CHAPTER THREE
“I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE Boyce is,” said Ursula Vickers with a slick Norwegian accent as she handed Dee and Connie glasses of iced tea. “Sorry, I can’t be of much help.” She strutted toward the leopard-print couch, the sleek-off-the-shoulder summer dress magnifying her long, hourglass figure.
“Hattie said you were a model.” Dee sipped the tangy tea, getting a tinge of lemon. “I’ve seen you but can’t remember from where.”
Ursula lay on the couch sideways as if she were Christie Brinkley on a 1980’s photo shoot. “I did a lot of magazines and swimsuit modeling.” Her bleach-blonde hair flowed over her shoulders in loose waves. “Didn’t reach supermodel status, but I did okay.”
Dee wagged her finger. “Weren’t you on those Porsche commercials back in the early two-thousands?”
“Yes
