Praise for the novels of
ROBYN CARR

“This is one author who proves a Carr can fly.”

—Book Reviewer on Blue Skies

“Robyn Carr provides readers [with] a

powerful, thought-provoking work

of contemporary fiction.”

—Midwest Book Review on Deep in the Valley

“A remarkable storyteller…”

—Library Journal

“A warm, wonderful book about women’s

friendships, love and family. I adored it!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on

The House on Olive Street

“A delightfully funny novel.”

—Midwest Book Review on The Wedding Party

Runaway Mistress
Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For Heather Hudson Carr, my favorite.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

One Year Later

One

When she walked into the Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport, heads turned. Not just the men’s, but the women’s, as well. Jennifer was used to this; she did not come by her fabulous looks by accident. Trim, tan, blond, leggy, buxom, with a face that could stop time, she drew the attention of everyone she passed. She went to the counter and recognized the agent, a woman she’d seen several times before. “Hi, Elaine. Jennifer Chaise, here to meet Mr. Noble for the Las Vegas flight.”

“He hasn’t checked in yet, Ms. Chaise, but you can board if you like.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait until he gets here.”

“Why don’t we go ahead and load your luggage to save time?” she said.

Jennifer gave a nod and a smile, glanced over her shoulder to the skycap who had followed her with her bags, and then went to a leather sofa in the waiting room. From there she could see the terminal entrance.

As she waited for her gentleman friend, Nick, to arrive at the airport, Jennifer reminded herself that not all that long ago she’d been a girl who couldn’t afford a bus ticket. Now she was a woman waiting for a private jet. Who would’ve guessed?

The private jet sent by the MGM Casino Resort would whisk them away to Las Vegas, where they would spend a few days. Nick was what was known as a Whale—a high-stakes gambler. She assumed he lost as well as he won because at least four times a year the MGM would send their Gulfstream to pick him up. But, according to them, gamblers never lost. And, despite the fact that he was married, Jennifer was the woman who accompanied him on these trips.

Jennifer was something of a gambler herself, but she didn’t wager money. She put herself on the line, betting that she could keep someone like Nick Noble so enchanted by her charms and beauty that he would be a generous suitor. It required quite a lot of skill and confidence. The skill she had acquired over time, but the confidence always threatened to elude her. Sometimes she was required to fake it. All the people who ogled her were completely unaware that beneath the veneer of wealth and glamour beat the heart of an uncertain girl who had come from nothing.

She reached over her knee to smooth her two-thousand-dollar eelskin boots over her shin—they were as soft as butter and were her favorite. There was a time years and years ago, when she was eight or nine years old, that her mother picked through a Dumpster, where she’d seen a pair of discarded shoes just about the right size for Jennifer. That had been an especially bad patch for them. Maybe that was what had fostered her passionate love of footwear. These boots were sage-colored and perfect with the cream skirt and jacket she wore; the skirt was short with a strategic slit up the left side and the jacket buttoned just under her breasts to emphasize her cleavage.

If it were left up to her, she might choose a lower heel, but Nick, for some strange reason, preferred that she look as tall and long-legged as possible. She was a respectable five foot five, but any one of her collection of high heels so exaggerated her height that she appeared five ten. The irony was that Nick was not tall. He was a short guy—maybe five-seven—and had a real thing for tall, thin blondes. No short-man complex there. In fact, Nick probably thought he was six-two. His ego was at least that big.

A half hour passed as she waited, and although people couldn’t help but stare at her, she didn’t fidget. The cabin attendant for their jet came into the terminal twice to speak to Elaine, ostensibly to see if all her passengers had finally arrived. By now the crew would be getting antsy. Nick would never tolerate tardiness in others, but he was rarely on time himself. He could be both aggressive and passive-aggressive, not always a winning combination.

Jennifer pulled her long mane of golden hair over her shoulder and stroked it as if it were a pet. Nick loved her hair. So had a few gentlemen before him. She cared for it as if it were an only child.

Elaine came out from behind the counter and approached her. “Ms. Chaise, are you sure you don’t want to go ahead and board?” the agent asked her.

She smiled patiently at the young woman. “It won’t get him here any faster, Elaine. I’ll just wait for Mr. Noble.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?”

“No.”

“Have you, by any chance, called his cell or his car?”

She merely shook her head; there was no point in trying to explain. Nick didn’t like being chased down, hounded or prodded, so calling him would only have the opposite effect. He’d just take his time, no matter who was waiting. He said he’d be here, and he would be here. He’d keep everyone waiting, though, in case there was any question as to who was the most important person in this party.

Finally, almost an hour after the scheduled departure time, the doors to the small terminal opened and Nick strode through, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he entered. He was a little powerhouse with broad shoulders and thick, hard thighs. His arms were tanned and very strong, but he had small, gentle hands. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wasn’t bad-looking, either. He had bushy brows, a bald head and twinkling blue eyes. Women found him sexy, but whether that was because of his looks or his power seemed irrelevant.

Nick was the kind of man it was very difficult to say no to; he was flamboyant, exciting, wealthy and had a slightly dangerous edge. Perhaps it was the constant presence of one, two or even three large, quiet men that gave him an aura that was both hard to ignore and impenetrable. Jennifer referred to them as the Butlers, which made Nick laugh, but the more accurate term goon came to mind. She tried not to think too hard about them. Nick had quite a collection of men who worked for him, followed him around, traveled with him. Errand boys. Jennifer assumed it made Nick feel important to have them always a few steps behind, ready to do whatever he asked. On this trip it was Jesse and Lou who accompanied them.

The airport agent breathed an audible sigh of relief and Jennifer stood. Nick slipped an arm around her waist, kissed her cheek and said, “Hi, baby. We ready to roll?”

“I think they’re all ready,” she said. “My luggage is on the plane.”

“Good girl. Let’s do it. I’m feeling lucky.”

Jennifer had met Nick Noble two years before. She had just taken a job in a commercial real estate company where her duties included some secretarial work, as well as property management. It was easy and it paid well. She fielded calls from tenants who needed service such as repairs, collected and deposited rents, and kept track of leases. Her office handled a group of office buildings in Fort Lauderdale and Boca Raton and Jennifer believed she had been hired more for her looks than skills. She was definitely front-office material; the businessmen who leased from them were constantly asking her out.

She hadn’t been there long when the owner of the properties they managed stopped by. Nick. He took her to lunch that very day and made it clear he was not particularly interested in her performance as a property manager but, rather, he was romantically interested. Now, Jennifer might look like an easy mark with her swollen lips, full perky breasts and clothes carefully chosen to draw attention to her assets, but she was actually cautious. Nick was made to pursue her for a very long time, during which she learned enough about him to make a practical decision. He was married for the third time, had lots of money, several businesses and an iron-clad prenup. Barbara, he said, was very happy with her club, her jewelry, her big house, and was not likely to make any kind of fuss as long as he dinged her bank account on a weekly basis, and paid off the credit cards.

It turned out that Nick’s analysis of Barbara wasn’t exactly right. Barbara was extremely jealous and given to tantrums that could be very disturbing. But no one, absolutely no one, told Nick Noble what to do. And although Barbara was unhappy about this liaison, she wasn’t unhappy enough to give up the wealth she had married. Barbara Noble, wife number three, had been involved with Nick when he was married to wife number two. Jennifer had absolutely no intention of becoming wife number four, and it might have been that fact more than anything that had kept him intrigued this long.

Nick had gone after Jennifer with gusto. He called, dropped by, had her picked up by a driver and taken to this or that restaurant. There were flowers and weekly gifts. He took her out on his yacht and to his villa in Key West. He worked very hard to woo her. And she worked very hard to be alluring. She played a mean game of hard to get.

In the two years she’d been seeing him she had not quit her job. It was important to her self-esteem that she work at something other than being a mistress. True, she was away quite a lot. When Nick wanted her to travel with him, she did. It wasn’t as though her supervisor was going to complain. Nick was a very valued client.

Jennifer relaxed in the luxury of the Gulfstream, a glass of champagne on her side table, a novel in her lap. Nick, however, had been on the phone since takeoff. He frequently stood up, paced, raised his voice or shook his fist at the air. She picked up a few words here and there—“Look, goddammit, that’s been the program for years!” and “If it’s not delivered on time, you’ll pay, and you’ll pay big!” Jennifer had nearly perfected the fine art of being oblivious. His business wasn’t her business. If she got nosy while he was all riled up, his mood would only get worse. She understood that any man who had the amount of fiscal responsibility that he had might have a short fuse now and then.

After a couple of hours in flight, he’d had enough. Jesse and Lou were sitting in the first two seats on the plane, reclined and sleeping, their backs to Jennifer and Nick. Nick asked the flight attendant for a Chivas on the rocks and came over to where Jennifer sat with her feet up on the ottoman. He sat beside her feet and put a hand on her knee.

“What are you reading, babe?”

She gently closed the book and smiled. “Romance.”

His hand moved slowly over her knee and under her skirt, caressing her thigh. “That’s a good idea,” he said with a smile. He sipped his drink and swirled it in the glass, clinking the cubes against the crystal. And his hand went a little higher.

Jennifer stopped him right there. She pressed the book down, refusing his hand farther passage. The flight attendant had handled a little of everything on this job and would probably know enough to turn discreetly away, get very busy in the galley or something, but Jennifer wasn’t having that. “Behave yourself,” she told him sternly. “And try to be patient.”

Nick chuckled and removed his hand, but he leaned toward her. So she kissed him, a deep and promising kiss. She could taste the Scotch on his lips, in his mouth.

When they parted she said, “You be a good boy and you can get in the hot tub with me tonight.” But she knew she would probably be splashing around alone while Nick was preoccupied with poker.

The palm of his hand gently brushed her breast. “Yes, Mommy. Let’s see what movies we have.” He picked up the remote, turned on the overhead screen and read the directory until he found one he liked. Then he settled back on the leather sofa and shared the ottoman with Jennifer, keeping a proprietary hand on her thigh.

She went back to her book. She knew how to make her gentleman toe the line and that was imperative. It kept them interested. They could be like children sometimes, craving limits. She had very strict standards; she must be treated with respect and dignity. The minute a man made the mistake of treating her as property, she was gone.

Jennifer was a professional girlfriend. A mistress. Not a call girl or prostitute. She was an excellent girlfriend. The greater part of her subsistence came from her current gentleman, but she absolutely never asked for a thing. Never. It was always a gift, sometimes with her input, sometimes a surprise. The two diamond rings she wore were surprises, but last year Nick wanted to buy her a car and they went together to pick out her Jag.

Of course, had Nick been less than forthcoming with such gifts, she would have moved on long ago.

How does one get into a profession such as this? In Jennifer’s case, quite by accident and in all innocence. She was nineteen when her mother died and there was a little bit of money from the sale of her grandparents’ house. Just enough to get her from Ohio to Florida and pay first, last and security on a small efficiency. She longed for the sun to warm her heart, for she had found herself suddenly all alone. She had nothing and no one. She didn’t know what to do or where to turn. It seemed she had spent her entire life up to that point keeping an eye on her mother, and when she was gone, exhaustion combined with her grief. She needed a change and a little rest.

She got a job in a fine-dining restaurant in Fort Lauderdale bussing tables on her way to being trained as a waitress; she’d heard the money was good when diners dropped a few hundred on their meals and wines. When one of the slim, young hostesses was a no-show for work, the manager slipped Jennifer into a narrow black dress—the hostess uniform—and she began booking reservations, showing people to their tables and in general making nice with the patrons. She did it well, so they kept her in that job. At nineteen, she was hardly a knockout, but she had a kind of slim elegance, an aloofness, that was underscored by the fact that when she smiled she hardly ever showed her teeth because one front tooth was a little gray and she was embarrassed by it.

Within a couple of weeks she was asked out by an older man named Robert who frequented the restaurant. She shied off, declining. Why would she wish to go out to dinner with a man old enough to be her grandfather? “Because he’s richer than God,” said one of the other hostesses. “And he’s sweet as a kitten. Tell him I’m free.”

That set her to thinking. She was too alone. She had no family; not even a close girlfriend. She was barely getting by on what little money she made. Her best dress belonged to the restaurant—the little black number she wore for hostessing. And this was a nice man, well known around Fort Lauderdale. He was the least-dangerous person alive and very, very chivalrous. He just happened to like young women.

She went to dinner with him in her borrowed dress and, to her absolute amazement, had a lovely time. He was kind and thoughtful and patient, and he wanted her to enjoy herself. They became friends, and so it gave him great pleasure to take her places. It was important that she dress appropriately and so they shopped, outfitting her with more clothing at greater expense than she’d ever had in her life. He didn’t think the neighborhood in which she rented her one-room studio was very safe and so he lent her the use of one of his company’s corporate apartments, rent free. He had several that were usually used by traveling executives. One more or less made no difference.

