Praise for the writing of author C.J. Carmichael

“A Little Secret Between Friends is a must read, full of romance, mystery and surprising revelations. Talented C.J. Carmichael has penned a wonderful book for you and all your friends. I am sure you will find a special place for it on your keeper shelf.”

—CataRomance

“From its roller-coaster beginning to its calm, smooth ending, C.J. Carmichael’s moving story highlights redefining life’s priorities and rediscovering love.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub on Small-Town Girl

“Ms. Carmichael carefully stitches together the viewpoints of her richly drawn characters until a full-bodied patchwork quilt of their lives and love is created.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub on The Fourth Child

“Ms. Carmichael writes powerful storylines that touch every reader’s heart, thanks to the emotional depth, rich characterizations, complex plots and appealing characters…. You really can’t go wrong when you read a book by C.J. Carmichael.”

—Diana Tidlund, Writers Unlimited, on

“Deal of a Lifetime”

C.J. Carmichael

A former chartered accountant turned fiction author, C.J. Carmichael has published twenty novels with Harlequin. Highlights include a RITA® Award nomination for her Harlequin Superromance novel, The Fourth Child (which was also a Romantic Times BOOKclub Top Pick); a romantic-suspense career achievement nomination from Romantic Times BOOKclub; and a nomination for her Harlequin Intrigue novel, Same Place, Same Time, as Romantic Times BOOKclub’s Reviewers’ Choice Best Harlequin Intrigue of 2000.

C.J. lives in Calgary, Alberta, with two teenage daughters, and a dog and a cat. Please visit her at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754-246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada.

Her Better Half
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

While reading this book I’d like to ask you to think kindly of the semidetached, World War I-vintage, run-down, insulbrick-covered home that the heroine of this book, Lauren, shares with her next-door neighbor Erin.

Think kindly of this house, because it is modeled exactly on the first house my husband and I bought after we were married. We were living in Toronto (as are the characters in this book) and our house was on Thelma Avenue. It was the worst house in a good neighborhood. It was the worst house by quite a large margin. I still have nightmares about the basement.

But I have only good memories about the porch, where our daughter Lorelle practiced walking and climbing steps. I have good memories of the claw-footed tub we painted peach (it was the rage at the time). And I have good memories of the dining room where we enjoyed many happy meals with family and friends.

I hope you enjoy this story. I’ve been living with these characters for years…it’s hard to believe their story is finally on paper.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

This book is dedicated to my daughter Lorelle, as she takes her next big step in life to leave home and go to university.

To paraphrase Lyle Lovett, follow your heart, Lorelle—follow it with both your feet.

Big thanks to my former agent Linda Kruger, who thought this book would make a good fit with NEXT.

More big thanks for help with various research questions to Linda Prenioslo, Phil Daum and fellow Calgary RWA members Julie Rowe and Florence Cardinal.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

PROLOGUE

Rosedale, Toronto

O n the day my husband left me, we were in the middle of a wicked heat wave in Toronto. Inside the bedroom of our estate home, air-conditioning masked the high temperatures and humidity. I actually felt cool as I watched Gary stuff a select few of his belongings into a backpack.

I noticed that his pants were loose around his waist. He’d dropped a few pounds since he’d adopted the vegetarian diet.

That had been six months ago. It had not been my first clue that my life was going to take a dramatic and unexpected turn. There’d actually been many, but I hadn’t seen them at first. Or maybe I’d seen them but just refused to accept them for what they were: evidence that my husband was growing apart from me.

“I still think we ought to try counseling.” I was proud of how calm I sounded. I would not be one of those shrieking women who went crazy and broke things and swore they’d kill themselves, or him, if he didn’t stay.

“Counseling won’t change anything. This has been a long time coming.”

Too bad no one had told me.

But maybe I was letting myself off the hook too easily. I’d been the one to sign Gary up for the meditation course last winter. I’d seen his simmering anger, his mounting stress.

He’d been a man at the breaking point.

Until he’d found yoga. Or was it the yoga instructor? I still wasn’t sure.

“Losing my job was the best thing that could have happened to me.” He went to his sock drawer and picked through it, leaving all the fine wool dress socks behind. “It was a sign that I’m finally on the path to healing.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake! I was so sick of hearing about the “path to healing.” This path didn’t feel anything like healing to me. It felt like betrayal, and hurt and abandonment.

“Getting fired wasn’t a sign, Gary.” Who in their right mind considered losing a job a green light to desert your wife and children to go backpacking around the globe?

“How would you know, Lauren? Not to be cruel, but you’re not exactly in tune with your spiritual side.”

Despite the air-conditioning, my internal temperature jumped up a few degrees. “Oh, really?”

“You’ve never understood. Yoga isn’t about postures, or fitness, or even relaxing. It’s about spiritual growth. About achieving clarity and— Forget it. I can see you’re not listening.”

“I am listening. It’s just that I don’t happen to agree. Why can’t you study yoga and achieve enlightenment here in Canada?”

It was time for my trump card. “What about the twins?”

But even that argument didn’t move him.

“Jamie and Devin are almost grown up.”

“They’re fourteen.”

“Well, they’ve always been closer to you, anyway. They’ll be fine. They’re good kids.”

“Yes. Good kids who deserve more from their father.”

“What do you want me to do? Go out and get another job with another investment bank? Return to working twelve-hour days and six-day weeks? End up croaking from a heart attack at fifty like my old man?”

I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to me. Like he was the intelligent, rational adult while I was the mental equivalent of a temperamental toddler. He was treating me and our marriage like an encumbrance to be gotten rid of in the same way as a bothersome outstanding balance on a mortgage.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

The question just came out. I hadn’t planned to ask it. As I stood there waiting for his answer, I found myself remembering the girls when they were little, scrambling out of the pool after a swimming lesson, wet and shivering, waiting for me to wrap them in a towel.

Now I was the vulnerable one, waiting for Gary to throw me something. If not a towel, then maybe a facecloth.

“Lauren.” He sighed. “I’ll always love you. But things are different now.”

I summoned my courage. “Is Melanie going on your backpacking trip, too?”

His mouth tightened. “This has nothing to do with Melanie.”

“So she’s not going?”

He didn’t say anything.

Damn him. The bastard.

“I have an appointment booked with my lawyer this afternoon,” I said. “Where should I have him send the papers?”

He straightened slowly. “You mean divorce papers?”

The D-word hung in the air between us. I couldn’t believe I’d found the courage to deliver the ultimatum.

Please, please, please, I found myself praying to an unknown, unimagined entity. Let Gary realize what I mean to him. What our family means to him.

But he nodded, as if a divorce had been in his plans all along. Rather than trying to talk me out of legal action, he grabbed paper and pen and wrote down an address.

Melanie’s no doubt.

Gary added one more pair of socks to the pack, then closed the flap.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re taking?”

“You can sell the rest,” he said, as if all the belongings he’d amassed over the past twenty years—the gold cufflinks, the Cartier watch, the twenty Harry Rosensuits lined up on his side of the closet—meant nothing to him.

I sank onto the bed. In stunned silence, I let Gary kiss me on the forehead. I watched him sling the backpack over his shoulder, then walk out of our bedroom without a final glance.

“Don’t forget to write.” Ha-ha.

I collapsed onto the down comforter and wondered how I was going to tell the girls when they came home from camp.

CHAPTER 1

Dovercourt Village, Toronto

One year later

I stood back from the moving truck and took a long look at my half of the semidetached house that would be our new home. If it had any redeeming features, I couldn’t see them. The place was old. Tired. Though I’d had the structure inspected and been assured of a dry basement and sound roof, the house looked as if a strong gale would send it toppling. Even the lawn and few scraggly shrubs appeared in need of resuscitation.

