Cheating at Solitaire Read Online Free PDF

disappointed. "Wow.
    I never would have pegged you for a tourist."
    "Oh." Julia was quick to correct. "I'm not. I used to live here—years ago. I come back for business every now and then. You might say I'm more like an expatriate."
    "Well," Lance said, mustering up a smile. "Welcome back."
    "It is you!" a woman squealed behind them and ran through the aisle of toys, dragging a little boy behind her. Judging from the look on the child's face, Lance guessed that his arm was about to pop right out of its socket, and would have if the woman hadn't stopped in front of Julia.
    "Miss James! Miss James! Oh, it is you! I'm Linda. Linda Westerman Worthington. I've read everything you've ever written. Everything!" The woman jerked the little boy's arm and said,
    "His sorry SOB of a father ran off and . . . Oh! I can't believe it's really you."
    "Hi," Julia said, with her most professional smile. She leaned down to the little boy. "And what's your name?"
    "That's Conner," the woman said offhandedly. "When I saw you standing here, I said to myself, this is fate! My story would be perfect for your next book. We could write it together. One Hundred and One Ways to Disembowel a Cheater, or maybe—"
    "I don't do case studies. I'm sorry," Julia quickly jumped in, cutting the woman off. "Maybe a psychologist?" she added, patting the woman's hand. Lance thought the woman needed to be a patient of a good shrink rather than a coauthor. "Thanks for coming over. It's always nice to meet a fan. Have a nice day," Julia said and started down the aisle.
    They'd almost turned the corner when the woman cried out, "Young man, when you're finished with Miss James, I need a few—"
    "Excuse me?" Lance asked.
    "I know you're busy now, but if you could just tell me—"
    "I'm sorry, Linda," Julia said. "I'm afraid he doesn't work here."
    The woman's eyes grew wide. Her gaze shifted between Julia and Lance, and her jaw went slack.
    "Linda," Julia asked, "are you okay?"
    "You're . . ." Linda said, pointing at Julia. "Here with . . . ?" Her finger trailed upward to Lance's perfect smile. "Come on, honey," she said, tugging her son's arm again. "Momma needs to go lie down."
    "No offense," Lance said to Julia after the woman had disappeared into the next aisle, "but your fans are kind of weird. Does that happen to you a lot?"
    "Trust me, toy stores are some of the safest places I can be. Now, video stores, grocery stores, airports—they can get pretty tricky. The downside of fame." Then, with a smile, she added,
    "Get used to it."
    "I'd love to have the chance."
    Richard couldn't get over the size of it—really. He had wasted a few minutes worrying that he was having Tammy call in the wrong favor for the wrong occasion, but when he saw a man walking down Fifth Avenue carrying the biggest camera he had ever seen, Richard knew this guy could get the job done. Sure, it was going to cost him a Broadway audition for a private de-tective who couldn't carry a tune, but just one glance at that telephoto lens made Richard Stone start to salivate.
    Once or twice, he started to go into the store and see for himself what was going on in there, but he stopped. He didn't want to scare them away. The money shot would come outside the store—the happy couple smiling and laughing after a shopping spree on the town. So he waited.
    The rain had stopped, so pedestrians skirted the sidewalks, and, momentarily, Richard worried that there would be too much activity on the street to get a clean shot. But again, he looked at the size of the camera, and he knew he was working with a professional. Then, through the revolving door at the front of the store, Richard saw a mass of bright red curls waving in the wind that swept around the plaza. Richard said, "That's her. That's her. Get ready." The photographer steadied his camera like a sniper.
    But wait. Something was wrong.
    Where was the kid?
    Did she ditch him inside? Richard was starting to panic. She was getting away. His master plan