I could picture his face but didn’t know the name. “You’re serious?”
“He was cute.”
I shook my head. “This could be the root of all your failed relationships.”
“Nah,” she said, changing lanes. “They’re cute, but not the marrying kind.”
“Who is the marrying kind?”
“Your Bobby.”
I groaned. This subject needed to veer off me ASAP.
“What happened with you and S?”
She fidgeted. “His name.”
“His name?”
“It’s Shakespeare!” Her voice rose. “I can’t date a guy named Shakespeare Larue!”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“You better not be laughing!”
“Or?” A chuckle escaped.
“Argh!”
“He was a nice guy.”
“I know. It’s too bad.”
I shook my head. “Maybe you ought to give him a second chance.”
96
Heather Webber
She shrugged.
I took it to mean that she’d consider a second chance if she became desperate enough—which usually happened twice a week.
“Did you get any information from Harry von Barber? Is that what this recon mission is all about?”
“I called but he didn’t return it. I went to his apartment, but he wasn’t there.”
“Avoiding you?”
“Probably thinks I’m going to try to line him up another job with a crazy lady.”
“Ha. Ha.”
An eighteen wheeler rumbled past, shaking Ana’s little SUV. “I went to his apartment, but he wasn’t home. Luckily, his roommate, Flora, recognized the picture of Jean-Claude.”
I perked up. “Oh?”
“Saw him in the Blue Zone once.”
A glowing haze hovered over the city, the bright lights il-luminating the night sky. The highway split off to I-71 north, and narrowed as it approached the bridge spanning the Ohio River. On the other side sat Newport, Kentucky, where we were headed.
Over the past few years, Newport had grown into a family friendly area. Newport on the Levee was a booming spot along the river that boasted boutique shops, a movie theater, restaurants, a book store, an IMAX theater, the Newport Aquarium, and amazing views of downtown Cincinnati.
Along with the growth came the Blue Zone, an upscale adult entertainment area a few blocks south of the river. The Blue Zone was a single street catering to an adult’s every whim, from microbreweries to massage parlors, from fortune-tellers to a pricy sports bar where all the local pro players hung out after the game.
97
It was assumed that more could be attained at the massage parlors than a massage, and more than your palm could be read at the fortune-teller. I wondered if it was at one of these places that Jean-Claude worked.
“Did Flora say where she’d seen Jean-Claude?”
“He.”
“Hmm?”
Ana exited the highway. “Flora’s a he. I think. A very pretty he at that. I didn’t ask for proof.”
I turned in my seat to get a good look at her.
“Okay,” she said, “I asked, but she/he didn’t want to play show and tell.”
“Can we trust this information?”
“Why not? It’s all we’ve got.”
True enough.
