Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery)
a date yet?” Reilly asked.
    “Reilly,” I said with a hiss.
    But Rochelle waved away my concern. “It’s not like it’s a secret. She moved out and I moved in. The divorce will be final in a few months and then Michael and I are going to Hawaii and getting married on the beach. And there won’t be a thing the former Mrs. Brothers will be able to do about it.”

    I mustered up some sympathy, no easy task given that she was the other woman. But it was necessary. Maybe the current Mrs. Michael Brothers was behind the notes. “Has she been difficult?”
    Rochelle’s toy dog yipped at me, and once again I wondered if humans seriously underestimated how much dogs could understand. “Shh shh, Princess.”
    Rochelle stroked her Maltese, moving her fingers around the hot pink clip in Princess’s hair. The high-pitched barking didn’t stop.
    My head started pounding and inside I was sending love to my barrel-chested, kick-ass boxer. No sissy barking allowed.
    “You were saying?” I asked over Princess, amazed that Rochelle hadn’t questioned who we were or why we were so curious about her boyfriend’s wife. Her sheet of hair blocked her face as she cooed at Princess…who had her dark eyes trained on me. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you?”
    Princess’s bark grew sharper and more shrill. She might be miniature, but she was suddenly fierce, baring her sharp white teeth.
    “No!” I waved my hands, then pointed at the arrangement of roses and gladiolas and baby’s breath. “Just delivering flowers.”
    “Flowers from whom? There’s no card. Michael doesn’t send me flowers—Oh, I know,” she said, a light bulb going off behind her eyes. “They’re from her , aren’t they? I’m surprised they’re not black roses.”
    “From Mrs. Brothers? No,” I said, making a split-second decision. “I’ll be honest with you…”

    “Not Mrs. Brothers.” She fanned her hand in front of her. “Oh, never mind.” Princess’s barks subsided, as if she were ready to listen to my story, too. “What. What do you want?”
    “I’m a private investigator—”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”
    I’d dressed for efficiency, in case I had to climb a fence to get near Rochelle’s house. I took mental stock of my outfit. Olive green pants, flat-heeled taupe boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and my favorite worn jean jacket. With my hair pulled up, loose strands framing my face, I probably appeared more like I was ready to hit a casual restaurant and browse the shops at Arden Fair.
    “Yes, me. I was hired by Lance and Victoria Wolfe.” I watched her closely, trying to gauge her response.
    “From the Royals?” Her eyes pinched as she peered at me. “Why?”
    “Some of the dancers have received vaguely threatening notes.”
    Princess snuggled closer to her. That was one thing Salsa didn’t do. She’d come stand next to me and lay her chin on my thigh, but she was too big to snuggle. If I laid down on the ground, she climbed right on top of me.
    “I was there when they started. We chalked it up to a superfan. We all had plenty of those.”
    She moved toward the door. “I don’t have anything to do with the Royals anymore. Hypocrites.”
    Reilly and I followed slowly, stalling for time. “Why hypocrites?”
    Princess started barking again as Rochelle pulled open the door. “How much time do you have? They kicked me off, but Michael can stay. It’s not fair.”

    I had to agree, but double standards were everywhere. “The notes. Do you think it was about your aff—” I broke off before I offended her with the wrong word. “About your relationship with Michael?”
    She shook her head. “No. Other girls got them, too.”
    Precisely what Jennifer had said at our first meeting.
    “Do you have any other ideas about the notes?”
    Again, she shook her head. “I’m done with them. They can have their stupid rules and conquests and their secret meetings and their double standards. I have Michael.” And with

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