Free Foxy Roxy by Nancy Martin Page A

Maybe she was the one Julius played pool with. Quite the tomboy.” Monica took off her glasses and looked into his eyes. “But listen, Henry, Julius was being positively nefarious once he decided he needed more income. He picked the least scrupulous associates. If you’re serious about tracking down things Julius might have sold, you should look for someone who’s one step from being a thief.”
    Good advice. But first he’d see Monica safely ensconced at Hilltop, just a stone’s throw from his own apartment.

6
    Arden Hyde took a US Airways flight to Pittsburgh, where the terminal was as empty as a bowling alley. She stopped in a bathroom to wash her face and check her bag. The Ambien and Xanax had worn off, leaving her feeling low. She contemplated her choices for revival. Half a caffeine pill? Just the thing.
    She caught a taxi and sat in the back feeling her energy coming back. Great! The weather was fantastic! Autumn in Pennsylvania—what could be nicer? It made her think of a line from Proust, but she couldn’t quite summon it up. And the view coming out of the tunnel and bursting across the bridge into Pittsburgh—breathtaking!
    Arden heard herself chattering at the driver and realized maybe she needed to come down a notch, so she swallowed half an Ativan and sat back, confident she had sufficiently medicated herself to avoid too much reality but maintain the appearance of sentience. She’d put off her father’s offer to pick her up at the airport, and he’d suggested they meet at the Hyde house. The cab arrived at the burned-out mansion in the late afternoon. Her first glimpse of the old house was quite a shock. All that remained was an ugly hulk. Manderley after Mrs. Danvers.
    In the driveway, Arden found her way blocked by police tape and a gum-chewing security guard. And Quentin Hyde.
    Daddy climbed out of his long black Mercedes, holding his cell phone to his ear. He was shouting at someone about a merger. The other half of the Ativan called to Arden from her bag.
    The security guard asked Arden to respect the crime-scene tape, so she stopped at the edge of the driveway, put on her sunglasses, and waited for Daddy to finish his shouting. The security guard left her alone and watched the passing traffic, sharpening his attention when a car slowed down so the passengers could gawk. She was back in Pittsburgh, all right, where even security guards took their work seriously.
    As he bellowed into the phone, her father looked like he was holding off a heart attack by force of will. Since she’d last been home, he’d grown a little beard—carefully trimmed to give him the firm jawline that had long ago been lost to too many steak dinners at Morton’s. He wore a too-tight camel-colored sport coat over a black sweater, and dark trousers that had been chosen, Arden was sure, to look slimming. His efforts were rather endearing.
    Whoever was on the other end of his phone call was getting royally reamed, though.
    Arden tuned him out. With her hands shoved into her pockets, she turned and stood looking at the remains of the once magnificent house. What she saw made her incredibly sad. She had no cherished childhood memories of the mansion—years of boarding school prevented that—but the idea that so many things of value had been destroyed gave her a surge of sorrow. And nausea.
    Or maybe it was that last vodka on the airplane.
    Quentin pocketed his phone. “Idiots.”
    “Hello, Daddy.”
    “You should go to law school,” he said without greeting. “I need to get the new headquarters built. You could run the project while I focus on the merger.”
    The career path he outlined might have sounded wonderful fifteen minutes ago, before the Ativan. Now it was too dreary to think about. She kissed him on the cheek anyway and patted his chest with more fondness than she expected to feel. “It’s nice to see you, Daddy.”
    He grabbed her shoulders—half hug, half something more demanding. “Why won’t you