Part 15 (2/2)

I was sitting there, valiantly trying to keep my eyelids propped open, when I looked up and saw a slim, trendy guy with Brad Pitt aviator gla.s.ses walk into the restaurant. Wait a minute. I knew that guy. It was Travis, Joy's nerdy computer tech. Only he wasn't the least bit nerdy anymore. The former IT geek was duded up in an Italian suit, his floppy locks now artfully arranged in hip spikes.

Yikes. Talk about your makeovers. The guy had done a complete fas.h.i.+on U-ey.

”Excuse me just a minute.” Somehow I managed to interrupt Lance, who was in the middle of describing Donny's eyes (cerulean blue with just a hint of aquamarine, for those of you taking notes). ”I see someone I know.”

”You actually know someone in this restaurant?” asked Lance, blinking in surprise.

”Yes, in fact, I do, and I'm going to say h.e.l.lo.”

”Okay, but don't take too long. I still haven't told you about Donny's dimple.”

I just prayed it was on his face.

I made my way to Travis's table, my L.L. Bean turtleneck and elastic waist pants attracting quite a few disapproving stares en route.

”Oh, hi, Jaine,” Travis said when he saw me coming.

Up close, I could see he'd had his teeth whitened.

”Hey, Travis. How's it going?”

”Great. I just opened my new office. Here, have a card.”

He took out a fancy silver card case and handed me an embossed business card, which read:

TRAVIS RICHARDSON.

ELITE MATCHMAKING.

”You've opened your own matchmaking service?” I asked.

”Yes. In fact, I'm meeting a client here for lunch.”

Then he flashed me what I'd never seen at Dates of Joy: an appealing grin.

”You should drop by and see me.”

”Sure,” I nodded, still blown away by his transformation from geekster to sleekster.

After some rather wooden chat about what a shock Joy's death had been, I made my way back to Lance, who took up where he'd left off in his paean to Donny, rambling on until the check came.

”Thanks so much, Lance,” I said as he paid the bill. ”This was really very sweet of you.”

”Oh, honey, what are friends for if not to be there for you in your time of need? Which reminds me, I never did hear about your horrible ordeal with the police. Where did all the time go?”

”Most of it, on Donny's dimple.”

As we made our way out of the restaurant, we pa.s.sed a tall blonde in a cashmere slacks set that probably cost more than my Corolla. She headed for Travis's table, undoubtedly the client he'd been talking about.

Looked like his new business was off to a booming start.

Picking up a mint from a bowl on the hostess stand (okay, three mints), I couldn't help but wonder if Travis's sudden change of fortune had anything to do with Joy's murder.

Back home, after an obligatory belly rub for Pro, I hurried to my computer and logged on to Travis's Web site. I checked out the dating profiles of the ”typical clients” he'd used to lure in new members.

Holy mackerel. I recognized every one of them. Mainly because Travis had filched them all from Joy's database.

No wonder he was able to get his business off to such a fast start.

And just like that, Travis Richardson leapt on board my suspect list.

Was it possible the former geek had poisoned his boss from h.e.l.l to get his hands on her client list?

Chapter 13.

Much to my surprise, Elite Matchmaking was actually in a fairly elite part of town-just off South Beverly Drive in the heart of Beverly Hills.

I drove there the next morning, and after circling around the popular shopping area for what seemed like hours, I finally nabbed a parking spot and made my way to Travis's office.

I found it in a slightly run-down courtyard building, with loose bricks on the pathway and a fountain that had long since ceased to bubble. But with its vintage 1920s Spanish architecture, it had an undeniable charm.

After checking the directory, I made my way across the courtyard to Elite Matchmaking and knocked on the door.

”Come in!” Travis called out.

I turned the k.n.o.b and stepped into his closet-sized office.

It was tiny to the max, but nicely decorated with a stylish area rug, sleek blond furniture, and three well-placed posters of happy couples holding hands and smiling adoringly at one another.

Travis sat behind his desk, dressed to the nines, with his spiky new hairdo and Brad Pitt aviators, his duct tape nerd gla.s.ses a relic of the past.

”Great to see you, Jaine! Have a seat.”

He pointed to the only visitor's chair in the room, an Eames-ish number that picked up one of the colors in his area rug.

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