Maybe

9

“WHY ARE WE flying to Louisville?” Dr. P. asks.

We’re at his place. I’m carrying his luggage.

“Where’s your medical bag?”

“You didn’t mention bringing it.”

“I shouldn’t have to! You’re a doctor! What if I get shot or something?”

“Relax, Donovan. It’s only a matter of retrieving it from the den.”

He leaves to fetch it.

An hour later we’re airborne, thanks to Bob Koltech, who owns and operates a fleet of six jets. Bob and I have a great relationship. In return for giving me instant service and personally flying me wherever I wish to go, no questions asked, I pay Bob twice his normal fees.

Dr. P. says, “Did you hear they found Mindy Renee?”

“She’s Dani Ripper now. It’s all over the news.”

Indeed, it’s a compelling story. Even Callie’s hooked. One network promised around-the-clock coverage as the story develops, so Callie and the others are having a Dani party tonight, complete with pizza and cheese bread! Such fare is no big deal for me, but these ladies are extremely calorie conscious.

At ten forty-five local time we land at General Aviation, near Standiford Field in Louisville. Bob has a limo waiting for us, and within twenty minutes Dr. P. and I are strolling through the lobby of the Seelbach Hotel.

We check in, grab a drink together, and go to our respective rooms. While getting comfortable I turn on the TV to catch the latest on Dani Ripper.

Like Callie said, Mindy Renee Whittaker’s all grown up now. At twenty-four, she’s blossomed into one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen, assuming the photos are authentic. They say she’s a private investigator, working out of Cincinnati. Changed her name to Dani Ripper nine years ago.

Dani Ripper? As in Jack the Ripper? Odd name for a girl to make up.

But I like it.

And I like her.

I find myself wondering if a gorgeous private eye like Dani Ripper might be interested in working with me. I fire up my laptop to see what the internet says about her.

More photos.

Stunning. Not as sexy as Gwen, but prettier.

Not as beautiful as Callie, but close.

And there’s this: she’s married.

That’s her husband on TV, holding a press conference in front of their house.

Ben Davis. But Dani goes by Ripper, not Davis. I wonder why.

I also wonder why Dani’s not with Ben at the press conference. Then I think about it and decide she’s probably inside, hiding. Ben says she’s staying at a friend’s house, but that’s probably untrue.

If she is staying with a friend, that’s a hell of a lucky friend!

I listen a few minutes, and…wait. Is he actually trying to pitch a book deal? I wonder if maybe Dani and her husband wrote a book and then leaked the story themselves.

Clever.

I like the fact she’s married. Means she likes men.

I catch myself, and laugh.

What is it about men? Why do we always visualize ourselves dating or sleeping with the woman we’re thinking about at any given minute?

I laugh again, forced to admit that’s what I was thinking just now. About how Dani, like Callie, is breathtakingly beautiful, and how I’d give anything to have sex with Callie, but Callie prefers women, which takes me out of the game. And I was thinking how Dani Ripper’s as close to Callie as a man is likely to find on this earth, and that led me to think, well, Dani’s married, so she likes men, which means I have a chance!

I might be more insane than Rachel.

But now that I’m all worked up, a powerful urge comes over me. There are two or three women I could call to satisfy that urge, and one is local. But for some reason I can’t explain, only one woman will do on this particular night.

Miranda Rodriguez.

Miranda’s a grad student at NYU, working toward her master’s in counseling psychology. Smart, witty, pretty, she’s the whole package.

“Donovan!” she squeals. “I was just thinking about you!”

“Still angry I canceled the Chicago trip yesterday?”

She laughs. “Don’t be silly! That wasn’t your fault. Your daughter surprised you with a visit. That’s a wonderful thing!”

“True. So why were you thinking about me just now?”

She laughs again, harder.

I love Miranda’s laugh. Can’t describe it except to say it reminds me of the tinkling of piano keys and a waterfall.

I know, I know.

“Spill it, Miranda. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Well…I’ve got a tuition payment coming up.”

Right. So of course she was thinking about me. You see, Miranda’s fucking her way through college. Tuition and living expenses being what they are in NYC, it’s either earn the money or take out a school loan for three hundred grand.

“When can we get together?” I say.

“Name it, handsome,” she says, and I feel her warmth coming through the phone.

“Tonight?” I say, knowing she’ll say it’s too late.

“Can you arrange a private jet?”

“I can.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously!”

“Omigod!” She squeals. “I’m so excited!”

I look at my watch.

Eleven twenty-two.

If Bob Koltech picks her up, we’ll lose three hours. One for him and the co-pilot to drive to the airport and get the jet ready, and two to fly to Teterboro Airport. Then two hours back, and another thirty minutes before Miranda can get to my hotel.

5:00 a.m.? That won’t work. I’ll have Lou Kelly book a private jet from NYC.

“I’ll have a limo at your place in fifteen minutes,” I say. “By the time you get to Teterboro, the jet will be ready to roll. “You can be here in three hours.”

“How many days?”

“Pack light.”

“Oh, Pooh.”

“If you stay longer we can shop for whatever clothes you might need.”

“That’s my boy!” she says.

“Can’t wait to see you,” I say.

“Me too!”

We’re both quiet a minute. Then she says, “It’s not just about the money, Donovan.”

“I know.”

“I really like you.”

“I know that, too.”

“I just don’t want you to think…you know.”

“I do know.”

“I mean, nobody treats me like you.”

“Miranda?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Pack your shit.”

“Okay.”

She makes a kissing sound and we hang up. Then I call Lou and have him make the arrangements. He doesn’t ask if I’m in Louisville, and I don’t volunteer the information.

With that done, I call room service and order a bottle of their finest bourbon, two tumblers and flutes, and champagne on ice for Miranda. I’d wait a couple of hours on the champagne, but room service shuts down at midnight.

When the guy brings my order, I ask where the ice machine is, knowing I’ll need to refill the bucket in a couple of hours. As he leaves, Lou calls me back to say Miranda’s on her way to the airport.

He says, “Have you seen the news?”

“Dani Ripper?”

“Hell of a story!” Lou says. “Can’t wait to read the book.”

“I’d read it just to hear what went through her mind when she learned about the door key.”

“No kidding! You think she broke the story to sell the book?”

“Probably. And if it’s money she’s after, she’ll be flush with clients soon enough.”

“I’d hire her just to look at her,” he says.

We both go quiet, allowing our thoughts of Dani Ripper to go where they may.

Breaking the mood, I ask, “Anything new on Felix?”

“No. But I’ll have all the victim information by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Lou.”