And he sent her to a cosmetic dentist. His treat. Her smile, he had said, was stunning, and she should use it often.

Eventually she even enjoyed sleeping with him, but that wasn’t really a priority for him. He spent the greater part of his energy on business, a lesser amount in the company of his lovely young mistress, and an even lesser amount with his wife. Jennifer remained his girlfriend for about two years.

Because Jennifer had never been able to trust anyone to take care of her, she was completely prepared for their relationship to be temporary. When it was over, most of the accoutrements would vanish. The apartment and leased car would have to be returned, though being rich and a gentleman, he would very likely insist she keep the clothing and jewelry. She was determined to be prepared. So while her gentleman picked up the tab, Jennifer put a little bit of money aside for a rainy day. Growing up hand to mouth had provided her with considerable restraint in spending, and discipline in saving. Jennifer was going to take care of Jennifer, and she realized she had stumbled upon a good way to do it.

The rest, as they say, was history. The first gentleman came along when she was nineteen, Nick when she was twenty-eight. There’d been a few in between. She had been very fond of Robert and sad when he moved on, and Nick had grown on her in the last couple of years, but the others had been merely business arrangements. The only requirements were that they be rich, civil and derive great pleasure from treating her well.

As Jennifer walked down the wide hall of the MGM Grand Hotel, her extra-short skirt swaying back and forth across her shapely thighs, her high-heeled boots padding softly on the rich and thick carpet, men turned and watched as she passed. Hotel guests and bellhops and maintenance men. Even here in Las Vegas where great beauty abounded, they filled their eyes with her. She walked past a little boy, grasping his mother’s hand, who turned and looked up at her. He couldn’t be more than four and was fascinated. That’s men—so visual. She looked down at him and smiled and winked.

Her shiny platinum hair bounced down her back to her waist. Her eyes, made lavender by the contacts she wore, sparkled under thick lashes, and her lips, full, pouty and glossy, enhanced by collagen, begged to be kissed. To say nothing of her breasts—right up there where they should be thanks to relentless chest presses and a small saline implant under each one, compliments of gentleman number three. If she’d had it this together ten years earlier, she might’ve tried modeling rather than this current vocation. But this look hadn’t come cheap or easy.

She and Nick had been in Las Vegas for three days and tomorrow would be their last day. He was on a real run in high-stakes poker, and every time he wanted to get back to the game he had treated her. One of the gifts was the new tennis bracelet she wore. As well, he gave her a nice crisp stack of Bens—hundred dollar bills—with instructions to entertain herself. He spent a great deal on her, and she used the money to stay fashionable and desirable, always tucking a little away for that rainy day just around the corner.

She’d had a very good time, though she hadn’t spent much of it with Nick. She had shopped, taken in a couple of movies in the screening room, worked out in the private gym, spent some time in the spa being massaged, manicured and pedicured, and she’d caught up on her reading in the cabana by the private pool. Jennifer was tanned, but it wasn’t from the sun. She wouldn’t subject her skin to that. She was spray-tanned. Once a week she would have a facial, massage and a spray tanning that would begin to fade after four days. When she went to the pool or the beach, she lay under an umbrella or cabana. Her skin, she was proud to note, was nearly flawless.

She was with Nick every night, of course. Or make that the wee hours, after many hours of poker. At fifty-four Nick was fit and energetic, sometimes demanding, often relentless when it came to getting what he wanted. And if he wanted her at 4:00 a.m., she was compelled to oblige. Thankfully, it was only on trips such as this that she was on such a schedule. In Florida they kept separate residences and Nick rarely spent the whole night with her.

Sometimes she wondered if Nick wasn’t just a little more than she could handle. He was certainly the most virile man she’d been with. Every time she began to consider ending this affair, whether because of Nick’s demands or his wife’s instability, he’d give her something amazing, reminding her that he was worth every hour of her time. His gift to her last year had been a condo on the beach, and she was weakened by her love for it. Even with her growing savings accounts, it was way out of her league.

However, life could be lonely. Working in a business that catered to Nick, and having a flexible schedule so she could be at his beck and call didn’t make the other women in the office particularly friendly. But then, she’d always been a loner. She knew what they said about her, but she was no slut. There had only been a scant few men in her life since she was a teen, and she never dated more than one man at a time. Never.

These were the thoughts that were running through Jennifer’s mind as she made her way through the crowds of people in the hotel on her way back to the room. The MGM was putting them up in a suite that was part of a private wing known as the Mansion. Very prestigious surroundings, complete with a crew of chefs, valets and real butlers. She’d been there several times with him—he considered her good luck—and true to form, he’d been winning, which made him fun and frisky. It was very easy to get used to living in high style like this, but she didn’t take it for granted. She knew how quickly such fortunes could shift—just as she’d had rough times with her mom, she’d had a few high times. They never lasted very long, but she remembered them fondly.

When she reached their suite she quietly opened the door and was instantly taken aback by shouting.

“I don’t ask your permission for anything! I’m here for poker, and if I’d wanted you and all your bitching here, I’d have brought you!”

That was Nick. She peeked in and made eye contact with “butler” number one, Lou. Lou was a mountain of a man. He stood in the foyer, his back to the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest.

“You can’t just bring your bimbo to Vegas and toss me to the sharks in Palm Beach while you’re here screwing around. They’ll eat me alive!”

Uh-oh. That would be Mrs. Nick.

“I’m here for poker! I can screw around in Florida!”

“Everyone knows you left me at home while you brought that whore to Vegas!”

Jennifer stiffened indignantly. She took exception. At the very least, the pot was speaking of the kettle.

“Why you worrying about what everyone else thinks? You got your big house, your big rings. You don’t play second fiddle. You got your masseuse.”

“Oh, you have such a dirty mind! Maurice is gay!” And with that there was a crash. She was throwing things. It was time to give her some space.

Jennifer backed quietly out of the room, gently pulling the door closed. She went downstairs to a quiet bar, sat at a corner booth and ordered a foamy margarita. She sipped it very slowly, killing time. She’d give Nick and his spouse time to work through this tiff. If she ended up with her own room and a first-class ticket back to Fort Lauderdale, it wouldn’t be the first time. It was no big deal.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She looked up into the deep brown eyes of a rather handsome and well-dressed man. “Buy you a drink?”

“Thank you, no. I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be along soon.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “Blow him off,” he suggested.

She placed both her hands on the table, fingers splayed, roughly sixty thousand dollars’ worth of gems glittering on her fingers and wrist. “Oh, I don’t think so. I really don’t think so,” she said sweetly with her positively shattering smile. He was dismissed.

She knew better than to flirt or lead men on. For one thing, Nick wouldn’t stand for it. More than that, she’d seen plenty of women get themselves in serious trouble biting the hand that fed them. Not to mention the number she’d seen take a dive because they were stupid enough to fall hopelessly in love and believe everything they were told.

Jennifer had never been in love. At least, not since her sophomore year of high school. The combination of watching her mother suffer through frequent broken hearts and having her own trod upon by a stupid high school jock had taught her more than she wanted to know about that emotion. She thought it best to rise above it and live the good life. And her life was good.

The fight going on upstairs was upsetting, however. According to Nick, the honeymoon with Barbara was over and they’d gone their separate ways. Jennifer didn’t like conflict. She never fought. She was a pleaser. Nick was not similarly disposed; he had a bit of a temper. He was a little scary sometimes. He treated her with kid gloves, but even though she tried to tune him out, she’d heard the way he yelled at people on the phone, threatening them with dire consequences if they didn’t get something done to his satisfaction.

That was precisely why she minded her own business and tried not to listen.

She thought two hours away from the suite would be enough, so she gave it another thirty minutes. If the wife had won, she’d be intercepted by one of the guys, like Lou, and escorted discreetly to her own room or suite. If the wife had been successfully sent on her way, she would find Nick, or a note, instructing her to meet him there later. Frankly, she was betting on Nick.

She returned to the suite and quietly unlocked and opened the door, peeking into the foyer. Silence. She stepped inside and listened. Not a sound. Then she heard running water and a man’s muffled voice. She plastered that ready smile on her lips and moved toward the sitting room—and was stopped short. A battle had taken place there; a bloody battle. Furniture was tipped over, glass sparkled on the floor and there were actual splatters of blood on the white furniture and carpet.

“Just get rid of her,” she heard Nick say.

“Yeah, like where?” one of his guys asked.

“Who cares? Don’t worry about money, just do it up right. Don’t want to draw attention here. And clean up this place—I don’t want housekeeping in here asking a lot of questions.”

Immobilized by the shock of what she was hearing and seeing, Jennifer stood in the doorway, frozen. Then she saw Nick, shirtsleeves rolled up, splatters of what must have been his wife’s blood on his shirt, holding an ice pack to his eye. He walked from the bedroom to the bar. She heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass. He hadn’t seen her.

“You seen that bimbo?” Nick yelled into the other room.

“She stuck her head in the door just when Babs started pitching the crystal around the room.”

“Shit. Find her. We’re gonna have to do something about her, too.”

She stepped quietly into the coat closet just inside the foyer, out of sight but not out of earshot. She was just in time. Lou and the other “butler,” Jesse, came marching past to leave the suite. “We’re gonna need something big and easy to handle.”

“Golf bag, maybe.”

“Yeah. Or big suitcase on wheels. Y’know, they hold a lot.”

And they were gone.

In her entire life, as bad as it had been during some periods, she’d never imagined she’d encounter anything like this. But now, as she stood in the dark closet, a crack of light from the partially opened door streaking across her face, she knew she should have seen it coming. His temper was obvious, even if it hadn’t been turned on her. She sensed his businesses were shady, though she had no idea how. But what manner of man needs a couple of big bruisers hanging close at all times?

After a few moments she pushed the door open. She was going to flee, but she heard the shower running. Nick was fastidious. He’d want to wash up if he’d been mussed or stained with blood.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she just had to know. She passed through the chaos of the sitting room and crept toward the bedroom door. The sound of the shower gave her a sense of cover. She looked into the room and there, sprawled facedown on the bed, was Mrs. Nick. Her hand dangled lifelessly off the edge and her hair looked wet in the back. Blood?

God, he’d done it. They’d gotten into it and, whether deliberately or accidentally, in a fit of rage he’d killed her. And now Nick’s boys were going to get rid of her body. And then he was going to “do something” about her.

She heard something and craned her neck. He was singing in the shower! That’s when she knew she’d hit bottom. She had to run. She couldn’t take any chances. Any man who could sing in the shower while his wife lay dead a few feet away was no man to trifle with.

She left the suite, left the Mansion and went through the casino. She took a cab to the airport. She had no luggage. Only that little tiny Kate Spade bag, which fortunately had quite a lot of money in it. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew what not to do. She would not wait around the airport for a flight to Florida so she could be found there. She wouldn’t flee to her condo, the first place Nick would look.

But she bought a ticket to Florida on her credit card. Then she bought a pair of sunglasses and a scarf with cash. She covered her platinum hair and her lavender eyes and took another cab, this one to a suburb of Las Vegas. And there, nestled in a little neighborhood inn that did not feature gambling, she cooled her heels and waited for news of a murdered woman. There was a little strip mall and grocery store nearby, a drugstore, a coffee shop, a Goodwill store and army surplus. She only went out after dark, with her bright white-blond hair covered. She purchased a sweat suit and tennis shoes, some cotton underwear, hair dye and a ball cap. Later she picked up some men’s clothing at army surplus, hiding her luscious body in the deep folds.

And every day she picked up a newspaper, and every day she stayed glued to the television.

There was no news regarding Barbara Noble. Four days had passed and there was nothing. She called the MGM and asked for Mr. Nick Noble’s suite and was told he had checked out. She started to wonder if she had overreacted. Maybe he hadn’t meant to get rid of the body, but just get the wife out of town. Should she just fly back to Florida, tell him his temper had scared her, apologize for being a flake, get back to work, get on with life? But first, she called the Noble household in Palm Beach and asked for Barbara.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Noble is not in.”

“Can you tell me when it would be a good time to reach her?”

“Mrs. Noble is out of the country and I’m not sure when she plans to return.”

Out of the country? The next day there was a small item in the newspaper, but it wasn’t about Barbara. It was about Jennifer. The headline read Missing. Her picture was beneath. It was from a photo taken when she was sailing with Nick. Her long blond hair whipped in the wind and her sexy smile was confident and sure; for once the newspaper photo wasn’t grainy. The story read:

“Jennifer Chaise, age thirty, of Fort Lauderdale has been missing for five days. She traveled to Las Vegas with friends, who say she disappeared suddenly, without taking any of her belongings with her. Her travel companions report missing a great deal of money and jewelry, and Ms Chaise is believed to be either a witness to a robbery, a victim, or a suspect, and police would like to interview her.”