How was I going to make this place a home, a welcome sanctuary from the world for my girls and me?

The task seemed impossible.

I felt lost. Ever since Gary had left, I’d been losing little bits of myself. They disappeared along with the people who had once constituted my world: my husband, our mutual friends, my in-laws and even my own parents. None of my relationships had emerged from this divorce intact.

And now my home was gone, too.

I sighed as I pulled out the envelope of cash for the mover. He accepted payment, handed me a receipt, then took off.

I wished I could do the same.

Toronto was a city of neighborhoods. Where you lived said a lot about you. My previous home in Rosedale had announced that I was part of the Toronto establishment—wealthy, privileged and entitled to the best the city had to offer.

This house, in this neighborhood, said blue-collar worker, unconnected, struggling to get by.

Those were hardly labels to aspire to. But a place in Dovercourt Village had been all I could afford within a reasonable distance of my daughters’ private school.

Unfortunately, Gary and I had never been savers. We’d piled all his salary into our house and our extravagant lifestyle.

So here I was. Or, more accurately, here we were. The new family unit—me, Devin, Jamie…that was it. Just the three of us now.

I brushed dust from my hands and headed for the front door. It was original to the house, too, protected by an ugly screen door. I’d have loved to rip the screen off, but maybe we’d need the extra insulation when winter came.

Inside, the foyer was so small it could hold no more than a couple people at the same time. With just two steps, I reached the stairs that led to the second story. I was heading for my bedroom, when I heard the doorbell.

Had the mover forgotten something?

I retraced my steps and opened the door. An attractive, but hard-looking young woman and a little girl stood on the front porch.

“Hi, I’m Erin Karmeli and this is my kid, Shelley. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She slapped the wall that divided our two houses. “I’m your new neighbor.”

I supplied her with my name and a smile that, despite my best efforts, must have looked hesitant.

Six months later, I would look back on this moment, on this first impression, and see Erin in a completely different light. Right now, though, I took in only a tall, thin woman with an improbably large bust displayed to advantage in a bright red tank top. Erin had striking, angular features, and wild, curly dark hair. Add in the miniskirt and high heels and there was no disputing what she looked like.

Just my luck. I’ve moved next door to a prostitute.

But there was the child to consider, a little girl about six years old, holding Erin’s hand and gazing curiously down the hall at the stacked cardboard boxes. The girl had neat blond hair, wore clean denim overalls, and smelled—when I crouched to say hello—of toothpaste and sunscreen.

My mothering instincts approved on all counts.

“Are you in grade one, Shelley?”

She nodded, then said, “We made cookies.”

Erin brushed a hand over the little girl’s shoulder. “That’s right. We did. We thought you might like to take a break and come for some iced tea on our porch.”

She watched as I brushed my bangs from my forehead. My fingers came away tacky with sweat. No air-conditioning in this house.

Erin looked sympathetic. “Moving days are a bitch, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They really are. And I’d love a break. Thanks, that’s very hospitable of you.”

“So you’ll come?” Erin had a broad smile, not without charm, despite crowded front teeth. “Great. Your kids are welcome, too.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure they’re busy.” Devin was organizing CDs in her new room, and Jamie was on the phone with an old friend.

Two years ago they would have dropped whatever they were doing to come with me. They’d still been girls then, not adolescents transformed—by what? Peer pressure and hormones?—into strangers.

I was reeling from more than just the divorce this year. My entire family had undergone a metamorphosis and I’d been too busy folding laundry to notice.

I felt like Sleeping Beauty. Only I’d fallen asleep in a castle and woken up in attached housing on the wrong side of the tracks next door to a…

Maybe Erin was a drug addict. She was awfully thin.

“I’ll just be a minute while I tell the girls where I’m going.” I paused, wondering if I should invite Erin and her daughter in to wait. But Erin solved my dilemma.

“We’ll go home and get things organized. Meet us on the front porch?”

“Okay.”

I headed upstairs, thinking that at least I’d been able to afford a place where the girls didn’t need to share a room. It would be bad enough having them fight over the bathroom. In Rosedale, they’d each had their own, as well as a walk-in closet. I tapped on the first closed door, then opened it.

Boxes were piled everywhere—only a few had been opened. Jamie, dark hair twisted on her head, wearing baggy pajama bottoms and a tight, short tank top, sat in the middle of her bare mattress, talking on her cell phone. Jamie was always on that phone—she was going to have a fit when I had it disconnected. According to my new budget, I couldn’t afford it.

“Jamie? I’m going next door to the neighbor’s.”

“Yeah, whatever, Mom.”

“Also, could you please get off the cell phone. The landline is free, remember.”

Jamie rolled her vivid blue eyes, outlined in dark liner and mascara.

Devin, in the next room, was crouched on the floor stacking her CDs in alphabetical piles. She was a quieter girl, more of a pleaser, a little more introverted. It was amazing to me that birth order could matter when you had twins, but in my daughters’ case it really had. Devin had been born only two minutes after her sister, yet she seemed fated to forever be just so slightly in Jamie’s shadow.

“I’ve been invited to the neighbor’s for iced tea. Would you like to come, too? She has a little daughter—could be some babysitting jobs in your future.”

“I’d like to finish this, Mom. Then I need to make lesson plans for next week.”

Instead of sending the girls to their summer camp in the Muskokas this year—they would have been junior counselors—I had suggested they teach swimming at the country club where Gary and I had once been members. That way they could earn pocket money for the upcoming school year. I was proud of them for not complaining too much about the arrangement. Basically, it seemed Gary had been right.

The girls were okay. They were dealing with the divorce and all the changes to their lives better than I could have hoped.

I closed Devin’s door gently, then headed to Erin’s by myself.

Outside, I took stock of my new neighborhood. Just three months ago my real-estate agent had called with the news. “I’ve found a place within the budget. It’s on Carbon Road, in Dovercourt Village.”

What a quaint name, I’d thought, Dovercourt Village.

Of course many things, in theory, were quaint. Wheelbarrows, country roads, watering cans, to name a few. In reality though, wheelbarrows were used to haul dirt and country roads were dusty in hot weather and impassable after rain. As for watering cans, well fine. Maybe they truly did qualify as quaint.

But Carbon Road was just an L-shaped street lined with World War I vintage homes in pairs like mine and Erin’s.

A short hedge, about two feet high, separated our properties, and after a brief hesitation, I decided to step over it rather than walk around.

Erin and Shelley were sitting out on the white porch. Shelley waved shyly. Heavens but she was cute with her chubby cheeks and baby-toothed smile. I remembered my daughters at that age. The three of us had had so much fun together. Trips to the zoo and the playground, baking cookies, reading books at night.

When did kids stop wanting to do those things?

I stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. A small wicker table held a pitcher of iced tea and a stack of plastic glasses. On one of the steps, exposed to the hot summer sun, perched a clay pot of snapdragons.

Why did I feel reluctant to go farther? Erin was so different from the kind of neighbors I’d been used to. So different from me. Despite the fact that I probably had about fifteen years on her, I was sure she was far more experienced in the ways of the world.

I felt, as ridiculous as it sounds to say it—shy.

Erin waved me closer. “Grab a chair and relax. It’s too hot to unpack boxes today, anyway.”

“True.” I pushed myself forward, and was surprised to find the wicker chair more comfortable than it looked. I took a deep breath. This is supposed to be fun, Lauren. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Hey, we’re going to be neighbors. We might as well get to know each other.”

Erin lapsed into silence, apparently in no hurry on the getting-to-know-one-another plan.

