Wanted: One Mummy. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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the call.
Maryellen? Jack thought, stunned. What apartment? Why did Dutch and Maryellen need privacy? What was so secret? Was Dutch having an affair with this woman? And if so, what was he supposed to do about it? It wasn’t as if he could—or would even want—to say anything to his mother without first knowing exactly what the situation was.
Feeling more conflicted than ever, Jack shut the doors, then dialed the private investigator who did the background checks for his company. He explained to Laura Tillman what was going on.
“It’s too late for me to get someone out there right now,” she said.
“Maybe I should tail him,” Jack offered.
“Don’t,” Laura directed sternly. “You’re not a professional. If Dutch is hiding something, you’ll only alert him to the fact you overheard something you clearly should not have. You’ve got almost three weeks before the wedding actually happens. Let us do this.”
Jack sighed. He knew she was right. But it left him feeling powerless. He did not like it. He wanted to be able to protect his loved ones, no matter what the circumstances.
There was a rap behind him. The study door opened. His mother pointed to her watch, then waved, along with Maddie. Smiling, the two left.
“Jack? Are you still there?” the P.I. said.
Out in the driveway, Dutch’s car started, then Jack’s mother’s. “I’m here,” Jack said, as Caroline appeared near the doorway, too, a question in her eyes. “You’ve got my approval,” Jack said firmly. “Just do what has to be done as quickly as possible.” In his view, there wasn’t a moment to lose.
“SORRY ABOUT THAT,” Caroline said as Jack joined her. “Your mother suggested I hurry you along or you’d be on the phone with your office forever.”
Which reminded Jack … he hadn’t called in to his secretary yet. “I’ve still got one more call to make,” he said.
Jack would have been annoyed in her place, but Caroline looked at Jack with the patience of a saint. “I’ll wait in the living room,” she said.
Jack wrapped up business as quickly as he could. It still took fifteen minutes.
Caroline was on her laptop busily typing away when he joined her again. She held up a hand, finished what she was doing, then shut down her computer.
“So where are we going?” Jack asked as they walked out to her car. She slid behind the wheel, turned on the car and activated the sedan’s directional system, keying in their destination in the GPS.
Her silk blouse pulling across the soft curves of her breasts, Caroline checked to make sure the way was clear, then backed out of the drive.
Unable to help but note the way her skirt rode up her thighs as her foot moved from accelerator to brake, Jack turned his attention to the street ahead.
Oblivious to how aware he was of her, Caroline continued talking business. “Thus far, I’ve only located two venues that can handle an outdoor wedding and reception on short notice. The first—Wedding Bells Ranch—is an hour north of the city, and just opened a couple of months ago.”
Even the name sounded cheesy, Jack thought with disdain. He turned to shoot her a curious look. A copper-colored strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, partially obscuring the dainty freckles that speckled her high, elegant cheekbones. He ignored the urge to capture the silky strand and tuck it behind her ear. “Have you ever been there?” he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on his task, rather than his attractive companion.
“No.” Caroline accelerated smoothly and merged onto the freeway. “The photos on their Web site look great, although those can be deceiving.”
Jack appreciated the deft way she negotiated the heavy city traffic. “Did you check with the Better Business Bureau?”
“Yes. So far, they’ve had no negative reporting but, as I said, the site has only been open a few months.”
“And the other location?”
Her brows knit together. “Is a little over an hour and twenty minutes due west of the city.”
Jack calculated the mileage and the time it would take to see both. He frowned.
Caroline held up a silencing hand. “I realize this is probably going to take a big chunk out of both our days, unless the first place works out to your satisfaction.”
Knowing time was money, Jack said, “Then we’ll hope for the first.”
Caroline took the exit that would lead them to the countryside. Still all business, she slanted him a glance. “Aren’t you interested in price differential?”
Traffic instantly became much less intense. Jack relaxed in the bucket seat. “Is there one?”
She nodded. “The second place is ten percent less. But … the bride and groom need to think about the convenience of their guests. Sometimes if a venue is too far away, guests opt out of attending, especially in Dutch and Patrice’s age group.”
“True.” Traveling, Jack knew, was harder on his mother these days than it had been in the past. Which made her determination to be on the road so much more puzzling, to say the least. Especially since his mother and Dutch weren’t traveling much at all now. “Then let’s hope the first place works out,” he said.
IT WAS SO MUCH WORSE than what Caroline had imagined, even in a worst-case scenario. And nothing like the gloriously beautiful pictures on the Wedding Bells Ranch Web site.
“Can we sue them for false advertising?” Jack joked as they got out of the car.
Caroline wished she could feel similarly amused. Since she had just been professionally humiliated in front of a man she really wanted to impress, for reasons that had little to do with the business at hand, it wasn’t possible.
“We should just forget it,” Jack said in disgust.
Caroline’s conscience wouldn’t let her do that. She had made an appointment. She would follow through, if only briefly. “If you’d rather wait in the car …”
Jack looked at the peeling paint on the ranch house and barn, the broken-down steps and weed-ridden lawn. “If you’re going up there—” he pointed to the elaborate sign that said Wedding Bells Ranch Office “—so am I.”
Together, Caroline and Jack walked through the crabgrass to the door.
Knocked. The door opened. A pretty young woman in paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt opened the door. “Caroline Mayer, I presume.” She started to extend a hand, then stopped, realizing her fingers were splattered with wet paint. “Hi. I’m Lysette Beasley. Owner. As you can see, we are a work in progress, but I promise you we will be up and running by the end of the summer.”
“My client is getting married in three weeks,” Caroline said.
“Three!” Lysette clapped a hand to her chest in surprise. “I saw May 5 on your e-mail appointment request. I guess the year didn’t compute. I just assumed … Who plans a wedding in three weeks?”
“My mother and her fiancé,” Jack said, grim as ever on the subject.
“Oh. Dear.” Lysette looked all the more distressed.
“Oh, dear” was right, Caroline thought.
“Even under a tent, I don’t think there is any way we could be ready to hold a big gala by then,” Lysette Beasley said.
Caroline sighed, and took another look around. “I would have to agree.”
“What about the photos on the Web site?” Jack asked.
“Those were computer mock-ups of how we want the place to look, when I’m finished renovating,” Lysette said.
“You should