She dropped the paper into her lap in shock. Oh, my God, she thought. And then with a wry smile her thought was, nicely done, Nick. Accuse me of a crime and, when the police find me for you, drop the whole thing. But you’ll have me.

There was one more sentence. “A generous reward has been offered for information leading to the whereabouts of Ms. Chaise. If you have information, please call…”

She fell back on the bed and thought, Just when I thought I had everything all figured out. Just when I thought I knew what I was doing, knew what I wanted, knew what it would take to get it. Just when I was thinking about my early retirement.

She rolled over on her stomach. Boy, talk about miscalculations.

Two

The effect of seeing her picture in the paper caused Jennifer to decide she’d better go a little farther afield than a Las Vegas suburb, so she got on a bus. She wasn’t sure where it was bound, so she just rode for a half hour through a stretch of desert and got off in the first little town she came to. She walked for about twenty minutes and, after passing several decent places, found a motel that had clearly seen better days. It was a seedy-looking place between a junkyard and a railroad track; there were only twelve rooms. Nick Noble would never find it. And if he did find it, he would never expect Jennifer to be there.

She looked at the phone book in room number eight and saw that she was in Boulder City. Good enough, she thought. She’d never even heard of the place. Surely she wouldn’t draw much attention here. She could have stayed at one of the casinos off the Strip; the bus had passed several of them, but they were large and their parking lots crowded. Too many people around, increasing the odds of being recognized as the missing girl in the newspaper.

She looked at the map the phone book provided. Boulder City, a small town a mere twenty-five miles from Las Vegas, on the edge of Lake Mead on the way to Hoover Dam. This was the last place Nick would expect to find the classy, bejeweled Jennifer Chaise.

She stood in front of the mirror for a while, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. Wardrobe by army surplus—very unlike the wardrobe she had left behind. Her face, washed clean of makeup, left her looking very plain and pale. Her expensive artificial tan was fast disappearing. The shock of finding herself on the run likely contributed to her wan look. She flushed the colored contact lenses down the toilet and her eyes went from that sexy lavender to an ordinary brown. Her vision, fortunately, was perfect. She clipped her long acrylic nails and felt briefly crippled.

She had attempted to dye her waist-length golden hair to brown, but had ended up with a rather sickly gray—absolute proof that she’d tried to color it with drugstore supplies. Scissors in hand, she meant to rectify the situation, but a tear gathered in her eye. She’d pampered that sexy mane for how many years? Nick adored her hair; he loved to crunch it up in his fists and bury his face in it. Well, that would never happen again. “And if it does happen,” she said aloud, “it would probably be just one last crunch before he crushes my skull.” But the hand with the scissors trembled. “Oh, suck it up,” she told the reflection. “We’ll save a fortune. And it’s only temporary—until we figure out what to do and where to go.” She stared into her own eyes and, realizing she was talking to a mirror image, said, “Oh, my God, it’s hereditary. We have our mother’s wackiness.”

And then she lopped it off, close to the scalp. She continued this drastic amputation, tears running down her cheeks, until all she was left with was a short, spiky cap of really strange-colored hair. It looked as if someone had colored her hair badly—and then cut it badly. How different could she be? And what could she do to become invisible and utterly unrecognizable?

She thought about it for a moment and then she shaved her head. After brief consideration, the eyebrows that she’d spent a fortune having professionally colored and waxed into a curvaceous arch also went. If she remembered correctly, her original brows were black, bushy, shapeless and met over the bridge of her nose.

Then, despite her determination to be stronger than her circumstances, she cried in a bed with a lumpy mattress and a thin sheet. What had she been thinking, getting involved with a man like Nick? With any of the rich older men she’d attracted? It had only served to isolate her from the world. Had she really thought she was so smart, so immune to having her heart broken? This was proof positive that you didn’t have to be in love to have your heart broken. She was in a crappy motel in a tiny desert town outside Las Vegas with nothing. With no one. Even worse, now she was in actual peril. Talk about a plan gone awry.

The month was March and she awoke the following morning to chilly air and leaden skies, and the sound of rain. The heater in the room didn’t work and everything seemed inevitable.

The morning sky was just painting the dark clouds gray when she couldn’t take the cold, dank hotel room another second. She bundled up in a khaki-green windbreaker, her scarf wrapped around her neck and her baseball cap covering her bald head. All her worldly goods were tucked into a canvas backpack. The motel office was still closed; no one there to get the heater going in her room. So she set out to see if there was more to this place than a junkyard and train tracks.

A few blocks away the road forked—the highway went left and she went right. Another few blocks revealed a small town, a street lined with cafés and shops not yet open. She counted three restaurants, all apparently of the no-tablecloth variety. It was an old street with worn sidewalks, but some trendy shops and eateries were peppered amid the older ones, perhaps recent additions to snag the visitors to Hoover Dam, and travelers en route to the Grand Canyon as they passed by the town. The manager of Starbucks was just unlocking the door. A clock in the window of a gift shop read six-thirty. There was a small corner market that looked no bigger than a convenience store, but it displayed a large variety of fresh fruits and vegetables in the window, and a sign that boasted a sale on ground sirloin.

A big white hotel with signs that advertised Underground Dancing and a Dam Museum stood down the street. Across the parking lot was a small brick building painted pink—a dance studio.

She took a left, getting off the main street, and a few blocks later found a park, library, theater and an old residential neighborhood full of tiny, multicolored houses nestled amid tall, full trees. They looked like playhouses, street after street of them. There were obviously no neighborhood-association rules about conformity in this part of the world, as interspersed with well-maintained houses and manicured lawns were battered-looking homes inside cyclone fences that surrounded dirt and weeds. The houses, however, were almost all the same shape. Except one at the end of the street, a square two-story, with a huge peace sign painted on a tall tree stump and flowered sheets covering the windows. It looked like a throwback from the sixties.

Around the corner she saw the post office and wondered if this was the center of town. It didn’t even resemble anything close to a desert here in Boulder City; the foliage was thick, and most of the trees had retained their leaves through winter while others showed the promise of new buds on bare branches. Shrubs were dense; grass was green.

She passed a yarn shop, a used-book store and a health-food store. A sign stuck out farther down the street that read Nails. A couple of young women jogged around the park, and farther down the street an elderly man walked his dog. She turned onto a side street, and right between a dry cleaner and dog-grooming salon was a diner with the lights on and a sign in the window that read Open. Above the door in fading red paint was the name of the place—the Tin Can.

This place hadn’t seen a renovation in a long time yet was clean and well kept. Since there was a Starbucks on the main street, she supposed this diner was seeing less action than it used to—there was only one customer. With the stools at the counter, booths covered in Naugahyde lining the wall and Formica tabletops, it had the look of a fifties greasy spoon. But a nice, warm one. It reminded her of a place she used to go with her grandpa when she was small.

The bell jingled as she entered. “’Morning,” a man called from behind the counter.

She took a stool right in the middle of the completely vacant counter. The man in the booth at the back of the diner had a newspaper spread out in front of him.

“’Morning,” she returned. “Coffee?”

He had a cup in front of her in seconds. “Cold and wet out there, ain’t it.”

“Freezing,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter.

“It should be a lot warmer by now. There’re buds on the trees and the grass is greening up. Spring’s ’bout here. I’ll let you warm up a little, then we’ll talk about some breakfast,” he said. She looked up at him. He squinted at what he could see of her face under the bill of her hat. For a moment she was confused, and then she remembered she had no eyebrows. With a self-conscious laugh, she plucked the cap off her head and exposed her bald head and naked brow. He almost jumped back in surprise. “Whoa. That’s a new look now, ain’t it?”

“Shocking,” she supplied, putting her cap back on.

“Cold, I take it.”

“That’s for sure.”

He was a big man around sixty. Overweight, with a thick, ornery crop of yellow-gray, strawlike hair and square face and rosy cheeks—like a sixty-year-old little boy with big ears. She saw a face she could only describe as accessible. Open. He had friendly blue eyes set in the crinkles of age, a double chin and an engaging smile—one tooth missing to the back of the right side. “I got biscuits and gravy,” he said proudly.

“I’m not really hungry,” she said. “Just cold.”

“You been outside long?”

Oh-oh. He suspected she was homeless. The army surplus fashion, the backpack, the ball cap. “No. Well, maybe a little. I’ve a room at that roadside place about six blocks from here and I woke up freezing. No heat. And the motel office wasn’t open yet.”

“Behind that scrap heap and junkyard?”

“That’s the one.”

“Charlie is not generous with his guests,” the man in the booth said with a heavy Spanish accent. “You should say he give you the night free.”

“He should,” the man behind the counter said. “But he won’t. They don’t come much tighter than Charlie.”

The man in the booth folded his paper, stood up and stretched. Then he took an apron off a hook and put it on. Ah, the cook, she realized. “Um—are you done with that paper?” she asked him.

“Help yourself, mija.” He proceeded around the counter to the grill and began heating and scraping it. The sounds of breakfast being started filled the diner and soon the smells followed. Jennifer settled herself into the same booth so she could spread the paper out in front of her.

A little while passed, then the owner brought the coffeepot to her. “Have any interest in breakfast yet?” he asked.

“Really, I’m not very hungry.”

“You don’t mind me saying so—you look a little on the lean side.”

“I’m just lucky that way.”

“If it’s a matter of money—”

She was startled. “I can pay,” she said, maybe a little too proudly. Truly, if he had any idea how much money was stuffed inside the Kate Spade bag that was stuffed inside the backpack, he’d be stunned. Not to mention the jewelry. The dawning came slowly. Don’t protest too much, she told herself. It was perfectly all right if people thought she was a little down on her luck. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t know the role—she was intimately acquainted with it. “I might have something in a while. I just want to warm up. And have a look at the paper.”

“Sure thing. Just say the word when you’re ready. Adolfo has started breakfast.”

She drank two more cups of coffee while she combed the paper and found nothing about the Nobles or herself. How long would Nick get away with pretending his wife was out of the country? Surely someone would begin to miss Barbara! Her masseuse, for example.

But who would miss you, Jennifer? she asked herself. Would her boss raise an alarm? Ah, her boss actually introduced her to Nick, whom he would probably call. “Nick,” he would say. “Jennifer didn’t come back to work. Do you have any idea…?” “Oh, Artie, my fault,” Nick would say. “I should’ve called you. She skipped in Las Vegas with most of the cash in my wallet. Met someone with a bigger yacht, I guess. You know these bimbos.”

And the women in the office who didn’t like her would be just as glad she was gone. She had eschewed the friendships of women to avoid the inevitable jealousy. And, to be free of the commitments friendship brought so she could be available at the whim of her current gentleman friend. Nick, like the others before him, didn’t like to plan in advance; he expected her to be ready at a moment’s notice. She had kept herself virtually friendless. For the first time in ten years, she regretted that.

Oh, why didn’t I go to the police right away! Too afraid. Afraid that, unable to prove anything, they wouldn’t believe her. They wouldn’t protect her, and before very long she would meet with some unfortunate accident. Or maybe she’d leave the country, like Barbara Noble….

A shadow cast over her newspaper caused her to jump, and there he was again, coffeepot in hand. “Ah, I maybe ought to say I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make light of your—you know—hair. Was it, ah, chemo? Something like that?”

She had a momentary temptation to pretend to have had cancer, but she didn’t dare tempt fate that far. Her head bald, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, she probably looked horrible to the old guy. What to tell him? But then, did she have to admit to anything at all? This was a diner, for God’s sake. Not a shrink’s office or police interrogation.

The look on his face was so sweet. “You just worry about people all the time, don’t you?”

“No, I—” He stopped and seemed to gather himself up. “I worry about people,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not sick and I’m not homeless.” I am merely a brainless bimbo on the run from a murderer, she wanted to add.

“Good,” he said. He warmed her coffee again before turning away.

The drizzle outside suddenly turned into a relentless splatter against the window. She walked to the front of the diner to look out and was startled to see an elderly woman with a walker and a dog struggling up the curb. The wind and rain lashed at her so hard she almost lost her footing. Jennifer bolted out the door to help her. She hadn’t even given the dog a thought, and maybe that was a good thing because she might’ve hesitated. The dog growled, but not convincingly. Jennifer grasped the woman at the elbow to steady her and told the dog to hush.

The other thing she hadn’t thought about was letting the dog in the diner, which she also did. Well, the dog was with the old woman and both were drenched. Adolfo came running with a couple of dish towels and some rapid-fire Spanish, but he wasn’t fast enough. The dog, an old and overweight yellow Lab, immediately gave a vigorous shake.

“Aiiee, Alicia,” he said. “I’ll be mopping all the morning.”

