me, you’ve got something to tell me.”
“I know a little bit. I’m not sure it will help you find the Rubin family, but it will give you some perspective you’ll need if you’re going to work for this guy.”
Tess’s mind raced. “Is Mark Rubin concealing something from me? Did Natalie Rubin have to disappear for a reason? Was she —”
“Later.” The girlish voice was surprisingly firm. “I’ll answer all your questions the best I can when we meet.”
10
T ess stopped off at the Hampden Post Office before her late-breakfast meeting with Nancy Porter, sending three certified letters to the Mail Boxes Etc. store that Lana had visited. Each one contained a card with a typed message, one for Lana and two for Natalie, addressed to both Rubin and Peters:
I know what you’re doing. Call me.
She used her second cell-phone number, the one that couldn’t be traced to her. But just getting either of the Natalie letters accepted at the address would be a key piece of information.
The morning was bright and breezy, and Nancy Porter had taken one of the two porch tables at the Golden West, a restaurant carved out of a row house on Thirty-sixth Street, aka the Avenue. Long the main business artery in the working-class neighborhood of Hampden, the Avenue had become hip in spite of itself, bringing in the usual mix of cafés, galleries, and shops. Tess’s personal favorite was Ma Petite Shoe, an establishment that sold only chocolate and shoes. That pretty much met all her needs, although most of the shoes tended to be on the girly side.
“I’m glad you were okay with meeting here,” Nancy said, rising to shake Tess’s hand. “I’m on a low-carb diet, and they have the best huevos rancheros, which almost make up for the fact that I can’t have the tortillas.”
Tess sized up the detective. She appeared a year or two younger than Tess and only a few pounds heavier, although those pounds were packed on a shorter, finer-boned frame. Men probably didn’t mind Nancy’s weight as much as she did. She had an all-American-girl cuteness, and the wedding band on her left hand would seem to indicate she didn’t lack for companionship.
“Well, we’re the perfect dining companions, then,” Tess said.
“You’re doing low carb, too?”
“No, but I love huevos rancheros, and I’ll happily eat your tortillas along with mine.”
Nancy favored her with a crooked grin. “I hate women like you. You can probably eat anything you want and not worry about it.”
“Oh, I could worry about it, but what’s the point? I accept my height and shoe size, my eye color and my hair color. I might as well live in the body I was born with, too.”
“You can change your hair and your eyes, though.”
“Would you?” Tess challenged the blue-eyed blonde.
Nancy laughed, shaking her head. “Gretchen said you were funny. Said you’d talk my ear off about nonessential stuff, too, but she swears you’re a good investigator when you aren’t being all philosophical.”
“You talked to Gretchen?”
The blue eyes in that baby face had a knowing spark. “Oh, yeah, as soon as I hung with you. Woke her up, too. Sorry, but there was no way I was going to take your word for anything. I’ve gotten burned a time or two, talking to people I shouldn’t. For all I knew, you were a reporter. In fact, Gretchen said you used to be.”
“I’ve been a private investigator almost as long as I worked as a reporter.” Tess paused, surprised by her own stat. She double-checked her arithmetic. Three years at the
Star
before it folded, now going on three years as a licensed PI. “And I wasn’t much of a reporter. I was so far down the fourth-estate food chain that I was plankton.”
“If you say so. Anyway, Gretchen vouched for you, and she’s as tough on people as I am. So here I am. What can I tell you?”
“Did you work the Rubin case?”
“There is no Rubin case, as far as the department is concerned. And I hope he’s not
“I know a little bit. I’m not sure it will help you find the Rubin family, but it will give you some perspective you’ll need if you’re going to work for this guy.”
Tess’s mind raced. “Is Mark Rubin concealing something from me? Did Natalie Rubin have to disappear for a reason? Was she —”
“Later.” The girlish voice was surprisingly firm. “I’ll answer all your questions the best I can when we meet.”
10
T ess stopped off at the Hampden Post Office before her late-breakfast meeting with Nancy Porter, sending three certified letters to the Mail Boxes Etc. store that Lana had visited. Each one contained a card with a typed message, one for Lana and two for Natalie, addressed to both Rubin and Peters:
I know what you’re doing. Call me.
She used her second cell-phone number, the one that couldn’t be traced to her. But just getting either of the Natalie letters accepted at the address would be a key piece of information.
The morning was bright and breezy, and Nancy Porter had taken one of the two porch tables at the Golden West, a restaurant carved out of a row house on Thirty-sixth Street, aka the Avenue. Long the main business artery in the working-class neighborhood of Hampden, the Avenue had become hip in spite of itself, bringing in the usual mix of cafés, galleries, and shops. Tess’s personal favorite was Ma Petite Shoe, an establishment that sold only chocolate and shoes. That pretty much met all her needs, although most of the shoes tended to be on the girly side.
“I’m glad you were okay with meeting here,” Nancy said, rising to shake Tess’s hand. “I’m on a low-carb diet, and they have the best huevos rancheros, which almost make up for the fact that I can’t have the tortillas.”
Tess sized up the detective. She appeared a year or two younger than Tess and only a few pounds heavier, although those pounds were packed on a shorter, finer-boned frame. Men probably didn’t mind Nancy’s weight as much as she did. She had an all-American-girl cuteness, and the wedding band on her left hand would seem to indicate she didn’t lack for companionship.
“Well, we’re the perfect dining companions, then,” Tess said.
“You’re doing low carb, too?”
“No, but I love huevos rancheros, and I’ll happily eat your tortillas along with mine.”
Nancy favored her with a crooked grin. “I hate women like you. You can probably eat anything you want and not worry about it.”
“Oh, I could worry about it, but what’s the point? I accept my height and shoe size, my eye color and my hair color. I might as well live in the body I was born with, too.”
“You can change your hair and your eyes, though.”
“Would you?” Tess challenged the blue-eyed blonde.
Nancy laughed, shaking her head. “Gretchen said you were funny. Said you’d talk my ear off about nonessential stuff, too, but she swears you’re a good investigator when you aren’t being all philosophical.”
“You talked to Gretchen?”
The blue eyes in that baby face had a knowing spark. “Oh, yeah, as soon as I hung with you. Woke her up, too. Sorry, but there was no way I was going to take your word for anything. I’ve gotten burned a time or two, talking to people I shouldn’t. For all I knew, you were a reporter. In fact, Gretchen said you used to be.”
“I’ve been a private investigator almost as long as I worked as a reporter.” Tess paused, surprised by her own stat. She double-checked her arithmetic. Three years at the
Star
before it folded, now going on three years as a licensed PI. “And I wasn’t much of a reporter. I was so far down the fourth-estate food chain that I was plankton.”
“If you say so. Anyway, Gretchen vouched for you, and she’s as tough on people as I am. So here I am. What can I tell you?”
“Did you work the Rubin case?”
“There is no Rubin case, as far as the department is concerned. And I hope he’s not
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