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Toots put the tray on the patio table. “Okay, I’ll pour the first round. Raise your hand if you’re ready to get smashed.” Three hands rose high in the air. Toots filled the glasses with the sweet frozen concoction. She’d put in enough rum and strawberry schnapps to knock a 500-pound gorilla on his ass.

Tonight, Toots and her dearest friends were going to get snookered.

She’d worry about the killer hangover tomorrow.

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“Dear Ida found out about your nasty little fetish, didn’t she?” Mohammed asked Patel. His dark eyes were like two angry slits in his face. His angular jaws were clenched, his wide nostrils flaring with fury. “You make me sick, old man! If she goes to the police, our asses are as good as dead. You couldn’t wait, could you? No, you just had to…I can’t even say what you do, it is so disgusting. Did it ever occur to you that she can stop that wire transfer? You are stupid, Patel, goddamn you!”

When Patel spoke, his voice was cold and full of contempt for the arrogant punk who stood before him, the man he had treated like a son. “It is none of your concern. You and Amala may continue with your scheme to rip off the doctor. If you are smart, you will leave now and no one will be the wiser, no one gets hurt. When Dr. Sameer comes back from his sabbatical, he will discover his secretary found employment elsewhere. Amala volunteered to stay and oversee the center, remember? It was not expected by the doctor. I am sure he will find another woman or possibly a man to work for him as soon as he returns. She is not indispensable. She is trouble, I have always told you this. You laugh at me now. Someday you will wish you had listened to me, taken my advice.”

Mohammed raked a hand through his thick black hair. He hadn’t told Patel of his plan to take the redhead. Now, with Dear Ida out of the picture, Mohammed had to rethink his idea. Without the old woman, there was no reason for him to go to the beach house. Without the old woman, he had no decoy. He paced the length of the deck, jammed his hands in his pocket. “You have ruined more than you know, old man! I should kill you, feed you to the sharks. Dangerous creatures, but smart. They would spit you out and give you to the bottom feeders.” To emphasize his point, he spit on Patel’s shoes.

Mohammed turned toward the railing that encircled the deck. Before he had time to react, Patel shoved him against the wooden ledge and used his left hand to hold Mohammed down. The younger man tried to free himself, but Patel was too quick. The old man elbowed him in the throat, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. Mohammed tried to escape from his death grip, but Patel had the advantage as he towered above him. With his free hand, he slammed Mohammed’s head against the wooden ledge. Once, then again and again, he bashed the younger man’s head against the hard wood as blood spewed forth like a fountain and soaked the wood of the deck.

“Stop it! You will kill him!” Amala screamed. She ran up behind Patel and jumped on his back, wrapping her arms around his eyes so he couldn’t see. He tossed her aside like a limp rag doll. She hit the deck hard, but not hard enough to stop her from inching her way across the floor of the deck and sneaking behind him.

“Do not move, or I will break his neck!” Patel shouted. His senses heightened by the rush of adrenaline, he was aware of Amala as she crawled toward him. “I mean it, Amala!” To prove his point, Patel raised his right leg and thrust it out behind him. In one swift motion, using the heel of his boot, he crushed the delicate cartilage in Amala’s nose. He heard her quick intake of breath, then a thud as her limp body dropped against the wooden deck.

“Are you getting my point, Mohammed?” Patel asked, raising his knee, catching Mohammed in the kidney. “I told you never to betray me! You did not listen. This is what I do to people who betray me!” Patel was so enraged, he continued to smash Mohammed’s head against the wood, stopping himself when he felt a chunk of flesh hit his face.

He tossed Mohammed’s motionless body next to Amala’s. He reached down to feel for a pulse and found that both were still alive. He would not kill them, as that was not his way.

Patel’s style was to make them wish he had killed them.

It was after midnight, and Abby wasn’t the least bit tired. She watched two Lifetime movies, both sappy love stories that left her with tears streaming down her face. Like her mother, Abby loved happily ever after. Chester was curled up next to her, his heavy body warming her feet, which were tucked beneath his belly. Not wanting to wake him, but knowing if she didn’t move soon her legs would fall asleep, she slowly pulled her feet out from under the big pooch one inch at a time. When she had both feet out, she tiptoed quietly to the kitchen. She’d left her laptop on the table when she’d come home earlier, and now she was glad that she had. She hit the ON switch, and while she waited for the computer to boot up, filled the teakettle with water, twisted the knob on the stove to the highest setting, and took a mug out of the cupboard. She grabbed a chamomile tea bag from the box on the counter and dropped it into the mug.

