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cascaded halfway down her back. Her eyes were a vivid blue, almost violet, and her skin was as smooth and flawless as porcelain. Even though it was a bit chilly in the library, Joanne wore a sleeveless, powder blue suit with square white buttons. A Fiona Fine original, given the amount of leg and cleavage it showed.
    Berkley was a short, square, fiftysomething man with a mane of blondish hair. He was also the richest person in Bigtime, having turned his family’s secret whiskey recipe into a multibillion-dollar empire. Brighton’s Best whiskey was legendary for its smooth flavor and hefty price tag.
    At the moment, though, Joanne and Berkley didn’t look like the obscenely rich, high-powered couple they were. Berkley leaned over the back of a chair, kissing Joanne’s throat while his hand caressed her exposed breast. Joanne’s chin was up, her eyes closed, her lips parted. She was thoroughly enjoying her husband’s, um, attention.
    Joanne and Berkley had gotten married three months ago during a late-summer ceremony in Paradise Park. They’d pulled out all the stops for the wedding, renting out the whole park for three days. Food. Flowers. Oceans of champagne. Mountains of presents. All that was just for the two thousand invited guests. I could only imagine what Berkley and Joanne had treated each other to in private.
    Like Berkley, Joanne had plenty of money of her own. She’d just gotten it a different way. Joanne wasn’t a superhero, but she had a superhero-like nickname—the Black Widow. That’s what Fiona and some of the other society folks called her. Joanne had married and divorced several men over the years, adding to her bank balance every time.
    But she truly seemed to care about Berkley, and he about her. It never ceased to amaze me. A pang of loneliness stabbed my heart at the sight of them bonding so, um, vigorously. I hadn’t even been out on a date since before my father was murdered.
    But first things first. I had a meeting to attend and a benefit to plan. If I could break up the happy couple.
    “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “Ahem.”
    Joanne opened her eyes, but Berkley kept kissing her throat and stroking her chest.
    “Oh, hello, Bella,” Joanne said, her voice low and husky. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    I doubted she would have heard a marching band, the way she was purring under Berkley’s touch.
    “Hello, Joanne,” I replied, staring at the Oriental rug under my pumps instead of at her breasts.
    “Hello, Bella.” Berkley straightened, took his hand out of Joanne’s top, and quit kissing her. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
    “You too, Berkley.” Normally, I would have shaken his hand. Not today.
    “How’s Bobby doing?” Berkley asked, a smile creasing his face. “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”
    “He’s fine.”
    Berkley had been friends with my father and grandfather for years. The three shared a love of motorcycles, and Berkley had convinced my father to build several for him. Berkley had spent many nights in the Bulluci manor, drinking wine and talking about paint jobs and chrome pipes and everything else related to motorcycles. But he was never too busy to speak to me, and he’d brought me all sorts of dolls and stuffed animals and art supplies when I was a kid. I thought of him as an uncle of sorts.
    “Well, I’m afraid I have a conference call to sit in on. I’ll leave you girls to finish your planning,” Berkley said, pressing a kiss to the top of Joanne’s head.
    She grabbed his hand. “I’m not sure what time we’ll be done. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
    “Don’t worry. I’ll wait up for you. In more ways than one.” Berkley winked at his new bride.
    “Just like always?” Joanne asked in a teasing tone.
    “Just like always.”
    Berkley touched Joanne’s cheek. She put her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Berkley squeezed back and left the library, whistling a cheery tune.
    I sank into a chair on the