“Oh, Alice, you’re going to get us kicked out of here for sure. Morning, Buzz.”

“Louise,” he said. “Don’t you have a lick of sense? You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

“It’s not a hurricane, for God’s sake,” she grumbled.

“I thought maybe you’d stay home today. It’s awful out there. I’ll get your tea.”

She looked into Jennifer’s eyes and said, “That was nice of you. And brave—how did you know Alice wouldn’t chew off your arm?”

She continued to lead the woman into the diner and pulled out a chair at one of the few tables. “I’m not brave, but maybe stupid. I didn’t even think about the dog till she growled.” She gave her a pat. “Alice, is it? How do you do?”

“Well, fortunately, she’s sweet as honey—”

“And as old as God,” Buzz added, bringing a cup and saucer to the table. He sniffed the air. “Nothing smells quite as bad as that, does it? Wet dog?”

Things in the diner seemed to settle into a routine that everyone but Jennifer was accustomed to. The dog lay under the table at her mistress’s feet, Louise pulled her own paper out of the large satchel hidden under her coat, Adolfo muttered in Spanish as he mopped the floor inside the door, and Buzz was putting out coffee cups along the counter. Mopping done, Adolfo was back at the grill, cooking and whistling. Louise seemed to be humming along, albeit off-key.

Jennifer went back to her paper and coffee. It wasn’t very long before he was back again. Buzz. This time he had a plate. Unable to resist the temptation to feed her, he brought scrambled eggs, wheat toast and sausage. He put it down in the middle of her paper. “You a vegetarian?” he asked.

She shook her head. She treated him to a smile. “You’re very annoying, you know that?”

“I’ll get you some juice. You ought to have juice.”

She thought about the last time she had had eggs. It was in the suite with Nick. She’d been wearing a silk peignoir designed by Vera Wang. Eggs Benedict, served under sterling with mimosas and braised potatoes. A beautiful tray of pastries had been sent up with the brunch, but Jennifer never touched sweets. She didn’t have her figure by accident.

“Here’s your juice.”

“Um, would you mind…? Could I have a jelly doughnut please? A big one?”

A genuinely happy smile broke over his face. Buzz liked seeing people eat. He had that doughnut in front of her in no time. “Eat your eggs first,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

That was one thing about going undercover, she thought. You don’t have to constantly diet. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ever again work on my looks for a man!

She flipped open the menu that sat behind the napkin dispenser and looked at the prices of what she was eating and drinking. The food was so cheap she almost gasped out loud. How in the world could he make a living, giving food away like that?

Her mind wandered to her classy little condo on the Fort Lauderdale beach. She often had her breakfast, or at least morning coffee, on the veranda with a spectacular view of the ocean. It was small but elegant, furnished by Henredon, decorated by Nelson Little out of New York. Her carpet and sofas and chairs and ottomans were white accented with ecru, plum and eggplant pillows and throws.

Nick would probably have it up for sale in a week. The homeless of Fort Lauderdale would no doubt be wearing her designer labels within the month.

Buzz’s eggs were delicious. Melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Must use a ton of butter.

A few people wandered in while Jennifer ate and all of them knew Buzz and Louise. Adolfo would occasionally peek over the back counter and say, “Buenos días.” There was a man in his fifties who took a quick cup of coffee on his way to opening up his store, the young housewives she’d seen jogging in the park a while earlier who had been suddenly drenched by the rain stopped in and a woman pulled her car right up to the front door and ran in to have her thermos filled. From the conversation, Jennifer gathered she was a Realtor, one not exactly thrilled about showing houses in such weather.

She noticed the elderly woman, Louise, getting to her feet and shrugging into her coat.

“Hey there, Louise. Let Adolfo give you a lift home. It’s still drizzling.”

“I won’t melt,” she said.

“I’m not worried about melting. I’m worried about slipping.”

“Watch your step, then,” she shot back, clearly knowing full well he was worried about her slipping. This made Jennifer laugh and say, “You tell him, Louise.”

“You know what I mean….” Buzz said.

“I walk here to walk, not to ride. I’m not worried about a little rain.”

Alice lumbered to her feet, stretched almost painfully, and took slow steps toward the door with her mistress taking slow steps behind her, inching along with the walker.

“Louise, I’m pleading here—”

“Get over it, Buzz,” she said, reaching the door and pushing it open. Buzz came around the counter to hold the door, but Louise never looked back. He shook his head as he watched her go, then went back behind the counter in defeat.

Jennifer had never taken her jacket off. She slipped her arms through the backpack straps and went to the counter. She pulled six dollars out of her pocket and put it on the counter next to the cash register. “Do you have an umbrella?” she asked him.

“Sure. But I could have Adolfo—”

This guy was too much. A meal service, a taxi service, what next? “If you’ll loan me an umbrella I’ll go walk along with her, make sure she doesn’t fall in a big, deep puddle, and I’ll bring it back to you before I’m on my way.”

He stared at her for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “Adolfo! Bring that big old umbrella out of the golf bag back there, will you?”

“Sí. Uno momento.”

The umbrella was dusty. Obviously Buzz hadn’t played much golf lately.

It wasn’t difficult to catch up with Louise. Jennifer didn’t even have to run. She was just up ahead in the drizzle, inching along. Once Jennifer was alongside, she held the umbrella over Louise and a little over Alice. The dog looked up at her and, if Jennifer wasn’t mistaken, smiled. She definitely gave a wag of her tail.

“How about a little company?”

Louise stopped, turned slightly and looked up at the much taller Jennifer. “That’s nice of you, young woman. Do you have a name?”

Damn, she hadn’t thought of a name! And it couldn’t be Jennifer or Chaise or anything similar. “Doris,” she said in a pinch, and winced. Where the devil had that come from? Now she was stuck with it for the time being.

“Well, Doris, did you just get out of the army?”

“No,” she laughed. “It’s just a fashion statement.”

“Hmm.” Louise looked her up and down but reserved comment. She resumed walking and they went along in silence for a while. Then she stopped, turned to look up at Jennifer and asked, “What brings you to Boulder City?”

Another thing she hadn’t rehearsed. She realized she was actually quite bad at this. She’d had the nerve to shave her head and eyebrows, but that’s where her imagination had stopped. “I was just leaving Las Vegas and realized I’d never seen the dam or the Grand Canyon. Maybe I ought to.”

“Good idea,” Louise said, and got back to her walking. It was going to be a very long walk, no matter the distance. She was quite slow and couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. If something came to mind she stopped, turned and looked up, spoke, and waited for her answer. “Do you think you’ll stay very long?”

“No. Maybe a day or two. Or three.” As she said that she looked around. They were passing the park and started up a cracked sidewalk into the quaint neighborhood Jennifer had noticed before. Small town U.S.A. Compared to South Florida it was practically deserted. Much too quiet and ordinary for someone like Nick Noble. This fact recommended it.

“Here we are,” Louise finally said, stopping in front of one of the many tiny houses a couple of short blocks from the park. This one and the ones on either side appeared to have freshly painted trim and were well maintained. Louise trudged toward the door of her house. Alice paused only long enough to pee on the grass before they went inside. “Thank you, Doris. I hope you enjoy your time in Boulder City. It’s a nice little place.” Alice looked over her shoulder at Jennifer; her tail sashayed back and forth a couple of times. They disappeared inside the house.

Jennifer went back the way she had come, spinning the umbrella over her head. When she got to the Tin Can she saw that there were a few more people in there now, and there was a sign in the window that she was quite sure hadn’t been there before. Help Wanted.

She took the umbrella to the counter and handed it to Buzz. “She’s all set. Stubborn, huh?”

“She likes that walk. Claims it keeps her on her feet. I think she’s around eighty now and she’s been getting her breakfast here for thirty years.”

“What kind of help are you looking for, exactly?” She surprised herself with the question.

“Little of everything,” he said with a shrug. “Place isn’t that crowded during the weekday mornings. I can almost handle it myself, but it’s better when I have someone steady. Waiting tables, doing dishes, sweeping up. If we go through a busy spell and I have to ask the other waitresses to come in at the crack of dawn, they get all pissy. Not real flexible. You know wo—you know waitresses.”

Adolfo popped into view from the grill. “Sí, we need help for the help.”

“They’re precious flowers,” Buzz said with a wide grin.

She looked around, and when comfortable that she wouldn’t be overheard, she asked, “How fussy are you about references?”

“I’m kind of easy there,” he said. “You sound interested.”

“I…ah…didn’t really think I was looking for work. I haven’t waited tables since I was in my teens.”

“It hasn’t changed much over the years. I pay minimum wage, you bus your own tables, keep your tips, split ’em when you work with the other girls, and can have any meals you show up for, on or off your shift. I could use someone when I open. At 5:00 a.m. Pretty rude hour of the day. Especially for the precious flowers.” Grin.

“I like to get up early.”

“I guess you don’t have ID?”

“I… Ah…” She shook her head. “No.”

“You have a name?”

“Doris.”

“Well then, Doris. See you at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow?”

She smiled in spite of herself, but mocked herself inside—what the devil are you smiling about? Nick is probably shredding your Vera Wang nightie while you’re taking minimum wage in a greasy spoon!

But it was a little honest work and no one would be ogling her. For sure not with her bald head and the masculine clothes. She could stretch the money she had in her backpack a little further and have time to think this through. This diner was safe and clean and warm, the people so far had been decent, and at this stage she wasn’t about to take that lightly. Plus, there was no way Nick Noble would end up within twenty miles of a place like this—it was just too common.

It would only be for a little while. She had no idea what would come next, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be equal to that classy condo with the spectacular ocean view. Those days were pretty much behind her, unless she took a notion to find another rich old boyfriend. And from where she stood, that was about as likely as snow in hell.

“A little tip, Doris. You might try the Sunset Motel over on Carver. It’s not too far from here and the owner will give you a cheap weekly rate and heat. It don’t look like much, but it’s clean and safe. But don’t tell Charlie I told you. I consider him a friend, but he’s tight as a bull’s ass and I don’t see any point in my new waitress freezing to death. And you’re going to have to get a scarf or something. You can’t wait tables in a ball cap and I’m afraid that shiny dome on a girl might upset the tea-and-cookie crowd.”

“The…?”

“The little old ladies.”

“Oh. Sure. No problem.”

“It ain’t easy work, but it doesn’t pay well.”

“Sounds that way,” she said, but she said it with a smile. “Thanks, Buzz. You’re a good guy.”

“Aw, hell, I’m a tyrant. You’ll hate me in no time. Go get me that sign, will you, girl?”

Hate Buzz? Impossible. He might have been an angel in disguise. An angel with a few rough edges, maybe, but angelic just the same.

In keeping with her new appearance, Jennifer had her left ear pierced and decorated with five silver hoops. She had to sleep on her right side for a week, but she didn’t resemble the woman who had fled the MGM Grand less than a week ago.

In the diner she had a little space and time to get back on her feet, to think about where she’d been and where she was going—both physically and emotionally. And she came to realize very soon that Buzz had seen a need in her and filled it with that Help Wanted sign, which he kept on the shelf under the cash register. He probably put it out whenever someone he suspected needed help wandered into his diner.

Buzz was an old bachelor who had run the diner for forty years. He had a pretty nice house, he told her, but it was lonely there. He liked to be at work—he was usually there from five in the morning until at least nine at night. He bragged that there was no food in the refrigerator at home, and he paid Adolfo’s wife to clean and do laundry for him every couple of weeks.

He was a simple guy and almost everyone who came into the diner was considered a personal friend, except weekend out-of-towners. And what she realized was, if Buzz had brought her into the fold, they all accepted her as part of the family.

“I could use you on Saturday and Sunday mornings, early,” he said. “You should take a couple of weekdays to sleep in, but come in for breakfast when you’re up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Buzz,” she said.

He took on a mock look of surprise. “You mean you’d eat somewhere else?”

She wouldn’t dare. At least not yet.

The thing about the diner was, the food wasn’t particularly delicious. It was good enough and cheap. And not so much on the greasy side. Everything from chicken fettuccini to meat loaf had a slightly Spanish flair.

“Cheese omelet,” a customer would order. “No cilantro.”

“I’ll try,” she would reply.

Jennifer found the Sunset Motel was managed by an elderly woman named Rosemary, who seemed to be expecting her. She cut her a special deal of one-fifty a week if she didn’t require housekeeping, and she made it clear it was a favor to Buzz. The accommodations were a definite improvement, but hardly what she was used to. The thread count of the sheets was so low her skin felt rashy, and the bathroom, while clean, had been hard used with the chips and stains to prove it. It was a long slide down from the MGM’s Grand, but a damn site safer.

Buzz could easily have handled the work at the diner himself. There were a few people in the morning, mostly regulars she became acquainted with right away. As the morning stretched out to lunch, there weren’t many customers.

