Free Charade by Sandra Brown Page B

reunited. The scrapbook was closed reverently. The back cover received a loving pat before the volume was gently laid in the desk drawer and locked away from prying eyes. Not that there would be any. No one was ever invited here. Before the drawer was locked, a thick, bulging manila envelope was removed. The metal clasp was worked open and the contents spread across the desk. Each article, photograph, and clipping had been carefully labeled to facilitate study. Every fact contained in this treasure trove of information had been memorized and analyzed. Known were her height, weight, dress size, likes and dislikes, religious preference, favorite fragrance, pet peeves, California driver's license number, Social Security number, political affiliations, ring size, and the telephone number of the maid service that cleaned her house in Malibu. It had taken months to compile the information, but it was amazing how much could be learned about a person when one's time was devoted solely to that undertaking. Of course, because she was a celebrity, there was much to be learned from the media, although the reliability of that information was sometimes questionable. Tabloids
    weren't always accurate, so "facts" garnered from them had to be verified. Interesting, this change of heart she'd had recently. She was leaving her fabulous life in Hollywood for what appeared to be charity work in San Antonio, Texas. Cat Delaney would be an intriguing person to get to know. And a real challenge to kill.
    Chapter Thirteen
    May 1994
    "Say, this might sound crazy, but, well, I've been sitting in that booth over there, looking at you and thinking I know you from somewhere. All of a sudden it hit me like a ton of bricks. Aren't you Alex Pearson?" "No." "You sure?" "Positive." "Damn. I could've sworn you were him. You look just like him. The writer, you know? Wrote that crime novel that everybody's reading? You're a dead ringer." This had gone on long enough. Alex stuck out his right hand. "Alex Pierce." "Hot damn! I knew it was you! Recognized you from the picture on the back of your book. Lester Dobbs is the name." The friendly stranger pumped his hand enthusiastically. "Pleased to meet you, Alex. Is it all right for me to call you Alex?" "Of course." Without invitation, Dobbs slid into the booth across from Alex.
    It was breakfast time at Denny's. The coffee shop was crowded with people on their way to work and those who'd just gotten off night shift. Dobbs signaled the harried waitress for a fresh cup of coffee. "Don't know why she's acting so pissed," he muttered after he got the refill. "By moving over here, I freed up a booth." Alex folded his morning newspaper and laid it on the seat beside him. It appeared he wouldn't be returning to it anytime soon. Dobbs said, "Read that you were a Texan. Didn't know you still lived here in Houston." "I don't. Not on a permanent basis anyway. I move from place to place." "Guess your line of work gives you the freedom to do that." "I can plug in my computer anywhere there's a post office and a telephone." "Wouldn't do me any good to get the wanderlust," Dobbs said with regret. "I work in a refinery. Been there twenty-two years. It ain't going nowhere and neither am I. The job keeps bread on the table, but that's about all I can say for it. Got me a bastard of a supervisor. A real tight-ass when it comes to that time clock, know what I mean?" "Yeah, I know the type," Alex replied sympathetically. "Used to be a cop, didn't you?" "That's right." "Traded in your handgun for a hard disk." Alex looked at him with surprise. "Clever, huh? Didn't make it up myself. Read it in an article about you in the Sunday supplement a few months back. Sorta stuck in my mind. Is this the nonsmoking section? Shit. Anyway, me and the wife are real fans." "I'm glad to hear that." "I don't read much, you understand. She's always got her nose stuck in a book. Buys 'em at the secondhand place a dozen or more at a time. Me, I only like the