Shaded from the sun, relaxing in the chair, sipping the cold tea…I finally felt myself loosen up. Looking over the scene before me, my attention was caught by a big black shape in the front window. “You have a piano. Do you play?”

“Mommy teaches the piano,” Shelley said, crumbs clinging to the baby down on her cheeks.

“Really?”

“My students generally come in the evenings, some after school, others after dinner. I hope the noise won’t bother you too much.”

A piano teacher! The instant relief I felt cooled me more than any beverage ever could. My next-door neighbor was a piano teacher. That would teach me to judge people based on appearances.

“Mommy works at night, too,” Shelley volunteered. “Sometimes all night long. It’s dodgy and I haffta stay with Lacey or sometimes Murphy.”

Oh no. Alarmed and embarrassed, I wasn’t sure where to look. To my surprise, though, Erin just laughed.

“Who told you Mommy’s work was dodgy?”

“Lacey did. She says one day the police are going to come knocking at our door.”

“That old busybody.” Erin brushed crumbs from her daughter’s overalls. “My work isn’t dodgy. Lacey only wishes it was.”

“Why does she wish it was, Mommy?”

“’Cause she’s bored and lonely and needs something to think about.”

“Lacey isn’t lonely. She has lots of cats.”

“Exactly.” Erin turned to me. “Have you met our lovely Lacey yet? She likes to bring cookies over to new neighbors so she can check them out.”

“She came by about five minutes after we arrived with the moving truck,” I admitted. A short, ditzy-looking woman with frizzy hair and round glasses that had reminded the girls of Harry Potter.

“She lives across the street.” Erin pointed at the yellow house directly opposite us. “The place has a cat door. Animals run in and out all the time. Whenever she spends the night, Shelley comes home covered in cat hair. Fortunately she doesn’t have allergies. At least, not yet. Do your daughters babysit?”

Though I’d anticipated this question earlier, now I felt taken off guard. Shelley was a sweet little girl, but I wasn’t sure I wanted the twins to babysit for Erin until I knew more about her home situation.

“Are they twins? How old are they?” Erin asked.

Trapped, I answered, “Fifteen.”

This was all Gary’s fault. If he hadn’t deserted us, I wouldn’t be in this situation, trying to find a polite excuse for not allowing our daughters to babysit so that this woman could—

What? Have sex for money? Sell drugs in dark alleys?

“Well, if they’re interested in babysitting, I could sure use a backup for Lacey. I own my own business,” Erin finally explained. “Creative Investigations.”

“Is it…do you mean you’re a private investigator?”

Erin nodded and my interest was piqued. I’d loved mystery novels since I’d devoured volumes of Encyclopedia Brown as a kid.

But books were one thing. Real life investigations were undoubtedly something different. “That sounds like it could be slightly…” I checked to see if Shelley was listening, but the little girl had moved to the far end of the porch and was playing with LEGO. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “…dangerous?”

Erin laughed. “Not at all. I never take on anything with the potential to get, you know, messy.”

“The late-night assignments Shelley mentioned…?”

“Stakeouts. Sounds exciting, but trust me, they’re not. Mostly I’m just out to catch cheaters. Adultery. Insurance fraud. You know, dull stuff like that.”

Dull stuff?

“Hey, do you have the time?”

I checked the gold bracelet on my arm. “Almost one.”

“Good.” She pulled a bottle of vodka out from under her chair. “What do you say, Lauren?”

Vodka before dinner on a Tuesday afternoon?

I couldn’t make up my mind about Erin Karmeli. One minute she seemed okay, just another mother, like me. The piano teaching was certainly respectable enough. But Erin was also a private investigator, who looked like a hooker and might possibly be an alcoholic as well as a drug addict.

On the other hand…like it or not, this woman was now my closest neighbor. And this was my new life. And when in Rome…

“Sure.” I held up my glass. “I wouldn’t mind a little.”

CHAPTER 2

I n high school I had known girls like Erin. They hadn’t been my friends, but I’d seen them in the hallways—usually tucked under the arm of a hot football player. In class those girls sat at the back of the room, painting their nails and passing notes—usually to the hot football player sitting next to them.

Though these back-of-the-room girls seemed steeped in self-confidence and sophistication, I—with my high grades, tidy bedroom and a best friend I’d had since kindergarten—had somehow felt superior to them.

At sixteen, I’d thought I had life all figured out. Life rewarded those who made smart choices. Smart choices included obtaining a post-secondary education, marrying a hardworking, responsible man, making a beautiful home, and raising children.

Follow the rules and you’ll be happy.

For more than forty years that philosophy had worked for me. Or so I’d thought.

Maybe the girls at the back of the class had had the right idea all along.

I gulped my first glass of tea and vodka like it was water. The warmth of the afternoon sun seeped through my clothing and skin, right into my bones, and it felt good. I sank lower in my chair, deliberately not thinking about the boxes waiting to be unpacked, the beds to be made, the cupboards to be washed out and restocked with staples from flour to vanilla extract. Artificial extract, now.

Erin mixed me another drink.

“So, Lauren, what’s your deal? You don’t wear a wedding ring. You divorced?”

It was an obvious question, one I should have expected, yet I could feel my defenses rising. I hated telling people I was divorced. It made me feel like such a loser.

After Gary had left me, I’d found myself observing women my age, married women with wedding bands on their fingers. I’d seen them in the shops, on the street, at the girls’ school.

What had these women done right that I’d done wrong? Why did their husbands still love them? Wasn’t I good enough, smart enough, pretty enough?

The fact that my mother kept asking me these questions, too, hadn’t helped.

“My husband left me about a year ago. He’s in India now.”

“India? Why the hell did he go to India?”

People didn’t usually ask me that question. At this point they were usually searching for a new topic of conversation.

But Erin had open curiosity in her eyes. And the next thing I knew, I was saying something completely outrageous.

The truth.

“It all started with the meditation courses. Gary seemed so stressed, I signed him up for a program at our local community center.”

“The sitting cross-legged on the floor and humming sort of meditation?”

“Yes. I thought he needed to learn how to relax.”

“I take it he learned?”

“Oh, yeah. Next thing I knew he was signed up for Karma yoga. He’d go straight from work to the yoga studio.”

“A real convert.”

“Yes. He became another person, with a whole different set of values. Gary started talking about approaching every task with the right motive and doing your best and giving up on the results.”

“Sounds cool.”

“Well, his bosses didn’t think it was so cool. They were actually pretty fixated on results, and when Gary stopped producing them, he was fired.”

“Wow. And I thought yoga was just something you did for exercise.”

“No, no, no.” I waved my free hand in the air, the one that wasn’t holding my drink. My head felt a little spinny and my tongue a little thicker, but these weren’t bad feelings.

In a way, spilling this stuff out to a virtual stranger felt good. I hadn’t been able to confide in any of my old friends or neighbors about this madness. I’d been too mortified.

But Erin was different. There was no judgment in her eyes, no condemnation—and most importantly of all—no pity.

“For Gary the yoga became a life-altering experience. He changed his diet, his wardrobe, even his manner of speaking. Really, he became a totally different person.”

“Sounds like a born-again Christian.”

“That’s what it was like, exactly. Whenever I’d complain, Gary would tell me that yoga is all about reaching a state of consciousness that allows you to achieve union with the divine.”

Erin nodded knowingly. “Or at least union with the hot little yoga instructor.”

I stared at her mutely. How had she guessed?

Answering my unspoken question, Erin said simply, “Men.”

“Gary didn’t want to admit that he was leaving me for another woman. He preferred to pretend that he was seeking spiritual revitalization.”

“What a bunch of crap.”

“Exactly. How can lying to your kids and cheating on your wife make you a better person?”

