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“No. A kindred spirit.”
Nipping this in the bud, Claire explained the situation to Ryan, showing him the obit, the article, and the photo.
“Pretty girl. Shitty break. I’m sorry, Emma.” Ryan was never at ease when it came to sentiment. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah. Figure out who did this and why.” Emma waved away her own request. “Sorry. That was ridiculous. I’ll get over it. It just hit too close to home, I guess.”
Ryan glanced at the two pages again. “I’m in the middle of the case we’re working on. But you know I’m too restless to do just one thing at a time. Do you want me to poke around and see what I can find out about this Lisa Barnes and why she might have been murdered?”
Emma’s eyes widened. “You’d do that for me?”
“We’re a team, remember?” Ryan reminded her. “I’ve bailed you out of worse binds than this.” He was referring to a near-sexual assault that had happened during their last case, one in which he’d played the hero. “This job is a piece of cake compared to that.”
Emma’s lips curved, and she smiled for the first time in days. “Thank you very much.”
“Thank me when I come up with something.” He held up the pages. “Can I take these to make copies?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll return yours later.” He loped off, descending the stairs to his techno-hideaway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Upper Montclair, New Jersey
The gym looked spectacular—helium balloons and streamers placed in strategic positions in the main room, hors d’oeuvres being passed around to the crowd of people coming in, a rented smoothie bar whose server was preparing free all-natural drinks for the occasion, and a huge Grand Opening sign hanging right outside the door. All this had cost Julie and Milo a pretty penny, but it would be worth it. One thing they’d learned: If you acted like you were rich, people bought into the idea that you were rich.
The local media was there, too, taking pictures of Excalibur, chatting with Julie and her staff, and typing into their iPads about the excitement of a new, upscale gym in town. It wouldn’t exactly make national headlines, but it would be well-received by the residents of Upper Montclair.
The day was everything Julie could have dreamed of and more. She was a little uneasy about the audio file Shannon had sent her. But, as Milo had pointed out, it did nothing but confirm what he’d already dug up—that Jim Robbins was a scumbag who was handing out PEDs and probably working for someone to do it. Milo and Julie would continue to keep the door open between Julie and Shannon, just to keep tabs on the situation. But, so far, they were all right.
And Julie wasn’t letting anything detract from this big day.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen.
Having fun, superstar? the text read.
Julie smiled. Milo might be stashed away at the apartment, maintaining his usual solitude, but he was by her side in spirit.
You know very well how awesome everything here is, she typed back. You’re watching this on your computer.
Busted, he admitted.
Julie’s smile widened. Milo had done so much for her. He was every bit as much a part of this day as she was.
Why don’t you come over? she texted.
The reply was typical Milo. I will…when the crowds die down. In the meantime, enjoy.
I will.
Julie slipped her iPhone back into the pocket of her designer jeans. The trendy jeans, combined with her embroidered silk blouse, completed the look of an understated but successful businesswoman. She was a hit, and so was Excalibur. Clients were signing up at the front desk—both for trial sessions and for full memberships. Every time she saw a signature added, Julie’s mind said ka-ching. She and Milo were going to make a shitload of money from this venture. And she was going to enjoy her work in the process.
The next step was getting that puppy she’d always wanted. He’d belong to her, raising her count of true, loving friends to two.
Between Milo, the pup, the apartment, and Excalibur, maybe, for the first time, this Julie Forman would have a real home.
Tribeca, New York
