Ian’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Last recorded exam was about thirteen years ago. Looks like the mandatory one they make you do for college admission. Nothing remarkable. Guess she has something against doctors.” Ian laughed. “Sucks for you, man, huh?”
Michael shot him a withering glance. Ian cleared his throat and continued. “No passport – looks like she was born here. No online reservations in the last five years, unless she used an alias, of course. Has a mobile...” Ian whistled softly “... that she’s amassed a total of twenty-seven minutes on. In the last two years.”
So Maggie was quiet and shy, tended to stick close to home and kept to herself. Had he not seen her house, spent some time with her this morning, it would have been difficult to reconcile those facts with the harem-girl seductress he’d met last night. Such a huge deviation from what appeared to be her normal, everyday life. It begged him to ask the question – why?
“Ah, here’s something. One credit card – personal, non-business, with accounts at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.” Ian chuckled. “Judging by her order history, she’s a big fan of Salienne Dulcette. You could arrange an intro, get in her good graces. Maybe that will help her overlook the whole doctor thing.”
Salienne Dulcette, New York Times bestselling author of erotic romance nearly ten years running, was well known to the Callaghans as Stacey Connelly, the wife of one of their cousins in the next town.
“Oh,” he continued. “And she’s purchased at least a dozen exotic dance DVD’s – everything from belly dancing to Zumba.” Ian sat back, taking a long pull from his mug and eyeing the cookies longingly. “So how’d you meet her anyway?”
“She’s the redhead that danced at your bachelor party last night. Ended up doing a header off the stage right afterwards, gave herself a nice little concussion in the process.”
“I’ll be damned. Let me guess - you played the role of the concerned physician.” Ian’s eyes glittered.
“Something like that.”
“Did she give you those cookies?”
“Maybe.”
Ian’s eyes grew almost lusty with longing. “They smell awesome. You’re going to share, right?”
Michael pointed to the empty Thermos. “I already paid.”
“For this,” Ian said, waving his hand in front of the computer screen. “Public info, and pretty vanilla stuff at that. You probably could have discovered that all for yourself through Google. But for some of those - ” he pointed at the cookies, “ – I can tell you what you won’t find online.”
Michael considered it. Ian was probably going to do that anyway, but far be it from him to forego such an opportunity when it presented itself; that was just Ian. And there was no better source of personal, local information than his roguish brother. Ian was always plugged in to the local news and gossip. As a general rule, people tended to bare their souls to bartenders, but Ian had turned it into an art form. If there was anything to be learned here, it would most likely come from Ian.
“Six cookies. If it’s worth it, I’ll give you six more.”
“Mick, it’s worth it, trust me.” Ian stuffed one of the cookies into his mouth and chewed, letting his eyes roll back in his head. “Holy shit these are good. What is that... coconut mixed in the dark chocolate? I should take a few of these to Lexi.”
Ian’s bride-to-be, Alexis Kattapoulos, was currently the head chef at one of the hottest restaurants along the East Coast. She coveted traditional, passed-down-thru-the-ages type of recipes. Maggie’s cookies would be right up her alley.
Michael waited patiently while Ian wolfed down a few more and took another gulp of coffee.
“Okay, so you saw that Maggie worked for Dumas Industries, right?” Michael nodded. Half the town worked for Dumas at one point or another; it was easily the largest employer in the county.
“Well, apparently Maggie caught the interest of the golden boy himself, Spencer Dumas.”
Michael scowled. He knew Spencer Dumas. The man was the epitome of the wealthy playboy. Never did an honest day’s work in his life, had to be pulled out of more than a few scrapes by his rich father. Made a point to be at every newsworthy event with at least one centerfold-worthy female on his arm.
“Maggie doesn’t seem to fit his usual type.”
“No,” Ian agreed. “But, rumor has it that Maggie’s land is.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Dumas wined and dined her for months until she finally said yes. Shortly afterward, she caught him doing the nasty with his personal assistant, overheard him bragging about how slick he was in seducing her, how once they were married, the land would become part of the Dumas Industries assets. Apparently he wasn’t too complimentary in the process, either.”