In the afternoons Jennifer went to the library, where she read newspapers, magazines and used the Internet to research news of Nick and Barbara Noble. So far there had been none. The librarian was a woman just a few years older than Jennifer who wore a plastic name tag that read Mary Clare. After seeing Jennifer there every day for a few days and learning that she worked at the diner for Buzz Wilder, she asked Jennifer if she’d like a library card. To have that, Jennifer adopted the last name of Bailey. Doris Bailey. So after finishing her research, she picked up a novel to take back to the Sunset with her.

She had loved reading since she was a child. It was probably a defense against loneliness; she knew how to plant her eyes on the page and fall headlong into a story, forgetting where she was. She could forget she’d been living in a condo overlooking the ocean at the pleasure of her wealthy gentleman friend, or had lived in an old station wagon parked in an alley. Stories took her out of herself, and she had long regarded the time she spent reading as a little respite from a reality that she had to continually reconstruct. From the time she was a little girl, to being a successful mistress, to being a bald-headed waitress in a greasy spoon, books had been her salvation.

As she was walking back to the Sunset from the library, backpack slung over her shoulder and cap on her head, she saw a black limo driving slowly down the street. The over-dark windows concealed the identity of the passengers, but the license plate read MGM12 and Jennifer knew immediately that it was one of the hotel’s cars. She had to tell herself not to pause, not to stare, not to react. It was entirely possible the hotel was taking a guest to view the dam, which she had heard was a magnificent sight to see.

But it was also possible someone she knew all too well was looking for her.

Three

A few days into her new job she was still sweeping up when the afternoon waitress arrived, a high school girl named Hedda. She was a freaky-looking kid with spiked black hair with purple edges, a tongue ring, a little rhinestone nose stud and at least one very large tattoo peeking out at the small of her back over her low-rise jeans. Hedda looked Jennifer up and down intently, and finally a smile broke out over her decidedly beautiful face. “Cool,” she said. “Did you do that yourself or have it done?” she asked, indicating the bald head.

“I…ah…I didn’t need much help with this,” she said, pulling her scarf off her shiny dome. She felt a sudden urge to explain that she was actually very fashionable and had great office skills; that she could do the accounting for a diner this size in her spare time. And she could dance the tango, drive a stick shift and speed read. Not to mention that acquired skill of finding and snagging rich old guys.

“You know what would look really cool? A tattoo. Right on your head. I could tell you the name of a good artist.”

“I’ll definitely think about that,” she said. “But I was actually thinking of trying hair for a change. You know—letting it grow out.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hedda pronounced. “It makes you look like a really cool alien. A pretty alien.”

“Wow,” Jennifer said. “I haven’t had a compliment like that in I don’t know when.”

“And I mean it, too.”

On her first weekend in Boulder City she met Gloria, who usually served the dinner hour and every Saturday morning. Gloria, a woman in her fifties, looked at Jennifer and said, “Holy Mother of God.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Buzz yelled from behind the counter. “Hedda thinks it’s cool.”

Gloria shook her head. “Why you girls do the things you do is beyond me. Why don’t you at least draw on some eyebrows? I could help you with that.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gloria had a bedridden husband at home and so she kept very flexible hours, something that Buzz seemed to take in stride. While Gloria worked, a neighbor would look in on her husband, and if Gloria got a call, she dashed off, no matter what she might be in the middle of.

Gloria was best described as a tough old broad. She was a little overweight, but pleasantly so with soft, round curves. She had her short dark hair “done” every week at the beauty shop down the street and it was lacquered into place, not a hair changing from day to day. While her hair was being hammered into place, her acrylic nails were being “filled” and painted bright red, to match her lips. Gloria liked her makeup thick and her eyebrows drawn on in a high arch that made her look perpetually surprised.

“We could do something with makeup,” she told Jennifer. “Maybe you wouldn’t look so… I don’t know… Naked?”

“I thought it would be quite a statement, but maybe I went too far.”

“There’s no maybe about it, honey.”

“Hedda likes it,” she added.

“Hedda’s the one who should shave her head and start over.”

“Hey!” Buzz called. “Don’t start trouble. I got enough on my plate with one bald and one with purple hair!”

Hedda took to Jennifer right away, perhaps because they were both odd and had very limited wardrobes because of slim means. She often brought her little brother Joey, to the diner with her. He seemed to be her constant responsibility because of their mother’s working hours. She took care of him every night while her mother worked as a cocktail waitress in one of the casinos, and walked him to school in the morning while their mother slept.

Jennifer stumbled on Hedda’s home while she was out walking one day. She wasn’t far from the Sunset when she came upon a block full of duplexes, four-plexes and tiny bungalows, all of which were run-down and in want of paint and repair. A string of carports stood behind them and the front yards were almost entirely dirt. She saw a German shepherd chained to a tree in front of one house, a truck pulled right up to the front door and a guy working on the engine in front of another, and a little boy playing in the dirt with a toy truck in front of a third. Emerging from the front door of that last bungalow came Hedda, her book bag over her shoulder. The screen door slapped shut behind her and Jennifer felt as though she’d been propelled back in time.

Hedda could have been Jennifer fifteen years ago, except that Hedda obviously took more risks in self-expression than Jennifer had ever dared. She and her mother had lived in a great many dumps like that one, and worse than that, they’d spent time on the streets now and then. There was a four-month period when they’d lived in an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon, getting the occasional shower at the Salvation Army.

A woman with stringy hair and wearing a ratty plaid bathrobe opened the door of that same small house and yelled, “Hedda! How many times do I have to ask?”

Hedda whirled instantly. “Sorry, Mama,” Jennifer heard her say. She dropped the book bag, went back into the house and came out again, this time carrying a trash can. Jennifer was frozen in her spot, watching. Hedda walked around the buildings to the rear where the carports were and emptied the trash into the Dumpster. She dropped off the trash can, picked up the book bag and then, with a pleased smile, spotted Jennifer.

“Hey, Doris,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking out the neighborhood on my way to the library. I’m at the Sunset, right over there.”

“Yeah? We stayed there for a little while. Then the house came open and it has a kitchen. An old kitchen, but a kitchen. I’m just on my way to work.”

“With your books?”

“It’s a little slow in the afternoons. If I get my other stuff done, I do homework,” she said. “And hey, if you ever want to get rid of any weekend hours, I’m looking to pick up time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m thinking of going to the prom,” she said, and became instantly shy when she said it.

“Thinking of going?” Jennifer asked as they walked along in the direction of the diner.

“I’m not sure I’m the prom type,” Hedda replied, but while she said it she was looking down. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

It didn’t take Jennifer long to catch on. It had to do with money. You didn’t make much in tips while doing homework. In fact, between breakfast and lunch Jennifer had to look for things to do to stay busy. Before Hedda came in, the diner had been swept, the bathroom was cleaned, the Naugahyde was wiped down and the floor mopped. Adolfo did the cooking and most of the cleanup. Buzz manned the cash register, poured coffee and waited on the counter.

When Hedda arrived at about two-thirty, she did some chores like refilling ketchup bottles as well as the salt, pepper and sugar containers, and then she took the back booth and spread out her books. She might have a couple of dozen diners in her three-hour shift. Gloria came on at five, and the dinner traffic from five-thirty to seven-thirty was steady again with all the usual suspects showing up. Jennifer knew this because she had stopped in for dinner herself more than a couple of times. Only on weekend mornings did the place stay busy. So Hedda would have trouble saving for the prom on her low wages and meager tips.

“Well, you should probably try it once, if you can find the right dress,” Jennifer said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Hedda returned.

Jennifer had no idea how long her stash and waitress job would have to last her, but there was one thing she did know—she had savings and investments in accounts that Nick Noble knew nothing about. At least not yet. She didn’t know when or how she’d get back to those accounts, but unlike Hedda, Jennifer had them.

Her first week at the diner had gone well; no one seemed particularly shocked to see her and, all in all, the regulars were friendly. There was Louise every morning, with Alice, and Jennifer very much looked forward to seeing them. She loved the old woman’s gruff and direct manner; it was as though being accepted by Louise meant something. Then there was Louise’s neighbor—Rose. Slender and elegant, Rose didn’t seem to be big on diner food—she feasted on tea and toast. Jennifer loved the way the women, so opposite, interacted. Louise was short, stout, with thin white hair, while Rose was taller, whip thin, with flaming red hair, though she was over sixty.

One morning during her second week on the job, Marty, who owned the used-book store, greeted her with “You the bald girl I’ve been hearing about?”

Well, there you go, she thought. You don’t shave your head and go unnoticed. “I guess that would have to be me,” she said. “Word sure gets around.”

“What else have we got to do around here?” he asked, and grinned so big his dentures slipped around. “Thank God there’s a new face now and then.”

A couple of Boulder City cops rode their mountain bikes up to the front of the diner, parked them where they could keep them in sight and sauntered into the diner. The sight of them made her instantly nervous and afraid of being recognized, but they seemed more intent on breakfast than anything. Ryan, the pudgier of the two, said, “Well now—what biker gang are you from?”

“Schwinn,” she answered, pouring his coffee.

His partner and a couple of other diners laughed, but Ryan just shook his head and said, “Schwinn? I haven’t heard of that gang. Schwinn?”

She met Sam the Vet, Judge Mahoney, and the girls from the beauty shop. The joggers were Merrilee and Jeanette, and by their third morning they were calling out “Hey Doris” as they came in the door.

A nice-looking young man came in late one morning and Buzz told her to go introduce herself to Louise’s other next door neighbor, Alex.

She took the coffeepot over and said, “Hi, I’m Doris. I see your neighbor Louise in here every morning.”

“Hmm,” he replied, turning the page on his paper and snapping it open with a sharp shake. She poured him coffee.

“And Alice. We keep dog treats on hand for her.” He said nothing. He peered at her from behind the paper, frowning as he took her in. “Bald,” she said. “Completely bald. Cream? Sugar?” He merely shook his head and went back to his paper. “Not friendly at all,” she reported to Buzz.

“He’s the tall, handsome, quiet type,” Buzz said.

“Definitely tall. And quiet,” she said. “Handsome is as handsome does.”

Jennifer was often seen wandering around town in her baggy green-and-tan fatigue pants, an oversize work shirt, a windbreaker tied around her hips, hiking boots and the backpack that was always with her. She went from the diner to the Sunset to the library to the park and back to the diner. And as she went, she was very observant, always on the lookout for that long black limo. But it did not reappear.

The weather was cool and mostly cloudy with occasional showers, so she spent most of her time indoors, passing the time with reading. Four-thirty came very early, which put her to bed by eight or nine, and for this she was very grateful—she had no desire to flop around all night, worrying about a lot of things over which she had little or no control—like being whacked by her ex-beau.

One evening she left the Sunset at bedtime to venture back to the diner. She had a cup of coffee and piece of pie on her mind. There were no customers present. She found Gloria seated on a stool at the counter and Buzz standing opposite her. Adolfo was in his booth at the far rear, newspaper spread out in front of him.

“Well, a person would think you’d had enough of this place for one day,” Gloria trumpeted.

“I was remembering that apple pie,” Jennifer said. “And the Sunset doesn’t have TVs in the rooms.”

“I been meaning to get a TV for this place,” Buzz said. “But then Gloria would never do a lick of work.”

“Probably true. Sit up here, girl. Buzz, get the girl a cuppa.”

“You don’t ever go home, do you, Buzz?” Jennifer asked as she climbed on the stool.

“There ain’t anyone at home,” he answered, giving her a cup. He poured coffee into both hers and Gloria’s, then he pulled a silver flask out of his pocket and held it over Jennifer’s cup. She shook her head no, but Gloria tapped her cup with her spoon.

“Ah,” Jennifer said, catching on. “Happy hour.”

“Something like that,” Gloria said.

“I go to my family at supper,” Adolfo informed her from the back of the diner. “My Carmel, she is a better cook than even me. We eat an early meal, then I come back most nights. But Señor Buzz, he can manage if I have need to be home. He doesn’t like anyone to know, but he can cook.”

“We trade off pretty good,” Buzz said. “I like it here. Always liked it here. This old diner is a whole lot friendlier than my house. You want ice cream on that pie?”

“Please,” she said. It was kind of nice not to think about the calories for once. This was a big change for her, and she genuinely hoped she wouldn’t grow into her baggy pants. Her mouth was watering before she could dig her spoon into the delicious dessert.

She was so busy eating that she never heard the soft knocking at the back door. Adolfo got up to see who was there, and with the door partially open revealing a man in an old and worn coat, he called, “Señor Buzz. Someone here for you.”

“Let him in, Adolfo. I got just the thing.”