“Only a man could make that logic work,” Erin agreed. “So what finally happened? Did you tell him you’d had enough and kick him out the door?”

If only. At least then I might have retained some shred of pride and dignity. But I’d figured yoga would turn out to be another phase, like Gary’s mountain-climbing stage. When the girls were little, he’d decided he wanted to climb the seven highest peaks in the world. He’d started with a non-technical climb to see how he would react to high altitudes. After he returned home from Mount Aconcagua in Argentina, he’d never mentioned mountain climbing again.

I had expected the yoga to follow the same pattern.

“I didn’t have to ask. Gary left me. He said he needed space. To travel and be free.”

“Let me guess…his freedom included the yoga babe?”

There was no need to answer what we both knew was a rhetorical question. I lifted my hair off the back of my neck. The heat was getting to me. Or maybe it was the alcohol. How many drinks had I had now?

“So, like, what’s the situation?” Erin asked. “Your husband’s gone. But he left you with money, right? You and the girls are taken care of?”

If I had money, would I have moved into this neighborhood?

The proceeds from selling our house were financing Gary’s travels and this new house on Carbon Road. Our retirement funds and small investment account were earmarked for the girls’ education, not everyday living expenses.

My shoulders slumped. What was the point in pretending anymore? “The situation is kind of depressing, to tell you the truth. I need to get a job. And quick.”

“Have you got qualifications?”

“A history major.”

Erin shook her head. “I meant something that would help you get a job.”

I covered my face with my hands. “No. None of those kind of qualifications.” God help me, I was a throwback to the fifties. A stay-at-home mom with no relevance to the real world.

I set my glass on the table and Erin refilled it, only this time she didn’t add any vodka.

“You’re screwed, girl.”

“I know it.” I was going to have to get a job working in a grocery store. Or maybe in a factory. I could just see myself, a week from now, toiling for minimum wage in a sweatshop in a basement on Queen Street where I’d be harassed by the middle-aged, overweight male boss for sexual favors….

I tried to stand and that was when I realized just how much I’d had to drink. Great. Now I was going to cap off one of the worst days of my life by passing out on my new neighbor’s porch.

And to think I’d been the one judging Erin Karmeli when I’d first met her.

“I don’t usually drink in the afternoon,” I tried to say, not sure how the words actually came out sounding.

“Yeah, you wait until the kids are in bed, right?”

“No!”

Erin laughed. “Relax. I know you’re a straight arrow. Believe me, I can always spot the other kind. Why don’t you sit until the dizziness passes?”

“You probably have things to do….” I demurred. But still, I sat. I didn’t really have any other option.

“Nothing pressing. Besides, I think I have just the solution for you.”

“Oh?” I pretended interest. Everyone close to me had given their own well-meaning advice. My mother wanted the girls and me to move back home. My friends thought I should have a wild affair, then sue Gary for child support and force him to come home and get a job. My kids wished I could wave a magic wand and somehow get their father back, along with the house and everything else.

“You need a job, right? As it happens, I have so much business right now, I’ve been turning away clients. How would you like to work as a private investigator?”

A private investigator. Some long-buried sense of adventure burned inside of me at those words.

A private investigator.

I thought of the Sue Grafton mystery series I liked so much. I wouldn’t be Lauren Anderson Holloway, dull mother and divorcée, anymore. I would be like Kinsey Millhone…an edgy, exciting, interesting private investigator.

Wait a minute. Who was I kidding? Kinsey Millhone didn’t cook and do laundry and organize appointments for her family. She ran on the beach, talked tough and knew how to use a gun.

I couldn’t be a private eye. I wasn’t brave enough for starters. I had no investigative skills.

“I can’t, Erin.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how.”

“Neither did I, until I started. I learned on the job…just like you’re going to.”

“But—” It had to be more complicated than that. “Wouldn’t I need to be licensed?”

“Sure. You have a record?”

It took me a moment to realize she was referring to a criminal record. “No.”

“Then it’s a snap. We fill in the forms and write the check. We can do it tomorrow!” Erin narrowed her eyes. “That’s if you want the job. I don’t want to pressure you.”

Maybe Erin didn’t want to pressure me, but my bank manager soon would. What were my options? What did I really have to lose?

“I’ll take the job.”

I could at least give it a try.

A week later, I was on Dupont Street, searching for the diner where I was supposed to meet Erin for lunch. Erin was planning to brief me on our first surveillance job. It was happening tonight, after dark. Though I would be with Erin, my stomach tightened and gurgled at the very thought of spying on another person.

As Erin had promised, it hadn’t been difficult for me to get my license to operate as a private investigator. And yesterday Erin had helped me sign up for an online course that would teach me the basics of the job. It was all happening quickly and I had the sense that I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

Not that I wanted to. I’d signed an agreement with Erin and the money was way better than I could have hoped for.

On the other side of the road, I spotted the place Erin had told me about. Murphy’s Grill was wedged between a hardware store and a tattoo parlor on the sunny side of Dupont Street. The signage was old and missing one l. The building itself was red brick with a line of rectangular windows facing out to the street. Everything…the sign, the bricks, the glass…looked tired and just a little grimy.

Why did Erin want to meet here?

I crossed on a green light and passed the owner-operated hardware store where I’d gone to purchase cleaning supplies a few days ago. Denny Stavinsky had been keen to offer advice on everything from furnace filters to bathroom caulking. In so doing, he’d managed to slip in the fact that his wife had died seven years ago and that his son, his ungrateful son, only visited once a year around Christmas.

This neighborhood is my life, Denny had told me. The people here are the best. I’m sure you and your daughters will be very happy here.

I stopped at the diner door and glanced farther down the street. Past the tattoo parlor was a pawnshop, then a consignment clothing store. Garbage for tomorrow’s pickup was already lined along the curb. Rosedale, this was not.

Welcome to my neighborhood.

I sighed, then leaned my shoulder into the door. The first thing I noticed was the smell. A fast-food combination of coffee and French fries and grilled meat. Facing me was a long counter lined with stools. Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered guy in a plaid shirt. He looked more like a lumberjack than someone working in the food services industry.

Was this Murphy? He met my gaze for a moment and I had the odd sense that he somehow disapproved of me.

I surveyed the long, narrow room, disappointed to see there were no booths or tables, just another counter along the window with more stools.

Perhaps Murphy didn’t want to encourage the sort of customers who lingered over their meals.

Or perhaps his weren’t the sort of meals one ever wished to linger over.

I settled on one of the stools facing the kitchen and surreptitiously studied the lumberjack. He had strong features, dark coloring, a grim set to his mouth. In high school he would have been one of the kids in the last row, handing notes back and forth to the girls like Erin.

I had always wondered what happened to bad boys after high school. I should have guessed they opened greasy spoons in suspect neighborhoods.

Something in this diner had to be good, though, because most of the stools were occupied, primarily by men. They were of all ages, most dressed in workmen’s clothing, heavy boots, grimy T-shirts.

I glanced back at the big, broad-shouldered guy behind the counter. He hadn’t shaved in about two days. His hair was on the long side, but it had been brushed, and his hands looked clean, too, I was relieved to note when he slid a coffee cup in front of me. He proceeded to fill it without even asking if I wanted any.

“You’re Erin’s new neighbor, I take it?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a lucky guess. I don’t get many customers who wear pearls.”

I put a hand to my throat. Gary had given me the necklace for our ten-year anniversary. For some reason I hadn’t been able to take it off since I’d signed the divorce papers. I’d removed my rings, storing them in the deposit box at the bank for the girls when they were older.

But the pearls I hadn’t been able to part with. They were the last link to my past, to the person I’d been.

