Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,47

better than knowin' a guy who used to live in a closet."

"How long ago did you shoot this?" I asked.

"Five, ten minutes."

"Can I see that again?" asked Jackie, removing the photo from my hand. She studied it briefly. "Aha! If you concentrate on the foreground, you can miss things in the background. You want to know what my roommate looks like, Emily? Here you go." She handed the photo back. "She's the busty blonde Gabriel Fox has his arm draped around in the far right corner there. Our Mr. Fox doesn't waste any time with the ladies."

"He hit on your roommate?" I checked out the blonde, my eyes focusing on the slightly grainy image. "SHE'S WEARING MY CORAL SWEATERDRESS WITH THE LEATHER SHOULDER STRAP!"

"Euw, that's yours?" Jackie took another peek. "Nice color. Where'd you get it? Catalogue? Is the scarf yours, too?"

"What scarf?"

She poked the photo with her fingernail. "Fox's arm isn't the only thing draped around Jeannette's neck. See? There's a scarf trailing down the front of her dress. Frankly, I don't think the neckline of the dress calls for a scarf. She might know a lot about food, but she obviously doesn't know diddly about accessorizing."

I went up on my tiptoes, searching the crowd. "I wonder which way everyone went?"

"Amanda and them was headin' for that famous museum over by that famous plaza with all them famous statues, but I told them how I'd just read this mornin' you might have to wait in a long line if you don't have no advance tickets. They decided to climb to the top a the Domo instead, though the man with the hat said he didn't much like heights."

I looked at Jackie. Jackie looked at me. "I guess maybe I should keep an eye on them," she said, handing all the photos back to Nana. "But I still think it would work better if I had a disguise. Oh, God, this is exciting." As she bounded through the crowd, she turned around and yelled back at me, "Meet you at the hairdresser's in a couple of hours or so!"

Nana waved her photos at Jackie in farewell, then to me, "She's very tall, isn't she, dear?"

I tugged on the cloth sack hanging from her arm. "Been shopping?"

"You bet." Eyes gleaming, she sidled a surreptitious look over each shoulder, then opened the sack just wide enough for me to spy a big wad of black leather.

"What is it?" I whispered. "Slingshot?" My nephews would love it. My sister-in-law would kill her.

"Undies," she said.

My eyebrows shot to the top of my head. "For you?"

"For George. I found 'em at the leather market. The fella in the stall tried to sell me a nice leather thong like the one your young man had on last month, but I knew George would balk at that."

"Too racy?"

"Too flimsy. George needs extra support." She pulled a pair of what looked like Bavarian lederhosen out of the sack. "So I got him boxers."

I squirmed my way through the foot traffic clogging the piazza, circled around the north side of the Duomo with its gleaming pink, white, and green marble, and found the hair salon located in a pristine limestone building with brown-shuttered windows, decorative stone medallions, and window boxes hanging from wrought-iron balcony grills. Before opening the polished wood door, I gazed upward at the monstrous Duomo, wondering why Fred would agree to climb to the top if he was afraid of heights. Talk about being a glutton for punishment. And why make the climb with Brandy Ann and Amanda if they'd hurt his feelings so badly?

Something had happened to get them together. Maybe they'd kissed and made up. But in light of my suspicions about Brandy Ann and Amanda, I hoped Jackie watched Fred closely. I'd hate for anything to happen to the poor little guy. He just seemed so...helpless. Or maybe a better word was, hopeless.

However, speaking of kissing...

I retrieved my phone, punched in a number, and waited.

"Miceli."

"I'm sorry we were cut off, too."

A pause. "Ahhh, Emily. I miss you."

"I think we need to remedy that. Where are you? The casino?"

"I'm at my great-aunt's. They've lit all ninety candles on her birthday cake and she's methodically blowing each one out, which could take a while. She's been a two-pack-a-day smoker for seventy-five years."

Gee, if the party was winding down -- "I have an idea. When the party's over, you could hop a train and tell me how much you miss me in person."

"The next time I