Free Bargain Hunting by Rhonda Pollero

please?”
    Beer Barbie was such a traitor. I took a sip of coffee, glad that my hands weren’t shaking. “Yes, but it isn’t what you think.I needed an escort for my sister’s wedding. Tony Caprelli was supposed to accompany me but something came up at the last minute, so Liam was kind enough to stand in.”
    Wells was writing furiously in a small notepad.
    “You stayed at a hotel in Atlanta?”
    Beer Barbie had a big mouth. “Yes, but not together. We had separate rooms.” Separate adjoining rooms. Time to go on the offensive. “There wasn’t any sex, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Not for lack of trying . “I have a mother who is very big on etiquette. Liam was simply my escort.”
    “Did you pay him for his time?”
    “Not that kind of escort,” I said indignantly.
    “We have information that you and Mr. McGarrity have worked closely on several cases. Is that true?”
    “Yes. But that’s part of my job. It often falls to me to hire outside contractors on cases.”
    “What kind of cases?”
    “I do estates and trusts, which involves tracking down heirs and other pertinent information regarding assets and things, and I also do litigation support for Mr. Caprelli when needed.”
    “He’s a criminal specialist, right?”
    “Yes.” I glanced down at my Swatch watch and stood. “In fact I have a meeting with Mr. Caprelli in a half hour, so if we could wrap this up I’d be very grateful.”
    “Does the meeting have anything to do with Mr. McGarrity?”
    Think! “The last case Tony brought me in on was the defense of a juvenile who is currently incarcerated. I really can’t say any more than that without betraying privilege.”
    Wells flipped his notebook closed and downed his coffee. “Thank you, Miss Tanner.”
    Metcalf seemed a tad more reluctant to end the interview but he grudgingly got off my sofa. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch again,” he said as he reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “Here’s my card. If you see or hear from Mr. McGarrity, I’ll expect a phone call.”
    “Not a problem.” Or an option .

MapQuest should really start at direction number three. I’m pretty sure I know how to get out of my own driveway.

six
    “Change in plans,” Tony said.
    I was negotiating a modest amount of traffic over the bridge that separates West Palm Beach from Palm Beach proper. It’s the unofficial dividing line between the haves and the have-nots. I lived on the have side. Granted, my little house was smaller than most of the servants’ quarters attached to the mansions that dotted the island, but I didn’t care. I loved my little piece of heaven.
    I put my cell on speaker and placed it in the cup holder. “What’s the new plan?”
    “Meet me at the sheriff’s office in Riviera Beach at nine. Bring a pad of paper.”
    “Okay.”
    Tony didn’t bother saying good-bye, the line just clicked and went silent. I had a good forty-five minutes, but I couldn’t think of any way to kill the time, so I headed for the office. Margaretwasn’t yet at her perch but one of her minions was seated behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. Her name was Wendy or Cindy or something like that. I only knew the petite redhead from the file room and the few snarky remarks I’d heard her say under her breath. Like Margaret, she resented my private office and my salary. Too freaking bad. I resented being called FAT behind my back, so I figured we were even.
    “Do I have any messages?”
    Wordlessly she passed a few pink slips toward me.
    “Is Margaret out for the day?” No one sat behind the sacred sentry desk unless Margaret was at death’s door.
    “She had an appointment. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
    Spill that healthy little bottle of V8 juice on yourself? “No, thank you.”
    There was a small amount of activity buzzing around the second floor. Mostly interns trying to keep up with their duties and a couple of administrative assistants prepping various projects for