“You okay?”

Murphy was looking at me as if he found me strange. Gathering my composure, I held out my hand. “Lauren Holloway.”

“Murphy Jones.”

His grip felt overwhelming, calloused, warm.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Was that a smirk at the corner of his mouth? It came and went so quickly, I couldn’t tell for sure. “Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “This is a nice place. Have you been open here long?”

“A nice place, huh? I’m glad you think so.” Murphy tossed me a menu. “Take a look and give me a shout when you know what you want.”

I watched him head for the kitchen, noting narrow hips and long legs. An order pad and a pencil peeked out the back pocket of his jeans.

I glanced around again, and several of the other customers quickly averted their heads. No doubt I stood out from the usual Murphy’s Grill patron in my skirt and heels. Perhaps I should have gone for a more casual look.

Bells above the door jangled and Erin entered. Now she was dressed exactly right for this place, in a tight faded jean skirt and several layered tank tops. Her left wrist was covered in silver bangles and her dark hair curled madly in the late summer humidity.

“You found it okay?”

“Hard to miss.” I moved my purse and Erin scooted onto the stool next to me. The guy on the next stool over took great interest in Erin crossing her legs.

“And was I right about the coffee? Better than Starbucks, huh?”

“Twice as strong and half the price,” Murphy said, appearing in time to fill Erin’s travel mug just as she finished unscrewing the lid. “You gals want steak sandwiches?”

“Have you got anything better to offer?” Erin asked.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll have a steak sandwich. Have you met Lauren?”

“We’ve met. What do you say, Lauren? Steak sandwich?”

I wondered about the relationship between these two. There was a tension in their body language that belied the nonchalance of the conversation. I opened the menu and scanned the lunch selections. “How about a BLT?”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

As soon as he’d moved on to give our orders to the kitchen, Erin squeezed my arm. “So? Are you excited?”

My stomach started up with the gyrations again.

“Your first stakeout.” Erin sounded like a proud mother. “I remember my first time. It was kind of a letdown to tell you the truth.”

“Must have been with the wrong guy,” Murphy said, returning to his position behind the counter.

“Oh shut up and cook eggs or something. For your information we weren’t talking about sex.”

The guy next to Erin was openly staring now. Erin turned her back to him.

“Um.” I leaned in close to her so I wouldn’t be overheard. “What is our assignment, exactly?” Erin had been very sketchy with details up to this point.

“It’s a simple adultery case.”

Oh, really? Simple adultery. As compared to what…complicated adultery? I wondered if I would ever take this work as cavalierly as Erin appeared to.

I took another sip of my coffee and it was all I could do not to make a face. It was so bitter and sharp compared to the lattes I preferred. How did Erin drink such quantities of this stuff? Still, I supposed I’d better get used to it. On my budget I could no longer afford Starbucks. “So what do I do?”

Erin removed an envelope from the canvas pack she’d been carrying. “Sherry Frampton hired me a week ago. She thinks her husband’s been cheating on her and she wants us to prove it. I’ve got all the background information in here, but what I want you to focus on is the photograph of her husband. You need to get to know that picture. In the dark it can be hard to make sure you’ve got the right man.”

I studied the candid shot of a nice, ordinary-looking man in a suit. He was probably in his late thirties, clean-shaven, with brown hair.

“We’re going to hang out at the home of his suspected girlfriend. If he shows up, we shoot some video. It’s not complicated.”

Was she kidding? I searched her expression for a hint of humor, but Erin really seemed to think this was all humdrum stuff.

Murphy arrived with the food. “Eat every bite,” he admonished Erin, before leaving to serve another customer.

Here was advice that I agreed with. Erin was far too thin. Yet, she tucked into the sandwich with what seemed to be a healthy appetite.

I compared her plate to mine and too late I realized I’d made a mistake with the BLT. I’d never seen anything that looked as limp and greasy.

“So how do we do this?” I asked.

“Just pick it up and eat it. No fancy table manners required at Murphy’s.”

“No, I meant the stakeout. What do we do if a neighbor notices us hanging around?” They could call the police, and what would we do then?

“Neighbors are pretty clueless as a rule. But if they do go so far as to phone in a complaint, I’ll handle the cops, no problem.” She cut into her sandwich then looked at me. “You aren’t eating.”

I nibbled at the tasteless white bread, fried with too much grease, not enough heat. Would it have killed the produce budget to add a thicker slice of tomato? I fought the urge to spit the food back onto the plate.

“Try some of this, honey.” Erin pushed the ketchup bottle closer. “And next time you might want to order the steak sandwich.”

“But I don’t eat red meat.”

Erin looked at me as if I was nuts. Then she snapped her fingers. “Ah. Because of Gary?”

“Well, actually…” I hated to admit it…. “Sort of.” Eliminating red meat from the family’s diet was the one concession I’d made when Gary had started demanding the family eat vegetarian.

Though I had to admit, the steak sandwich looked good. Or it would if I weren’t so darn worried about my job.

“Are you sure I can do this, Erin?”

“You’re talking about the job, right? Not the sandwich?”

“Right.”

Erin put a hand on my arm. “You can do it. The hardest part is going for hours without peeing. You might want to consider bringing an empty plastic ice-cream container, just in case.”

CHAPTER 3

N ine hours later, I met Erin back at Murphy’s Grill. Shelley was spending the night at our place, with Devin and Jamie sharing babysitting responsibilities. Per Erin’s instructions, I had brought a large insulated travel mug, but no ice-cream pail. I was hoping Erin had been joking about that. I placed my cup on the counter next to Erin’s and watched as Murphy emptied the coffeepot into both of them.

Given the lack of washroom facilities, as previously outlined by Erin, I wasn’t sure the super-sized coffees were such a great idea. But Erin seemed to think a person could never get enough of Murphy’s coffee.

Even as I had that thought, Murphy’s dark brown eyes settled on me. “Want room for cream?”

“Oh, yes. Lots of room, please.”

Murphy paused, looked at me intently, then turned to Erin. “She has nice manners.”

Erin seemed oddly proud. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“What’s going on with you two? Is it a crime to say please in this neighborhood?”

Erin ignored my question, just pushed the cream pitcher my way. “Okay, we’re set. Let’s make tracks.”

Although it was dark outside, the temperature was still hot, the early August air oppressively muggy. I slipped into the passenger seat of Erin’s Toyota and had no sooner inserted my mug into one of the cup holders than Erin handed me a package of batteries.

“Put those in the glove compartment, would you? Nothing worse than running out of batteries at just the wrong moment.”

I unlatched the glove compartment. A flashlight rolled out to the floor. I groped in the dark, found it, then jammed everything back into place.

Erin already had the car in motion. She U-turned at the next intersection, now heading east on Dupont. The street was narrow with cars parked solidly on both sides—even at this time of night. I kept expecting us to clip off a few side mirrors, but Erin knew what she was doing.

“Okay, here’s a little background,” Erin said. “Our client, Sherry, is a big-shot VP at one of the downtown banks and travels to New York a lot.”

“She’s there now?” I guessed.

“Yup. Left this morning. She’s been worried for some time that her husband, Martin, has been sneaking around on her.”

“Did she try asking him?”

Erin gave me a pitying look, as if she couldn’t believe anyone could be so naive. “He denied it. Told Sherry he still loves her. But Sherry’s pretty sure it’s her six-figure income he’s really crazy about.”

Erin turned left on Spadina and as we passed Casa Loma, I peered out the window at the grand stone structure. “When the girls were little they used to love visiting this place.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to take Shelley sometime.”

I was surprised Erin hadn’t already done so, especially since the castle was close to where she lived. But then I thought about the admission rates, and the fact that Erin worked two jobs as well as looked after her daughter on her own.

