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might be in one of those pictures.”
    I shrugged and smiled at her sheepishly. “It’s possible. I looked at the photos Caitlin took, and I didn’t see him, but she told me you took a lot. So I was wondering . . .” I let my voice trail off and looked plaintive.
    Katie nodded slowly as she thought things over. I was hoping the opportunity to nail a scumbag husband would be tempting enough that she wouldn’t try to delve too deeply into my story. I could improvise more details if I had to, but the simpler I kept things, the better. I also prayed she wasn’t the lawyer I’d guessed her to be when I first laid eyes on her, because then she’d be all worried about possible litigation if she provided a photo that nailed said scumbag husband. I’d have said Katie was too friendly to be a lawyer, but that would be a gross generalization.
    Finally, she released a breath and shrugged. “What could it hurt?” she asked, and it was exactly the attitude I’d been hoping for. She was, after all, showing me pictures that had been taken in a public setting, not anything private.
    She slipped off the bar stool. “Wait here,” she told me, and I was happy to oblige.
    She came back to the kitchen a couple of minutes later, carrying a digital camera. She’d ditched the suit jacket and run a brush through her hair so that it no longer lay so stiffly against her head. I suspected if I hadn’t been waiting for her, she’d have done away with the work clothes altogether and slipped into something more comfortable.
    â€œI don’t have any prints,” she told me apologetically as she turned on the camera. “I keep meaning to print some, but . . .” She shrugged.
    â€œThat’s okay,” I told her, although finding a picture of Doug and Heather on the camera’s tiny screen was going to be a challenge. It would have been easier to look at them on a computer, but maybe she hadn’t bothered to download them. If my first examination didn’t yield any results, I’d ask her if she would be willing to do that so I could see the photos at a larger size, but it wouldn’t hurt to glance through them on the camera.
    Katie scrolled to the first of the photos from the party, then handed the camera to me and let me scroll through.
    I swear she must have taken five hundred pictures that night, or at least that was what it felt like as I scrolled through photo after photo of people I didn’t know and didn’t care about. She was a decent photographer, her subjects filling up most of the screen and not providing a whole lot of background. However, every once in a while, there was a shot from a little larger distance, with more people in the background, and those were the ones I scrutinized heavily, looking for Heather.
    I was nearing the end of the photos, my eyes ready to cross from squinting at the tiny lighted screen for too long, when I finally found what I was looking for. In the background of a picture of the bride-to-be opening presents was a tall, stunning redhead. She was barely recognizable as the Heather Fellowes I’d met at the coffee bar. Her hair had been curled and coiffed to perfection, her face could be on an ad for expensive makeup, and the short cocktail dress she wore clung to her every curve and revealed legs a mile long. She was the epitome of the drop-dead-gorgeous single woman hunting for a mate, and I saw what Mike the bartender had meant when he said she could have any man she wanted with a snap of her fingers.
    Standing beside Heather, with his arm around her waist and his hand curled around her hip possessively, was a handsome forty-something man who could only be Doug.
    â€œHey, you’ve found something?” Katie asked, sounding excited.
    I’d felt a thrill of triumph when I’d spotted Heather, but since I was supposedly finding proof that my husband was cheating on me, I tried to