2 A Match Made in Mystery

by J. B. Lynn

  He flicked his gaze from the paper to her face and back to the paper.

  “What’s it say?” she croaked, tension straining her vocal cords.

  He placed it down on the table for her to see. “It says you’re to go see Milton Willen at Michelman and Willen. You’re supposed to show him this letter.” He pointed at a string of numbers and letters at the bottom of the page. “I’m guessing so that he can see that.”

  Diego pulled out his phone and tapped wildly at it.

  She exhaled a breath she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding as she examined the typewritten note. It was unsigned.

  “There’s a Michelman, Willen and Willen Law Firm a couple of blocks from the address listed there,” Diego told her. “Makes sense that they’d change office space and add a partner or two in twenty years.”

  Amy nodded, trying to make sense of the numbers and letters.

  “Maybe I was right about the inheritance thing,” Diego joked weakly.

  “From who?”

  “Your dad?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve told you a dozen times he died before I was born.”

  “Remind me how again?”

  “Car accident. He stopped to help a woman who had a flat tire and was mowed down by a semi.”

  Diego frowned.

  “Maybe it’s from Bea. You always were her favorite.”

  The mention of the woman who’d owned the restaurant and served as a surrogate grandmother to both of them brought tears to Amy’s eyes.

  Diego clapped a hand on her shoulder, offering support.

  “I didn’t know her twenty years ago either,” Amy reminded him.

  He frowned. “Well you’ve got to find out who it is. I’m supposed to start a new job tomorrow, but I can push it back so I can go with you.”

  She shook her head. “I can do it.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “How tough can it be to deal with a lawyer?”

  Chapter Four

  There were days when Brady had trouble remembering why he’d ever wanted to become a lawyer. It was one of those days.

  He’d spent the morning studying Eric Willen’s plan for Keith Hasburgh’s company. It was a convoluted mess that offered Hasburgh a quick profit, but also exposed him to major vulnerability.

  Eric was more concerned with making money than protecting their client. It was Brady’s responsibility to do both, but he had to tread carefully. He was nearing the end of the time he’d promised Milton he’d work at the firm. The firm’s other managing partner, Michelman, was away for another three months on his trip around the world with his son, which meant Brady would need a recommendation from Eric when he started searching for new employment. He’d cast a few tentative feelers out and didn’t think he’d have too much trouble finding another job. Unless he got on Eric’s wrong side.

  His secretary, Lara, stuck her head in his office. “Don’t forget you’ve got that meeting with Mrs. M.”

  He nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

  She took a step into the office and closed the door behind her.

  He glanced up from his computer screen. “What’s up?”

  “You look worried. How bad is it?”

  “Bad. If this was done by anyone else but Eric, I’d scrap the entire thing.”

  “Maybe you should anyway.”

  He shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

  “He’s going to run this company into the ground,” Lara declared. “And all of the people who work here will be out of a job. It’ll be all your fault, Brady. Just because you’re getting out of here doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t be left to deal with the consequences of your actions or inactions.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m unclear what’s going on right now,” he mocked. “Are you trying to guilt me into doing things differently or bully me?”

  “Both.” She put her hands on her hips. “Someone has to be the better man. You’re that man.”

  He shook his head. “You know I can’t. I owe Milton.”

  “What you owe him, and everybody else, is to do the right thing.”

  His temper flared. “Your opinion has been duly noted, counselor. Was there anything else you wanted?”

  “You’re only pissy because you know I’m right.” She tossed her hair over shoulder and stalked out.

  He watched her leave, knowing that she was, as usual, right. He wasn’t annoyed because she dared to challenge him; hell, that’s why he’d hired her, but because she voiced the very thoughts that had been nibbling away at his conscience.

  Unable to focus on his work, he called Tom to see if he was back from his honeymoon yet. Fixing the legal problems of Keith Hasburgh was complicated, getting him the phone number for the psychic Armani Vasquez wasn’t.

  “Slacking?” Tom asked when he answered on the second ring.

  “How’s married life treating you?”

  “I am one lucky man.”

  Brady could hear the smile in his friend’s voice and some of his own stress melted away. “Glad to hear it.”

  “What’s up? You don’t usually call during the workday.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I need the psychic’s number.”

  Tom chuckled. “I thought you didn’t believe in those things.”

  “I never said that.” Brady scowled at his window as a gust of rain buffeted raindrops against the glass.

  “She got you, didn’t she?” Tom crowed victoriously.

  “No.”

  “I saw her talking to you at the wedding. What did she say?”

  “She told me to ask for a purple people eater.”

  Tom guffawed. “And did you?”

  “Yeah,” Brady admitted grudgingly.

  “And what happened?”

  “I got one.”

  “Dare I ask what it is?”

  “A cocktail, but that’s not why I’m asking for her number.” Brady spoke quickly, trying to regain a semblance of control over the conversation. “I know someone who’s interested in talking to her. A client.”

  “You’re setting up a client with a psychic matchmaker?” Tom asked incredulously.

