details of my failed marriage for Valerie to examine. Then again, maybe she didn't need to. The way Valerie looked at me—her eyes bright with the knowledge that we shared in the sisterhood—I had a feeling she already knew all about Peter.
"All right, I admit it!" I yawned when I said this, which pretty much took the enthusiasm level down a notch. That didn't stop both Eve and Valerie from scooting forward in their seats. "I am intrigued," I said. I tapped a finger against the paper Valerie had handed me. "All these women? All with a grudge against Brad? If they feel about him the way you two feel about him, I'm surprised someone hasn't fitted him for a pair of cement overshoes and dumped him into Chesapeake Bay." I hesitated before I asked the final question, but let's face it, committed is committed. And I'd already committed.
"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked.
"Now we're talking." Eve patted me on the back.
Valerie grinned. "We want you to do your detective magic," she said. "After everything Eve has told me about you, I know you can investigate anything. The way she describes you, you're Wonder Woman!"
Yeah, I must be.
Because right about then, I was wondering what I'd just gotten myself into.
* * *
Q I CAN'T CALL WHAT I HAD A PLAN. NOT EXACTLY,
anyway. It was more of a planette, the germ of an idea that might—or might not—get us someplace.
Not that I knew where we were headed.
Or what we would do when we got there.
No matter. I had made a promise, and I never go back on my word. I spent the next day at home catching up on bills and laundry and coming up with a strategy of sorts. The day after, a Monday, I refined my planette. I was anxious to run it by Eve, but though I tried her phone a dozen times, there was no answer. Since Eve and her cell phone are never parted, this was odd, but I wasn't worried. Maybe Eve had met a new guy and had better things to do than talk to me. I hoped so. After everything she had been through in the romance department, she deserved a break.
With no sounding board, I was on my own, and over and over again, I practiced what I'd say to Brad in cooking class that night.
"Were you really fired from your job at the W ashington Star ?"
"Does that prove you're a dishonest creep who doesn't care who he steps on, on his way to the top?"
"How many women's lives have you ruined, and what do you intend to do about it?"
"Are you really a Weasel? I mean, come on, Brad, come clean. If you'd just write a letter of recommendation for every woman whose reputation you've trashed, you'd do a lot toward righting all these wrongs. Need a list? I just so happen to have one, right here."
I am not completely delusional. Even as I stood in the kitchen of Bellywasher's waiting for our students to arrive that evening, I realized I couldn't exactly come right out and say all that to Brad. Not in those words, anyway. But that didn't mean I couldn't be subtle about it.
I'd assigned Brad to drinks that night and paired him up with Kegan again. I know, I know . . . I'd promised Kegan I wouldn't, so this really wasn't fair. Even though we went out for a drink after the last class, Kegan and Brad never really hit it off. Brad was loud and pushy. Kegan was jumpy and ill at ease. I was uncomfortable on his behalf and Marc, Damien, and Monsieur weren't any happier; they left as soon as they could.
I soothed my conscience by promising myself I'd make it up to Kegan and looked at the bright side. If I just so happened to stop by while they were working, on the pretense of talking to Kegan about the ideas he had for saving money for the restaurant . . .
If I just so happened to include Brad in the conversation and somehow come around to the topic of his background . . .
If I could only get him to fess up, then I could explain about the sisterhood that was gunning
"All right, I admit it!" I yawned when I said this, which pretty much took the enthusiasm level down a notch. That didn't stop both Eve and Valerie from scooting forward in their seats. "I am intrigued," I said. I tapped a finger against the paper Valerie had handed me. "All these women? All with a grudge against Brad? If they feel about him the way you two feel about him, I'm surprised someone hasn't fitted him for a pair of cement overshoes and dumped him into Chesapeake Bay." I hesitated before I asked the final question, but let's face it, committed is committed. And I'd already committed.
"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked.
"Now we're talking." Eve patted me on the back.
Valerie grinned. "We want you to do your detective magic," she said. "After everything Eve has told me about you, I know you can investigate anything. The way she describes you, you're Wonder Woman!"
Yeah, I must be.
Because right about then, I was wondering what I'd just gotten myself into.
* * *
Q I CAN'T CALL WHAT I HAD A PLAN. NOT EXACTLY,
anyway. It was more of a planette, the germ of an idea that might—or might not—get us someplace.
Not that I knew where we were headed.
Or what we would do when we got there.
No matter. I had made a promise, and I never go back on my word. I spent the next day at home catching up on bills and laundry and coming up with a strategy of sorts. The day after, a Monday, I refined my planette. I was anxious to run it by Eve, but though I tried her phone a dozen times, there was no answer. Since Eve and her cell phone are never parted, this was odd, but I wasn't worried. Maybe Eve had met a new guy and had better things to do than talk to me. I hoped so. After everything she had been through in the romance department, she deserved a break.
With no sounding board, I was on my own, and over and over again, I practiced what I'd say to Brad in cooking class that night.
"Were you really fired from your job at the W ashington Star ?"
"Does that prove you're a dishonest creep who doesn't care who he steps on, on his way to the top?"
"How many women's lives have you ruined, and what do you intend to do about it?"
"Are you really a Weasel? I mean, come on, Brad, come clean. If you'd just write a letter of recommendation for every woman whose reputation you've trashed, you'd do a lot toward righting all these wrongs. Need a list? I just so happen to have one, right here."
I am not completely delusional. Even as I stood in the kitchen of Bellywasher's waiting for our students to arrive that evening, I realized I couldn't exactly come right out and say all that to Brad. Not in those words, anyway. But that didn't mean I couldn't be subtle about it.
I'd assigned Brad to drinks that night and paired him up with Kegan again. I know, I know . . . I'd promised Kegan I wouldn't, so this really wasn't fair. Even though we went out for a drink after the last class, Kegan and Brad never really hit it off. Brad was loud and pushy. Kegan was jumpy and ill at ease. I was uncomfortable on his behalf and Marc, Damien, and Monsieur weren't any happier; they left as soon as they could.
I soothed my conscience by promising myself I'd make it up to Kegan and looked at the bright side. If I just so happened to stop by while they were working, on the pretense of talking to Kegan about the ideas he had for saving money for the restaurant . . .
If I just so happened to include Brad in the conversation and somehow come around to the topic of his background . . .
If I could only get him to fess up, then I could explain about the sisterhood that was gunning
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