Read Timothy for Free Online Page B

desperate tone in her voice I’d never heard before.
    He bowed his head slightly. “That would be lovely. Say, one o’clock at La Mirada?”
    â€œYes, perfect.”
    He smiled at me. “Be sure to bring the quiet little church mouse.” He walked back out to the sidewalk, whistling as he walked away from us.
    â€œToo bad he’s gay,” she mused as she picked up her phone and frowned at it. She scowled at me. “Surely I didn’t agree to take a meeting with that has-been Corina Palenzuela this afternoon? That bitch hasn’t had a hit since the turn of the century. Cancel it immediately, and see if you can—”
    I started scribbling notes as she fired off instructions, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Carlo Romaniello.
    But as I dialed Corina Palenzuela to give her Valerie’s regrets, I knew I would probably never see him again.
    There was no way Valerie would let me join them for lunch—even though he’d specifically included me.

Chapter Two
    Overnight, Valerie came down with something, some kind of “stomach flu or food poisoning,” her voice gasped through my cell phone at just after six the next morning, “but it might be contagious or something. The concierge has already called a doctor—there’s no sense in your catching it, too.” She sighed. “I’m just going to go back to sleep and pray for death. You might as well take the day off. But oh yes, you must call Carlo Romaniello and cancel lunch.”
    â€œI don’t have his phone number,” I replied, my spirits rising. A day off? In South Beach? I could feel myself smiling in my dark room.
    â€œI don’t have it, either,” she said crossly. “Just start calling the best hotels here. He’ll be at one of them, surely.” And she hung up.
    I stared at the phone.
    The thought of calling every hotel in South Beach wasn’t in the least bit appealing. And that was assuming he was staying in a hotel and not with friends. He might even have his own condo or place down here. He was certainly rich enough.
    I sighed. I could spend the entire morning trying to find him without success—and it certainly wasn’t how I wanted to spend the morning.
    After Valerie had gone to bed the night before, I’d stayed up another hour and Googled Carlo Romaniello. The entire first page of links that came up all had to do with Timothy Burke’s tragic death. Even though it made me feel like a ghoul, I couldn’t help myself; I started clicking on the links and read everything I could find.
    It had been late May when it happened—so it hadn’t been a full year yet. They’d been married for five years, give or take, when it happened. Timothy had given all of the servants the day off, and late in the afternoon apparently went for a swim in the Atlantic Ocean behind Spindrift. There was a pool, of course, but one of the servants at Spindrift—a Michael Carson—had told the police that Timothy preferred the ocean because he’d grown up on the Gulf of Mexico and was used to salt water. None of the servants knew why he’d given them the day off—he hadn’t given any of them a reason, and so he was alone in the house before he went for his swim. His cell phone had been found on the beach, along with his towel, his bathing robe, and his sandals; he’d made a call around four thirty to a business associate in the city, who confirmed the call. Timothy’s underwear company was looking into going into swimwear, but Timothy wasn’t certain if it was the right move for Drawers.
    â€œHe told me to confirm a meeting with a potential swimwear designer the next week,” the associate recalled. “And he sounded in good spirits. He was happy, and looking forward to moving Drawers forward.”
    Carlo came home unexpectedly to find the house empty and no sign of Timothy. When he found Timothy’s things on the