Free Found Money by James Grippando Page B

who could run a criminal background check on the Duffys, make sure the money was clean. She didn’t. Snooping around was no way to get answers anyway. She had learned that from her marriage. Weeks of discreet, behind-the-scenes inquiries had brought only aggravation. The answer had come only after she’d invoked the direct approach and asked him point-blank, “Have you been screwing another woman?” No soft-pedaling it with the usual euphemisms—“seeing someone,” “having an affair,” or “cheating on me.” It had hurt to hear the truth. But at least she knew.
    The direct approach. In a pinch, there was no substitute.
    The shuttle bus dropped her at Larimer Square, a historic street that boasted authentic Western Victorian architecture. But for the determination of preservationists, it would have been bulldozed for yet another glass and steel skyscraper, like so many others that had sprouted in the days when Denver meant oil and the TV hit Dynasty . It had become Denver’s most charming shopping district, home to specialty shops, cafés, and summer concerts in brick courtyards.
    On the corner was the Green Parrot, a coffee house with a bird sanctuary motif, having been converted from a century-old drugstore. A big brass chandelier hung from a thirty-foot coffered ceiling. The soda fountain was now a busy espresso bar. The floor was old Chicago brick. Flowering orchids adorned each of the decorative wrought-iron tables. Bubbling fountains and an abundance of green plants made coffee klatches feel like a day at the park. Huge wire cages towered above the tables, some fifteen feet high, each displaying colorful exotic birds.
    Amy checked her reflection in the plate-glass window before entering. She had chosen her outfit carefully. Nothing too sexy. She didn’t want Ryan to infer that his old man had left a box full of money for his twenty-eight-year-old mistress. She wore a navy blue suit with a peach blouse, shoes with only a two-inch heel. No flashy jewelry, just faux pearls and matching earrings. Sincere, but serious. She entered the double doors and stopped at the sign that said, “W AIT H ERE TO B E S EATED .”
    “Can I help you?” asked the hostess.
    “Yes. I’m supposed to meet someone here at four. His name is Dr. Duffy.”
    She checked her clipboard. “Yes, he’s here. Hesaid he was expecting someone. Follow me, please.”
    Amy gulped. He had actually come.
    Most of the tables were filled, and the after-work crowd was beginning to file in for wine and locally brewed beers as well as coffee. The hostess directed her to the booth by the window. The man rose to greet her. He looked younger than she’d expected. More handsome, too. A good-looking doctor. Gram would be doing cartwheels.
    “Dr. Duffy?” she said as she approached.
    They shook hands. “Right. And you must be…”
    She hesitated. No last name . “Call me Amy.”
    “Okay, Amy.” He didn’t push for a surname.
    “Have a seat.”
    The waitress appeared as they slid into opposite sides of the booth. “Can I bring you something?” she asked.
    “How about a decaf cappuccino?” said Amy.
    “And for you, sir?”
    Ryan paused. “I’ll just have coffee.”
    “We have two hundred kinds.”
    “Pick any you like. Surprise me.”
    She rolled her eyes, jotted something on her pad, and left.
    Amy took another look at Ryan. He really was handsome.
    “Something wrong?” he asked.
    She blushed, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring. “I’m sorry. I guess you just don’t look anything like the small-town country doctor I was expecting.”
    “Well, I make it a point never to smoke my corncob pipe outside of Piedmont Springs.”
    She nodded and smiled, as if she’d deserved that. “Anyway, thanks for coming, Doctor.”
    “Call me Ryan. And you don’t have to thank me.I’m pretty eager to find out what this gift is you’re talking about.”
    “Then I’ll just get right down to it. Like I said, I got a package a couple of