Free Murder Over Cocktails: The 2nd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) by Nancy Skopin Page B

transaction.
    “That would be me,” she said.
    I described Jack to her and she recalled him at once.
    “He is hot . But his name isn’t McGuire. Hold on a minute, I’ve still got the paperwork. Here it is. His name is Mel Overton.”
    I made a note. “Can you give me the mailing address on the form?”
    “No, I can’t,” she said. “Client confidentiality and all that, but I can tell you it’s a P.O. box.”
    I thanked her and hung up. Mel Overton. I looked at the name for a minute and wondered if the initials were significant. M.O. He had probably known I’d check with the pager company. I wrote Jack McGuire on the same page, and then Margaret Sectio. There was something odd about Maggie’s last name. What nationality would that be? She looked English, or maybe Irish with her creamy white skin, gray eyes, and dark hair.
    I turned on my new laptop and navigated the Windows program, which I had equipped with a multilingual dictionary and thesaurus. I typed Sectio and selected tools and thesaurus . It was Latin. Sectio: the action of cutting or severing as in surgery; dissection; division; separation; castration. Yikes!
    I spent the rest of the morning typing restaurant and bar surveys for my regular clients. I printed the reports along with invoices and envelopes, and walked across the street to the mailbox. While I was doing all this my mind kept returning to the Maggie Sectio dilemma. I was apprehensive about spending time alone with her in a deserted house again, but equally anxious to see the tapes Jack would have copied for me by the end of the day.
    Bill called just as I was leaving for Millennium. He’d run Maggie’s plates, and the real estate office was listed as the owner of her Lincoln. Not surprising. I already knew that Maggie had no criminal history, but I still wanted to run a full background on her. Maybe her financial history would tell me something useful. I could just ask Bill for her driver’s license number. I knew he’d have it after checking her for priors, but I felt that would be pushing the boundaries of our friendship too far. I didn’t want him to feel used. I thanked Bill for the info and reminded him I’d be calling when I knew where Maggie and I were having lunch.  
    I took El Camino Real through Atherton into Menlo Park. It was about eighty degrees outside, and the sky was dappled with fluffy white clouds. There was a hint that fall was on its way in the changing color of the leaves.
    I parked in the Millennium lot, and Maggie met me in the lobby. Today she looked elegant in a sleeveless Saint John Colorblock dress in navy, pearl gray, white, and black. I’d priced them on a recent visit to Neiman Marcus. They were a little out of my range.
    I told Maggie I’d be following her in my own car today because I had a hair appointment in the afternoon. We drove north on El Camino and made a left turn just past Menlo College.
    The neighborhood wasn’t what I’d expected, considering Atherton’s reputation. For one thing it seemed dark. There were massive oak trees lining the street on both sides, effectively blocking out the sun, and there were no sidewalks. Almost all of the houses had gated fences or walls shielding them from the public.
    Halfway down the block Maggie slowed, and I recognized the house in the photo. It was set back from the street and protected only by a four-foot-high chain link fence. The gate across the driveway was open. This property clearly did not afford the privacy I had told Maggie I was looking for in a home, which seemed to confirm that she had an ulterior motive for bringing me here. I went on alert, reaching into my bag to make sure the Ruger was easily accessible.
    I followed her down the driveway and we parked in front of the two-car garage. She had been right about the grounds. They were beautifully landscaped. The path from the driveway to the front porch was bordered by tree roses, and the side yard contained a vast bed of irises and peonies