“I phoned around a bit—quite a bit, actually—and I finally found out about that girl in Portsmouth,” Helena Martinson said, taking a seat on the couch. Her petite figure in a cable-knit sweater and corduroys clashed with Mike’s solid presence in a flannel shirt and jeans. As often happened, Sunny felt underdressed next to Helena’s understated elegance. Though the older woman’s blond hair may have silvered, and she sported a few more smile lines, Mrs. Martinson was still very much like the hot mom Sunny remembered from her high school days.
Helena Martinson took a cup and saucer, added half a spoonful of sugar, and lightened the coffee with a quick dollop of milk from the creamer.
“I hope you don’t mind skim,” Mike said.
Mrs. Martinson waited until everyone had coffee and cake before she started her story. “It was nice, having a chance to chat with some people I don’t usually see,” she began. “The 99 Elmet Ladies have been trying to coordinate some of our programs with Portsmouth volunteer groups.”
Sunny nodded. The 99 Elmet Ladies was a service group that had sprung up as times had gotten tougher around Elmet County. Ken Howell had run several admiring stories in the
“Some of our new friends and allies from across the river live not too far from Martin Rigsdale’s office.” Helena looked faintly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I had to use some of the grisly details you told Mike to get the conversation going.”
“They found him very charming, of course,” Mrs. Martinson replied. “He offered advice on dealing with the local stray population and spent a lot of time getting into the local social swing. His place was near a golf course, and he did some networking there with the men. And he could always be depended upon for any event where womenfolk were around.”
“That sounds like Martin,” Sunny said.
Mike just made a face as he sipped his coffee. “What’s that old song? ‘Just a Gigolo’?”
“But there was talk about him and his receptionist.” Mrs. M.’s expression became disapproving. “I understand she’s attractive, as one of the ladies put it, ‘in a downscale sort of way.’ More to the point, she’s just a bit more than half his age.”
“What else did you find out about Dawn Featherstone?” Sunny asked.
“For one thing, she’s actually Dora Featherstone,” Helena said. “She calls herself Dawn for professional reasons.”
“What?” Mike burst out, spewing a little cloud of powdered sugar off his coffee cake. “She’s a professional receptionist?”
“She grew up in Portsmouth, again as one of my ladies put it, ‘not in one of the nicest neighborhoods.’ For a while she went to Manchester for a degree in physical education. But she dropped out of college and came back home. She worked as an aerobics instructor—”
“That would explain calling herself Dawn,” Sunny said. “How many aerobics instructors have you met named Dora?”
“As I was saying, she worked in several health clubs,” Mrs. Martinson went on. “Apparently, however, you need some sort of certification, and she wasn’t able to get it. So she just did temp work until she wound up working for Dr. Rigsdale, who hired her full-time.”
“In more ways than one,” Mike muttered, but he quickly subsided when both Sunny and Helena gave him looks.
“So, has she suddenly developed a deep interest in veterinary medicine?” Sunny asked.
Helena shook her head. “From what I hear, her dream is to open her own health club.” She paused, smiling. “For humans.”
