Free Deadly Appraisal by Jane K. Cleland

asked.
    Gretchen’s normally luminous green eyes clouded over. She shrugged and turned toward her computer, her upbeat mood gone, as if she’d thrown a switch. “Maisy, I guess. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”
    “It’s not stupid at all. I’m having a hard time, too.”
    “I don’t know what to do to stop my mind from replaying everything like a movie, you know?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.”
    “Have you heard anything? Do they have any leads?”
    I paused, considering how much to reveal.
    Gretchen was an enigma. She’d arrived on my doorstep the day I’d started in business, begging for a job, yet refusing to give me any information about her background or qualifications. She’d looked at me straight on, her expressive eyes revealing nothing, and promised that she’d work hard and help my company grow. In a strangely impulsive act for a methodical and research-oriented sort like me, I hired her on the spot, and have thanked my lucky stars ever since. She was a treasure, as much for her office skills as for her caretaking personality and upbeat attitude.
    But she wasn’t a friend, and outside of work, we had little in common. I liked her but felt no particular rapport with her. And knowing her fondness for gossip, I found it hard to imagine that she’d keep my secrets private.
    “Nothing official,” I said.
    She sighed and nodded. “What do you do to turn off the replay?” she asked.
    That one was easy to answer truthfully. “I work,” I said.
    She tried for a smile and almost made it. “You mean you don’t do laundry first?”
    I patted her shoulder as I started for the warehouse door. “Almost never. I’ve been known to buy new clothes rather than do laundry.”
    She laughed, and as I picked up the preliminary tag-sale financial report, a memory came to me.
    Rick, my ex-boyfriend, had burst into my New York City apartment one evening about eight or nine years ago, excitement radiating from every pore.
    “I got the assignment!” he exclaimed, pulling me away from the stove to do a fancy pirouette, spin, and dip.
    “Oh, that’s great, Rick! Congratulations!”
    “Come with me!”
    “Where?” I asked, thrilled that he’d want me to join him anywhere.
    “Rome.”
    “They’re sending you to Rome? For how long?”
    “Just for meetings tomorrow and Monday. Which means I get the weekend in Italy—company-paid! Our flight is at eleven.”
    “ Our flight? Tonight? You’re kidding.”
    “Nope.”
    From his lopsided grin and eyes blazing with anticipation, I could tell that he was serious.
    “But tomorrow’s Friday. I have work,” I objected.
    “Call in sick,” he said, his eyes promising fun and, I thought with a jolt, something deeper and more intimate, as well.
    I felt my pulse race and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He pushed me gently backward until I reached the wall. His eyes seared into mine with passionate intensity. He leaned down and kissed me. My heart thudded and I pushed my hips against him in response. I lost myself in the moment, surrendering to his embrace.
    “So, will you come to Rome with me tonight?”
    “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes still closed, smiling.
    He did a quick jig. “Fantastic! Let’s go!”
    “But . . . I need to pack, and everything I own is dirty. I was going to do laundry tonight.”
    “Who cares? While I’m working tomorrow, you can go clothes shopping.”
    And so I went to Italy with a toothbrush and my makeup case, and nothing else.
    “I’ll be upstairs,” I called to Gretchen now, shaking off the memory.
    I didn’t miss Rick at all, but thinking of him made me miss Ty a lot. Is Aunt Trina okay? Is he?

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    T
    he phone rang. Listening to Gretchen’s side of the conversation, I could tell that it was Eddie, the caterer, letting her know he was on his way.
    “Once Eddie’s finished, call Macon Cleaners, will you? Tell them about the wine stains and see what they can