’s not sailing. Mom is fluent in four languages, so she volunteers as a translator at the hospital in Horta, the island’s port city. As long as we were healthy and happy here at home, they could relax and enjoy their new life. Harry was right; they didn’t need us disrupting them unless we had a good reason.