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Dorothy murmured. “She must have her hands full.”
    “So what do you say, ladies?” Dash asked. “Please, please save my life and come to the dinner party tonight. You’ll love Mother. And Dorothy, bring Ernie, too. The more, the merrier.”
    “Thank you, Dash, but are you sure we wouldn’t be imposing?” Dorothy said.
    “Hardly.” He chuckled. “Mother’s already put in her menu requests. So, cocktails at six-thirty?”
    “Count us in,” Summer said. “See you then.”
    “Wait, Dash, what would you like us to bring?” Dorothy asked.
    “Just yourselves. Ciao for now.” He clicked off.
    “Well, it will certainly be lovely to meet the great GH Hamel,” Dorothy said. “But goodness, we can’t show up empty-handed. We should at least get some flowers on the way home.”
    “Okay,” Summer said. “I’m sure we’ll pass a few grocery stores. Hey, look, there’s a sign for Cinderella Coaches,” she added as they finally reached the off-ramp for North Milano. “See the one with the revolving glass slipper?”
    Oops. Hopefully, Dorothy wouldn’t notice those other signs next to it. Miss Kitty’s Gentlemen’s Club and Greenwood Discount Cremation Services. Summer didn’t know which one was worse.
    But Dorothy was frowning at something else. Her attention seemed focused on the strip mall just off the exit, where another silver slipper—glittering like a disco ball—revolved on top of a tall pole in the middle of the parking lot. “What on earth is going on here?” she said.
    “Looks as if Cinderella Coaches is going out of business,” Summer said. “Or else there’s a sudden big demand for Happy Trailways motor homes.”
    At least five RVs and a few sad-looking SUVs were in the process of being hitched up to wreckers. A white stretch limo was already being towed from the lot exit. Some poor bride was going to be in for a nasty surprise.
    Summer pulled into the entrance near a nondescript brick building. The sign in the window said “Cinderella Coaches and Luxury Vehicles”—with OUT OF BUSINESS stamped over it. “Well, that was fast,” she said. “Wonder if Trixie and Ray will get to keep their RV.”
    “I doubt it,” Dorothy said. “How very odd, that people were renting from this place just a few hours ago.”
    “Must have been an unexpected closing.” Summer leaned over the steering wheel to peer at the posted notice on the door. “Yep. IRS.”
    Dorothy sighed. “I guess we won’t be questioning the rental agents, then. We might as well go ahead and buy those flowers for tonight.”
    “Okay,” Summer said. “Next stop, Publix.”
    Unfortunately, the entrance to 85 was closed for construction, so she had to navigate another round of traffic on the parallel truck route. At this rate, they’d be lucky to make Dash’s for dinner at all.
    “Wait a minute,” Dorothy said, twisting in her seat. “Was that Jupiter Boulevard back there?”
    “No idea,” Summer said. Everything in this part of town looked the same to her. Strip malls, outlet stores, fancy car dealerships, elaborately landscaped entrances to gated communities and golf and tennis clubs.
    Downtown was another story, of course. Close to the beaches, the trendier parts of Milano boasted trendy boutiques, uber-hip restaurants and clubs, and famous art galleries. Not that she cared much about the galleries. They were a dime a dozen around here. But sometimes they hired model types—usually male—to hand out white wine and hors d’oeuvres.
    “I seem to remember Lorella mentioning she lived off of Jupiter Boulevard before she moved to Hibiscus Pointe,” Dorothy said. “Somewhere behind the Jupiter Crossings Mall, which we just passed. Maybe we can talk to some of her other former neighbors.”
    “Okay.” Summer took the next left turn. “Put my phone on speaker again, so we can find out her old address.”
    After several rounds of the neighborhood under the equally-clueless direction of the cell phone’s