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Mia shook her head. “I should have known better than to date a man who works for me. Especially when he happens to be one of the best carpenters in Philadelphia.”
“That man can do amazing things with his hands,” Carleen acknowledged.
“Believe me, I know.” Memories flooded her and Mia’s throat contracted. “But I have to quit dwelling on him and concentrate on finding new clients. I literally can’t afford to let my personal life interfere with my business anymore. And you can’t afford to put my business ahead of Toby.”
Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.”
“You’re not going to lose him,” Mia assured her. Then a solution hit her that was so obvious she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Why don’t I just take your place tonight?”
Carleen blinked. “What?”
“I’ll participate in the sleep study instead of you. It’s not like I have a life right now anyway. Besides, that only seems fair since you’re using the money to save my business.”
“But Harlan Longo is expecting me to show up tonight,” Carleen said. “I’ve already filled out a personality profile and signed a contract and everything. Who knows what he’ll do if I bail out at the last minute?”
“I doubt he’ll care,” Mia replied. “These research projects are just a form of entertainment for him. No one takes them seriously.”
“I’m not so sure,” Carleen told her. “I think he takes them very seriously. At least, that’s the impression I got when I talked to him on the telephone last week.”
“Then I’ll just pretend I’m you,” Mia improvised, determined to find a way to make it work. “He’ll never know the difference.”
Hope mingled with uncertainty in Carleen’s eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking me,” Mia replied, warming to the idea. “I’m volunteering. You didn’t send him a picture of yourself, did you? I mean, I’m an Italian brunette and you’re a blonde. He’d notice the difference right away.”
“I didn’t send him my picture.” Carleen thought for a moment. “In fact, he didn’t ask for any kind of physical description. Most of the questions on the profile were about my sleeping habits. What time I usually go to bed at night and how long I usually sleep—things like that.”
“You’ll have to brief me on all your answers before I leave tonight—” Mia reached over to close the lid on the ice cream carton “—just in case he asks me something about it.”
“Do you really think we can get away with it?”
“Absolutely.” Anticipation shot through Mia. Impersonating her best friend might be the perfect distraction she needed to get her mind off of Ian. “All I have to do is sleep there, right?”
“Right,” Carleen confirmed. “From what I understand, Harlan wants to study the effects of different environments on sleep patterns. An example he gave me is sleeping in a hot room compared to a cold one, or with all the lights turned on instead of off.”
“That sounds simple enough.”
“You’re supposed to pack your favorite pajamas,” Carleen advised her, “and bring your own pillow. Harlan made it very clear that he wants his research subjects to be as comfortable as possible.”
“Is that all I need to do?”
Carleen shrugged. “As far as I know. The contract was full of a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, so I just skimmed most of it. I’m sure he’ll explain everything in more detail when you get there.”
Mia glanced at her watch. “Then I’d better go upstairs and start packing.”
Carleen rose from her chair. “I can’t wait to call Toby and make up with him. Are you sure you don’t mind standing in for me? Or rather, sleeping in for me?”
Mia smiled. “Just call me Carleen.”
“THIS CARLEEN WIMMER is trouble.” Nate Cafferty handed the file folder to his client, then leaned back in his chair.
“I knew it.” Beatrice Hamilton scanned the slim contents. She was in her midfifties and reeked of old money. Her perfectly manicured hands sorted through the papers in the file, her aquiline nose wrinkling in disdain.
“My son has always had horrendous taste in women,” she said at last, “but they were all just harmless flings. He never considered actually marrying one of them before.”
“Then the engagement is still on?”
“I’m afraid so.” She looked hopefully at him. “Unless you have something that will convince Tobias to dump her. That is why I hired you, Mr. Cafferty.”
He chafed at her haughty tone. Beatrice Hamilton fit the stereotype of interfering mother to a tee. The fact that she was rich only gave her more resources to meddle. Like hiring a private investigator to dig up dirt on her son’s fiancée.
Nate usually tried to avoid this kind of family squabble, but Mrs. Hamilton was paying him enough to make it worth his while. Besides, the case intrigued him.
“Well?” Mrs. Hamilton prodded. “What exactly do you have on her?”
“Nothing substantial,” he answered. “Yet.”
Her mouth thinned. “But you just said she was trouble.”
“I think she is,” he replied. “The woman didn’t even exist until a year ago. At least, no woman by the name of Carleen Wimmer existed. Your son’s fiancée created a whole new identity for herself.”
Satisfaction gleamed in the older woman’s pale blue eyes. “So I was right about her. She is some kind of scam artist. I suspected as much when I met with her.”
