The Maverick - By Jan Hudson Page 0,66
mind off…everything.”
When the list grew to three pages, Cass stopped and they prioritized. Personal grooming items, makeup, a simple basic wardrobe, charger for her phone.
“Want to go with me?” Cass asked.
“Sure.”
Their first stop was Ulta. The second was IHOP. The third was Nordstrom’s. By the time they got to Best Buy, their tail feathers were dragging.
“Tell me this is all for today,” Sunny said.
“This is all. I promise. Let’s go home and order a pizza. I’m starved.”
When they arrived at Sunny’s they found two food bags from Cass’s favorite Italian restaurant sitting by the back door.
Griff. Cass knew immediately this was from him. Before she could stop herself, a warm feeling stole over her and she smiled. No, dammit. She wouldn’t be suckered in by shrimp Portofino. She sighed. But she wouldn’t let the pasta go to waste, either.
Ben stopped by to bring them up to date, and he shared their meal.
“From the preliminary investigation by the fire department,” he said, “it looks like the fire started in the office at Chili Witches.”
“But how?” Sunny asked.
“Not sure,” Ben said, “but the safe survived and it looks like somebody had been after it with a cutting torch.”
“You mean a thief started the fire?” Cass asked.
“Maybe. Or the damage to the safe may have been caused during the fire. As I say, this is preliminary information. We’ll know more in a few days.”
“The alarm was set,” Cass said. “I distinctly remember setting it. How could someone have gotten past it?”
Ben shrugged. “An investigator will be out to talk with you tomorrow.”
“I’m going to leave it with you two,” Cass said. “I’m going to put up all my stuff and sack out.” On her way to the guest room, she paused at the bookshelf to select a novel and tucked it under her arm.
After she’d hung up her new and much abbreviated wardrobe and stowed her shoes—one pair of pewter flats, one pair of sport shoes, one pair of beige thongs and one pair of black heels—she brushed her teeth with her new brush and changed into her new nightie. Socks and undies went in a dresser drawer. She hooked up her phone to the new charger and climbed in bed with Janet Evanovich. She’d only made it to page three when her phone rang. Maddie.
“Hey, Maddie, what’s up?”
“Cass, I have the poop on Griff Mitchell. My brother knows him, but not well. My cousin Will is a friend of his. They still play racquetball or one of those guy games. Griff was a supersmart stud at Harvard Law, and he worked for a firm in New York for a while. About five years ago he and three other buddies from undergrad days formed a consulting company. ZASM. Walter Zeagler, Peter Adair, Fisher Smith and Griffin Mitchell. They partner with developers of hotels and high-rises in a variety of capacities, particularly acquiring properties, and they’ve made scads of money doing it.
“Will said Griff had been in Texas scouting properties, but he came back into town a week or so ago madder than hell at one of the partners, and quit the firm. Packed up his desk and told them he didn’t like the way they did business and to go to hell. Will was stunned. We’re talking about thumbing his nose at megabucks.”
Cass sat straight up in bed. “He did?”
“According to my cousin, he did. And Will also got the idea he’d fallen in love with a woman in Texas because he was selling everything, and told Will not to expect him back. That woman wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
Maddie laughed. “I didn’t get where I am on my looks. Are you the one?”
“There are some problems.”
“I’d try to work them out if I were you. This Griff sounds like a keeper. Will’s very fond of him, and Will is quite discerning. Does my information help?”
“Perhaps. I’ll need some time to process what you’ve told me. Is there any way I can return the favor?”
“Sure,” Maddie said. “Invite me to the wedding.”
“Don’t pack your bags just yet.”
They chatted for a few minutes about mutual acquaintances, but Cass didn’t mention the fire or anything more about Griff.
After they said goodbye, she lay back and stared at the ceiling. Had she judged Griff too quickly and too harshly?
Maybe she had.
She picked up her phone again and listened to her messages from Griff—all twenty-seven of them.
By the time she’d heard him pour his heart out, she was in