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The doctor’s thick, gray eyebrows came together. “I thought you said—”
“Yes, I know,” she cut him off. A few months ago, she’d closed up his home, the home she’d grown up in, hoping he could eventually come back. But when it seemed impossible, she’d put it on the market. It had been for months, without a bite. She could easily take it off, give up the rent on her apartment in East Plainfield, and move home. “But I could make it work.”
“By yourself?” He looked doubtful.
She was, too. She was no nurse. And she didn’t have the patience to deal with her father’s volatile mood swings. The women here were nothing short of miracle workers. “Well, couldn’t I get in-home care?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” He pressed his lips together. “I should warn you it wouldn’t be easy. And that he can’t just have a visiting nurse. He’d need 24/7 care, and that care would be even more expensive than the home.”
She nodded. “Okay, I was just thinking—”
“You told me you were trying to sell his home.”
She winced. Her father didn’t know that. If he found out, it would destroy him. “It hasn’t sold yet. I was just thinking—”
“Listen, Daisy,” he said, fixing her with a sympathetic look. “I understand how hard this is. But if it were me, I’d sell the house. Your father isn’t going anywhere. He shouldn’t be. He’s right where he needs to be. So know you’re doing the very best for him.”
He gave her a nod and walked off, leaving her alone in the hallway. Yes, she was doing the right thing. He’d never cared much about the house, anyway. It was the business he cared about. So the best thing she could do was keep that going.
And the best way to do that was to find more clients.
She’d gotten a few leads from the ads she’d placed in the newspaper, but nothing big and juicy, like that case in the Aegean last month.
Unfortunately, those didn’t grow on trees. And though the wealthy Vandiveer patriarch had indicated he’d refer her to anyone in his circle who needed a private eye, so far that offer had yet to bring in any business.
She needed to do something.
As she went back to her car, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, opening it up to Zachary Hardy. The wealthy British attorney had seen her at work on the Vandiveer murder case and had to have some contacts. Maybe he could spread her name around a bit.
It was worth a try.
CHAPTER TWO
When he’d asked her out a month ago, he’d mentioned dinner.
She changed it to coffee. Just to be safe.
She arrived early and got a booth in the front of a little café, down the main drag in town, around the corner from the detective agency. As she was nursing her coffee—she didn’t want him to pay—she saw him jogging across the street toward her.
If there was any shape that could describe Zachary Hardy, it was a square. Though his voice was that of a tall, svelte British gentleman in a tuxedo, Hardy didn’t live up to that. He was solid, and compact, with a goatee, and a bit of a red, shiny forehead. His face always looked a bit sweaty, as if he’d just gotten done with a workout, and his eyes seemed to be almost permanently squinting.
Even so, he was a good man. She liked him, even if she wasn’t sure that feeling would ever go past simply friends.
Today he was wearing a wool sweater with a zip-up collar and khaki pants. The moment he came in, he spotted her and waved.
“Hello,” she said, relieved when he slid into the seat across from her instead of making a gesture to hug her or give her a kiss.
“It’s so good to see you, Daisy,” he said.
“I hope the ride up from Philadelphia wasn’t too long?” she asked, pulling her coffee closer.
“No, no, anything for you,” he said with a wink.
It wasn’t exactly oily or smarmy; it was simply awkward. Despite being an attorney in his father’s well-respected firm in Greece, Zachary Hardy didn’t ever look entirely comfortable with what he was doing. Even here, across from her, he looked confused.
“Ah . . . you already got coffee.”
“I did,” she said. “But you go on and get something, if you’d like.”
