ordeal with the police. Where did all the time go?”
“Most of it, on Donny’s dimple.”
As we made our way out of the restaurant, we passed a tall blonde in a cashmere slacks set that probably cost more than my Corolla. She headed for Travis’s table, undoubtedly the client he’d been talking about.
Looked like his new business was off to a booming start.
Picking up a mint from a bowl on the hostess stand (okay, three mints), I couldn’t help but wonder if Travis’s sudden change of fortune had anything to do with Joy’s murder.
Back home, after an obligatory belly rub for Pro, I hurried to my computer and logged on to Travis’s Web site. I checked out the dating profiles of the “typical clients” he’d used to lure in new members.
Holy mackerel. I recognized every one of them. Mainly because Travis had filched them all from Joy’s database.
No wonder he was able to get his business off to such a fast start.
And just like that, Travis Richardson leapt on board my suspect list.
Was it possible the former geek had poisoned his boss from hell to get his hands on her client list?
Chapter 13
M uch to my surprise, Elite Matchmaking was actually in a fairly elite part of town—just off South Beverly Drive in the heart of Beverly Hills.
I drove there the next morning, and after circling around the popular shopping area for what seemed like hours, I finally nabbed a parking spot and made my way to Travis’s office.
I found it in a slightly run-down courtyard building, with loose bricks on the pathway and a fountain that had long since ceased to bubble. But with its vintage 1920s Spanish architecture, it had an undeniable charm.
After checking the directory, I made my way across the courtyard to Elite Matchmaking and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Travis called out.
I turned the knob and stepped into his closet-sized office.
It was tiny to the max, but nicely decorated with a stylish area rug, sleek blond furniture, and three well-placed posters of happy couples holding hands and smiling adoringly at one another.
Travis sat behind his desk, dressed to the nines, with his spiky new hairdo and Brad Pitt aviators, his duct tape nerd glasses a relic of the past.
“Great to see you, Jaine! Have a seat.”
He pointed to the only visitor’s chair in the room, an Eames-ish number that picked up one of the colors in his area rug.
It took me all of two steps to reach it.
“So,” he beamed, as I plopped down. “What do you think of my office?”
“It’s great.”
“My girlfriend decorated it. She’s the one who picked out my new clothes, too.”
“ You have a girlfriend?” I blurted out.
Despite his new look, I still couldn’t help thinking of him in geek mode.
“I mean, you have a girlfriend! How nice!”
“Actually I met her on Dates of Joy. She was one of Joy’s few genuine clients.”
“Joy fixed you up?”
“Are you kidding? Joy couldn’t make a match if she signed up a hooker at a frat house.”
He picked up a framed picture from his desk and showed it to me.
“Her name is Ellen. Isn’t she pretty?”
“She’s lovely,” I said, staring down at a sweet-looking redhead with freckles and a slight overbite.
“I saw her picture on Joy’s website and asked her out on the sly. Ellen was the one good thing I got from that rotten job.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that, Travis.”
“What do you mean?”
“I checked out your clients online, and they looked awfully familiar.”
He had the good grace to blush.
“Okay, so I’m using Joy’s database. I paid for those profiles with two years of blood, sweat, and humiliation. Joy owed me.”
“But you can’t just take over her client list like that. Doesn’t it belong to her heirs?”
“Not really. Joy’s business wasn’t incorporated. So technically, there’s nothing to inherit. Besides, who’d even want it? Tonio needs a calculator to add two and two, and as far as I know all Joy’s relatives are
“Most of it, on Donny’s dimple.”
As we made our way out of the restaurant, we passed a tall blonde in a cashmere slacks set that probably cost more than my Corolla. She headed for Travis’s table, undoubtedly the client he’d been talking about.
Looked like his new business was off to a booming start.
Picking up a mint from a bowl on the hostess stand (okay, three mints), I couldn’t help but wonder if Travis’s sudden change of fortune had anything to do with Joy’s murder.
Back home, after an obligatory belly rub for Pro, I hurried to my computer and logged on to Travis’s Web site. I checked out the dating profiles of the “typical clients” he’d used to lure in new members.
Holy mackerel. I recognized every one of them. Mainly because Travis had filched them all from Joy’s database.
No wonder he was able to get his business off to such a fast start.
And just like that, Travis Richardson leapt on board my suspect list.
Was it possible the former geek had poisoned his boss from hell to get his hands on her client list?
Chapter 13
M uch to my surprise, Elite Matchmaking was actually in a fairly elite part of town—just off South Beverly Drive in the heart of Beverly Hills.
I drove there the next morning, and after circling around the popular shopping area for what seemed like hours, I finally nabbed a parking spot and made my way to Travis’s office.
I found it in a slightly run-down courtyard building, with loose bricks on the pathway and a fountain that had long since ceased to bubble. But with its vintage 1920s Spanish architecture, it had an undeniable charm.
After checking the directory, I made my way across the courtyard to Elite Matchmaking and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Travis called out.
I turned the knob and stepped into his closet-sized office.
It was tiny to the max, but nicely decorated with a stylish area rug, sleek blond furniture, and three well-placed posters of happy couples holding hands and smiling adoringly at one another.
Travis sat behind his desk, dressed to the nines, with his spiky new hairdo and Brad Pitt aviators, his duct tape nerd glasses a relic of the past.
“Great to see you, Jaine! Have a seat.”
He pointed to the only visitor’s chair in the room, an Eames-ish number that picked up one of the colors in his area rug.
It took me all of two steps to reach it.
“So,” he beamed, as I plopped down. “What do you think of my office?”
“It’s great.”
“My girlfriend decorated it. She’s the one who picked out my new clothes, too.”
“ You have a girlfriend?” I blurted out.
Despite his new look, I still couldn’t help thinking of him in geek mode.
“I mean, you have a girlfriend! How nice!”
“Actually I met her on Dates of Joy. She was one of Joy’s few genuine clients.”
“Joy fixed you up?”
“Are you kidding? Joy couldn’t make a match if she signed up a hooker at a frat house.”
He picked up a framed picture from his desk and showed it to me.
“Her name is Ellen. Isn’t she pretty?”
“She’s lovely,” I said, staring down at a sweet-looking redhead with freckles and a slight overbite.
“I saw her picture on Joy’s website and asked her out on the sly. Ellen was the one good thing I got from that rotten job.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that, Travis.”
“What do you mean?”
“I checked out your clients online, and they looked awfully familiar.”
He had the good grace to blush.
“Okay, so I’m using Joy’s database. I paid for those profiles with two years of blood, sweat, and humiliation. Joy owed me.”
“But you can’t just take over her client list like that. Doesn’t it belong to her heirs?”
“Not really. Joy’s business wasn’t incorporated. So technically, there’s nothing to inherit. Besides, who’d even want it? Tonio needs a calculator to add two and two, and as far as I know all Joy’s relatives are
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