Snagged Read Free

and extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Nadine Berry.”
    “Regan Reilly. This is really nice of you. That line doesn’t look like it’s moving too fast.”
    ’That’s because we’re holding it up,” the cabbie snarled. “Get in.”
    The interior of the cab offered an unlovely combination of dried perspiration and smoke, which was made worse by the Christmas-tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the mirror.
    “Turn on the air conditioner,” Nadine ordered.
    “It’s broken,” the driver said as the car lurched forward and a lit cigarette magically appeared between his lips.
    “Put that out,” Nadine commanded, “or we’ll have to take a different cab.”
    “I should be so lucky,” the Popeye look-alike muttered as he squashed the butt in the ashtray.
    Nadine turned to Regan. “If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s cigarette smoke. A terrible habit.” She opened her bag and pulled out her gum. “Want some?”
    “No, thanks. I thought your boyfriend was picking you up.”
    “He couldn’t. You know how I told you he works in a real estate office. There’s a meeting of the big shots at five-thirty and they made him stay to answer the phones. Where are you staying anyhow?”
    “The Ocean View on Ocean Drive.”
    “Oh, that’s right near the old folks’ home!” Nadine exclaimed and then lowered her voice. “Everyone at Joey’s office is sitting on pins and needles. An option expires on that home Monday, and there’s a lot of money at stake.”
    Oh, brother, Regan thought. That’s got to be Richie’s place. The poor guy.
    It took forty minutes to get to the Ocean View. By the time they arrived, Regan had heard Nadine’s autobiography. Nadine was twenty-seven, sold stereos in a discount store outside of Los Angeles, and had met Joey at a Club Med vacation in Hawaii. She had been jetting back and forth to visit him for nearly six months. “He pays for every other trip,” she confided. “It’s easier for me to come here because he’s been working so much on weekends.”
    As the cab neared the Ocean View, Nadine said, “What about you?”
    Regan had to make it quick. “I live in Los Angeles. I’m here to be in a friend’s wedding this weekend.”
    “Oh, I’ve been a bridesmaid so many times. All those dresses you never wear again, but every time they promise you’ll get a lot of use out of them. I say yeah, sure, on Halloween. By the way, what do you do?”
    “I’m a private investigator.”
    Nadine’s eyes and mouth became perfect circles. “That sounds really interesting. Do you pack a gun?”
    “I’m licensed to carry one but I never bring it on a trip like this.”
    “Do you ever get in real danger?”
    “Sometimes,” Regan laughed.
    “Listen, Joey’s apartment is only a few blocks from here. I’ll be on the beach when he’s at work. Maybe we can get together if you have any free time.”
    “Great,” Regan said with a heartiness she hoped didn’t sound forced. “Can’t I help you pay for this?”
    Nadine waved her hand. “Not at all. Joey’s the greatest. Once I set foot in Miami, he tells me to put away my wallet.”
    The cab stopped in front of a pale-purple hotel with an outdoor cafe. In a few minutes I’ll be in air-conditioning and drinking something cold, Regan thought.

B ARNEY FREIZE WAITED nervously in the plush reception room of the Calla-Lily Hosiery Company. Across the wall a poster-sized edition of the ad that had appeared in all the fashion magazines showed a pair of exquisite legs clad in shimmering black panty hose. The copy began: “The Calla-Lily legs are in bloom again.”
    Freize knew that Calla-Lily hosiery enjoyed the position of being the number-one choice of well-shod women in America and abroad. Those women didn’t mind paying through the nose to have their legs look good.
    Barney studied the ad. ’The Birdie stockings look better than them,” he muttered. He pulled up his own socks and brushed the lint off his Hush Puppies.