Chasing Shadows (First Wives #3)(16)

Avery looked at the tape disguised as a name tag. “This is Chanel.”

Shannon laughed. From her purse, she produced a magnetic name tag that she attached to her dress jacket without tape or a pin.

“That’s cheating.”

“Good thing I had one made for you, too.”

Avery wadded up her paper name tag and tossed it in a nearby trash can before placing the nondestructive tag on her blouse.

“So how do we do this?”

“It’s a mixer. We mix.”

“Looks like everyone is just standing around drinking.”

Shannon led them to the bar and asked for two glasses of chardonnay. “One glass, and make it last all night.”

Avery dropped the glass from her lips. “So it’s a prop.”

“Yup. If you’re not holding it, some will think you’re a recovering alcoholic, if you’re overindulging, you’re going to be labeled as one.”

“Critical group.” Avery pointed to an elderly woman dressed to the nines and well into her wine. “What about her?”

“That’s Mandy Wilson. She doesn’t count. She’s not here to drum up business.”

“Then why is she here?”

“Probably to find a future ex-husband. C’mon, let me introduce you.”

Mandy Wilson looked to be in her late sixties. Yeah, it was apparent she’d had the usual cosmetic surgeries wealthy women did in order to hold back Father Time, but that was something Avery was used to looking past.

“Well, look who is here.”

Shannon smiled at Mandy as she leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “Mandy, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

She made the introductions, and Avery accepted the thorough once-over from the older woman.

“What brings you two uptown women here? Looking for a husband?”

Avery shook her head and Shannon laughed. “We’ll leave that to you. Any prospects out there tonight?”

Mandy scowled. “Sadly, the place is shy on men. Too many liberated women joining the workforce.”

“Some of us like to make our own money,” Shannon teased.

“Don’t start that with me. Your divorce was public record. Unless of course you’ve blown through it all already . . . have you?”

“What a juicy bit of gossip that would be. I like being busy.”

“The right man keeps you busy at night and has enough money to afford all the pampering and fluff a woman needs during the day.” Obviously this was Mandy’s philosophy.

“So what brings you here?” Mandy addressed Avery.

“Not a husband. I’m with Shannon on that.” She glanced around the room. “Realtors, contractors. I’m in estate sales.”

“Selling dead people’s stuff.”

Avery had said that to herself on more than one occasion. “That would be it. Rich dead people.”

This particular networking mixer was put on by an exclusive company that offered discounts for things like private air travel, high-end cars, memberships to exclusive golf courses . . . all for an annual fee, of course. Not just anyone could get in, and therefore people in entry-level vocations weren’t there.

“I can’t say I know of any contractors here, not for residential real estate, at least. Bowman.” Mandy pointed to a short, balding man talking to a small group of men. “He’s the mayor of . . . oh, what was the name of that town? It doesn’t matter. Mayor and a broker. He might be able to help you. Although he’s a bit pompous even for me. I’d suggest you find out if anyone has recently purchased or sold.”

“Thank you.”

Mandy smiled and turned to Shannon. “And you? You’re still taking pictures?”

“That I am.”

“Mavis Ellendale said something about her daughter expecting a proposal. First marriage.”

Shannon tilted her head. “You’re a gem, Mandy.”

“Yes, I know. Be sure and tell me if you find any ill eighty-year-olds. Rich, of course. But that goes without saying.”

Mandy turned away, and Shannon and Avery moved deeper into the room.

“She’s a riot.”

“Two divorces and one funeral,” Shannon said.

“You’d think she’d be set.”

“Oh, she’s set. She just likes the chase. Her profession is finding a rich man who isn’t put off by the fact that she’s searching him out. At seventy-five, you’d think she’d take a break.”

Avery did a double take over her shoulder. “Wow, I want to know who her plastic surgeon is.”

“Thirty years from now when you need him, he’ll be gone.”

Two hours later, long after Avery had poured out her glass of wine because it became too warm to drink, she’d determined that Bowman was a pompous ass and the small town where he held a position as mayor was nowhere near the league of Brentwood real estate. She did pick up one lead from a financial adviser that sounded promising.

Shannon had planted the seed of her professional photography business to Mrs. Ellendale and her friend. Both of them had daughters in their midtwenties who were in serious relationships.

They worked their way to a sky view restaurant in the heart of LA, where they ordered a proper bottle of wine, intending to drink it.