Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes by Maria Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📕

And I don’t believe that Wolf character who doesn’t remember anything, how convenient.”

“Actually he may be telling the truth. I had heard rumors from Sunny that he has some kind of genetic condition, and he can’t drink alcohol. He had a Christmas party to go to before he picked up that girl. That’s why he was late. And if he drank, it’s possible he couldn’t remember. Apparently he fell asleep on the lobby’s couch while waiting for the Martin girl. Several people saw him slouching and snoring. I guess he’s accounted for from the time you saw him park the car to when he showed up at Kay’s place.”

“You told me he wasn’t at the dinner party.” I pouted.

“He wasn’t. We were at the cleanup stage when he showed up looking for Ana Martin. He said they were to meet in the lobby, but she didn’t show up, except you saw him arriving at around 7:30, and he rang Kay’s doorbell at about nine, nine-fifteen. Looks like he slept for a long time. He was clean and sober when he came up to Kay’s place. I’m guessing his elevator crossed paths with the bartender on his way up to return the bar gadgets. It was the bartender who found the poor girl maybe ten minutes later. He said he went out to the pool area for a smoke.” Her voice trailed. Was it the lack of cigarettes or the death of a young woman? Both? These days Brenda was hard to read.

Time to change subject. “Guess what I’m doing tomorrow?”

“Sleeping late?” she chided.

“Maybe, the better to look when Tristan Dumont picks me up to take me to dinner.”

There must have been some pre-Christmas event at the Catholic church down the street because a steady stream of cars making U-turns kept us from getting to our street.

Brenda turned her head to look at me face-to-face. “Well, well, about time. And don’t tell me it’s a business meeting or I’ll lose all faith in your common sense.”

“It’s not a business meeting. Wait, he just said we should go to dinner and talk. He didn’t say about what.” Damn. What if he wanted to talk business? “Now I’m confused.”

She laughed and managed to squeeze her Honda between two slow-moving vehicles and get us closer to home. “My suggestion to you is to get your hair and nails done, pick a nice dress from your closet, and pretend you are having dinner with your best friend. That way, no matter how it goes, you’ll have a lovely evening. What do you think?”

“I think it’s great advice. Making an appointment for hair and nails the minute I get home, and then I have to go back out and stop by the office. Can I eat at your house tonight?”

She parked in front of the garage. “Trade you, you take Dior for a walk while I cook and then you join us for dinner.”

“Us?”

“Bob and Tommy.”

“Tommy, my ex? Why is he having dinner with Bob?”

“He isn’t. It so happens that I had already invited Bob when Tommy called.”

“Wonder what he needs now.”

“Come on, Monica, in the spirit of Christmas, let’s try to be nice to each other. He probably needs money. As usual.”

I shrugged and hopped down from her SUV, heading to my place. I could hear Dior barking, he always recognized the car.

I had to do a lot of whining to get Lisa to squeeze me in for a blow dry on such short notice. Made a mental note to bring her a poinsettia. I saw some cool ones at the Trader Joe’s on Shea, very unusual, light pink instead of red. I wondered how they did that? Grow the plants without sunlight? Nah, I doubted that was possible. Anyway, I would get a poinsettia for Lisa. The nails weren’t a big deal, and I could buy a gift card for nails service for Kassandra.

So that was one less headache about Christmas gifts. We were days away, and I still had no clue what to get for Brenda. Oh, maybe Bob would know. Good idea, tonight while she was busy cooking I’d ask him. Bob I didn’t mind.

Tommy, on the other hand. Had not seen him in maybe a month. Didn’t care if I ever saw him again. But had it not been for him, I would have never met his family, especially his Aunt Brenda. Tonight I would smile and be polite as a thank you for the dumbass’s family. Thinking about the time when I was in the country on a temporary visa made me feel even more sad for that poor Ana Martin. I had been so lucky.

I made myself a cheese crisp for lunch, grabbed some lemon water from the fridge, and headed to the office.

Bad start. The first car I noticed was Celine’s blue Sebring, parked next to her mother’s Cadillac. I eased into the empty spot next to Kassandra’s Kia, didn’t recognize the other two vehicles in our Desert Homes Realty parking lot. The front door flew open before I reached the handle, and a tall, mysterious woman nearly knocked me off my feet. She looked like a mourning widow form the old Hollywood big dramas of the fifties. Long black satin overcoat and a black hat with a veil covering her face. And she would have gotten away with it if not for her, “Get out of my way, you idiot.”

The voice was unmistakably Celine’s. Judging by her mood, whatever she came to ask her mother for may have backfired. But the veil? I closed the door softly and turned to see Kassandra, sitting at her front desk, laughing.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

She motioned me to follow her into the kitchen, the room in the building we refer to as our neutral place. We leave our differences behind when we share coffee and gossip, or so goes the official unwritten rule. “She did something to her face, went to some big bucks esthetician in Scottsdale, was