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Swift movement to her right caught her attention and she peered down the stone path. She saw someone jogging, someone tall and thin. Sasha. Oh hell no. Jada wasn’t ready to face her today. She tried to duck backwards, out of sight, but didn’t do it quickly enough.
“Hey there!” Sasha cried out. “I see you, Mrs. Buckley! Out enjoying the beautiful weather, are you?”
Jada sighed. Caught. Damn. She leaned back out over the railing. “Yes, and I see you are, too.”
Sasha’s svelte form drew ever closer. Jada realized something was running beside her, something small ... and multi-colored. It couldn’t be.
“Is that my cat?” Jada asked as Sasha pulled up to a stop under her balcony.
“Oh, is she yours?” Sasha wasn’t even breathing hard. She smiled down at Ms. Kitty, who promptly sat down and began daintily licking a paw. “She fell in with me down by the east docks. Didn’t you, Cat?” She directed the question to the fastidious feline. “That’s right.” She looked back up at Jada. “I’ve named her Cat.”
“Her name’s Ms. Kitty,” Jada called down.
“Really? That’s not a very good name. Mine’s better. I’ll call her Cat.” Sasha bent down and patted Ms. Kitty’s head.
“You can’t name her. She’s mine.”
“Meh,” Sasha said with a shrug, “she’s a cat. It’s not like she’s going to come when you call her anyway, no matter what name you use.”
Jada had to smile. “You’ve got a point. Fine, call her whatever you want.”
Sasha squinted at the horizon then back at Jada. “I’m going to make another circuit, probably. You wanna come? We’ll wait at the steps if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’m not a runner.”
“Okay. Come on then, Cat. Glad someone around here is interested in fitness. See you around, Mrs. Buckley. Let’s hang out in the jacuzzi later.”
Sasha waved and jogged off, Ms. Kitty trotting beside her.
Jada watched them go with a bemused expression. She was growing increasingly certain that someone had switched her anti-social cat for a look-alike, gregarious impostor.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she snatched it out, checking the caller. Marina. Finally.
Jada waved her hand in the air as if Marina could see it. “Where have you been!”
“Hi to you, too,” Marina said, sounding tired.
“I’ve been texting and calling all morning. And you didn’t call or text me last night, either.” She threw open the door to her bedroom and stalked inside.
“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy. I’m going to call you back on a different phone. So don’t worry if you don’t recognize the number. It’s me. I’ll call you right back.”
Jada’s phone beeped. Marina had ended the call. Jada paced her room and stared at her cell. When it buzzed, she answered right away.
“Marina?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry about everything.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”
“Tell me what happened,” Jada insisted.
“Well, you’re not going to like this, but ... since the press couldn’t find you, they’ve been hounding everyone who ever knew you. And that especially includes me, your sister.”
Jada gasped. “That’s terrible. Are you okay? Where are you? Are they at your apartment? Did they—”
“I’m fine. I managed to get away. I’m hiding out in a fleabag motel between the city and Springers Glen.”
“Marina, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Listen,” Jada said, “you probably won’t be safe at a motel like that. Go to the city and check into a nice place. I’ll pay for it.”
“I’m fine where I am, truly. I just feel bad that I can’t investigate your marriage license like you wanted. Reporters are swarming all over Springers Glen right now and they’d catch me for sure if I—”
“No, no. Don’t go back there. Never mind the investigation. You need to stay safe. And anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind this fiasco.”
“You are?” Marina sounded shocked.
“Don’t be so surprised. I may not be a reporter like you, but I can put two and two together.”
“You can? You have?”
Jada rolled her eyes. “I can, and have. I think it was Agatha Brimgore.”
Silence on the other end of the call.
“Marina? Are you still there?” Jada asked.
Silence for a few more seconds, then Marina answered, “Yeah. What’s an Agatha Brimgore, exactly?”
“You mean who. She’s Sasha’s publicist. I met both of them last night.”
“Sasha?”
“Yep. And you won’t believe what she’s like.”
“Tell me everything.”
Jada curled up into a wing-backed chair and tucked her feet under her. She gave Marina all the gory details of the previous night, spilling everything except how Jada got embarrassingly tipsy on three glasses of wine.
Marina sounded more worn out than ever when Jada finished her tale, having reacted powerfully to nearly everything Jada said.
“I can’t believe Sasha wasn’t really dating Ian,” Marina said.
“I know. And you can’t tell anyone, Marina. Swear you won’t.”
“I promised I wouldn’t. You want me to prick my finger in a blood vow or something?”
“Actually, I kind of do. I shouldn’t have told anyone, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Hell, Jada, a saint couldn’t have kept that secret. Anyway, I’m your sister. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”
“Thanks. So what do you think about my theory that Agatha Brimgore leaked a fake marriage license to the press as a publicity stunt?”
“Um, it’s not a bad theory, I guess.” Marina sounded uncertain, hesitant. “I’m wondering, though, if she did that, why would she choose you to marry him? You don’t know her and she doesn’t know you.”
“True,” Jada said. “That’s a hitch in my theory. There are still a few minor details to work out.”
“Okay, well, anyway ... have you seen Ian today?”
“No. He’s gone. He told me last night he’d be leaving early for the city.”
“That’s too bad—oh my God.”
“What?”
“I just flipped on the TV and you aren’t going to believe this. You got a television close? Turn it to the Celebrity Gossip Channel.”
Jada shuddered. “I’m not going to like this, I know it.”
“Turn it on. Now,” Marina insisted.
Jada went over and climbed onto her massive, canopied bed. She used the remote to raise the big flatscreen TV from the gleaming wood cabinet at the bed’s footboard. She found the menu on the TV and selected CGTV.
The title of the program displayed at the top of the screen: “Ian and Jada, a Story of Secret, Runaway Love.”
Jada wanted to turn the stupid thing off, but she couldn’t do it. This was worse than a train wreck, with an off-the-charts gawk factor. “That’s got to be the dumbest—”
“Most amazing thing ever,” Marina finished with glee. “Shh! They’re telling Ian’s life story.”
Jada shook her head and listened to Ian’s biography, CGTV style. And CGTV style basically meant repeating every piece of titillating gossip ever whispered about the billionaire’s sex life. A lengthy chain of women claimed to have been Ian’s lovers at one time or another. One middle-aged woman swore she took Ian’s virginity when he was a teenager.
“This is revolting,” Jada said. “This isn’t a biography; it’s a sideshow of tawdry bimbos.”
“Ha-ha! Exactly. It’s fabulous.”
A crisp knock sounded on Jada’s door and she knew from the sound that it was Elly. She called for her to come in.
Young Elly stepped inside, looking fresh and neat with her crisp white ap
ron and bobbed, brown hair. “I came to get your breakfast dishes if you’re finished.”
“Who’s that?” Marina asked on the phone.
“It’s Elly. I told you about her.” Jada looked at the girl. “Thanks Elly. I’m finished. Except for the rest of that croissant out there. Can you bring it to me?”
“Of course.” Elly headed out onto the balcony with a bright smile.
“Are you making that poor girl fetch your food for you?” Marina teased.
“I am. You’d be surprised how quickly you adjust to the good life. You ought to see Ms. Kitty.”
“Hell no. It’d probably kill me. I’m already nearly dead from jealousy.”
“Right now, Ms. Kitty’s out jogging with Sasha.”