While she was waiting for the water to heat, she logged on to her e-mail account. She had several e-mails from her staff, but one in particular caught her attention. She’d sent the e-mail out earlier that morning, and was surprised she’d received an answer so quickly. She skimmed the e-mail, then opened the attachment. Using Word to convert the file from Mac, Abby jumped when she heard the teakettle whistle. “Shit. I know what that means.”

Chester was terrified of the teakettle’s high-pitched whistle. Abby always tried to remove it from the burner before it whistled, but sometimes she missed. When that happened, poor Chester always howled like a wolf, just as he was doing now. She stooped down to rub his belly, then between his ears. When he’d calmed down enough for her to step away, she filled her mug with hot water, careful not to trip over Chester as he rolled over, apparently deciding to sprawl out in the middle of the floor of her small kitchen. She grabbed a doggie treat from the canister. “Just so you know, this isn’t a reward for good behavior.”

Abby crab-walked over Chester, careful not to spill her tea. She pulled out her chair and sat down to read the file she’d received. She skimmed the information, impressed with what she read, though it was no surprise to her, because Dr. Pauley had recommended Dr. Sameer, praised his success in curing patients afflicted with obsessive-compulsive disorder. She ran down the lengthy list of his credentials. A Harvard man, graduated in the top tenth of his class. Very impressive. No wonder Dr. Pauley gave him his gold star seal of approval. She perused the rest of the lengthy document, finding nothing even remotely negative. He had no police record. His driving history was perfect, not even a parking ticket. She continued to read through a laundry list of awards he’d received throughout his career, then stopped. Wait a minute, this can’t be right, she thought. Abby scrolled through the document to the beginning. The dates had to be wrong. Squinting, Abby leaned in close to the laptop monitor, reading the dates again. If the dates were right, and she was sure they weren’t, Dr. Sameer was only forty-two years old.

Abby minimized the screen with the document, then maximized her server’s front page. She clicked on the Google link. As soon as the search engine appeared, she typed in Dr. Sameer’s name, then hit search. There were over a million hits. Damn, this guy must be good. Abby clicked on the blue hyperlink. The home page for the Center for Mind and Body appeared. Nice, easy to navigate. Abby clicked on the link that read MEET DR. SAMEER AND HIS STAFF.

This wasn’t right, it couldn’t be. Abby clicked on the link that read INSIDE THE CENTER FOR MIND AND BODY. Yes, this is where Ida was treated. Abby clicked back to MEET DR. SAMEER AND HIS STAFF. Three nurses, one physician assistant, two office aides, one office manager.

Two and two was not adding up to four. She glanced at the clock on the stove. Almost one in the morning. She debated calling her mother. It was late, and Abby was sure her mother and the godmothers were fast asleep.

She clicked through every link on the center’s home page. The last link read, A NOTE FROM DR. SAMEER. Abby moved her cursor over the blue letters, then clicked on the link. A small picture of Dr. Sameer wearing a white lab coat smiled down at her from the upper left corner of the page. This was not good. No. Something was definitely awry. Before she had second thoughts, Abby grabbed her cell phone from the charger, punching in Chris’s home number. He was a night owl like her, so she didn’t care about calling at such a late hour. A brief thought flashed through her mind; what if a female answered? She would hang up, of course. Three rings. Hell, for all she knew Chris was out with some two-bit actress.

“Chris Clay.”

Abby was so relieved she was momentarily stunned when she heard his voice.

“Chris, you’re home,” she said, then wished she could yank back the words. She did not want him to suspect that she was suspicious of his whereabouts. Lame, Abby, lame.

“Where else would I be at one o’clock in the morning?”

“I haven’t a clue. Listen, I have something I want you to see. Are you near your computer?”

“I can be in 1.2 seconds. I’m there now.”

God, she loved this man’s sense of humor.

