“I really enjoyed seeing the area,” Charity said. “The vineyards are so beautiful.”
“Not the tour,” Renee/Michelle said. “Josh. You’re single, right? Wow, how I would love to spend some quality time with him.”
“Sometimes at night I see him walking around town all hot and sweaty,” Gladys said, a slight moan in her voice.
“I know,” someone else added.
Renee/Michelle glanced toward the door, as if checking to see if Robert was within earshot. “Once, he came to the spa.” She turned to Charity. “I run a day spa in town. You should come in for a massage sometime.”
“Um, sure.” She couldn’t believe they were actually talking about Josh this way.
“He wanted me to wax him.” Renee/Michelle turned back to Charity. “They all get waxed. It cuts down on air friction.” She turned her attention back to the group. “He was on the table, wearing these tiny little briefs. Man, oh man, all I can say is that the rumors about his equipment are not exaggerated.”
Renee/Michelle sagged back in her chair and sucked in a breath. “That night my husband got the best sex of his life and he never knew why.” She fanned herself with her hand.
Robert walked back into the room, a can of soda in his hand. He looked around the table, then sighed. “You’re talking about Josh, aren’t you?”
Charity resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.
“Of course,” Pia said. “We can’t help it.”
Charity wanted to snap that he was just one guy and not all that, but she was afraid she would sound like she had something to hide.
“He’s the man,” Robert said with a shake of his head.
“Some big investor back east came here and wanted to open a bike school or training camp,” Gladys said. “Josh wouldn’t do it. He said he wouldn’t exploit his fame that way.”
Most of the women in the room sighed.
Charity privately thought he probably hadn’t done it because being involved would cut into the hours he spent getting laid. If anyone here was special, it was Robert, not Josh. Robert was a regular guy, doing an honest day’s work with minimal appreciation. Sure Josh was famous and a great athlete, but he wasn’t a god. No matter what her hormones might try to tell her.
Marsha slipped on her reading glasses. “If we could get back to the subject at hand,” she said, her quiet voice instantly silencing the other chatter. “Tiffany will be here any minute and I’d prefer we be discussing something of merit when she arrives.”
“Tiffany?” Police Chief Alice asked. “Seriously?”
“Tiffany Hatcher.” Marsha scanned the paper in front of her. “She’s twenty-three and getting her Ph.D. in Human Geography. And before you ask, I went online and looked it up. It’s the study of why people settle where they settle. In other words, she’s studying why we don’t have enough men in Fool’s Gold.”
The women all looked at each other. Robert chuckled. “You have me.”
“And we’re ever so grateful,” Gladys told him. “But you’re only one man.”
“I do what I can.”
Charity tried not to laugh. He caught her eye and grinned.
Marsha sighed. “As much as I wanted to keep our problem quiet, apparently that’s not going to happen. Tiffany is very excited about the opportunity to publish her thesis when it’s finished. So the whole world is going to know.”
“Unless no one reads it,” Alice said.
“I don’t think we’ll be that lucky,” Pia said. “Men or a lack of them is sexy. The media loves sexy topics.”
“How can a lack of men be sexy?” Gladys asked.
Just then there was a timid knock on the open door. Charity turned and saw a tiny, dark-haired young woman standing in the entrance to the conference room. Marsha had said Tiffany was in her twenties, but she could easily have passed for thirteen. She had big eyes, long dark hair and an earnest expression that made Charity think she was going to be a giant pain in the butt with her questions.
“Your assistant said I should come right in,” Tiffany said apologetically.
“Of course, dear,” Marsha said, rising. “We’ve been expecting you. Everyone, this is Tiffany. She’s going to do her dissertation on why men are moving away from Fool’s Gold.”
“Actually, you’re only a chapter,” Tiffany said, her voice as tiny as the rest of her.
“Lucky us,” Charity whispered to Pia.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHARITY STEPPED INTO Angelo’s at exactly seven on Wednesday night. The Italian restaurant was within walking distance of the hotel, much like everything else in town. The outside was whitewashed, with a big patio seating area. Inside, the tables were covered with white tablecloths and the subdued lighting gave the intimate space an elegant air. A dozen different delicious smells competed for her attention, making her mouth water and her stomach growl. Her salad at lunch suddenly seemed like a long time ago.