Buzz went back to the kitchen and came out with a steaming bowl and basket of rolls while Adolfo let an old ratty-looking man into the diner. The old guy was in need of a shave, and he shuffled as if his ankles were tied together with a foot-long rope. Without saying a word, the man took the seat at the end of the counter and Buzz put the soup and bread in front of him. He then served the man a cup of coffee and poured plenty of cream in it.

The only person who didn’t understand what was going on seemed to be Jennifer, who watched the man out of the corner of her eye while she ate her pie.

Adolfo came out of the pantry in his coat, cap on his head. “I’m away,” he said to Buzz. “Señora, Señorita—hasta mañana.”

While Buzz was busy with something in the kitchen, Gloria talked about her husband, Harmon, who had had a stroke four years before. She found him on the garage floor, near death. Somehow he pulled through, but with fewer than half his former capabilities. He couldn’t communicate very well, but she claimed to do all the communicating for him. He went from bed to wheelchair to bed and could only be left alone for periods of a couple of hours at a time, so when she worked or ran errands, her neighbor looked in on him and called Gloria’s cell phone if she was needed. “To tell the truth, I work for a break. You have no idea how hard it is to take care of an invalid. Hard on the heart, too.”

The man at the end of the counter stood up and shuffled out the back door without a word, without a thank you or a goodbye.

“Is he homeless?” Jennifer asked.

“Oh my, no. He lives a couple of blocks away. Widower. We don’t see too much of him, but Buzz always reminds him that by the end of the day there’s usually food that’s going to get thrown away, if he’s interested. Once in a while, he comes down here and relieves us of the waste.” Gloria got up and cleared away the old man’s plates. “Not much of a tipper,” she laughed. And then, “You’re welcome,” she yelled toward the door.

The next couple of weeks Jennifer learned that there was much more to the diner than met the eye. More specifically, there was so much more to Buzz. His waitresses needed their jobs—jobs that seemed to be specifically designed for them. And he seemed to have a regular clientele of hungry people who needed a charitable bite to eat. Jennifer even saw Buzz tip his flask over a cup of coffee a transient was having.

“Did I see you just give that man a drink?”

“Appeared he needed one,” Buzz said, clearly not interested in discussing it.

And then she realized that Buzz had his own little meals-on-wheels service. He frequently excused himself from the diner for just a few minutes with a take-out carton in a grocery-store sack. Or he’d ask Adolfo or Hedda if they’d drop something by Miss Simms’s or Mr. Haddock’s place as they were leaving. It didn’t appear to be a scheduled service, unless he had a schedule in his head. Buzz seemed to know when and where to fill a need.

Saturday morning, around nine, found the diner packed to capacity and Hedda was serving up a storm. Jennifer was getting the hang of this waiting business, but she was nothing compared to Hedda in speed and accuracy. “Don’t worry about it,” Hedda told her. “You’re doing great, and I can back you up.”

Hedda was picking up orders from the grill and switched the radio station to something with a little more boogy to it. “Oh, Mother Mary,” Buzz complained.

A song by Usher blasted into the little diner and Hedda said, “Oh, yeah!”

Balancing two complete breakfasts on her arm and a coffeepot in her hand, she two-stepped across the floor in her high-top, rubber-toed athletic shoes to the rhythm of the hip-hop. She put them on the table with a flourish, poured the coffee in spurts that matched the beat, then hopped away from the table on her way back to the counter.

Someone in the diner began to tap on a tabletop to the beat while someone else clinked a utensil against a saucer. Encouraged, Hedda continued to dance around the diner while she picked up plates. It was irresistible to Jennifer, who had always loved to dance. She joined in, moving to the beat as she went from table to booth to table, picking up dishes, then hopped backward and around in a circle just as Hedda had done. They met in the middle, bumped rumps, did a few hops and high-fived each other. There was a bit of laughter and the tapping turned to table banging, which only served as encouragement.

As the waitresses hopped and slid and wriggled around the diner, the patrons kept the beat with enthusiasm. The song was a mere three minutes long, and when it came to an end they took a bow and erupted into laughter. There was a little applause from their tiny gallery. “You’re all right, Doris,” Hedda said. And she whispered, “Think any of these tightwads will cough up an extra dollar?”

At the end of the shift they pooled their tips and divided them. It had been a good morning; Hedda’s face lit up as she pocketed sixty dollars. “Yeah, I think I might go to that prom. My boyfriend, Max, thinks he can borrow his older brother’s car for the night.”

“Here,” Jennifer said, handing her another twenty. “You did twice the work I did.”

“No way,” she refused. “A deal’s a deal. Besides, it was busier than usual. And I think that little hip-hop brought us in a little extra.”

“It was a nice break from la orquesta,” Jennifer laughed.

“Hedda,” a woman called sharply.

Both waitresses turned to see Hedda’s mother standing in the diner door with her seven-year-old boy by the hand. Jennifer wouldn’t have recognized her by the way she looked—her appearance was so much improved from the other day in the doorway of the bungalow. But the sharp tone of her voice was unmistakable. Jennifer was a little startled to see that up close the woman was about her own age, give or take a year. She must have had Hedda as a teenager. She was dressed and made up for work, an old trench coat obviously covering a sexy waitress uniform that included black hose and heels. She was, in fact, an attractive blonde, though a little on the pale side. She would definitely be prettier if she had a smile on her face instead of an expression of sheer annoyance.

“Did you forget something?” she asked.

“I was just on my way, Mama. Mama, meet Doris—a new waitress here. Doris, this is my mom, Sylvia.”

“Hello,” Sylvia said shortly. “Hedda, you’re going to make me late by screwing around.”

“Sorry, Mama. Just let me get Joey a soda and then I’ll take him home.” Hedda crouched. “How’d you like that, skipper? Cherry Coke?”

“Yeah!” he said, climbing up on a stool.

“Hedda, I have to talk to you for a minute,” Sylvia said. She turned around and headed out the door.

“I’ll get that Coke,” Jennifer said. “Nice meeting you,” she called after the woman.

Sylvia turned and gave a nod, but she was all about business. Late for work, Jennifer decided. She watched through the front window while Hedda and her mom talked for a moment and then Hedda reached into her pocket, withdrew her tip money and peeled off two twenties, handing them to her mom. Then, as Sylvia’s hand remained extended, Hedda put out all she had.

Jennifer felt her heart twist. She hoped she would see Sylvia give her daughter a kiss or hug or some show of affection—at least a smile—but when Sylvia just walked away, Jennifer’s twisted heart sank.

Hedda stayed outside awhile after her mother left, staring in the direction of her departure. When she came back inside, she was quieter. To her credit she kept her chin up. And she didn’t say a thing about giving her mother money.

There was a coin-operated washer and dryer at the Sunset Motel, so Jennifer put on her sweat suit, the first purchase she had made after fleeing the MGM Grand, and washed her clothing and sheets. Nothing in her life felt more like luxury—even in her Fort Lauderdale condo—than clean sheets. These sheets were a little on the muslin side rather than the nice six-hundred-count at home, but it was the clean smell that counted.

In bed, cozied up to the smell of Downy, ready for a guiltless sleep, she heard the sounds of a neighborhood that was still awake through the thin walls. Someone played a radio too loudly and young peoples’ voices could be heard from another block. There were the occasional horns honking, engines revving and the unmistakable sound of a skateboard whizzing past her room.

What am I doing here? she asked herself for the millionth time. Of all the things she had considered for her future, her imagination had never ventured this far. She had thought about a career in real estate, or maybe even a travel agency.

She wasn’t missing her sexy clothes, nor did she lament frequent trips to fancy spas or resorts. She hadn’t wanted to be the other woman for life and, in fact, the sooner she could leave all that behind, the better. But one thing she had never seen coming was what appeared to be a return to the tough times of her youth.

It had been almost four weeks, and the time had flown by. She appeared to have been left alone by Nick, though he rarely left her thoughts. Every day she expected to see his chauffeured car drive slowly past the diner, but as the time passed she was left to assume he was back in Florida, probably searching for her there, where all her personal belongings were. As for Nevada, had he left the search to the local police?

So she told herself, easy does it. Vowing to take it one day at a time until she could figure out how to retrieve her savings and investments so she could truly start over—maybe pursue that real estate or travel agency career—she settled into the sheets.

One of her final thoughts before drifting off was that there were things about this she liked. Getting Louise her breakfast, Alice her biscuit. Dancing around the diner with Hedda. Watching Buzz take care of the neighborhood, in his own way.

She just wasn’t crazy about being bald, wearing army surplus or eating Mexican meat loaf….

Four

Jennifer watched as Louise Barstow made her way cautiously down the cracked sidewalk, one bent leg at a time, gripping a cane in each gnarled hand to help hold herself upright. She could see that shocking white hair slowly rise and fall with each step Louise took. Clearly it hurt her to walk, but she had told Jennifer that if she didn’t walk as much as possible, bearing the pain of arthritis, she would be bedridden in no time. She rejected the suggestion of a scooter or wheelchair. “I’m degenerating fast enough as it is,” she said. “I’ve seen others my age give in to wheels, and that’s it. They quit walking, and the decline is even faster.”

She did well for an eighty-year-old with severe arthritis. Right beside her, just about as old and slow, was Alice. At fourteen, she was ancient for her breed. Jennifer was amazed by them both and wondered if she would have that kind of fortitude at that age. She wondered if she’d be fortunate enough to even see that age.

Louise was a teacher, a college professor who had driven to Las Vegas and sometimes farther when she was teaching, and Buzz was the only guy in town willing to open at 5:00 a.m. “But I don’t teach anymore,” she had told Jennifer. “At first it was for the pleasure of company in the morning after my husband, Harry, died, then it was for the exercise and finally it became a matter of survival. But I don’t exactly bounce out of bed in the morning anymore.”

Jennifer opened the door when Louise finally arrived. “Good morning, Madam Professor,” she said. Louise’s face brightened immediately and Jennifer knew that she liked being addressed in that way. “Two canes as opposed to the walker—that must mean your arthritis is pretty tame today.”

“Hah. You wish. I’m just especially brave.”

“Ah, I should have known.” She had Alice’s bowl of water in her hand and placed it before her on the sidewalk outside the diner while Louise went inside and got settled.

It was one of the high points of the morning for Jennifer when Louise and Alice arrived. The way the older woman expressed herself—a kind of harsh but kindly manner—was a kick. “You’re a little rough around the edges, aren’t you, Doris?” was one of the first things she’d said to her. And she always asked personal questions that Jennifer skittered around. Direct questions like “Where do you come from and who are your people?”

Jennifer admitted to coming from the Midwest, which was not entirely untrue. Her grandparents lived all their lives in Ohio, even though Jennifer had moved around a lot with her mother. And she said she didn’t have any people, unfortunately.

She got Louise’s tea right away. “Here you go,” she said. “What can we get you for breakfast this morning?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’m not hungry.”

“You will be by the time you start nibbling. Have to keep your strength up.”

“Widows tend to skip meals or eat over the sink. Did you know that, Doris? But not Rose, my next door neighbor. She’s in so much better shape at seventy, and she fixes a proper supper every night and eats it while seated at the table. But then Rose has never been married, and it makes a difference somehow.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know exactly. It’s the having been married that does a lot of us in. As if when the old boy goes, there goes the only excuse we have for fixing a good meal. But you didn’t see me eating over the sink before I was married.” She snorted. “Of course, I was married at seven.”

“Seven? A little young. Were you one of the Travelers?”

“The what?”

“Those gypsies who marry off their girls before they’re out of elementary school. The Travelers.”

“You have a very unique education, Doris. For a biker chick.”

Jennifer laughed. “I like the news magazine shows—like 60 Minutes. Now, how about some eggs and fruit?”

“Fine, then. You’ve been here about a month, haven’t you, Doris?”

“Just about. Want some whole wheat toast?”

“No butter. You must like Boulder City a little or you would’ve moved on. At least to better employment.”

“Come on, Dr. Barstow—I couldn’t ask for more than this!”

Jennifer loved the way Louise’s face brightened whenever she titled her. The first time she did so, Louise told her straight out that it felt rather good to be given that title. After all, she’d come up through the ranks of academia at a time when women were still being admitted with some reluctance.

“Buzz is lucky to have you. You should make him tell you so twice a day.”

“He is as free with praise as with pay,” she said.

Louise continually surprised her. She was so amazingly observant, for one thing. The first time a couple of Boulder City cops came in and Jennifer found her herself ducking their stares, Louise had said, “If you’re going to be so obvious, they’re going to know you don’t want to be recognized. Look ’em in the eye—that’ll fool ’em for sure.”

Taken aback, she had replied, “Are you saying they’re not all that sharp?”

Louise had shrugged. “We have very little for them to do here in Boulder City, Doris.”