We were now in the Forest Hill neighborhood, driving along winding roads bordered by majestic trees and gracious stone and brick mansions. Devin and Jamie’s school was just up the way on Avenue Road, but Erin kept to the side streets. This was one of the few neighborhoods in Toronto that rivaled Rosedale, and I gazed out the window longingly.

“Nice, huh?” Erin said.

“Oh, yes.” I wondered if Erin would be surprised to find out that until recently my girls and I had lived in a home just as splendid as these. We’d had so much, and now we had…

Enough. We had enough. I had to stop whining, even if it was just to myself.

“Where are we headed?” I checked out a street sign as we cruised slowly through the next intersection.

Erin recited the address.

“Martin’s girlfriend must be well-off to live there.”

“She should be. She’s Sherry’s boss.”

“Her boss?”

Erin grinned, her crooked teeth gleaming in the light from the dash. “Kinky, isn’t it?”

Now I really felt sorry for Sherry. Not only was her husband cheating on her, but so was her boss. Not that it was technically cheating in the boss’s case, but it was certainly a betrayal.

Erin took her foot off the gas. “Here’s the house.”

It was a classic Tudor home, with lovely English-garden-styled landscaping.

“I scoped out the neighborhood earlier. We can park down the block. The people who live there have teens. Cars are always coming and going.”

Erin pulled into a vacant space, opened her window a few inches, then motioned for me to do the same. “I know it’s hot, but we can’t run the air-conditioning. It’ll look too suspicious.”

“And two women sitting in a parked car won’t?”

“You notice I picked a spot between streetlights. We’re in the shadows here. Now, just recline your seat—” as she spoke, Erin demonstrated “—and no one will even see we’re here.”

There were all sorts of tricks to this game, I realized. “Are we sure Martin is going to show up tonight?”

“No.”

That was disappointing. “What if he doesn’t?”

“Then we come back tomorrow. Then the next night and the next.”

“Sounds…boring.”

Erin’s grin flashed again. “Now you know why we needed the coffee. Without it, I’d fall asleep in the first hour.”

“Good point.”

“Can you pass me the camera? It’s at your feet.”

I found the vinyl bag and handed it over. “Is he here?” A car had just driven by, but though it had seemed to slow a little, it hadn’t stopped.

“Nah, I’m just getting prepared. Nothing bums me out more than waiting for hours, then missing the shot when something finally does happen.”

I watched as Erin turned on the power, then inserted a fresh cassette into the machine. Funny how comfortable I felt, sitting in this car with a woman I’d known for only a week. Usually it took me a while to warm up to strangers. Yet, I’d confided the details of my marriage breakup to Erin within an hour of meeting her.

“You’ve heard my life story, but I know hardly anything about you. Have you lived in Toronto long?”

“All my life—just like you. Well, maybe not just like you. My mom had a house in the Beaches—that was before the yuppies declared the place trendy and drove up the real-estate prices.”

“Must have been a fun place to be a kid.” I had enjoyed taking the girls to the Beaches when they were little. We’d stroll along the boardwalk on the shore of Lake Ontario, then walk up to Queen Street for an ice-cream cone and a little window-shopping.

“It was fun, yeah, until my mother remarried.”

I noted the injection of coolness into her tone. “You didn’t like your stepfather?”

“You could say that. I beat it out of there as soon as I could land a job. After that, it was sort of my policy to make the stupidest choices I could possibly make.”

All the while she’d been talking, Erin had been carefully scanning the road, passing cars and the occasional pedestrian. Now she let her gaze settle on mine for a second. “You name it, I’ve probably done it. The one good piece of luck I had is that I was never arrested. I wouldn’t have been able to get my P.I. license if I had a record.”

I wondered if I’d ever met anyone more unlike myself than Erin. You name it, I hadn’t done it. I’d even refused to try marijuana when I was in college.

But then, so had Gary. We’d been such a straight couple. I’d thought that was one of the things that made us so perfect for each other. But perhaps our lack of adventurousness when we were younger was exactly why Gary was rebelling now.

Wait. I was thinking about Gary, and about our failed relationship again. I was supposed to stop doing that.

There was something else I wanted to ask Erin about. “How long have you known Murphy?”

“I met him the night I moved into the neighborhood, when Shelley was still a baby. After an exhausting day of moving I couldn’t believe it when she wouldn’t settle for the night. By midnight I was almost crazy. She just wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Colic?”

“Or something. Anyway, I was almost out of my mind and I decided, to hell with the breast-feeding rules, I needed coffee. I didn’t have any in the house so I went to Murphy’s. You have to understand that when I walked into that diner, the kid was yelling at the top of her lungs. I expected to be kicked out onto the street.”

“But Murphy didn’t kick you out.”

“Nah. He poured me a cup of coffee, then came out from behind the counter and took Shelley into his arms. Damned if he didn’t hold her right, too, supporting her head and all of that. The little monster had the nerve to shut right up. I kidded Murphy it was because she was scared, but she wasn’t. She took to him on sight.”

Erin shook her head, as if it defied belief, and I had to admit, Murphy did not seem like the nurturing sort. Still I wasn’t surprised to find out that Murphy had a softer side. When he looked at Erin, it was clear that he cared about her.

“Are you and Murphy…?”

Erin’s eyes widened. “No way. Not that I don’t like the guy, you understand. It’s just that by the time Shelley came into my life, I’d had enough of men. It’s always been just the two of us, and that’s how I want to keep things.”

“But don’t you ever—” I stopped talking as Erin lifted a finger to her lips.

“Shh.” She turned the key to the auxiliary position, then lowered her window all the way down. As she did this, a dark sedan in front of us began to slow. The driver parked his car a discreet distance from Sherry’s boss’s place, then stepped out.

I scrunched as low in my seat as I could manage while still keeping an eye on the street. My heart was pounding so madly it was as if I was the one who was doing something wrong here, not Martin. I wondered if I would ever be able to do this job without feeling like a criminal.

The man we were pretty sure was Martin looked up and down the street. I was scared to death that he would spot us, but he seemed to find nothing amiss. He pocketed his keys then walked jauntily along the sidewalk headed for the Tudor house.

As he stepped under a street lamp, I got a clear view of his face. It was definitely Martin. Beside me, Erin switched on the camera and began training it on him.

Good thing Erin had remembered. I’d been so on edge, I hadn’t even thought about the need to shoot video.

But, disappointingly, there wasn’t much to capture on film. The front door opened and I caught only the briefest glimpse of a woman before Martin slipped inside and the door shut tightly again.

“Well, that was useless.” So Martin had gone inside the house. We couldn’t even prove he’d been met at the door by Sherry’s boss. “Are you sure we shouldn’t try and get some footage of the bedroom?”

Erin powered the camera off and returned it to the vinyl case. “Aside from the fact that the bedrooms are on the second story and I’m lousy at climbing trees, we probably won’t need to. This camera prints the date and time of the footage. Let Martin try and explain why he was at this house so late on a Wednesday night.”

“That is suspicious on its own right,” I had to agree.

“Besides, we might get lucky when they’re done. Usually cheaters are pretty cautious at the beginning of a date. But I’ve often caught a good hot kiss on the doorstep around midnight when they don’t think anyone will be in sight.”

“That makes sense.” I hoped it would happen. I wanted Sherry to nail this jerk and teach him a lesson. Next time, Martin might think twice about cheating on a woman when he’d promised fidelity.

An hour went by. Then another. I had been so excited at the beginning of the evening, I hadn’t been able to imagine feeling tired or, worse, nodding off. But after another hour passed, I started yawning. The coffee was gone, as was the bag of potato chips Erin had stashed in the back seat.