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago, when I realized that Tobias was truly serious about going through with this ridiculous marriage. I called her and asked her to meet me at the Carlisle Hotel. I’d never allow a woman like that into my home.”
Or a man like me, Nate thought to himself. No doubt she could spot his lack of breeding a mile away. He’d been born to a single mother with a drinking problem, so had grown up on the mean streets of Philadelphia fighting for survival. He’d made it, thanks to Harlan Longo, though he still carried the scars—both inside and out. Mrs. Hamilton didn’t ask about his background and probably didn’t care as long as she got what she wanted.
“And the tart had the audacity to turn down the generous offer I made to convince her to disappear from my son’s life.”
Good for her, Nate thought to himself.
Mrs. Hamilton sniffed. “That’s when I knew I needed to find something to use against her, so I hired you.”
Nate wished she’d hired him sooner. The wedding deadline was fast approaching and he would have liked more time to investigate the woman before he initiated contact. He didn’t even have a picture of Carleen Wimmer yet, though he wouldn’t need one after tonight. “Does your son know I’m investigating his fiancée?”
“Of course not. He’d be livid if he knew.” She rose to her feet, obviously too agitated to stay seated any longer. “But someone has to look out for his interests. With his father gone, that responsibility falls to me.”
Nate pulled another file folder from his desk and opened it. “According to my research, Tobias turned twenty-eight last March. Don’t you think he’s old enough to be responsible for himself?”
“What is this?” She snatched the folder out of his hands. “Who gave you permission to snoop around my son’s life, Mr. Cafferty?”
“I don’t need permission,” he replied evenly. “When I take on a case, I have to know all the facts—including facts about your son. If you don’t like it, you can hire another investigator.”
Color flooded Mrs. Hamilton’s patrician face. No doubt she wasn’t used to anyone, especially an employee, standing up to her.
“Perhaps I will.” She set the folder back on Nate’s desk. “It all depends on how you plan to get rid of this woman and how long it’s going to take. The wedding is less than a month away.”
“It’s not my job to get rid of her.” Nate wanted to make that clear. “I’m simply gathering information about her. How you choose to use that information is up to you.”
“I’ll use it to save my son,” she replied, squaring her shoulders, “any way that I can.”
Nate wondered if Tobias Hamilton chose his women on the basis of how much they’d irritate his mother. He’d never met the man, but so far he wasn’t impressed. His limited investigation had turned up a spoiled rich boy with too much time and too much money on his hands. At the moment, he was in Germany playing movie producer and leaving his fiancée behind to the wolves.
The fact that Nate was one of those wolves didn’t bother him. If Carleen Wimmer had nothing to hide, then she had nothing to fear from him. He’d do his job, but he wouldn’t try to destroy her. That was Mrs. Hamilton’s job. Or more precisely, her pleasure.
“So what happens next?” his client asked, obviously eager to begin the demolition.
“I’ve set up a way to meet her through an old friend of mine,” Nate explained. “His name is Harlan Longo and he was happy to offer his assistance.”
“The name sounds familiar.” Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t he that scientist who tried to prove that sleeping on feather pillows increased fertility rates or some such nonsense? I remember reading about it in the newspaper.”
Nate smiled. “He’s the one.”
“Quite the eccentric,” she said. “Are you certain he can be trusted?”
“Yes.” Nate didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t going to justify his actions to this woman. She either trusted him to do his job or not. “I asked him to send Carleen Wimmer an invitation to participate as a research subject in his latest sleep study—with a generous stipend, of course.”
“I assume she accepted,” Mrs. Hamilton said dryly, “since she’s certainly not averse to sleeping for money.”
“She did,” Nate acknowledged. “Harlan gave me full access to the personality profile she filled out—though I have no way of knowing how much of it is true. But I’ll be meeting her tonight in Harlan’s laboratory.”
“Won’t that make her suspicious?”
“Not if I’m just another one of his guinea pigs. I’ll find some way to introduce myself and get to know her.” Nate rose to his feet, ready to end the interview. “Then you’ll have the answers to all your questions about her.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You’re a very confident young man, aren’t you?”
“I know how to do my job.”
“Quite handsome, as well,” she continued, looking him up and down, “in a rough sort of way. And you have the presence and athletic physique that many young women seem to find appealing these days. Perhaps you are the right man for this job after all.”
Nate walked over to open the office door for her. “I’ll send you an update in a few days.”
