No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 Read Free Page A

through
clenched teeth. “To punish me for catching the bad guys who stole
from Feed the World.”
    “But I’m broke!” I cried. “I
have no money!”
    “Babe...”
    “What am I going to do?” It
all sunk in. George had never loved me. He wasn’t just a con man.
He wasn’t just a rat. He was a man who deliberately stole all my
money to punish my ex-husband. I was a pawn in a very ugly game.
That meeting in Pleasant Bay was no accident. George staged it, to
reel me in.
    One look at my ex-husband
made my heart sink even further into the depths of despair. Bosco
looked like a guy who just landed in a vat of quick-drying cement
and was counting down the final minutes until he was ensconced
forever in his final resting place. The expression on his face told
me all hope was lost. The realization settled over me like black
thunder clouds just before the skies broke apart. That’s when I
burst into loud, wet, body-shaking sobs, howling like some wild
animal into the oncoming storm.
     

Chapter Three
--
     
    “Dori,” Bosco said gently,
putting his arms around me as I stood there numbly, “we’ll get the
guy. We’ll figure out a way to get the money back for
you.”
    “But how? This was all
planned out,” I sobbed, “right down to the seduction! He never
cared about me! It was all a sham!”
    Hysteria was beginning to
cripple me, to bring me to my knees. In only minutes, I went from
being a foolish woman who was conned by a self-serving Don Juan to
a woman manipulated by a powerful group of criminals out to get her
ex-husband because of his career choices.
    “What if it’s not over?” I
asked him, between chattering teeth. “What if they came after me to
draw you in? Because they knew I would turn to you and you would
come to my rescue.”
    “Tell me about the first
time you two met. You went to Pleasant Bay with your girlfriends,”
Bosco prodded gently.
    “Yes,” I said, thinking back
to the trip eight months ago. I had been lured by the promise of a
girl’s weekend at a luxury retreat with my college roommate,
Millicent Fournier, and her circle of friends from New York. There
were supposed to be four of us sharing two rooms, but the idea of a
chick retreat with spa treatments grew more enticing as word
spread. Tony Liselli, another former schoolmate from Pantheon
College, wanted to join us and she had a friend who was happy to
share the cost of the room with her. Mary Findlay, another Pantheon
pal, wanted to join us and Joyce Yamaguchi agreed to come along, to
share Mary’s room. Next thing we knew, the list grew and there were
ten of us, sharing five rooms.
    “How did George wind up
there that weekend?” Bosco wanted to know. I explained. One of the
New York women, Tatiana Stevanovich, was dating George at the time
we met. He had decided to surprise her at the Oceania Resort,
appearing out of nowhere as we sat at our special dinner in a
private dining room on the first evening.
    I had never met Tati before.
She was Millicent’s new neighbor at the Collins, someone who heard
about the weekend and asked if she could join the group. When Tati
introduced George Peterson, she called him her special friend.
George sat down between Tati and me. He seemed determined to fit
into our group, directing his bright smiles around the table of
females. As the evening wore on, Tati grew belligerent, chiding
George for being weak and unmanly, accusing him of failing to
satisfy her in bed. By eight o’clock, George finally had enough and
said good night, his machismo battered by her relentless assaults.
Another ten minutes of tirade kept Tati busy, regaling us with
stories of George’s failures. I reached my limit and finally
excused myself.
    “Where are you going?” Tati
demanded as I rose from the table.
    “See you all tomorrow,” I
said to the group as a whole, avoiding a confrontation with the
argumentative woman.
    “I asked you where you are
going!” Tatiana’s words were slurred. She was getting sloppy.