Her friend laughed. “But luckily not his lust for women. Whew. I hear there are some really hot scenes.”
I left my work and followed them to the front of the store. A freestanding cardboard display had a blowup of the cover of Caught By the Hook. It featured a dark-haired man crocheting. There was just the slightest hint of a fang. Near it there was a cardboard cutout of Anthony holding a sprig of mistletoe in one hand and a woman in a trench coat in the other. Her head was thrown back with her neck exposed and he was leaning toward her with just a touch of fang showing. A banner across the middle announced the upcoming midnight launch of Caught Under the Mistletoe and the first public appearance of A. J. Kowalski. One of the women touched the poster with awe as she began to ask questions. Had I read the books, yes, and yes, I agreed Anthony was hot and, yes, I thought he had a heart even if he didn’t have a real one beating in his chest. Then she leaned close and lowered her voice.
“You know who the author really is, don’t you?”
I shook my head. “All I know is A. J. Kowalski lives in the area.” She looked at me with the same disbelief I’d been getting a lot of lately. The two women started talking to each other about whether A. J. was a man or woman. Even though they both agreed that when people used initials it was usually a woman, one of the women kept insisting the author had to be a man.
“I don’t think a woman could write a male character that well.” Her friend saved me the trouble and brought up J. K. Rowling, who did a great job with Harry Potter, and Stephanie Meyer, who pumped life into Edward Cullen.
I had a few books stashed in the office. When I handed them over, the women were so excited they almost tripped over themselves.
“I have to get this, too,” one of the women said, seeing the sign for Crocheting with the Vampire. I had to explain the companion pattern book wasn’t out yet but promised to let her know when it was. They seemed excited when I mentioned we were supposed to be getting Anthony action figures, along with a Colleen figure. She was the reporter who was bringing his story to the world and also the woman he’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
They wanted hooks, too, so I took them back to the yarn department and showed them our accessory display. One of the women picked up one of the golden K hooks and began stroking it. “Is this the kind he uses?”
“It could be,” I said. “The author isn’t exactly specific.”
“I’m going to ask him about the hook at the launch party.” She looked at me. “I’m sure it’s a man.” They had some discussion about whose credit card to put it on.
I watched them go to the cashier stand and suddenly I knew how I could help Emily find Bradley. That is if she was really looking for him.
CHAPTER 3
THE DAYS WERE SO SHORT AROUND THIS TIME OF year, it seemed liked midnight when I headed home, though it was more like eight. Some weather front had blown in and my light jacket didn’t do much to keep out the cold damp air. My street was quiet and dark. The lights were on at the Perkins’, but their lawn display was dark. I wondered if Emily’d had any more news about Bradley.
I pulled into my own driveway and left the car outside the garage. When I opened my back door, Cosmo flew past me into the yard. The small black mutt took off into the bushes. His long fur would no doubt be full of redwood bits when he came in. Blondie was probably sitting in her chair. The strawberry blond terrier was nothing like any other dog I’d had. Before I’d adopted her, she’d been in a shelter for a year and a half, and living in a kennel for all that time had left its mark. She was the only dog I’d ever had who didn’t mind being boarded. It was like going home. The cats circled my legs with plaintiff meows as I walked in the kitchen. They were hungry and still considering whether I should be forgiven for leaving them at the vet’s while I was gone.
As soon as all animals were fed, I called Emily. She still hadn’t heard anything from Bradley and was thrilled to hear I had figured a way to locate him. I was going to tell her my idea on the phone, but she wanted me to come over.
I hated to go empty-handed, but there was no time to throw together a batch of cookies. I noticed the tin of fudge I’d picked up when Adele and I’d stopped on the way back from San Diego. In Emily’s condition, she probably could really use some chocolate.
I crossed her front yard, being careful to avoid tripping over the dark holiday decorations, and barely had time to check out the huge hanging light fixture on the porch before she opened the door. Emily had all the lights burning inside. In the distance I heard the television and her daughters’ voices.
“The girls still don’t know,” she said in a nervous voice. “They figured out something is wrong because we went out for pizza and I’m letting them watch a movie—two things I never do on a school night.” I sensed she was telling me all this so I wouldn’t think she was a bad mother. Far be it for me to judge anybody. I’d been known to eat ice cream for dinner. I handed her the fudge, which she gratefully accepted before bringing me into the living room. We sat down and she tore off the top of the fudge and took a piece. I was right about her needing some chocolate. She caught herself and apologized for not offering me a piece first. I passed and expected her to set the tin on the coffee table, but she kept hugging it. She really needed chocolate.
Curious about Mrs. Shedd’s reaction when I mentioned Bradley, I asked Emily how he knew my boss.
“Bradley knows everybody. Leave him in a room with ten people, and in a few minutes, he’ll have ten friends. He gets a lot of his business that way.”
“What exactly does Bradley do?” I said, a little embarrassed that after having them as neighbors for a couple of years I wasn’t clear on his profession.
“He’s a financial advisor.” When she said that, it jostled my memory and I recalled that when they’d first moved in, he’d said something about working in finance. I’d asked him a bunch of questions since it was shortly after Charlie had died and I was suddenly in charge of everything. I vaguely remembered he had seemed put off by all my questions and that was the end of it.
When I asked what exactly his title meant, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “That’s what he calls himself. But really what he does is invest money for people. He pools all the money and buys and sells securities. I don’t know the exact details, but he has some special system. He always gets impatient when I ask any questions. I guess he thinks I won’t understand. When he has me make bank deposits, he tells me what to do as if I’m a child. The same when I help with the monthly statements. But he’s very good at what he does. Wherever I go, I run into clients of his and they always rave about Bradley’s magic touch.” Her face had brightened as she talked about her husband, but then her mood fizzled as she began to talk about how he’d acted the day before. “He’s been short-tempered with me before, but never like that. I wish I knew what I did that set him off.”
I put my hand on her shoulder in a consoling manner. “I’m sure it was more about him than anything you did.”
“You said there was a way you thought I could find him,” she said hopefully. “I’m mad at him for doing this to me, but I want to talk to him and find out what’s really wrong. Running off isn’t the way to deal with problems.”