Morgan pulled down the small fireproof box from the top of her closet and unlocked it. She took out a yellowed newspaper clipping and twisted her mouth into a sneer. The worst day of her life had been when Pete had called her five years ago with news about her sister.
Emily.
Morgan had been sitting by the pool, her ancient husband inside, napping as usual.
“I have an update for you,” Pete said.
“What?”
“Emily’s engaged. They posted an announcement in the paper. I’m mailing it to you along with my bill.”
Morgan bolted up. “Engaged? To whom?”
“Some rich physical therapist named Bruce Murphy.”
“Name doesn’t mean anything to me. Who is he? What’s his deal?”
“Comes from a wealthy, prominent family in Maryland. They owned a horse farm and won the Preakness a couple of times. Major money. Parents died and left him everything. He went into the Navy to become a SEAL and then came back after an injury to finish school for physical therapy. Met Emily at the hospital.”
Morgan’s belly roiled. Damn that Emily. Just when Morgan had her right where she’d wanted. Broke from school loans and living with their aunt in a small apartment. Emily never should have landed someone like Bruce.
“Check your email. I sent you a picture of them. I gotta go. Keep you posted.”
Pete hung up, and Morgan clicked over to check the message on her phone. She gaped at the image. Bruce was a woman’s wet dream. While her geriatric geezer husband pawed her every night, Emily had somehow managed to snag a filthy-rich, smoking-hot fiancé.
Morgan picked up a vase of flowers and threw it to the marble floor. A glass followed and then everything else within reach she could smash.
Five years and the rage still blazed. Morgan unfolded the newspaper clipping and laid it on the top of the box. Bruce’s smiling face mocked her. His arm wrapped around Emily, her left hand, sporting a huge diamond ring, rested on his lapel. A fairy tale come true. Bruce had married Emily, paid off her debts, and bought her a huge house.
She’d won again. Since Emily had died and couldn’t pay, Bruce would.
Morgan placed the wedding picture back in the box and slammed the lid shut. She planned to emotionally destroy him. Oh, he’d be fuckable all right. Nothing like the other men she’d tolerated. She’d seduce him and relish the fact that every night she’d be screwing her sister’s husband.
When the time was right, and Bruce had fallen for her, she’d hit him with her little secret. She licked her lips in anticipation of the shock and horror he’d feel. He’d earned it when he messed everything up and came in like a knight in shining armor to save the day. Emily, always the princess, even to the end. Now Morgan would have the last laugh.
Time to find out what Pete had uncovered.
Morgan drove to the PI’s office and pulled into a spot in front of a tired brick building. She entered the small hall and knocked on the first of three shut wooden doors. Pete called for her to come in.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the two brown upholstered chairs with gold buttons down the arms. She sat across from him and the medium-sized wooden desk with files stacked on both sides. Sun shined in from the window behind him, lighting a beam of dust particles to illuminate the otherwise barren, dark room.
The lack of décor didn’t bother Morgan. His office, like his looks, could be deceiving. Dull brown eyes that matched his hair peered at her from behind bifocals. He had the body of a mid-fifties, sedentary man. He wore a cream, button-down shirt with yellow stains under the arms and a tan tie that had served as a ketchup catcher in the past. No one would look twice at him. Probably how he wanted it.
“Like I said on the phone, I’ve found out who your missing person is.” He handed Morgan a flash drive. “You can access everything through this on your computer, but I have a paper report as well.”
“Good. Enlighten me.” She sat back and crossed her legs.
“Her name is Sarah Cooper. Facial recognition matched her to a picture from the missing person reports in California.”
Morgan blinked. Well, well. A fake last name. No shock there. And she had been right about California. “What else?”
“She was a professional ballerina. Didn’t show up for work one day. Disappeared, according to the news.” He picked up a paper. His gaze scrolled down as he rattled off Sarah’s family history, education, and dance companies with which she’d performed.
Morgan tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
Pete adjusted his glasses and glanced back at the paper. “She’d been dating a guy for a while named Mark Sherman. He’s a stage-play producer. Some pics showed up of them together at various places. Don’t know if they’re still an item.”
“Maybe he was abusive.” And Sarah was running from him.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” Pete dropped the paper on the desk. “I did a quick check, and nothing came up as far as domestic violence or restraining orders. His record is clean as a whistle.” He leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. “But there is something you might find interesting.”
“What?”
“I had to phone a friend. This information wasn’t readily available.” He rolled his fingers together in the universal sign for money.
“How much?”
“Double.”
Morgan’s pulse sped up. He must have something good to ask for twice the price. She nodded. “Better be worth it.”
He shrugged. “Only you would know.”
“Go on.”
Pete shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “I know a guy, who knows a guy on the force—”
“Get to it.” Morgan snapped her fingers.
“He said Sarah reported being stalked.”
Now it made sense. That’s what had her so freaking paranoid.
Pete scratched his head. “According to what I could find out, it’s typical of a crazed-fan stalker.”
Not shocking. That stuff happened a lot in Hollywood. “Did they catch him?”
“Nope. At first, there was some talk about Sarah’s mental health. The police questioned some things.”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“She’d reported stuff had been moved around in her dressing room, and she’d smelled cologne in her bedroom.” He picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser on the desk. “She saw a therapist for a while.”
Sarah had been thought to be unstable or paranoid. Interesting. “And they never figured out who the stalker was?”
“Doesn’t look like it. The last report the police had was of her being attacked by him in her apartment, and then she disappeared.”
“Huh.” Morgan nodded. “Anything else?”
Pete held out his hands. “That’s it.”
“Very well.” She pulled out two envelopes, took some bills out of one, and added them to the other before handing it to Pete. “Feel free to count it.”
“I’d say I trust you, but in my business, I don’t trust anyone.” He picked up the envelope and thumbed through the bills.
Morgan stood. “If you find out anything new, there’s more where that came from.”
“Nice doing business with you.” He raised his bulk out of the chair and shook her hand.
She smiled the entire drive home.
Time to cause some trouble for the Tutu-Tease.