“Sooner, if possible, Mr. Cafferty.” She picked up her purse. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Nate watched her walk daintily to the black Lincoln Town Car parked in front of his office. She might look the part of the refined lady, but beneath that austere exterior was a woman not afraid to get dirty.
Now it was up to him to find the dirt.
2
MIA HALF EXPECTED to find something out of Frankenstein’s laboratory when she went in search of the Longo Research Center later that evening. She held her overnight bag in one hand and a map of the estate grounds in the other. The map had been given to her by the guard at the front gate, right after he’d taken her car keys.
Walking almost half a mile in the crisp autumn air gave her plenty of time for second thoughts about impersonating Carleen. She’d read about Harlan Longo’s eccentricities in the newspaper, which were often accompanied by stories about his generosity to various charities. But traversing his estate by foot in the waning twilight gave her a disturbing glimpse of the man throwing this slumber party.
He’d built a moat around his sprawling mansion, along with a rustic suspension bridge leading to the research center. A rowboat peopled with two rubber blow-up dolls floated on the stagnant water. One of the dolls even held a fishing pole. Chickens roamed freely on the grounds and roosted in an old yellow school bus that still had the words Paddington Middle School printed on the side.
By the time she reached the solid steel door of the Longo Research Center, she had no doubt old Harlan was crazy. Now she was beginning to wonder about her own sanity for volunteering to sleep in this madhouse every night for the next three weeks.
A rusty horseshoe hung on the door, right under the words LONGO RESEARCH CENTER spelled out in bright red letters. After searching in vain for a doorbell, she lifted the horseshoe and rapped it three times against the door. When she heard the heavy footsteps on the other side, she braced herself for a humpbacked Igor to greet her.
But the man who opened the door stood straight and tall, a mane of smooth white hair brushing the shoulders of his white lab coat. “Greetings!”
“I’m…Carleen Wimmer,” she said, slightly unnerved by the two security cameras trained on her. “Mr. Longo is expecting me.”
The man grinned. “Indeed, I am! Please come in, Carleen Wimmer. Welcome to my laboratory.”
She stepped through the door, surprised to find it actually looked like a laboratory on the inside. The sleek, modern decor impressed her. Black and white ceramic tiles formed a wheel shape on the floor, leading to a center hub that contained a round stainless steel desk that was the focal point of the large room. Each one of the tile spokes of the wheel led to a door, about twelve in all, which she assumed were entrances to the individual sleeping suites.
The doors were all closed and the hub, filled with gleaming chrome fixtures, was curiously empty of people. Uneasiness filled her. “Am I the only one here?”
“So far,” Harlan replied. “I staggered the appointed arrival times so I could meet with each of my research subjects individually.”
She glanced at her watch. “I hope I’m not late.”
“You’re right on time,” he assured her, taking the overnight bag out of her hand. “Did you bring a pillow?”
“It’s in my bag.”
“Very good.” He reached out to pluck a small feather off the sleeve of her jacket. “I’m sorry about the long walk. Cars scare my chickens,” he said over his shoulder as he led her to one of the closed doors.
“That’s all right,” she said, following him. “All that fresh air will probably help me sleep better.”
He opened the door to the suite, an excited twinkle in his eye. “I hope you like what I’ve done with the room.”
The first thing she noticed was the jukebox. It stood in the far corner, close to the queen-sized bed. The soft strains of “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” filled the air. The song went well with the framed head shot of Elvis above the headboard and the gold lamé comforter that was embroidered with tiny guitars and musical notes. But she found the floor-to-ceiling mural of Graceland covering one wall to be the most impressive part of the room.
“Well?” Harlan asked, visibly proud of his decorating efforts. “What do you think?”
“I’m speechless,” she answered honestly.
Carleen had told her that she’d listed Elvis songs as her “comfort music” on the personality profile. Harlan had obviously taken that little tidbit and run with it.
“Look at this,” he said, leading her over to the jukebox. “It doubles as a biomonitor to record your vital signs. It even has retractable cables to hook you up to the machine.”
He pulled one out, demonstrating how the lead reached the bed. Then he let it go and it sprang back into the jukebox with a loud pop.
“Wow,” she said, wondering what other surprises awaited her.
He walked over to the bed and pressed a button on the headboard. “Feel free to ring anytime you need assistance. Myself or one of my assistants will be right outside in the control center. This facility is completely secure. The door to your suite automatically locks.”
That thought made her a little uneasy. “So I’ll be locked in?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “If you wish to exit the room, all you have to do is press the button next to the door. That signals one of my assistants to press the corresponding button on the control panel and the door will unlock.”
“Got it,” Mia replied.
