Britt was sure she’d heard that name before. It seemed significant. It was a very actory name, that was for sure.
She just couldn’t remember ever seeing his show.
She knew what she’d be doing tonight after work, though.
“He’s probably stopping by on his way to Felix Nicasio’s wedding in Napa, at the end of August,” Casey said knowledgeably. “He was the director ofBlood Brothers.All the A-listers are going. They’re meeting at a secret location and going there on abus. And his ex is supposed to be there, too.” Casey got all the gossip mags in her salon, and she supplemented these with TMZ.
That wedding was more than a month away.
“Baby girl, let me see that autograph,” Sherrie commanded Annalise. “Britt, did you know he wrote something on your tag?”
Britt hadn’t noticed yet.
All the women clustered around to read it.
That’s for saying “enigmatic.”
Britt felt a slow flush paint her all the way to her hairline.
“Oooohhhh...” the women collectively sighed.
“And see? The handwriting is the same. That’s him, all right.” Sherrie was satisfied with her sleuthing.
“Did you really say ‘enigmatic’ to him?” Casey was astonished. “Gosh. I would never have thought to do that, Britt.”
She was full of admiration. She and Britt were always just a little diffident around each other. Like two shy kids who think they might want to be friends but didn’t quite know how to go about it.
“Wow. I didn’t know you had any game, Britt,” Kayla said admiringly.
“Game?” Britt was astounded. She laughed. “I didn’t know saying ‘enigmatic’ wasgame.”
She hadn’t known that Kayla gave much thought to her at all. But she’d clearly been walking around thinking Britt couldn’t possibly have game.
“He’s not going to forget you. And the best game is the kind you don’t even know you have,” Kayla said sagely.
Which actually sounded sort of wise, once Britt figured out what she was trying to say.
But Casey rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out and bounce across the floor.
“I’m gonna let you keep that tag, hon,” Sherrie said. She gave Britt a pat on the arm and an enigmatic smile of her own.
Annalise got in the last word. “He’s gonna stay here, he said, cuz he’s filming here and his truck is broken!”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s a miracle,” Glenn groused. “Those hamburgers aren’t going to deliver themselves to the diners, more’s the pity. IfonlyI’d thought to hire someone who carried plates to tables...”
Britt folded the tag and stuffed it in her jeans, and whirled gracefully to accept hot plates from a glowering Giorgio, who could really hold a grudge if she let something he’d cooked get lukewarm.
CHAPTER3
There were only three bus benches on J. T.’s long, long, sweaty walk, but it felt a bit like a gauntlet straight of out of some of his more whisky-fueled nightmares: Rebecca Corday frisked with purses; threw her head blissfully back and beamed her signature dazzling smile to show off the gemstone earrings glinting in her ears; or flung her arms out à la Julie Andrews about to perform a twirl on a Swiss mountainside, a long pastel scarf rippling out from her hand. In every image she was absolutely ecstatic to be sporting something from Macy’s.
In between the little electric shock of each of those benches, he rather enjoyed what he saw of the town. Main Street was charming and tidy. The genuine Gold Rush-era Victorian storefronts were scrupulously maintained, and doorways were flanked by bright flowers in baskets hung from hooks or spilling out of terra-cotta pots. A feed store sat side by side with the beauty salon and the palm reader, near a bakery, a fishing supply shop, a tobacconist, and a karate dojo, of all things, which he really ought to look into. Little streets fanned off the main drag, too, and when he craned his head he saw more handsome buildings clearly dating back to the first time miners had set foot in this area, and what appeared to be a fountain in front of a grand old domed building, modest in scale but regal in bearing. City or town hall, if he had to guess.
So Hellcat Canyon is a little town in the middle of nowhere, maybe, but analivetown, as neat and pretty as any little toy village plopped down under a Christmas tree, sans snow.
Eventually the sidewalks disappeared, and the town proper gave way to a paved road thickly canopied and lined with pines and oaks. The road gradually sloped up and up and up, and apparently that’s where he was headed.
At the very crest of the hill an enormous Victorian house painted a pale lavender sat like a frilly crown.