Louise had taken to recommending books to Jennifer and every day she went to the library, reading them quickly. In just one month she’d gone through all of Jo-Ann Mapson, Alice Hoffman and Alexander McCall Smith. Louise had speckled some nonfiction in there, as well— Women and the American Experience, for starters. That took Jennifer more than one day to get through.

Jennifer took a dog biscuit outside to Alice, gave her some pets, then returned to the diner to wash her hands. She then delivered the fruit and toast to Louise.

“Doris, I see you’re letting that hair grow in a little. I wondered what color it was. It’s darker than I imagined.”

“It’s darker than I remembered,” Jennifer laughed. “I doubt I’ll let it get any longer than an inch, tops.”

“I just can’t imagine what you were thinking. Egad.”

“I thought it would be quite a statement. Bold. Different.”

Louise lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, unfortunately it made you look more like a thug. But this is better, this little bit of hair.” She reached a gnarled hand out and patted Jennifer’s head. “I have to tell you that when you smile, you are transformed. And your smile doesn’t really fit with this look—with the piercings and army clothes. But, I’ve never been very good at fashion.” Then Louise abruptly changed the subject. “Is it too late to make it a vegetable omelet? Egg substitute?”

“Not at all. I told you you’d find your appetite once you got started. I’ll have it right up,” she said, taking the order slip to Adolfo. And then, per her routine, she went back to Louise’s table. “I finished The Seasons Of Women. Do you have another suggestion? I’ll be taking it back to the library this afternoon.”

“Hmm. Have you read Gift from the Sea?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve always enjoyed reading, but I’ve never been able to do so much. There isn’t much else to do here.”

“We’re a dull lot,” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it to sound that way. There’s no TV where I’m staying and I thought it would be tough, but I like it. It’s a nice change.”

“Change from what?” Louise ventured.

“Someday I’ll tell you all about it, but right now I have to do my chores.” She smiled and got away without telling anything. Again.

Jennifer brought Louise more hot water, then went back outside to check on Alice. She liked to linger there, stroke the old girl’s head and back. Alice would moan appreciatively, thanking her. Satisfied that there was plenty of water and that it was cool enough in the shade of the diner’s awning, she went back inside. As she stood and turned, she caught Louise watching her. Staring at her with a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “I just wanted to be sure Alice was fine. And that she has enough water in the bowl.”

“You like Alice, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like? She’s a perfect dog. And I think that besides you, I’m her favorite.” She grinned again.

“I’ve always had dogs. Sometimes more than one. It was difficult when I traveled more, but I love animals. And it’s my opinion that people who don’t like dogs are coldhearted and impatient. I think that within you beats the heart of a loving woman. Am I right?”

“I hope so, Madam Professor.”

“Do you know I’ve spent my whole life studying women and their issues? I hold a post-graduate degree in women’s studies and there is no woman on earth I don’t find interesting. And you, Doris, are one of the most intriguing.”

“Me? Phooey. If you knew me better, you’d realize I’m very boring. Let me get that omelet for you.”

Jennifer went about the business of refilling the sugar and creamers, sweeping up behind the counter and gathering up the ketchup bottles to consolidate them so they were all full. When her breakfast was done, Louise asked Jennifer if she could take a little break. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” she said, sitting down across the table from her.

“No. Walk a little way with me. Buzz won’t care too much.”

“Just give me a minute,” she said. She spoke to Buzz, then retrieved her backpack and slipped the straps over her shoulders.

Once outside Louise said, “I don’t know what you have in that backpack, but it never leaves your sight.”

“Well, not exactly. I just don’t leave it behind because… Well, because I travel light, and that means I carry what’s important with me.”

“Are you planning to stay around awhile, Doris?”

She laughed a little, and with it came a little snort. “How could I think of leaving a fantastic job like mine at the Tin Can?” Then she added, “I didn’t think I’d still be here, but I like this little place. I like that there’s almost no nightlife.”

“Odd that a woman your age would be fascinated by that. But if you are planning to stay, I have a proposition for you. I go to England every spring and come back every fall. My son is there. Rudy. I like to be near him, and I get privileges at Oxford as a professor emeritus. I research cultural issues, women’s literature, women’s studies. I’ve been working on a textbook for some time now.”

An unusual sound came out of Jennifer. It was a sigh. A sigh of longing. And her tone of voice softened so hopefully. “Please say you want me to go with you and carry your books.”

“I’m afraid not. However, my usual house-sitter-slash-dog-sitter has disappointed me. She can’t help out this time. You can see that Alice can’t be alone, can’t be kenneled. In fact, it gets harder and harder to leave her. She’s an old woman, is my Alice.”

Jennifer was holding her breath and no doubt Louise could tell. She sensed what was coming and began to desperately pray it could happen. After all, the Sunset Motel wasn’t a place you’d want to stay for too long.

“I could use a house sitter. For five, maybe six months.”

“Me?” she asked tentatively.

“In addition to the house, food, utilities, upkeep and frequent dog walking, I’ll pay you a small stipend.”

“Stipend?” she asked, a little breathless.

“There’s a condition, Doris.” She stopped walking. She looked up at the younger woman. “Yes, you look so much better with hair. Mmm,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’d like you to tell me what you’re hiding.”

Jennifer let out her breath in disappointment, shaking her head in defeat before she even realized her actions were as much as admitting there was something major. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said.

“Oh, yes, you are. I don’t much care what it is, unless you did prison time for ripping off little old ladies.” That brought a slight chuckle from her. Very slight. “I’m an expert on women, Doris, and I know how tough the world can be for some. And I’m an excellent secret keeper. It’s just that this might be too big a mystery for me. Please understand—I can’t leave you with all my worldly goods and my very best friend without knowing why you’re hiding out in Boulder City.”

Jennifer moved her mouth as though she were literally chewing on the question. She decided quickly it would be okay to be honest. Louise was eighty and not very talkative. If there was anyone in this town who could be trusted, it was probably Louise. “If you tell anyone, it could be very, very bad.”

“I have no reason to tell. But I do have a need to know.”

“It was a man. He was violent. He—” She took a deep breath. “He threatened to kill me if I left him.”

“Do you think there’s any chance he could be looking for you?”

“I think there’s every chance—but I think this is the last place he’d look.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because this is such a quiet place. No gambling, no nightlife, not exciting. It’s not what he’d expect of me. He’d think that I’d run off to L.A. or New York City before I’d hunker down in a town full of—” She stopped suddenly.

“Full of little old ladies and their ancient dogs?”

Jennifer bit her lip. “He’d expect me to want more excitement than is found here, Doctor.”

“All right, all right, so there is much more to you than meets the eye. I thought as much. Maybe later you’ll trust me enough to give me a few more details. I might even be able to help at some point. I do have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I helped open a facility in Las Vegas that’s strictly a women’s and girls’ shelter. Anyone female can get help there, as long as they’re drug free.”

“I’m okay here. For now,” she said, but there was a tentative tone with it. “But what if something… If I have to leave in a hurry? What about Alice?”

“My neighbors will see after her in an emergency. You aren’t using credit cards or making long distance phone calls to friends or family, are you?”

There was a long pause. “No,” she finally said. “I really have no one.” She couldn’t keep the sadness from her voice as she realized that even when she’d had a rich gentleman friend, she had no one. “And I know what I have to do to be invisible.”

“Then you’ll be very hard to track. So? What do you think, Doris? Can you help me out?”

“Yes,” she said, flashing a heartfelt smile. “I could probably do that.”

“That’s good. Maybe you can come over later and look around. I could show you how to work the computer so you can e-mail me. Rose lives on one side and Alex on the other and—“Louise stopped as Jennifer’s expression changed rather suddenly. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“Alex. He looks at me like I’m going to pick his pocket.”

“Ignore him—he’s not always such a crank. Even Alex warms up after a while. And, Rose… Well, I’m not even going to try to explain Rose. But I leave next week. I need someone to watch over Alice and the two of you get on so nicely. So—that’s that. I just can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“You’re sure your neighbors will be okay with this?”

“Absolutely. Thank you for taking it on.”

“All right, then,” she said, making an effort to keep the relief and excitement from her voice. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

“Well, isn’t this just my lucky day,” Louise said. “Oh, and Doris? If anyone comes sniffing around the diner, acting like they might be looking for someone like you, don’t smile. That smile of yours is simply unforgettable.”

Louise’s house was a tiny little brick box that she’d owned for thirty years. It was in a row of identical houses offering up varying colors of brick, siding or paint, just around the corner from the park, theater, post office and library. A few blocks farther was the main street and shops that saw more action from the tourist traffic. She’d had a screened back porch added several years ago so she could work there in nice weather, which in Nevada was most of the time. Garages hadn’t come with the houses, but she and her neighbors had added free-standing garages that opened into the alley and gave them easy access to their back doors. Her backyard was small but meticulous, thanks to Alex, who took care of it for her.

Louise sat in the porch at the computer, her reading glasses perched on her nose, a stack of books teetering on the floor next to her chair. She heard the front door open and close. Momentarily Rose stood in the doorway to the porch. “I don’t know why I have an extra key,” she said. “The door is never locked.”

“Neither is yours.”

“I’m getting in the habit of locking up when I go to bed at night. I must do it two or three times a week.”

Rose was taller than Louise, as was just about everyone, and still straight as a poker. Her face was what she liked to call seasoned, her hair a flaming red; she drove all the way into Las Vegas to have it colored every three weeks. Her hips were slim and her teeth strong, straight and white. She’d taken good care of herself and didn’t suffer from any of the degenerative conditions that plagued Louise.

Rose was a perpetual fashion plate. Today she wore a black midi-length skirt and gray snakeskin boots with a slim heel and very pointy toes. A bright orange poncho was draped over her black turtleneck. Amazingly, it did not clash with her teased red hair. Her lips matched the poncho, and gold chains sparkled around her neck and wrists.

Louise lifted her glasses and peered down at Rose’s feet. “How do you walk in those things?”

“They look good, that’s how. Tell me you didn’t go through with it,” Rose demanded. “You didn’t invite that bald-headed creature to stay in your house.”

Louise glanced up over her glasses. “You and Doris will get on very well. It’s obvious she could use the support and counsel of an older woman.” She pulled off her glasses. “And she’s not so bald anymore. She’s got a little hair growing in. She’s actually quite beautiful…except for that ridiculous mannish costume she wears.”

“Phoo,” Rose said. “She’s going to rob you blind and run off in the night.”

“If she runs off in the night, she’ll only take what she can fit in the backpack. She doesn’t even own a car.”

“You have no reason to believe you can trust her.”

“She’s been working for Buzz for weeks, and as generous as he is, he won’t condone any dishonest act. If so much as a quarter were missing, he’d let her go.”

“Phoo.”

Rose turned and left the porch. She was back a second later with a glass of iced tea—she had helped herself from Louise’s refrigerator—then draped herself in the wicker chair opposite Louise’s worktable. Although actually only about five foot four, she always wore heels to give her height, and her slender form made it seem she had very long legs and arms. “What did you tell her?”

“That my usual house sitter was unavailable.”

“But Alex and I keep Alice when you’re gone!”

“Alice will be happier at home. Besides, the girl needs a place for a little while and I’ll feel better knowing she’s here.”

“Utter nonsense. Leave well enough alone.”

“She’s obviously in trouble. And if you dare tell her that I’m doing a good turn, I’ll have your hide.”

“Alex is going to have a fit,” Rose predicted.

“I’ll have a word with him,” she said. But he should mind his own business sometimes. Although, since he probably wouldn’t, Louise figured maybe he could be of help. Louise and Rose had nothing but affection for Alex. He lived on one side of Louise with Rose on the other. Alex was young, thirty-five, and made it his business to look after these little old ladies when he should be spending more energy on beautiful young women. He scolded them for opening the door to strangers, for never locking doors when they left the house, for giving too much information on the phone, for not being more cautious. Rose was right—this was going to bother him. But he’d get over it.

“I was hoping you’d reconsider the trip this year,” Rose said.

“Why would I do that? I love my annual sojourn.”

“It’s getting harder for you, though.”

“Tell me about it. Just thinking about that plane ride makes my joints begin to throb. But I like being near Rudy.”

“That’s just crazy, and at your age,” Rose said shortly. Then, softening her tone, she said, “I just thought that might change, is all. As you got older.”

“It’s a matter of not giving in, dammit. But I admit, it’s hard leaving Alice. I always wonder if she’ll still be around when I get back.”

“I’ll watch. But about this girl…”

“She’s a good girl. Just odd. She’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, it’s done. I’m going to give her a debit card for groceries and supplies for household upkeep and set her up to receive one hundred dollars a week.”

“A hundred dollars? Have you lost your mind?”

“Not enough?” Louise asked, thinning eyebrows arched.

“Too much! Way too much! You’re buying her food, paying all the bills, giving her a place rent free….”

