Baddest Bad Boys(26)

Yeah, right. He snorted. Jo enjoyed needling him. “No hot blondes come to mind except for Vicki, and Molly knows Vicki. Hates her too.”

“I don’t blame her,” Joanna commented. “I checked Molly’s meds, and they were sorted appropriately, but still. It makes my flesh creep.”

“Jo, I know you’re busy, but could you check on her tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve already slotted her in. Don’t worry.”

Good old Jo. He sighed in relief. “I owe you. I’ll call tomorrow.”

“OK. Till then. Have a good one.”

He hit End and stared down at the phone, sick with foreboding.

He punched in Molly’s number, waited for the ten rings it took for the arthritic old lady to hobble to the phone. “Hello?” she quavered.

“Hey, Molly, it’s me, Jon.”

“Jonny! The funniest thing just happened! There were two Joannas this morning!”

“Yeah, I know. Joanna number two was the real one. If you ever see Joanna number one again, lock your door and call 911. Then speed dial the other number I programmed into your phone, OK? That’s Mendez, the detective that works with me. Talk to her. Understand?”

It took fifteen solid minutes of stroking and soothing to get the rattled Molly calmed down and coherent. When he finally ended the call, Robin stood behind him. Damp, naked and gorgeous, toweling her long, wet hair. She looked troubled. “Problems?”

He tossed the phone down. “I got a friend to look in on my neighbor while I was gone. Molly’s ninety. She can’t get around much. And some blonde came to see Molly this morning who said that she was Jo. Sorted her meds. Ate her cookies. What the f*ck is that about?”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Ooh. That’s creepy.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you, um…” She chewed her lip. “Are you thinking you need to go back early?”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted. “I don’t like this. At all.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “When will you leave?”

He hesitated. “Not before tomorrow. I don’t want to pop our magic bubble yet. Not before we absolutely have to.”

Her face lit up, like dawn lighting the sky. “What’ll we do today?”

“You mean, aside from…” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

She giggled. “Aside from that.”

He glanced out the window. “It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “Let’s go out and play in the woods.”

Her grin grew dazzling. “That sounds great to me.”

“I’ll call Molly every couple of hours or so,” he said. “If anything else weird happens, I’ll have Mendez send someone to check it out.”

He was talking out loud, trying to justify a purely selfish, egoistic decision, but God, just look at that woman. Buck naked and smiling at him like that. She f*cking glowed. How was a man expected to resist?

The business suite was equipped with Internet access, and Julia made excellent use of it. Crowne Royale Group’s corporate website was sleek and professional. As was the flattering photo of Danny MacNamara, CFO. Julia read his bio, dismissed him, and moved on.

She typed “Robin MacNamara” into the engine. After a half hour, she hit the Ace Entertainment Agency site, and got a photo and bio of Wiggles the Clown. Wiggles offered general clowning, face painting, juggling, balloon twisting, humorous magic, stories, games and puppetry. Wiggles claimed to meet all clowning needs, be they birthday parties, corporate events, holiday parties, charity bashes, children’s hospitals, daycares, and so on. Wiggles had purportedly been entertaining in the Greater Seattle area and bringing smiles to faces of children and adults for the past six years.

Another paragraph revealed that the clown’s alter ego was Robin MacNamara. Julia stared at the big dark eyes and wide smile of the garishly painted creature who sported an enormous green wig and protruding red nose. Wiggles was Robin. Strange, but true.

Entertaining for six years? Either she was older than she looked, or she’d been clowning since she was no more than a child.

She found a contact number. “Ace Entertainment,” said a woman.

“Hi. My name’s Melinda Sykes, and Robin MacNamara did a birthday party for my nephew a few weeks ago at my house. I just found her handbag,” Julia said. “Could you give me her home number? I could just drop it by for her on my way to work.”

The woman hesitated. “Um, I could pass your number on to her.”

Julia sighed. Sometimes people were stupid and credulous. Sometimes not. She gave the woman a fake number, and hit End.

There was always the passwords William had obtained from the DMV. She entered the Washington system, with “Robin MacNamara,” scrolled, she found the girl’s face. Wide brown eyes. Born twenty-five years ago. A bit old, but when she closed her eyes, William gave her an assenting nod.

She cross-referenced the address with a reverse directory, found an R. MacNamara on Etruria, and dialed the number.

“Hi, is this Robin?” Julia asked, when a woman responded.

“No, this is Esther. I’m her roommate. Can I take a message?”

“I’m throwing a birthday party for my son, and the clown canceled on me. I’m scrambling for a replacement.” Julia feigned the harried tone of a busy mom. “Do you know if she’d be available tonight at six?”