“Okay, time to stop falling in love and order some food,” Braden announced. “Let’s try that new Israeli place. Where’s the paper?” Then suddenly, something sunk in, the paper.

“Wait, Mark, The Philly Beat! That paparazzo was from the same tabloid as the reporter who was killed. He may have overheard our conversation.” I saw by the look on his face that he acknowledged that these coincidences were piling up a little too quickly.

“You know something about that case?” Gabrielle asked. Mark and I exchanged looks, and with a subtle nod, he told me he was onboard.

“There’s something we want to tell you about…” I began.

6:30 PM

Mark and I took turns telling the story. When we finished, everyone sat quietly for a second and then we all looked at Gabrielle, who was positively glowing.

“No,” Braden told his wife firmly.

“No what?” she asked innocently.

“No to whatever crazy plan you’re coming up with. This woman isn’t a close friend of theirs. She and Beth went to high school together, but they didn’t hang out together, and Mark…” Braden glanced at Mark… “only met her once. Right?”

“Yeah!” Mark insisted.

“This is the chick from Thanksgiving?” Adam laughed. “The one who called you ‘Mike’ and kept talking about Facebook?”

“The very same,” Mark answered giving him an annoyed look.

“And you want to help this woman?” Lily asked, dubiously.

“Gerard took advantage of a teenager to steal a great painting just so he could hang it in his own study. Look, Caitlin isn’t a great friend of mine, but that’s just wrong, and he shouldn’t get away with it.” She nodded, understanding my point.

“If that dead reporter is connected to this, Caitlin could be in danger,” Jess pointed out. “Even if she is annoying, that shouldn’t be a death sentence. If it were, Adam would be a goner.” Adam shot her a sarcastic smile.

“Which is why we should tell the cops,” Braden put in, giving her a stern look. “I can’t believe you two climbed through a window,” he growled at Mark and me.

“I can’t believe Gabrielle wasn’t involved,” Cam added.

“Me neither,” Gab agreed sounding disappointed.

“I hate to point this out Braden,” Adam said, “but the Philadelphia police may have more urgent matters than a hearsay report that a nutty party girl, who broke into a house, thinks somebody stole her painting ten years ago.”

“Yeah, there’s no solid evidence that any of this is connected to the dead woman, or that there’s even been a crime committed,” Lily added, “well, other than Caitlin’s breaking and entering of course.”

“I think that in good conscience, we should at least try to see if maybe we could get a little something for them to investigate,” I argued. “Mark said that if he invited us in, and I recognized the painting, it might help.” Braden shot Mark a deadly look and Mark winced a little.

“How would we get him to do that?” Lily asked, knitting her brows.

“The guy is arrogant. He might actually do it for kicks. So, I was thinking maybe we could try at the mystery weekend.”

“That perfect!” Gabbed said, clapping her hands together and practically leaping out of her seat. “We’ll butter him up and make him feel all cocky and see if we can get him to invite us into the study. That’s all we have to do. Beth has a degree in art history and she’s a senator’s daughter. People would take her seriously if she backed Caitlin up.”

“That’s all we would have to do?” Jess asked, looking like she didn’t believe her. Considering Gabrielle’s track record, I couldn’t say that I blamed her.

“Fire up the Mystery Machine and pack the Scooby snacks,” Adam said with a grin, “the gang is back in action.”

“I’m not wearing the schoolboy outfit again,” Mark said, looking beaten. “I mean it. I won’t do it.”

“Not schoolboys, honey,” Jess consoled, “famous detectives.”

“I want to be Hercule Poirot,” Cam piped up.

“I think you enjoy this stuff,” Braden said, giving him a suspicious look and Cameron laughed tellingly, earning him a suspicious glance from Jess too.

Chapter Fourteen

Mark

Monday 8:20 AM

Adam and I talked while we waited for Judge Epstein to take the bench. In the PBD (pre-Beth days) I would have filled him in with lurid details about my weekend, but guys don’t talk about wives and girlfriends that way. Let’s face it nobody wants to be sitting around the dinner table, complementing the pot roast your buddy’s wife cooked up, and picturing her screaming his name. Adam was married to a very sexy woman, who I had imagined screaming my name a few times before they got together, but now she was Mrs. Roth, future mother of his children. So, the point is, we kept the conversation pretty general.

“I’m assuming that your one month experiment with celibacy is now ended,” he commented, shuffling through some files.

“Thank you lord,” I replied and he laughed.

“And I assume you figured it out?”

“Yeah, you were right. I didn’t have to think too hard. She was very motivating. In fact, I think I may have been worried deep down that after all the fantasies, reality wouldn’t stack up, but it was even better.”