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.”