“She has to take care of Alice and keep the house in order. It’s a job. People get paid for jobs.”

“Don’t be surprised if you get burned….”

“With you right next door, never giving her a moment’s privacy? You’re right—she could flee in want of a moment’s peace!”

“Ptui,” said Rose.

It was just after lunch when Louise knocked at Alex’s door. He was pulling on a clean shirt as he answered. “Hey, sweetheart. Why didn’t you just call me? I’d have come to you.”

“I had to stretch my legs. I stiffen up in four minutes, I think. Can you get that big suitcase from the garage to the bedroom for me? Tomorrow is soon enough if you’re going somewhere.”

“I’m going to work, but there’s no rush,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “I’ll get it for you before I go.”

“And…I have a house sitter. Doris—the young woman who’s been waiting tables for Buzz for the last month.”

“The girl with the butch haircut and man’s pants?” he asked, frowning. He didn’t wait for an answer—he knew who she was. And he knew Buzz and his proclivity for giving work to down-on-their-luck transients. “What do you know about her?”

“Let’s see. She reads everything I recommend, and quickly. She likes jazz. She’s thinking of getting a mountain bike—she used to love biking. She’s very protective and big sisterish toward Hedda, who could use an ally in her life. And—she adores Alice.” She leaned both hands heavily on her cane. “Think of her as my houseguest and behave yourself.”

He laughed, shoving his shirttail into his pants. “You don’t have to worry that I’ll come on to her,” he said. He went to the breakfast bar to get his wallet and attach his gun to his belt. Alex was a Metro police detective in Las Vegas.

“No, I’m worried that you’ll try to investigate her and I just want you to know I would consider that extremely rude.”

“I would only do that if I thought there was a reason….”

“As long as you don’t think Doris living in my house is a reason. Am I clear?”

He grinned handsomely. “What makes you think you can push me around so much?”

“Old age.”

He put an arm around her. “Don’t worry—I’ll be nice to your house sitter. I’ll give her a wide berth. Now, let’s get the big suitcase before I leave.”

“Don’t you usually work days?” she asked.

“My hours have been all over the place lately. We’ve had a rash of home invasions in the city and I’m going to sit a stakeout with our target team. We think we know who it is, it’s just a matter of catching them.”

Louise shuddered. “I’m so glad to be living here,” she said. “Now, you be very careful, young man.”

“Always, my love.” He kissed the top of her head.

Jennifer did as much as she could to make herself indispensable to Buzz and Adolfo in the mornings. Then, with most of the chores done by early afternoon, when Hedda came on, the girl had more time to spend on homework.

Buzz and Adolfo had become more like family to her in one month than Nick Noble had in two years, and she was very grateful for them. She cleaned the bathroom, took out the trash, washed up the dishes and pots, swept the walk in front of the diner. She shined the glass, polished the stainless steel, watered the plants and dusted all the old black-and-white photos of Las Vegas celebrities that hung on the walls. This place, the diner and the town, was like a cocoon to her, sheltering her from her past and her future. As long as she was right here, she lived in the moment, and the moment, in all its simplicity, was lovely.

If she weren’t so afraid of Nick, she’d almost like to thank him. For the first time in ten years the pressure to be perfect was off. Her constant grip on control was unnecessary—she was loose in this body without all the trimming and constant upkeep. All she had to do was relax into this modest role and enjoy her own feelings for once. There was such amazing freedom in this.

She was beginning to have relationships, shallow though they might be. Still, it was far more than she had indulged in while she was trying to keep some man interested.

From here she could look back over some of her choices. Being the girlfriend of rich older men had seemed like a safe and practical way to spend some time, but suddenly ten years had flown by. She’d gone from nineteen to thirty in a flash, hardly feeling the passage of time. The only way in which she acknowledged aging at all was with the clear realization that she wouldn’t be young and beautiful forever, and she would have to plan her next career path with no time to spare.

Now it amazed her that she had fooled herself into believing she could be satisfied with that. Catering to someone else’s needs, leaving her own for later, in order to live a material life and avoid the risk of falling in love and having her heart broken? What was that about? Her idea of security was suddenly skewed, for what good were her savings and investments if her life was in danger?

Yet, danger or not, here she was now, a woman alone with simple needs and experiencing entirely new feelings. It verged on happiness. How, she asked herself, had she managed to get to be thirty years old before figuring that out?

While Louise prepared to leave the country, Jennifer went to her house a few times to become familiarized with the place, to get instructions on the upkeep, the bills, the bank, the care of the dog and, most important, the computer. Through that process two things became glaringly obvious. She wondered how Louise, at her age and infirmity, could manage the kind of trip she was undertaking. And second, she realized she would miss her. Jennifer had begun to look forward to her breakfast companion and had come to think of her as a friend, even if they didn’t share any personal information.

“I’m taking my laptop,” Louise said. “So we can e-mail all the time. I will never be far away with that convenience.”

Jennifer’s big brown eyes brightened. “It will be almost like having you here.”

“Better,” she said. “I don’t complain about my joints so much in e-mail.”

Then the day came for Louise to leave. The cab that would take her to the airport pulled up in front of the diner and Jennifer went out to say goodbye. “Alice is at home, moping. She started acting injured and dejected when she saw the suitcases come out two days ago, and now she’s in a full-blown depression. Don’t be too concerned if she picks at her food for a couple of days. It’s her way of letting us know she has strong opinions about being left behind.”

“I’ll brush her and take her to the park.”

“Try to enjoy this respite, Doris. Make a study of it. Keep a journal or something.”

“Sure, Professor. Travel safely.”

“I’ll see you again soon,” Louise said. And Jennifer, without planning to, lunged into the cab and embraced the old woman, shocking her.

“Oh! My!” she exclaimed. And then, recovering from the surprise, she put her arms around Jennifer and patted her back. “You’ll have a good six months. Ignore Alex’s pique and take Rose with a grain of salt.”

Later that day, as she walked to Louise’s little brick house, she strolled down the street at a slow, lazy pace while inside her heart was leaping, and the temptation was strong to break into a run. Right after giving Alice some attention, she was going to take a good, long bath. She’d limited herself to showers at the motel, afraid of what germs might be lurking in the forty-year-old porcelain tub.

She was entering Louise’s house now with a whole new set of senses, as if seeing it for the first time. New sight, new smell, new touch. She stuck the key into the front door, but it was unlocked. That would have to change. As she entered, Alice slowly rose from her pallet by the hearth, but she hung her head and put her ears back as if to say, Do you see this? I’ve been left again.

“Hey, girlfriend. Don’t worry—she’ll be back before you know it.”

Alice lay back down, her snoot flush with the floor between her paws, her pathetic eyes glancing upward.

Jennifer lifted the leash off the hook by the door. “Come on, no pouting. Let’s take a little walk so you can get an attitude adjustment. Then I’ll settle in.”

Alice rose slowly to her feet but still hung her head dejectedly as she went to Jennifer.

“Oh, brother,” Jennifer said to her. “What a drama queen. Come on, let’s go. Enough self-pity.”

It took Alice at least a block to get in the mood, after which she had a rather nice, though brief, twirl around the park. People who obviously knew Louise and Alice greeted them. “Louise gone off to London, has she?” said a man who was walking a terrier. He gave Alice a pat. “I’m Pat from the grocery. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Doris. From the diner.”

“Welcome aboard.”

There were three others she passed by—each said hello to Alice, to her, and each one seemed to realize that if someone else was walking the dog, Louise must be gone for the summer.

Just a little exercise and fresh air seemed to do wonders for Alice’s mood, but Jennifer was chomping at the bit to get home, home, to get settled. And when they did get back, Alice’s tail was wagging again and she helped herself to some of her food.

“See? I knew you could adopt a positive attitude if you tried.”

The living room embraced Jennifer. The hardwood floor, red brick fireplace, deep sofa and overstuffed chairs with ottomans, worn in just the right places. And books. The wall upon which the hearth stood had built-in shelves on each side, filled with books. She went to the shelf to look at the titles and only then did she notice that the dust on the shelf was thick. She ran her fingertips along the shelf and then examined them.

Louise’s house was cozy, if a little old-fashioned. And though she had been there a couple of times last week to learn the computer, she hadn’t really looked around. The floral sofa and rose-colored chairs were sporting a good bit of dog hair, and now that she thought about it, it was a little on the musty side.

Well, it stood to reason—Louise was eighty. Not only would her eyesight probably be a bit challenged, but she was simply too arthritic for heavy cleaning. Jennifer dug under the kitchen sink and came up with cleaning supplies—dusting rags, scouring powder, glass cleaner. She got busy at once, starting in the living room. There was an old radio on the bookshelf, and as she dusted around it, she turned it on. Frank Sinatra was singing, so she turned the dial—but Frank just kept at it. Apparently the dial was broken, and if she was going to listen to that radio, she was going to hear that kind of music.

She’d rather it was winter, with some cold weather, so she could light the fire and the lamp, grab a book and a soda and never leave. This place felt like a nest for the restless bird. Instead, she opened some windows to clear out the musty smell. She found the vacuum cleaner in the second bedroom closet, and fortunately there were new bags on the shelf.

From just inside the front door, the dining room was to the left, living room to the right, the screened-in porch through the french doors straight ahead. Louise had had the kitchen remodeled, making it the most modern room in the house. And it was used very little, so it wasn’t dirty, but Alice’s coat seemed to line the floor. The granite countertops needed a good scouring, the cupboard had glass doors that she happily polished, and she brought a high sheen to the stainless-steel appliances. She moved the kitchen table to give the floor a serious scrubbing, and before long she noticed that while she’d been cleaning her heart out, the day had grown long and the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. With the windows open, it was getting cold, and she shivered as she went to close them.

But she was so happy! It felt so wonderful to put a house right—a house she was going to occupy for up to six months. And she didn’t have to think about what she could do or wear or say to make a man happy; she only had to think about what would satisfy her.

There was a note on the counter beside the phone with all the numbers she would need and instructions to “take the master bedroom, please.” This was all typed; Louise’s hands were not agile enough to write legibly with a pen.

She grabbed her backpack and went to the bedroom, where she found a basket on the bed with a note on it. “Pamper yourself,” it read. In the basket was shampoo, cream rinse, lotion, soap, shower gel, bubble bath, a new brush and comb, toothbrush and paste, disposable razors and a manicure set. She lifted the shampoo and gave a huff of laughter. She sat down on the bed and saw her face in the dresser mirror. It was the face of Jenny at the age of fourteen—no makeup, lips deflated by the absence of collagen, a dark cap of hair covering her scalp and eyebrows grown out and shapeless from lack of tweezing. With her hair a mere buzz cut, her brown eyes looked large and dark.

Who would have believed the most perfect disguise would be her natural self?

There was one change she’d made since adolescence that she intended to take to the grave—the veneers on her teeth. If she were really going to go underground, she could probably pop off those veneers and go back to the old mouth.

But no. Enough was enough.

She felt the ache creep into her throat. She had spent so much energy on self-beautification, seeing it as necessary to her lifestyle, and her lifestyle necessary to survival. Yet here she was in her manly pants and shirts, so comfortable but so unattractive. Jennifer, she felt, was gone. As she looked at this new face, even though she remembered it from her youth, she wasn’t entirely sure who she was.

Don’t cry. You don’t have to stay exactly like this. This is only temporary. Until you figure out what to do.

All that was left of her former self, the self she’d worked so hard to create, was the jewelry and money in her backpack. She could have sold the two rings and tennis bracelet, but if Nick was determined to find her, they could be traced, so she simply tucked them into the backpack for safekeeping—for emergencies. She still had some money left, two jobs and very modest needs.

It had been weeks since she’d walked out of the hotel suite. A couple of phone calls from phones with blocked lines revealed that Barbara Noble was said to be living in the Nobles’ Caribbean estate. Apparently no one was suspicious of any crime. There had only been that one sighting of an MGM limo—with no evidence it bore Nick or his thugs. Could it be they’d all gone back to Florida and just assumed Jennifer would never dare tell a thing?

Possible, she decided. Only time would tell. And that time she would spend in Louise’s comfy house. A very nice place to hide.

She gave the bathroom a quick, efficient scrubbing, then kicked off her shoes, let her khaki pants drop to the floor and stripped off the baggy shirt. While the tub filled with hot, soapy water, she looked at herself in the mirror. Wouldn’t people be surprised to know that under the baggy pants and men’s shirts was a body like this—high breasts, flat tummy, round butt, long, lean, shapely legs. She preened a bit, one arm over her head, the other stretched behind her back. Then she reversed her pirouette. Something else was growing in—pubic hair. She had endured years of waxing in what was called a Brazilian—total hair removal. Nick had no idea about her natural hair color.

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