Page 73 of Absinthe Minded

My phone vibrated on the table.

Shanna narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of OCD. Since when do you not answer your cell?”

“I’ve been getting a ton of prank calls.”

“Seriously?”

“They started shortly after Gabe moved in. I’m thinking it’s one of his groupies.” My blood ran cold. “Oh my God. I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“What?”

“Chantal.” I ran through everything I knew about the woman. It made perfect sense. “She called the house the other day. She’s the one harassing me.”

Shanna watched me for a long moment. “It wouldn’t surprise me, but you need to know for sure. I can trace the calls, but I’ll need you to come into the office.”

Her offer tempted me, but I didn’t have the energy to contemplate the implications. They were calls. Scary calls, but they weren’t actual threats. Were they?

The next time it vibrated, Shanna grabbed it before I could stop her.

“Hello.” She turned and narrowed her eyes. “Hi Justin. This is Shanna, Maggie’s friend.”

I wrestled the phone from her. “Hello?”

“It was rude of you to hang up on me the other day. You should know I’ve contacted an attorney.” He sounded far too smug for a guy who’d cheated on his wife.

“You can’t sue someone for hanging up.”

“Not that, you stupid bitch. I’m suing Marchionni. Unless, of course, you two pay up—”

I disconnected and stared at the phone.

“Is he serious?” Shanna rolled her eyes.

“You heard that?”

She nodded. “We need to add him to the list of possible prank callers.”

“There’s no point. It’s not Justin. The prank calls are coming from a woman.”

“Regardless, we should have them traced. In the meantime, give Gabe a heads-up.”

“Yeah. I will.” I cleared the emotion from my throat, but I couldn’t stop my brain from spinning like a roulette wheel.Is this what it would be like to marry into the Marchionni family? How did Rebecca handle it?“What was so urgent you needed to see me today?”

Shanna grinned. “I found the B.M.”

“B.M.?”

“Baby Mama.”

I cringed, not knowing which nickname I found more troubling.

Shanna pulled a thin manila folder from her bag. “She’s a performer on a cruise ship out of New Orleans.”

I opened it as a shot of adrenaline coursed through me. I’d crossed a line that I couldn’t uncross. Nevertheless, I flipped through the pages of typical private investigator documents. The driving and criminal records were unremarkable—although the grainy DMV photo confirmed my suspicions. The woman was gorgeous. More concerning, she looked familiar.

“What is it?” Shanna leaned closer to see what had caught my eye.

“It’s hard to tell from this, but I think I’ve seen her somewhere.”

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