although, as Dana noted, it was technically the afternoon.
Dana had a big smile on her face when she followed the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee into the dining room, where a full mug and the morning paper were waiting for her. She was so glad to have Jake home. She really loved him, and it didn’t hurt that he was one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. Jake, who was in his mid-thirties, was an inch shorter than Dana at five nine, and had wavy brown hair and liquid brown eyes. His skin was always tanned because he was outdoors so much of the time. Jake’s job could be physically demanding, so he stayed in shape. Dana grinned as she remembered the feel of his rock-hard body.
Jake saw how happy Dana looked, and he couldn’t help smiling, too. Not so long ago he had wondered if he would ever see her smile again.
“So, what’s this weird case you were working on?” Jake asked as he set down plates loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast at their places.
Between bites, Dana told Jake about her meeting with Margo Laurent, her trip to the West Coast, and her discovery that the search for the Ottoman Scepter was a prank.
“I think calling what happened to you ‘weird’ is an understatement. The whole thing is downright bizarre.”
“I agree.”
“Are you going to try to figure out what happened and who was behind it?”
“When I can. I had to put several cases on the back burner, and I’ve got to dig myself out.”
Jake grabbed the sports section so he could catch up on what happened to his favorite teams while he was away. Dana took the first section and read the depressing news about the Middle East, the failing economy, and congressional gridlock. When she got to the part of the paper that reported on local news, she found herself looking at a picture over a headline that read: COMMONWEALTH ATTORNEY STILL MISSING. Dana was struck by the resemblance the prosecutor in question bore to Margo Laurent. Then she froze when she learned that the missing woman was Carrie Blair, wife of industrialist Horace Blair.
There was that name again.
The article told how Carrie Blair became the “Society Prosecutor” and concluded by stating that the last time anyone had seen the missing woman was Monday afternoon. Dana felt very uneasy. The last time she’d talked to Margo Laurent was Friday. After that, all of Dana’s calls had gone to voice mail.
“What’s up?” Jake asked when he noticed the intensity with which Dana was reading the story about the missing prosecutor.
“My weird case just got a whole lot weirder.”
Dana walked down to her basement office and booted up her computer. She found a good photograph of Carrie Blair on the Internet and used Photoshop to change Carrie’s blond hair to black and add dark glasses. When she was through, Dana maneuvered the before and after photos so they were side by side.
Jake walked in carrying two coffee mugs. He set one down next to Dana and pulled up a chair.
“I think I’ve found my mystery woman,” Dana said. Then she told Jake about the missing prosecutor.
“Horace Blair owns the house on Isla de Muerta and the condo in Victoria. It’s too big a coincidence. I think Margo Laurent is really Carrie Blair.”
“Do you know the Blairs?” Jake asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“So what’s going on?”
“I have no idea. This whole business is giving me a headache.”
Chapter Seventeen
Charles Benedict’s office was in a two-story house with a wide front porch that stood on the border between the commercial and residential sections of downtown Crestview, Lee County’s county seat. It had been built as a residence in 1875. When Benedict bought it, 130 years later, he kept the exterior but completely remodeled the interior.
Nikolai Orlansky loved meeting at Benedict’s office because nothing he said there could ever be used against him. Benedict had the house swept for listening devices every time Nikolai dropped by for an attorney-client conference but Nikolai was paranoid and he imagined that government agencies using NSA/CIA-developed technology were probably listening in. He delighted in pressing his finger to his lips, giving Benedict a wink, then spewing out confessions about the Kennedy assassination and any other weirdness he would think up on the spur of the moment.
Benedict put up with Orlansky’s shenanigans because he was a steady source of income and a good person to know if you needed untraceable weapons, high-grade narcotics, and beautiful