“Go to Google and type in Dr. Benjamin Sameer.”

“Okay.”

Abby heard the keys clicking as he typed. “When your results show, click on the link for the home page for the Center for Mind and Body.” More computer clicks.

“I’m there, now what?”

“Go to the links on the right side of the page. Click the hyperlink that says ‘Meet Dr. Sameer and his staff.’ I’ll wait while you read through it.”

“Hmm, give me a minute,” Chris said.

“When you’re finished, find the link at the very bottom of the page that says ‘A Note from Dr. Sameer.’ I’ll wait.”

“Good, because I’m a slow reader.”

“Sure you are,” she teased.

“Wait until you really get to know me. I’m not only a slow reader, but I’m very slow in other areas, too.”

She heard his soft chuckle. Damn, if this wasn’t a form of phone sex, she didn’t know what was. She was not going to dignify that comment with an answer, no matter how sexy she thought it was.

“This isn’t the same doctor Ida is seeing, is it?” Chris asked, all traces of humor gone.

“No, but she goes to the Center for Mind and Body. I looked at the address and the picture. It’s definitely where she’s been going the past couple of months.”

“Then who has been treating Ida? It doesn’t say anything about another doctor taking over while he’s on sabbatical. Of course that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Maybe he referred his patients to this doctor treating Ida, and he just didn’t post this to the Web site.”

Abby twirled her hair in a knot. “I suppose it’s possible, but with the same name?”

“Abs, they’re probably related. I bet the older Dr. Sameer is his father.”

“True, but what about the rest of the staff? Where are they? I distinctly remember mom telling me that Dr. Sameer’s daughter worked at the center. She’s the receptionist or secretary. Neither Ida nor Mom has ever mentioned any other employees.”

“Are you really worried about this, Abs?”

“Right now I’m more concerned than worried.”

“This just hit me. Why were you doing Google searches on Dr. Sameer?”

“I’ve had too much tea. Mom took me aside and asked me if I or someone at the paper could check into Dr. Sameer’s past. She said there was something about him that didn’t ring true. She didn’t have anything specific to add, just that she was suspicious. I put one of my second-stringers on this earlier today. I was ready to call it a night, then I decided I’d better check my e-mail, just in case. I saw I’d received a response. And you know the rest.”

“Are you up for taking a ride to the beach?”

Hell yes! She’d go anywhere with Chris. The moon. End of the earth. Pink’s.

“Mom will kill me if this turns out to be nothing.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then Ida will kill me. She’s been dating him ever since he cured her OCD.”

“Can you be ready in half an hour?”

“Shit, in half an hour I can be decked out ready to attend the presidential inauguration.”

“That’s impressive, Abs.”

“What can I say? I’m a no-frills kind of girl. Very low-maintenance.”

“I just bet you are,” Chris said. “There’s no traffic this late, so I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Abby said. She pushed the END button, then looked down at her clothes. Gray sweats, orange T-shirt. Red socks with a hole in the left heel. She contemplated going as she was but decided against it.

In her room she pulled on a pair of faded Levi’s with a black sleeveless turtleneck. She stuffed her feet in a pair of black Uggs, relishing how warm and soft the boots were. Just like fuzzy slippers. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, pulled her wild curls back in a low ponytail. She wasn’t about to add blush, lip gloss, or mascara. She’d showered earlier, when she came home. Not that she cared what Chris thought she looked like. Yes, she did care, but she still wasn’t putting makeup on at this ungodly hour. She’d have to remove it anyway.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Abby heard a knock. “Be right there.” She glanced in the mirror, figuring this was as good as it gets. Almost. She could jazz herself up when she wanted. She hurried to the front door, stopping to move samples of granite for the new kitchen countertops she planned to install.

Abby fumbled with the deadbolt, then had trouble grasping the chain lock.

“Are you expecting a serial killer?” Chris said.

Abby finally managed to unlock the door. “No, Chris, I’m not. But in case you haven’t noticed, I am a single woman living alone in a city with a relatively high crime rate. While Brentwood is an upscale neighborhood, I never take my safety for granted. Does that answer your question?”

“I think I like you better when we talk on the phone. You’re not such a smart-ass.” Chris took the keys from her and locked the front door.