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Chapter Three
BOB
Right before I got out to deliver the package to Acorn Street, I got a message from my sister, Marta:
Katie texted me again. She begged me to come this weekend. WTF?
I texted back:
So go. But I don’t want to hear about it.
Katie was my ex. She was marrying an ex-friend of mine this weekend, Dave, a guy I used to work with. My sister was friends with Katie. We’d all been friends for years until Katie had run off with Dave and then… Well, that was that.
So when the pretty woman who lived on Acorn Street asked me to come to her sister’s wedding in Nantucket this weekend, I hesitated. I had one of those “uh-oh” moments. I felt as if my mother were wagging her finger at me from heaven. Watch out! She’s a crazy one, this one! My Italian mother had loved her drama.
Just like when she was alive, I ignored her.
I nodded at the attractive blond woman. “Sure, I’ll come.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“Great! Wow!” Her green eyes sparkled as though she couldn’t believe her good fortune. My mother’s voice whispered that perhaps she was high on something.
“I’m Bob, by the way.” I took her hand in mine and shook it. She kept grinning, and I started to worry a little bit. My mother sometimes had a point about these things.
“I’m Madison.”
“Right, I know. Name on the label and all.”
We smiled at each other in an extremely awkward silence.
“So can I pick you up tomorrow morning? Around eight?” Madison whipped out her cell phone and started rapidly typing on it. “What’s your address and last name? Your number?”
“Um.” Now she seemed more in control of herself. Her cell phone was a comfort zone. She texted at a pretty high rate of speed, like a lot of the women I used to work with at the firm. I watched her fingers flying across the screen and vaguely wondered how much caffeine she’d had today. “I’m Bob Palmieri. I live in Winter Hill, Bradley Street.” I gave her the street number and my cell phone. “I have tomorrow off, so that’s fine. But when will we come back? I have to work first thing Monday.”
Madison glanced up from her phone. “We’ll be back Sunday morning. The wedding’s Saturday. So I just need you for a solid forty-eight. I’ll do something nice for you. I owe you, Bob. For real.”
“You don’t have to do anything for me. Just don’t turn out to be a serial killer.”
She laughed, but then her smile turned to a worried look, almost panicked. “You either. Okay?”
“Okay.” I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “But can I ask you something?”
She nodded, but she was biting her lip. She clearly hadn’t thought about the serial-killer angle.
I considered her. Madison was tall, blond, and pretty. She lived on a sought-after street in Beacon Hill. I recognized her handbag, which was from some big-deal designer. That bag had cost a small fortune. I knew that because Katie had always wanted one.
My assessment was that Madison J. Delaney—I delivered to her often, so I had her name memorized—had made it. She was successful, she was attractive, and she typed awfully fast. She shouldn’t need to ask her UPS guy, a complete stranger, to be her date at her sister’s wedding.
“Why do you need a fake date?”
Her shoulders slumped. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Why don’t you give me the short version?”
Madison lifted her chin. “I told my mom I’d bring a date. I don’t have one. I ran out of time, but I never told her the truth, and I’m too chicken or stubborn—or both—to go home tomorrow and deal with my family alone. It’s my little sister’s wedding. I’m the old maid. I can’t deal with it, and I can’t face them, and I’d rather ask a total stranger to lie for me than face the consequences.”
“Okay…”
“I can pay you.” Her voice came out small. “A lot.”
