CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At six a.m., Linda and I were in the kitchen, she absently stirring oolong tea in a chipped Wonder Woman mug, me sucking back Kona coffee from caffeine-stained Batman and on the phone with Ald. “But I tell you, it’s not like her.”
The detective groaned. “She’s a grown woman, even if she does act like a spoiled brat. She probably met a guy and—”
“That’s not like her,” I shrilled. Taking a deep breath, I gulped back the last of the coffee and forced myself to calm. “My P.I. gut senses something is very off.”
“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours—”
“Please.”
He groaned again. “Give me the name of the hardware-garden guy, and details where she was filming, and I’ll have Hammill check it out.”
“I don’t know the exact details,” I confessed, meeting Linda’s concentrated gaze