“Can we change the radio station?” Maybe a talk program would help me focus.

“Go ahead.”

As I played with the controls, Erin grabbed the camera from the floor.

“What? Did I miss something?”

“No. I’m just guessing that they might be finishing soon. I think I’ll get better pictures of the tender goodbye scene if I hide in that shrub over there.” She pointed.

“The dogwood?”

“Whatever.” Erin opened the car door, and after a brief hesitation, I followed her.

“You don’t have to do this,” Erin whispered. “Why don’t you wait in the car and be comfortable?”

“No way.” I was here to learn. Eventually I’d be doing this on my own and I wanted to do it right.

Erin hesitated, then passed me the camera. “You might as well do the shooting then.” She paused by the shrub, then got down on her knees and crawled in among the branches.

I did the same, squirming around until I’d made myself reasonably comfortable. Once settled, I checked the controls of the camera, wanting to be familiar with how to operate it.

“See the door?” Erin said softly. “We have a better angle here. Even if they don’t come out on the stoop, we should get some decent footage of the woman.”

“Right.” I was primed for action but, as minute followed minute, my adrenaline rush began to fade. I needed to talk or I was going to fall asleep.

“When did you get into the P.I. business, Erin?”

“About ten years ago I started working for this guy, Harvey Westman. He was quite a character, but he was mostly legit and he taught me the ropes. When he had a heart attack, I took over the business.”

Something in Erin’s voice suggested that this Harvey had been special to her. “Were you and Harvey friends?”

“Sure.”

I hesitated. “More than friends?

“Harvey had twenty years on me.”

Not a straight answer, which made me all the more curious. Could Harvey have been Shelley’s father? I didn’t quite dare to ask the question.

Erin’s hand clamped on my arm a split second before I noticed the same thing she had. The front door to the Tudor home was opening. Martin stepped out to the landing and, as Erin had guessed, the woman gave him a goodbye kiss, right underneath the bright porch light.

I got it all on video, but couldn’t manage to get a clear facial shot of either of them. Once the woman had gone back inside and Martin had driven off, I handed the camera back to Erin.

“I don’t think that was very good.”

“We tried. It just goes that way sometimes.” She scrambled out of the bush and started pulling twigs from her hair.

As we walked back to her car, I asked what had happened to Harvey after his heart attack.

“He died,” she said matter-of-factly. “He had no family and we were close, so he named me as his beneficiary—there was a will and everything. That’s how I got the business…and enough money for a down payment on my house.”

“Sounds like a good guy.”

“Better than most.”

Pretty cynical, I thought. Then again, my opinion of men wasn’t much better these days. Maybe Erin and I had something in common after all.

CHAPTER 4

T hough I didn’t get home until after one, the next morning I forced myself out of bed in time to make the girls’ lunches. Last night Erin had carried a sleeping Shelley home to her own bed, so it was just the three of us, as usual.

Devin was already at the table, eating her bowl of cereal. Five minutes later, when it was time to leave for the bus, Jamie rushed into the room.

“Do we have any muffins? My alarm clock didn’t work. Mom, can you get me a new one?”

So easy to say, I reflected. And only a year ago, I would have added the item to my shopping list and picked one up at the Bay without a further thought.

“I’ll take a look at it later. And yes, we have muffins.” I passed her a bran one. “And here’s your lunch.”

Devin stuffed her sandwich, fruit and cookies into her knapsack without comment. Jamie stared at hers in disgust.

“I hate bringing a lunch to work. All the other swim instructors buy theirs.”

I refused to feel guilty. “If a cafeteria lunch is that important to you, then buy it with your own money.”

“Mom’s lunches are better.” Devin gave me a kiss, then headed for the door.

Jamie stared after her, lips curled dismissively. “She is such a suck.”

My first instinct was to defend Devin. But I knew that would only escalate the sibling rivalry. So, I aimed for a lighter tone. “Come on, Jamie, admit it. You love Mommy’s lunches, too.”

Though Jamie shook her head and rolled her eyes, I saw a hint of a smile.

“Have a nice day, Mom. I’m out of here.”

A few seconds later, the front door slammed, and I was alone in the house. I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should just crawl back into bed. I had the morning free since I wasn’t meeting Erin to discuss our next case until one o’clock.

In the months after Gary left, I’d spent many mornings that way, tucked under the covers, trying not to think about how I was going to fill the hours until the girls came home from school. I didn’t want to fall back into that pattern.

What I needed was coffee. I went to the cupboard and pulled out the tin of economy blend that I’d compromised on in an effort to keep the grocery bill under control.

I started to measure out the right number of scoops, but after the first one I stopped. The idea of sitting in this run-down kitchen by myself and gulping down a pot of cheap coffee was so unappealing.

A moment later I made my decision. Since the divorce, I’d given up Belgian chocolate, fashion magazines and organic produce. I was not going to give up my coffee, as well.

I’d had my heart set on something that combined coffee, chocolate, caramel sauce and whipped cream. Unfortunately, I could not find a café that sold specialty coffees anywhere in my new neighborhood. I still didn’t want to go back to my lonely house, though. In resignation I found myself returning to Murphy’s Grill.

At least I would fit in with the crowd better today, with my jeans and casual, though admittedly silk, T-shirt. When I’d been putting on my earrings, I’d thought about taking off my necklace, but pearls were supposed to go with anything so I’d left them on.

As I entered the small establishment I wasn’t too surprised to find Erin seated at the counter facing the kitchen.

She twisted in her seat and gave a weary wave. “Why do kids have to wake up so bloody early?” She took a long swallow of her coffee.

I perched on the stool next to her, setting the alarm clock I’d brought with me on the counter. “I used to consider myself a morning person. Now, I’m not so sure. So where is Shelley?”

“Day camp at the community center.”

Murphy emerged from the kitchen with two plates loaded with eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns. He hesitated for a second when he spotted me.

He’d shaved. And he looked good. Nice jaw, strong cheekbones. He was wearing a plaid shirt again, but a different one.

I wondered why I found him so attractive when he was completely different from any man I’d ever dated. Not that there’d been that many.

Maybe he got to me for the oldest reason in the book. Because I clearly didn’t get to him. His indifference bugged me.

“Addicted already?” he said as he passed by on his way to his waiting customers.

I noticed they tucked into their breakfasts as if they hadn’t seen food in a week.

“The breakfast special is the only other edible thing on the menu,” Erin said, not seeming to care that she was speaking loudly enough for others—including Murphy—to hear.

Remembering my greasy BLT from yesterday, I asked, “The other being the steak sandwich? You could have warned me.”

“Some lessons are better learned through experience,” Erin replied.

Murphy was back behind the counter now. Leaving room for cream, he filled a mug with coffee, then slid it along the counter toward me before slipping back to the kitchen.

Erin pushed the cream pitcher closer and I did the necessary mixing, then took my first sip. Suddenly the crazy world seemed to come into focus. “I think coffee does for me what yoga does for Gary.”

Beside me, Erin had both hands around her mug, holding it close as if she was afraid someone was going to try and grab it away. “You mean it takes you to another level of consciousness?”

“Yes. From asleep to awake.”

Erin laughed. “You’ll get used to the late nights.”

“Will I?”

“Actually, no. Not as long as you’ve got kids at home.”

“Only three more years for me,” I said, not feeling as happy about that fact as I sounded. Sleeping in seemed like a small benefit when I thought about the prospect of living alone after all these years of raising a family.

Murphy passed by with two more plates of hot food. I glanced over at Erin. “Want to split a breakfast special?”

