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sheet of paper, then guesti-mated the height. I have a great relationship with Ricardo, who has a cute plant stand up in Juno Beach. One phone call and I can replenish the plants by Saturday morning, hopefully without my mother being any the wiser.
    List tucked inside my purse, I left the penthouse and headed back to my place. I thought about stopping at the store for something to make for dinner but then decided not to bother.
    My modest, rented apartment is on the ground floor of a complex in Palm Beach Gardens. It has a decent-sized bedroom and bathroom, but I chose it mainly for the walk-out patio. Ignoring the statistical reality that I was something like twenty times more likely to be robbed in a garden apartment, I opted for this place because the patio made it seem bigger.
    I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then made some coffee and opened my refrigerator. Chinese takeout and a jar of mustard. My pantry wasn’t much better. The only thing that didn’t require cooking was a box of stale Lucky Charms. One of the greatest joys of living alone is the complete freedom to eat Lucky Charms by the handfuls straight out of the box. Paired with an excellent cup of hazelnut coffee, I was all set for the evening.
    I flipped through the channels, stopping only long enough to see if something grabbed my interest. I was feeling restless for some reason. It wasn’t the caffeine or the sugar. Given my generally poor eating habits, my body was used to the nutritional void.
    There were a few framed pictures on top of my entertainment center. I focused on the one of Patrick and me taken two months earlier when we’d slipped over to the Bahamas for a weekend. We did look perfect together—all blond, blue-eyed grins set against a tropical backdrop. I smiled. It had been a nice trip. Patrick and I traveled often, and he always picked romantic, beachy locations. He took great care to make sure the hotel was just right, the room was just right, the view was just right, the wine was just right, the sex was just right.
    Raking my fingers through my hair, I knew I should feel more appreciative. What woman wouldn’t kill for a guy who was so considerate?
    Me. But, I told myself, In the world of dating, the evil you know is always better. “He isn’t evil,” I mumbled. I could make a long list of Patrick’s plusses. Unfortunately, none of them compensated for the fact that if I was being totally honest with myself, I had to admit I was growing bored.
    I crunched another handful of cereal into my mouth just as my cell phone rang. Half-expecting it to be Patrick, I glanced at the Caller ID, but the identification was blocked.
    “Hello?”
    “Miss Tanner?”
    The last time a person called me “Miss” I was twelve and standing in front of the headmistress’s desk about to suffer the consequences for being late to class . . . again.
    “Yes.”
    “This is Stacy Evans.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I quickly tossed my Lucky Charms aside as if she could actually see me stuffing my face with marshmallow stars, hearts, moons, and clovers.
    “How was your flight?”
    “I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”
    “I was in and out,” I supplied.
    “What have you learned?”
    That giving you my cell number was totally fucking nuts. “I’ve completed all the paperwork, and I’m meeting with an investigator in the morning.”
    “Why did you put it off?”
    Off? I’m thinking less than a twenty-four-hour turnaround is pretty damned impressive! “It was the first time that was convenient to both our schedules.”
    “I’m not paying you for convenient. I’m paying you for results.”
    “I understand that. I will be in touch as soon as I’ve met with Mr. McGarrity.” That should have been the end of the conversation, but it wasn’t. Mrs. Evans spent the better part of ten minutes chewing me out for not returning her phone calls, for not keeping in touch, for basically everything shy of global warming.
    After