You see, where I come from, we don’t have people who look like her. I was born in the City of Amarillo, Texas, to a Haitian immigrant father and Mex...can-American mother. My parents, Eustache Chandelier ( yes, I’ve heard all the jokes ) and Miranda Castillo produced a fine, strapping lad if I do say so. Guess who attracts second and even third glances from the ladies wherever he goes? Yours truly, Solomon Chandelier. I’m six-foot-three, somewhat chubby but still handsome, with caramel skin,. I tried a different approach. "Please," I said, in a quietervoice, "if you want some jobs doing I'll be happy to do them for you, butonly if you promise me that you will get rid of these photos. All ofthem! PLEASE, Miss Smith!"She calmly looked me in the eyes for several seconds. "You're in noposition to bargain, Joanna," she replied, after a long pause, "and Idon't appreciate being spoken to in those terms. You will be punished forusing that sort of language with me."I remembered, perhaps. He grabbed Melinda's arm, but before he could pull her back the way they came, a car engine rumbled up behind him. He whipped his head around in time to see a limo pull up. He greeted its appearance with relief until he realized that the car model was different from Cassie's.The limo pulled into the false cul-de-sac and turned to block the road. A distinguished, balding man emerged, stepped forward, and waited.Melinda did not move or speak, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She shuddered and. “He goes by many names.”“He killed my friend...”“O’Leary?”“Marcus Hannigan.”“Red-haired man, shot in Vecchio?”“That’s him,” Tamara groaned, feeling the weight of his loss.“He’s quite alive, I’m happy to say,” Bridgewater told her, “not well, exactly, but alive, last I checked.”Tamara’s heart swelled and raced, “Is he here?”Gene could tell his wife’s attachment to O’Leary was more than just as companion. He knew her well enough to read between the lines and see the emotional weight of her.
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