  “He asked,” Brady explained defensively. “Do you have her number or not?”

  “I don’t, but Jane might. I can check with her when she gets home.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  “So who gave you the purple people eater?” Tom asked curiously. “A beautiful woman?”

  Brady remembered Ann, the pretty blonde who’d delivered the purple drink. “Yeah.”

  “Armani’s a nut, but she knows her stuff.”

  “I’m not looking to get matched up,” Brady insisted.

  “I wasn’t either,” Tom told him quietly. “But now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Don’t stubbornly shut something out.”

  The sincerity of his tone made part of Brady long for what his friend had found. “You playing next week, old married man?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work. Text me Armani’s number.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Brady disconnected the call, wondering if he should return to Busy Bea’s to try to connect with the blond waitress again despite the fact she wasn’t his type. An image of the face of the brunette who’d taken their orders flashed through his mind and he smiled, remembering the way she’d handled Eric.

  Lara popped back in. “Mrs. M. called to say she’s running late.”

  “Okay. Let me know when she gets here.”

  “Of course.” She turned to leave.

  “Lara?”

  She turned back.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. You’re right. About everything.”

  She flashed him a cheeky grin. “I know.”

  Chapter Five

  Despite the rain, Amy stood outside the office building, hesitating. She’d changed out o
f her scrubs after her shift at the hospital and taken the bus over here, but now that she’d arrived, she wasn’t sure if she could go in.

  The rain beat relentlessly on her umbrella and she wished she’d worn a raincoat. Her purse, which contained the twenty-year-old note, hung heavily on her shoulder, its weight almost too much to bear, despite the fact she’d only added the one piece of paper to its usual contents.

  She couldn’t do it. Not today. Hadn’t Mr. Leeves said he was delivering the envelope six months early? Maybe she was supposed to wait until then to find out what its contents meant.

  She was still in mourning over the loss of Bea. She didn’t need to invite even more stress into her life.

  This didn’t feel right. She had to go home.

  Turning to head back to the bus stop, she caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. She tilted her umbrella to get a better look.

  An older woman and a young man were engaged in a tug-of-war over the woman’s pocketbook.

  “Hey!” Amy yelled, instinctively changing course to help the old lady. “Stop that!”

  The strap on the pocketbook snapped, sending the woman tumbling backward to the ground and leaving the thief holding the bag. Standing over the woman, the thief rifled through its contents.

  Dropping her umbrella, Amy fumbled in her bag for her pepper spray as she broke into a run toward the fallen woman. “Get away from her. Get away.”

  The thief looked right at her as she stumbled to a stop in front of him, a cold malevolence gleaming in his gaze.

  “Give it back to her,” Amy demanded, pepper spray in one hand, the handle of her own purse in the other.

  A superior sneer spread across his face. “You gonna make me?”

  Amy studied his face and neck, taking a mental inventory. No tattoos probably meant he wasn’t with a gang. No visible scars meant he wasn’t much for violence. He probably only preyed on little old ladies.

  “Give it back to her,” Amy repeated in a measured tone, tightening her grip on the strap of her own purse.

  “Or what? Who’s gonna make me? You or Grandma?” He looked down at the fallen woman and blew her a kiss.

  Amy swung.

  Her purse, which contained three books, was heavy. It arced through the air and caught Mr. Tough Guy squarely in the face.

  Crying out in pain, he dropped the stolen pocketbook as he cradled his nose in his hands. Blood gushed.

  Amy swung her purse again, catching him in shoulder with a resounding thud. The blow knocked him to her knees.

  She moved in for the kill.

  “You bitch!” he screamed, dropping his hands from his bloodied face. “You broke my nose.”

  She sprayed the pepper spray into his eyes.

  He screamed.

  She scooped up the stolen pocketbook.

  Without taking her eyes off him, Amy bent to help the old woman to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride, dear,” she murmured.

  “I bet yours isn’t nearly as dented as his.” Wrapping an arm around the frail woman’s shoulders, Amy heaved her to her feet as the thief stumbled away.

  “Thank you.” The woman tottered unsteadily.

  Amy steadied her. “Let’s get you out of this rain and we’ll call the police.”

  Arm-in-arm they walked into Michelman, Willen and Willen.

  The perfectly coiffed receptionist let out a gasp of horror as she took in their bedraggled state.

  While she was no help, a man in his late twenties rushed over. “What happened?”

  “Do you think maybe we could get her in a chair?” Amy suggested. “She took a nasty tumble.”

  “I’m old and feeble,” the woman snapped, “not deaf.”

  “Of course not,” Amy soothed as the man directed them toward a couple of chairs hidden in alcove around the corner.

  “What happened, Mrs. M.?” he asked.

  “I was mugged, Gerald.”

  He nervously fingered the polka-dot bowtie he wore. “Are you okay?”

  “Obviously,” she retorted.

  Amy swallowed a smile. No wonder she hadn’t just let the would-be robber take her purse. The woman might be a senior citizen, but she was feisty. “Here you go.” She pressed the woman’s purse into her hands.

