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back to him. “One more question. I understand you were Carolyn’s only next of kin. Were you in her will?”
    He sighed soulfully. “I’m her sole beneficiary. Upon her death, I get three hundred thousand dollars.” He stared Jane straight in the eye. “And I will donate every last cent of it to people who deserve it.”

CHAPTER 4
    Crown Travel was the size of a postage stamp. When Jane walked in the place, the owner, Jacque Wilde, was finishing up a reservation on the telephone. She motioned for Jane to sit down. Jacque was a woman about fifty with long red hair she wore in a cascade of soft curls. One side of the wall was decorated with cards thanking her for her “fabulous service,” while the other wall featured photos taken by her clients of every known vacation destination on the planet. It was evident to Jane from the manner in which Jacque spoke on the phone that she was a hot shot, go-getter with deft abilities to make miracles happen when everyone else would give up.
    â€œJust remember, hon’,” Jacque said before hanging up, “flights are like men at a singles’ bar—if you miss boarding one, there’s usually another available in two hours or less.” She hung up and turned her attention to Jane. “Hi, there! Where would you like to go?”

    â€œSomeplace sunny,” Jane deadpanned as she flashed her shield. “Detective Jane Perry. Denver Homicide.” Jacque’s jaw tensed. “I’m investigating a murder. Carolyn Handel?”
    â€œOh, of course. Joe’s aunt. I saw it in the paper.”
    â€œDid you know her?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    Jacque didn’t look old enough to have a hearing problem, especially in such a small, noise-free space. “Did you know Carolyn Handel?”
    â€œNo, not directly. Just from the occasional mutterings of Joe when she would do something . . . Carolyn-ish.”
    â€œ Carolyn-ish ? That doesn’t have the same ring as ‘pulling a Madoff,’ does it? His name has become a pop culture term for being financially screwed.”
    Jacque smiled. “Don’t you think ‘fucked’ is a better word for what Madoff did?”
    Jane couldn’t help but grin. Jacque was no shrinking violet. She looked up at the wall behind Jacque’s desk. There, in block letters and angled on the wings of a jet airplane were the words WE MAKE TRAVEL HAPPEN ! What in the hell was it with these bold statements of purpose, Jane mused? “You make travel happen, huh?”
    â€œAbsolutely! Here ,” she said, handing Jane a business card. “I’ve got a toll-free number and I’m available 24/7! And my commission is lower than any other competing agency in Denver!”
    Jane had to reconsider the “go-getter” label she’d silently given her. Jacque had ascended into type A territory that bordered on cutthroat. “How’s business been lately? What with the economy and all—”
    â€œIt’s okay, considering. Hey, two other agencies went out of business in this zip code so that leaves more for
me!” She directed her attention to an email that popped up on her screen, read it quickly and then typed a short reply before clicking the send button with a sharp point of her mouse. “You gotta be a fighter these days. But that’s nothin’ new to me. I’ve always had to be a fighter. I’ve been a single mom since Travis’s dad skipped out on me when he was six months old. He couldn’t handle the idea of having an imperfect child. Men can be such weak ass-holes, can’t they?” Jacque turned a framed photo on her desk toward Jane.
    Jane wasn’t going to take the female bonding bait, dishing about men’s weaknesses. She stared at Travis. It looked like one of those standard yearbook shots. In this one, the boy was standing in front of a tree in a neatly starched white shirt, arms crossed