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somewhere?
    She couldn’t find any indication that Rick had ever worked at D’Matrio Construction either, or if he had, he hadn’t been rewarded for his good choice in parents with an executive position. Perhaps Rick’s hotel renovation company was a spin-off, a little business off on the side that kept the young man from messing up his family company’s excellent track record and hefty profits. Perhaps his mother or father had decided he wasn’t qualified or trustworthy enough to allow him to help manage the real company.
    Rick’s company, Casas de Buen Dia, had been incorporated the year after he graduated from college. There was little news or mention of it until about five years ago, when he received some awards for a small hotel renovation in North Palm Springs from an architectural preservation society. After that, the news items multiplied quickly, as did his awards, and now it appeared the business had more than succeeded—it had thrived under Rick’s management.
    Or maybe his CEO title was just a front. Maybe his parents helped him hire good people and set him up with enough cash and credit to make mistakes that would have sunk a less-well financed trust funder. The unsophisticated way business was reported in the local press, there was no way to know just how successful he really was, or whether he was still being supported by his parents.
    Amy’s cellphone vibrated, making the desk where it lay buzz, and she realized she hadn’t taken it off of vibrate since she left work. During the day, she always turned off the sound so she wouldn’t be distracted. Customers hated to see their waitress catering to her own affairs when she could have been warming up their coffee or removing a dirty soup bowl from their table.
    Amy picked it up and didn’t recognize the number. She debated whether to ignore the call, as she usually did after five at night, knowing that it was probably a telemarketer getting around her “no-call” designation. But, it was a local caller, and she hoped it might possibly be someone responding to one of her job applications.
    “Amy?”
    “Yes. Who is this?”
    “Rick. I hope it’s okay to call after business hours.”
    First, her heart jumped. Yes, she admitted again, she really was attracted to him. Whatever his business success. Whatever money he got from his parents. Probably all women were moved by him, given his physique, his pretty face, and his natural charisma.
    But why wouldn’t it be okay to call her at night? she wondered. If he was going to ask her out, it would have been more inappropriate to call during business hours, wouldn’t it? But then, why had she jumped to the conclusion he was going to ask her out? Maybe he was calling to see if she wanted to adopt Busker. Or whether she wanted to help him pay for Busker’s vet bills.
    “Amy? Are you still there?”
    Amy forced herself to concentrate. “Of course. No, no problem. You can call anytime. What’s up?”
    “Uh, I know this is going to sound a bit funny, but I was thinking about your job situation and I just wanted to run something by you. Don’t feel like you have to say yes, okay?”
    “Well, I don’t know why I would. What are you talking about?”

~ Four: Rick ~
     
    After leaving the café, Rick headed back to the office, slipped past his receptionist to avoid whatever small talk he would be obliged to engage in, and closed his office door. He looked for Kent’s contact on his cell phone, and let the phone do the dialing.
    “What can you find out about someone if all I know is where they work and their name?” he asked the only PI he knew. Kent was certifiably a genius. He and Rick had been roommates for the first two years at Stanford before Kent dropped out—out of boredom more than anything—and spent the next few years traveling the world. About five years ago, he let Rick know he was settling down in Sacramento and taking up the sexy pursuit of personal investigations. Since then, he’d