  Her gaze sharpened as she got a better look at Amy. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Should I call the police?” Gerald asked.

  “Of course,” Mrs. M. replied. “But I suspect the scoundrel is long gone.”

  Gerald scurried off.

  “And tell Brady I’m here!” Mrs. M. thundered before turning an appraising eye to Amy. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Amy.”

  “I’m Mildred.” She reached out her veiny, gnarled hand.

  Amy shook it, a little surprised by the amount of strength in Mildred’s grip.

  She tried not to fidget as Mildred surveyed her from head to toe, imagining she must be a damp, bedraggled mess.

  “What did you think you were doing out there?”

  Amy blinked. “Trying to help.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Amy practically squeaked.

  “Why? I don’t know you, do I?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then why would you put yourself in danger to help a stranger?”

  “Because it seemed like the right thing to do,” Amy suggested weakly.

  “It was a stupid thing to do.”

  Taken aback, Amy stared at her.

  “What happened?” a blond man interjected, breezing past Amy to kneel in front of the seated woman, not seeming to care that the knees of his expensive suit were getting soaked from the puddles that spread across the floor.

  “Are you okay, Mrs. M.?” A beautiful woman in a red dress and navy heels rushed up, carrying a steaming mug.

  Wrapping her hands around the cup, Mrs. M. cracked her first smile. “Thank you, Lara. This was just what I needed.”

  Certain that the mugging victim was being taken care of, Amy backed up a step, so as not to intrude.

  “Perhaps you could get something for my new friend, Amy,” Mrs. M. suggested. “After all, she did attack the mugger and retrieve my bag for me.”

  Lara and the man both turned to stare at Amy.

  Self-consciously wiping a damp tendril of hair off her face, she smiled at them weakly.

  The woman grinned back. “Cool.”

  The man just stared at her.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” But even as she denied it, she recognized the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who’d look like a surfer, if it weren’t for his expensive suit. She’d seen him before. Not the hospital… Bea’s.

  She’d remember him anywhere. Handsome, sexy, and so far out of her league it was a miracle they were even considered the same species. It wasn’t surprising he couldn’t place where they’d met. After all she was a waitress and he worked here, in a building that seemed to ooze wealth and privilege.

  The way he stared at her, struggling to make the connection, it made her blurt out, “Purple people eater.”

  Recognition dawned in his gaze and he flashed her an intimate smile like they shared a secret . “Of course.”

  “Purple people eater?” Lara asked.

  “Lara, why don’t you get Amy a nice cup of tea while we wait for the police to arrive?” Mrs. M. suggested.

  “Of course.” Taking Amy by the elbow, Lara led her away. “I’m Lara.”

  “I’m really not a tea drinker,” Amy confided as they headed toward a bank of elevators.

  “Humor her,” Lara ordered. “Did you really attack a mugger?”

  “Not my brightest move,” Amy admitted.

  “But maybe the bravest.” Despite the fact Amy was soaked, the gorgeous woman threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight hug as the elevator doors opened. “I like you, Amy. Coffee or hot chocolate
?”

  Chapter Six

  “How do you know that young woman?” Mildred asked sharply the moment Lara had led away her savior.

  Brady glanced in the direction they’d disappeared. “I don’t really know her. She’s just a waitress.”

  “Where?”

  “A place called Busy Bea’s.” Brady hopped up from his kneeling position.

  “I don’t know it.”

  “It’s not exactly your kind of place, Mildred. It’s in a rougher section of town.”

  “What were you doing there?” She patted the chair beside her, indicating he should sit.

  Brady grit his teeth as he sat down. He found Mildred to be a pleasant conversationalist, but lately, with her husband away on his six-month trip with her stepson, she’d become nosy. Apparently the run-in with her would-be mugger had brought out her inquisitive side.

  He felt a twinge of guilt for feeling impatient with her. She’d been through an ordeal.

  He forced himself to keep his tone light. “I had a meeting with Keith Hasburgh there. I don’t know if he set the location or if it was Eric’s idea.”

  Mildred sniffed distastefully at the mention of the younger Willen. “Apparently you made a significant impression on Amy.”

  “Is that her name?” Brady asked quickly, surprised by how much he wanted to know.

  “That’s what she said.” Mildred focused her laser-like gaze on him. “I suspect she’s a special girl.”

  “Oh. I’m not… I don’t…” He stammered nervously. “Why would you say that?”

  “Not that many people would put themselves in danger to protect a stranger. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  He nodded.

  “I saw her,” she continued, “before that man grabbed my purse. I was watching her. She was standing out there, staring at this building. She looked like she was trying to decide whether or not to come in. I think she needs help. Can you do that, Brady? Can you help her?”

  He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Mildred’s request.

  “Will you?” she pressed.

  “I’ll try,” he promised.

  “Don’t try,” Mildred insisted. “Do it. And don’t you dare pass this off for Gerald to take care of like you did with Mr. Burberry.”

  Brady raised his hands defensively. “Gerald’s more than capable of taking care of Mr. Burberry.”