For the first time that morning, Erin opened her eyes all the way. “Are you crazy? Murphy hates it when people order things to share. Besides, I don’t eat breakfast.” She held out her empty mug as Murphy walked by with the pot in his hand. He refilled her coffee practically without breaking stride.

“You?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

Erin downed about half the coffee in her cup. “This is actually handy that we ran into each other. I have an appointment later this morning, so I can give you the keys for Adam’s condo now.”

She pulled them from her bag, along with a sheet of paper with an address.

I took both items and stowed them in my purse. “Um… What do I do with these?”

“Remember how I said that the company was called Creative Investigations?”

I so did not like that question. “Yes?”

“Well, I was talking to this woman the other week. Shelley was getting her teeth cleaned. This woman was the hygienist. Her name is Ava.”

So far, so good. I nodded for her to go on.

“Turns out Ava has a big crush on the dentist in her office. She’s been working there for a few months but he hasn’t shown any interest, yet.”

“Maybe he doesn’t date his employees.” Which seemed like a smart policy to me.

“Ava doesn’t want him to date her. She wants him to marry her.”

“But— She’s only known him a few months. How can she be so sure?”

“She just is. Anyway, we were talking, and she told me that he’d recently lost his cleaning lady. He was asking the staff for recommendations.”

None of this was computing so far. “I did have a cleaning lady, but she’s very in demand. I’m sure she’s filled my slot by—”

“That’s not it, Lauren. We aren’t looking for a cleaning service. We are the cleaning service.”

I still didn’t get it.

“Here’s the plan. We go into Adam’s condo every two weeks. We find out what he’s reading, what movies he’s rented, his favorite flavor of ice cream. Then Ava uses this information to convince him that they’re perfect soul mates.”

Erin leaned back on her stool and gave a satisfied smile.

“That’s a perfect plan?”

“What don’t you like about it?”

“Well, first off…who cleans Adam’s condo?”

“We do.”

“You mean, I do.”

“Well, yeah, but you get to keep the extra hundred bucks. See, that’s the beauty of this arrangement. Ava pays us to get the goods on Adam. And Adam pays us to clean.”

So I wasn’t really a private investigator. I was a glorified maid. On the positive side, at least I knew how to vacuum and clean toilets.

“But it all seems so…”

“Creative?”

“I was thinking illegal, actually.”

“You worry too much, Lauren. This is the perfect gig. And it’s all yours. Adam wants his place cleaned on Tuesday afternoon and I’ve already got a regular job scheduled for that time.”

Oh, lucky me.

“Keep on the lookout for signs of a regular girlfriend. According to Ava, he’s never mentioned one at the office, but you never know.”

“By signs you mean women’s clothing, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah. Check for an extra toothbrush, women’s toiletries, the regular girlie stuff.”

“And when I’m done?”

“Write up a report. Ava will want to pick it up in person. She has roommates and we obviously can’t send it to the office. Wouldn’t want this stuff in the wrong hands.”

Definitely not. Wouldn’t want the wrong girl becoming the dentist’s soul mate.

“Okay, you’re set.” Erin tossed a toonie on the counter for her coffee. Halfway to the door, she stopped and looked back at me. “You don’t have to do this. I could tell Ava I couldn’t fit her in.”

I was tempted to tell her to do just that. Then my eyes fell on the broken alarm clock on the counter. I thought about the gap in my budget between expenditures and income. “I’m okay with it.”

“Good. You’ll do fine.” Erin grinned. “Though I’ve got to admit I’m having a hard time picturing you cleaning someone else’s toilet.”

I grimaced while she laughed at me. That was actually the only part of the job I didn’t object to. I wondered how Ava was going to feel ten years from now when she was married to a man she had nothing in common with.

Once Erin had left, I dug out the change to cover my own cup of coffee. As I dumped it on the counter, Murphy walked up from behind me.

“Is it broken?” He picked the alarm clock off the counter and looked it over.

“My daughter says it is. I thought maybe at the hardware store Denny could give me the name of someone—”

“You’ll end up getting charged enough money to buy a new one.”

Yes. He was probably right. I’d have to use part of the extra hundred dollars I was going to earn this afternoon to buy a replacement. I held out my hand to take it back, but Murphy ignored me.

“Our garbage dumps are full enough. Leave this with me and I’ll take a look at it. It’s probably something simple.”

“But—” Why would he offer to do something like this? I really hadn’t thought he liked me at all. Was it possible he truly was offering out of concern for the environment? “Thank you. I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t make that offer if I was you.” He waved a hand at me. “Now get out of here. I’ve got customers waiting for that stool.”

He didn’t, the place was half-empty, but I left as requested.

At twelve-thirty, I took the bus to the subway and rode to the St. George stop. When we’d first moved to Dovercourt Village, I hadn’t taken the subway in years and had forgotten that the concept of personal space was meaningless on public transport. Now I was becoming accustomed to the smell of strangers again, and the distinction between the sway of the bus versus the rocking motion of the subway.

The truly great thing about transit, however, was never needing to worry about finding a parking space or encountering a snarl in traffic. When I emerged from the subway station, cars were at a standstill on both sides of the street. I blithely walked past the jam and headed north to the dentist’s condo.

With Erin’s piece of paper in hand, I stopped in front of an elegant stucco building and consulted the address again.

Yes, this was the right place.

I followed the brick path to the front security door. A well-dressed woman exiting the complex gave me a frown, then paused to make sure the door had closed completely before leaving me on the stoop.

I made a show of pulling out my keys. She glared.

“I’m the new cleaning lady for unit two.”

Clearly she didn’t believe me. I tucked my pearls back under the cotton T-shirt I’d worn for the gig, then slipped my key into the lock, praying it would work.

It did.

Ironically, just as I’d proven I had a legitimate reason to be here, I felt like the criminal that woman had obviously thought I might be.

This was so crazy. I was about to enter the house of a perfect stranger.

Cleaning ladies do it all the time.

Yes, but cleaning ladies don’t check for extra toothbrushes. They don’t make lists of their client’s reading materials and examine the contents of their kitchen cupboards. At least, they aren’t supposed to.

So you’re a snoopy cleaning lady. There’s no law against snooping.

Okay, technically I wasn’t breaking the law. But ethically speaking, I was still about to do something wrong.

If you’re going to be a wuss about this, maybe you should look for a different job.

I let the door close behind me. I was inside.

The building’s foyer was spotless and fortunately deserted. I followed the hallway to the left. Adam’s unit was the second one. As I let myself in, I heard a door farther down the hall open, then shut again.

A nosy neighbor? I closed Adam’s door behind me with relief.

The hardest part was over. At least I didn’t have to worry that anyone was watching me in here.

I surveyed the foyer, which was surprisingly tidy for a single man living on his own. All the coats were hung in the closet. A gym bag sat on a footstool next to an umbrella rack. Shoes were organized in a neat line on the floor under the jackets.

At least he was neat. But then, he was a dentist—what did I expect?

The rest of the condo was also neat, but not particularly clean. The blinds were coated with dust and the grout in the shower was suspiciously black.

I wondered how long it had been since Adam’s previous cleaning lady had quit. But that was at least a year’s worth of dust on the blinds. Which meant Adam didn’t keep very close tabs on his cleaning lady.

That should have been good news. It meant that I didn’t need to worry about doing a top-notch job.

Unfortunately, I didn’t think I could live with myself if I snooped and shirked my cleaning duties. Which meant I was going to be working very hard for my hundred dollars today.

CHAPTER 5

B y the time I made it home after cleaning Adam’s condo, it was already five o’clock. Jamie was prowling the kitchen on the search for something to make for dinner. A new postcard from her father had been tossed on the kitchen table.

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