matter at hand.
Reggie shuddered. “Poor Amanda!” He began to fiddle with some combs and brushes, avoiding eye contact.
“I can tell that you’re upset, Reginald. Were you close with Amanda?”
“I did her hair for several years. She was a nice woman.”
“I can assure you that whatever you tell me, I’ll keep as quiet as possible. I won’t tell anyone that I got it from you. I just think that the person who did this to her deserves to be punished, don’t you?”
His slim shoulders broadened. “Yes, I do.”
Just then Barbie peeked inside the room. “Uh, Reggie. There’s another Mrs. Fitzpatrick here.” She must have been really nervous about us two Mrs. Fitzpatricks because her mouth was twitching uncontrollably; although, I noticed the rest of her face remained completely unmoved. I suspected that somewhere in the salon, there was a special room full of Botox syringes, and that Barbie spent her lunch-breaks shooting up.
Reggie waved her off. “Give me two minutes and then show her back.”
I took that as a good sign and started in with more questions. “I need to know if Amanda was often upset, or if she ever told you anything special about her marriage.”
“Her marriage? What do you mean exactly?”
“Was her marriage solid? Was it a good marriage?”
“Well, as far as marriage goes, I guess it was good.”
I remembered that I was talking to a Frenchman. He probably had a whole different set of rules than I did. “Did she ever confide in you anything about her husband?”
“Yes of course, I was her stylist, her confidante.”
I held up my hand, aware of time ticking away. “I understand. Tell me, Reginald, did she mention an affair?”
His eyes sparkled. He bent in closer and lowered his voice. “You won’t tell anyone where you got this?”
“No, of course not.”
“Yes, there was an affair.”
I was about to prod further when his head popped up, a broad smile covering his face as he turned to the opened doorway. “Why, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you’re here. I’m just finishing with this woman, please take a chair and I’ll be right there.”
He turned to me, “That’s all I’ll tell you. Now you’d better go, before you scare away my clients.”
I shrugged off his last comment, not sure if it was a backhanded comment on my hair, or if he just thought a detective snooping around was bad for business. Not that it mattered; I had gotten what I came for. I practically bounced back to my car. I had uncovered a lead in the case. Reggie had validated all my initial suspicions about Schmidt being a cheater. Now I just needed to find tangible proof of the other woman.
I celebrated my triumph with an extra gooey toasted cheese for dinner and then spent the rest of the evening hunched over my computer. It took a while—creating so many lies was a lot of work—but I finally came up with a plan to get inside Schmidt’s law firm. By midnight, I finally had what could be considered a passable resume. I hung my mom’s suit in the bathroom and ran the shower on high, hoping the steam would ease out some of the wrinkles. I wanted to look fresh for my interview the next day.
Chapter Seven
I studied my reflection in the steel doors of the elevator as I rode up to the ninth floor of the Clark Building. I had resurrected the Velma wig and paired it with some heavy black framed glasses. Once again, I wore my mom’s suit, but this time I played it down with a plain white button down blouse. I thought I looked smart, sensible, and industrious; three qualities befitting every good paralegal.
I had spent the better part of the morning parked across from Schmidt’s car, waiting for him to leave. I wanted to visit his office, but didn’t want to chance running into him. The last thing I needed was to have another confrontation with Richard Schmidt. Besides, there weren’t enough excuses in the world to explain my current ruse to
Reggie shuddered. “Poor Amanda!” He began to fiddle with some combs and brushes, avoiding eye contact.
“I can tell that you’re upset, Reginald. Were you close with Amanda?”
“I did her hair for several years. She was a nice woman.”
“I can assure you that whatever you tell me, I’ll keep as quiet as possible. I won’t tell anyone that I got it from you. I just think that the person who did this to her deserves to be punished, don’t you?”
His slim shoulders broadened. “Yes, I do.”
Just then Barbie peeked inside the room. “Uh, Reggie. There’s another Mrs. Fitzpatrick here.” She must have been really nervous about us two Mrs. Fitzpatricks because her mouth was twitching uncontrollably; although, I noticed the rest of her face remained completely unmoved. I suspected that somewhere in the salon, there was a special room full of Botox syringes, and that Barbie spent her lunch-breaks shooting up.
Reggie waved her off. “Give me two minutes and then show her back.”
I took that as a good sign and started in with more questions. “I need to know if Amanda was often upset, or if she ever told you anything special about her marriage.”
“Her marriage? What do you mean exactly?”
“Was her marriage solid? Was it a good marriage?”
“Well, as far as marriage goes, I guess it was good.”
I remembered that I was talking to a Frenchman. He probably had a whole different set of rules than I did. “Did she ever confide in you anything about her husband?”
“Yes of course, I was her stylist, her confidante.”
I held up my hand, aware of time ticking away. “I understand. Tell me, Reginald, did she mention an affair?”
His eyes sparkled. He bent in closer and lowered his voice. “You won’t tell anyone where you got this?”
“No, of course not.”
“Yes, there was an affair.”
I was about to prod further when his head popped up, a broad smile covering his face as he turned to the opened doorway. “Why, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you’re here. I’m just finishing with this woman, please take a chair and I’ll be right there.”
He turned to me, “That’s all I’ll tell you. Now you’d better go, before you scare away my clients.”
I shrugged off his last comment, not sure if it was a backhanded comment on my hair, or if he just thought a detective snooping around was bad for business. Not that it mattered; I had gotten what I came for. I practically bounced back to my car. I had uncovered a lead in the case. Reggie had validated all my initial suspicions about Schmidt being a cheater. Now I just needed to find tangible proof of the other woman.
I celebrated my triumph with an extra gooey toasted cheese for dinner and then spent the rest of the evening hunched over my computer. It took a while—creating so many lies was a lot of work—but I finally came up with a plan to get inside Schmidt’s law firm. By midnight, I finally had what could be considered a passable resume. I hung my mom’s suit in the bathroom and ran the shower on high, hoping the steam would ease out some of the wrinkles. I wanted to look fresh for my interview the next day.
Chapter Seven
I studied my reflection in the steel doors of the elevator as I rode up to the ninth floor of the Clark Building. I had resurrected the Velma wig and paired it with some heavy black framed glasses. Once again, I wore my mom’s suit, but this time I played it down with a plain white button down blouse. I thought I looked smart, sensible, and industrious; three qualities befitting every good paralegal.
I had spent the better part of the morning parked across from Schmidt’s car, waiting for him to leave. I wanted to visit his office, but didn’t want to chance running into him. The last thing I needed was to have another confrontation with Richard Schmidt. Besides, there weren’t enough excuses in the world to explain my current ruse to
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