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cooking.” He crossed the room and put an arm around me.
    “Carlos, will the food hold for a while? Maybe you could show me the rest of the house and your bedroom.”
    “Come on,” he said, as he turned off the oven.
    A few hours later, I felt happy and almost giddy. We had just finished a late dinner, when I remembered something.
    “Is Angelina Martin, by any chance, a relative of yours?” I asked.
    “She’s my mother. Why do you ask? Don’t tell me she’s in trouble.”
    “Not that I know of. Does she get in trouble a lot? The reason I asked is that her name came up on the board of directors of Elite Wines. That’s the company that Gary Yarmouth was president of. You know, my client’s husband that she’s accused of offing.”
    “My parents are on a number of boards. My dad has a few businesses here and in Argentina. I can’t keep track of all of them. Maybe you could ask her yourself. They’d love to meet you.”
    “You mean you mentioned me to your parents?”
    “Sort of. I told them I was going to marry you. How about dinner with them this weekend? Or maybe when they go to their beach condo on Marco Island?”
    I was stunned. Marriage? Well, he was a keeper, and he could cook.

CHAPTER TEN
     
    The next morning I left Carlos’s house at six o’clock and dashed for home. I couldn’t go to work in the mini-skirt outfit, and I had abandoned poor Sam.
    I came into the house through the kitchen. Sam was nowhere to be seen. No barks greeted me. I went into the living room and found that it had snowed over night. That’s how it looked. Sam had punished me for failing to return. He had chewed open the needlepoint pillows my mother had made for the sofa. Stuffing was everywhere. It’s amazing how foam shreds into millions of tiny snowflakes.
    “Sam. Get out here now,” I yelled.
    He crawled out from under the dining room table. He was wearing a wreath of needlepoint fabric around his neck. He looked so funny that I couldn’t scold him. Instead, I gave him his breakfast, made some coffee, and began to shovel my way through the foam snow.
    “Next time, you can go with me. I think you’ll love Carlos’s big backyard,” I said.
    * * *
    I arrived at the office a couple of minutes before nine, and waited to meet Brittany, the Shmeegle-trained assistant. Nine fifteen came and went, but still no Brittany. At nine thirty the door opened and a high voice called out, “Hello? Miss. Uh. Hello?”
    As I entered the reception room, a stream of heavy perfume filled my nostrils.
    “Brittany? I’m Mary Katz. Please come in.” I led her into my office.
    She was dressed in jeans so tight they appeared to be painted on her ample behind. With the jeans, she wore a baby-doll top, at least thirty clanking silver bracelets, and high-heeled boots. She had long red hair and long red fingernails.
    “Please have a seat.” I motioned to the chair across the desk from me. “Did you bring your résumé?”
    “Of course.” She handed it to me. “I hope Margaret told you that I do not work past five o’clock, and I need to have lunch at twelve every day.”
    “Why don’t I look over your résumé first,” I said. “What was the last law firm you worked for?”
    “It was the law office of Hank Fowler. It’s all right there.”
    “What was the reason you left there? It doesn’t seem to be here.” I skimmed down the single page of paper.
    “He was disbarred, so there wasn’t any more work there.” She smiled and looked around the office.
    “Where will I be sitting. I absolutely have to have a window where I work. I have claustrophobia.” She smiled again.
    “That seems to be your only law firm experience. How long were you there?”
    “Three months.”
    “The next place you worked was Stanley’s Pest Control. What did you do there?”
    “I answered the phones. When customers called up with special problems, like mice in the kitchen or bugs or something, I dispatched a truck to take care of it.”
    “I