something helpful to say. I noticed two sweats-clad women striding determinedly toward us on the sidewalk. Their quick clip—despite the fact they each pushed baby strollers—suggesting they were out for exercise. I took a small step to plant Lexie and me in their path. Ignoring their irritated stares as they separated their strollers to swing around me, I called, “Is that where that poor Chad Chatsworth lived?”
That stopped one in her tracks—the one whose hot athletic outfit blazed magenta. She was maybe mid-thirties, with blond hair that might have looked natural if not all a single shade, and large brown eyes with laugh lines scoring her skin. Only she wasn’t laughing now. The kid sitting in her stroller looked about two, and his hair was definitely dark.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “He was quite the neighborhood celebrity. It’s so hard to believe he’s gone.”
“Did you know him?” I maneuvered Lexie a little on her leash, then gave her the signal to sit so she wouldn’t get trampled if the strollathon continued without my leave.
“Who didn’t?” she asked, looking infinitely sad, as if she’d lost her best friend.
The other woman glared at her and grumped, “ You didn’t, Dee. Unless you call waving as he jogged by knowing him.” She was shorter and younger-looking. Her black hair formed a wind-tossed cap, and her sweats were a nondescript gray—like her attitude. Her kid was a sleeping baby in pink.
“You could have introduced me,” Dee countered. She turned back to me. “Helene lives in his building. She knew him well enough that he and his roommate invited her to a party once.”
I must have reacted without realizing it, since Helene said defensively, “We’re both single mothers.” Only then did I dare a surreptitious glance toward her empty ring finger.
I definitely liked Dee better than her chum, for she moved past her stroller, stooped on the sidewalk, and held out a hand for Lexie to lick—giving me a glimpse of her bare finger, too. “You’re so sweet. Look at the doggy, Tommy.”
The kid repeated “doggy” and his mom laughed.
“So Chad had a roommate?” I asked to get back on the subject, knowing the answer. “Was his roommate in show business, too?”
“Hardly,” huffed Helene. “I never did figure out why someone as good-looking and charismatic as Chad roomed with a boring computer geek like Dave Driscoll.”
That conformed with what Charlotte had told me.
“Probably because the last guy standing on Turn Up the Heat didn’t want any competition,” Dee said drolly, earning her a glare from her companion.
Turn Up the Heat. So that was the reality show Charlotte had been on. I’d not paid much attention to it while it was airing, and had other things on my mind when I’d taken her application to lease my house. But I’d definitely heard about the show. A lot about it. Who, with any hormones, hadn’t?
Helene confirmed my impression of it in her next aggravated riposte, one hand on a skinny hip. “Well, there isn’t much competition for Chad Chatsworth . . . or wasn’t.” Her blazing gaze dimmed again to gloomy. “I mean, he was definitely the most creative of all the guys on that show as far as coming up with sexy and romantic dates to tempt Charlotte. I was certainly tempted, and I wasn’t even there.”
“Do you think she actually sampled all the contenders on the show?” Dee asked with interest. Her son stretched his hand out toward Lexie, who sniffed it.
“That was the whole point,” Helene said scornfully. “Of course she did.”
“That makes the producers of the show p-i-m-p-s, then, don’t you think?” Dee said, glancing down as if assuring herself that her son hadn’t comprehended.
“Of sorts,” Helene agreed, with the first grin I’d seen on her otherwise dour face. It disappeared promptly.
“I’m sure the speculation didn’t hurt the ratings,” I chimed in, then faced Helene. “At the party you went to, was
That stopped one in her tracks—the one whose hot athletic outfit blazed magenta. She was maybe mid-thirties, with blond hair that might have looked natural if not all a single shade, and large brown eyes with laugh lines scoring her skin. Only she wasn’t laughing now. The kid sitting in her stroller looked about two, and his hair was definitely dark.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “He was quite the neighborhood celebrity. It’s so hard to believe he’s gone.”
“Did you know him?” I maneuvered Lexie a little on her leash, then gave her the signal to sit so she wouldn’t get trampled if the strollathon continued without my leave.
“Who didn’t?” she asked, looking infinitely sad, as if she’d lost her best friend.
The other woman glared at her and grumped, “ You didn’t, Dee. Unless you call waving as he jogged by knowing him.” She was shorter and younger-looking. Her black hair formed a wind-tossed cap, and her sweats were a nondescript gray—like her attitude. Her kid was a sleeping baby in pink.
“You could have introduced me,” Dee countered. She turned back to me. “Helene lives in his building. She knew him well enough that he and his roommate invited her to a party once.”
I must have reacted without realizing it, since Helene said defensively, “We’re both single mothers.” Only then did I dare a surreptitious glance toward her empty ring finger.
I definitely liked Dee better than her chum, for she moved past her stroller, stooped on the sidewalk, and held out a hand for Lexie to lick—giving me a glimpse of her bare finger, too. “You’re so sweet. Look at the doggy, Tommy.”
The kid repeated “doggy” and his mom laughed.
“So Chad had a roommate?” I asked to get back on the subject, knowing the answer. “Was his roommate in show business, too?”
“Hardly,” huffed Helene. “I never did figure out why someone as good-looking and charismatic as Chad roomed with a boring computer geek like Dave Driscoll.”
That conformed with what Charlotte had told me.
“Probably because the last guy standing on Turn Up the Heat didn’t want any competition,” Dee said drolly, earning her a glare from her companion.
Turn Up the Heat. So that was the reality show Charlotte had been on. I’d not paid much attention to it while it was airing, and had other things on my mind when I’d taken her application to lease my house. But I’d definitely heard about the show. A lot about it. Who, with any hormones, hadn’t?
Helene confirmed my impression of it in her next aggravated riposte, one hand on a skinny hip. “Well, there isn’t much competition for Chad Chatsworth . . . or wasn’t.” Her blazing gaze dimmed again to gloomy. “I mean, he was definitely the most creative of all the guys on that show as far as coming up with sexy and romantic dates to tempt Charlotte. I was certainly tempted, and I wasn’t even there.”
“Do you think she actually sampled all the contenders on the show?” Dee asked with interest. Her son stretched his hand out toward Lexie, who sniffed it.
“That was the whole point,” Helene said scornfully. “Of course she did.”
“That makes the producers of the show p-i-m-p-s, then, don’t you think?” Dee said, glancing down as if assuring herself that her son hadn’t comprehended.
“Of sorts,” Helene agreed, with the first grin I’d seen on her otherwise dour face. It disappeared promptly.
“I’m sure the speculation didn’t hurt the ratings,” I chimed in, then faced Helene. “At the party you went to, was
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