Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (cheapest way to read ebooks txt) 📗

“How are you doing, Monica?” Wow, the tone of voice—made me feel like he actually cared.

“Uh, fine, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” I started to get up from the chair, aware he was still occupying the space I had to cross to get out of there. He walked right in and sat on the empty chair next to me. Awkward.

“You do know your name is often mentioned in our household. Right?” He smiled.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, and I’m pretty sure I looked downright stupid. Our household?

“You look surprised,” he said. Surprised would not have been my word choice. “Tristan is staying at the house while he navigates this troublesome predicament, and he misses seeing you.” He waited.

“Your house?” I regretted asking it as I spoke.

“Well, the house I share with Alexander of course.”

Now my lips moved as if they had a life of their own and only babbling came from it. Alexander and Dale Wolf? How? Why?

“Oh, I see.” I swallowed hard, my mind empty. “Uh, I didn’t know. Are you related? And by the way, I’ve never met Alexander. Wasn’t he one of Tristan’s schoolmates? Along with Jessie? I mean...”

“I know who you mean.” He pushed the chair back as if seating himself in a more comfy position, planning on staying a while? Then he reached over and patted my hand. “Alexander is the love of my life, my wonderful husband.” Slowly it all sank in. I should have known. Somewhere in the back of my mind snippets of conversations came in flashes.

Someone had mentioned Alexander’s husband, but not by name. I sighed and flashed my new boss a big smile. “Well, congratulations. Tristan has only good things to say about Alexander.” And I mentally congratulated myself for getting out of a potential gaffe unscathed. In the barren kitchen on a dreary afternoon, Dale’s cell chirped—literally—sounds of birds.

He glanced at the phone. “Speaking of the devil.” He chuckled, got up, and walked out of the kitchen. I saw that as my cue and followed him, stopping by Kassandra’s desk. I stood next to her chair, sulking. “I miss our morning bantering and your tarot readings. I feel so lost,” I added and regretted it. “What’s happening here? I haven’t seen Sunny in so long—”

“Monica, that’s because you hardly come to the office anymore. But the good news is that we are staying right here; we aren’t moving. They are going to use the glass office strictly for commercial sales, and I heard—and this is confidential—that Sunny and Dale are signing a lease on the building next to ours. That will nearly double our space. I peeked at some of the renderings. It’s going to be very chichi, and I’ll get a bigger reception room and an assistant.” She paused, waiting. When I didn’t respond, “Hey, girlfriend, I’m speaking to you. Why are you so gloomy? Looks like your Frenchie is about to be single for good. Cheer up.”

I shook my head, turned around, and headed toward the bullpen and my little private cubicle. The last part of Kassandra’s conversation made me feel dirty. Was that the general opinion of my co-workers?

My phone beeped; I had a file coming through. I remembered why I came to the office, to get Greg Coste’s inspection report, and then I remembered I still had Brenda’s Pilot. She must be so mad at me. Better call her. I went to sit in my little corner, turned on my outdated computer and waited for the inspection file to load. Perfect time to call Brenda. She answered on the second ring. “Well, young lady, I was getting concerned. Where are you?”

“At the office. The inspection report just came in. I’m sorry about the car, I should have gone home and taken mine. Do you need to go somewhere? I was going to call Greg Coste and go over the inspection before heading back.”

“You better wait a while, he just left. I assume you want him to discuss the report while looking at it. Right?”

“He just left... from your house?”

A soft, embarrassed giggle was her answer. How about that. Either they redesigned the whole kitchen of the 8th Place house or they really enjoyed each other’s company. Maybe both?

“Yes, you heard me correctly. I’m taking Dior for a quick walk because Bob called and mentioned something about a convenient way for those detectives, you know, Adam and Eve, to talk to me about Angelique’s last few days at the ranch. I understand they are trying to establish where she was at some particular time. I hope I remember. And that poor Lois. Anyway, you should get yourself home. After all, it was your phone call that set that whole sequence of unfortunate events in motion.”

What? I was hyperventilating. They blamed me? Seriously? I hit send on my computer and waited for the inspection report to go to the printer. Started to gather my stuff. I could call Coste from home. We had two days to fill out our list of repairs.

Me? Setting the unfortunate events in motion by mentioning De Aguilar’s strange visit?

Wait until I see that detective—he or she, I didn’t care. I was just tired of taking blame for something I had absolutely no control over. As I walked to the back room to retrieve my printed file, it dawned on me that perhaps all the detectives were trying to do was establish who masterminded Angelique’s disappearance. It had to have been planned.

So, Rogelio Avondo shows up at the ranch just days before his half-sister, Silvia De Aguilar, comes to town and tries to get hold of Tristan to spill the beans about his father’s death. All while Tristan is out of the country. Then just like bowling pins in a neat row, Silvia, Lois, and Angelique are down and out of the picture, and Rogelio Avondo is left to hold the bag so to speak. It can’t get any better than that—for Angelique, I mean.

The more