Betrayal by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

intern to the interiordesigner hired to freshen the interior of the main building, and the Di Luca family had made their desires clear. Their first directive had been to make the lobby, the breakfast area, and the lounge as relaxing as possible. Although Penelope had worked on the project for only two and a half months and left before it was finished, obviously the design had been successful.
    Or perhaps by now they’d done another redesign. She would love to go in, see whether she could spot Noah’s influence on the resort, sit and have a glass of wine in the Luna Grande Lounge.
    Not that she’d done that before; in those days, she hadn’t been old enough to drink.
    It would be good to see whether Tom Chan was still behind the bar. He’d been an influence on the design of the lounge, and such a trusted friend of the Di Lucas, she thought he must still be there.
    She wished she could linger, observe every little detail of the resort, but the light turned green, and resolutely she refused to drive around the block for another look.
    She needed to remember her mission. She was here to use one of the Marinos’ breakfast coupons. To see whether she could find out anything about Bianchin, where he was, what he was doing, when he’d be back.
    But first, she had to eat, because no matter what the crisis, her body demanded sustenance. It seemed so shallow to face tragedy, disease, and death and still need to eat, but there it was—her stomach growled in demand, and she had learned to listen.
    Rhodes Café sat three streets off the square, narrow, unassuming, and outside of the main tourist flow, but even at nine thirty in the morning it was busy. She took a chair at the counter between a guy who never neededto eat again and yet was shoveling in scrambled eggs and sausage as if it were his last meal, and a young woman with chin-length dark hair who stared with such revulsion at her toasted bagel Penelope checked to make sure it wasn’t crawling across her plate.
    The bagel looked fine to her.
    She glanced again at the young woman, noted her complexion, pasty pale under what normally would have been a healthy color, and hoped that whatever she had wasn’t contagious. Stomach flu while staying at the Sweet Dreams Hotel would be an ordeal Penelope did not wish to face.
    Plucking the menu from between the napkin holder and the saltshaker, she studied it, made her decision, and ordered a Denver omelet, crisp bacon, and wheat toast. She tried hard not to look around, but the woman next to her reminded Penelope of her mother during the worst of her chemo, and she couldn’t stand it. With the intention of distracting her from her misery, Penelope asked, “I’ve never been here before. Is the food that bad?”
    The woman turned her head slowly, as if afraid a quick movement would set off disaster, and gazed at her. “No, it’s pretty good. I just don’t feel too well this morning.…” Something sparked in her blue eyes. She leaned back, scrutinized Penelope, and asked, “Aren’t you Penelope Alonso?”
    Bingo . First time out of the gate, someone knew her.
    Penelope wet her lips and scrutinized the woman in return.
    She was pretty, fit, and a little less pale than she had been a moment ago. Her jeans and black T-shirt looked expensive, and rather incongruously, she wore a lightweight camouflage vest zipped up halfway.
    Penelope didn’t have the foggiest who she was. “I am Penelope Alonso—or rather, I was. Now I’m Penelope Alonso Caldwell.”
    “You’re married!” The woman beamed.
    “Widowed.”
    Her face fell. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.”
    “Thank you. It’s been over a year. The first shock is over.” Penelope recited the usual soothing phrases, then changed the subject. “I’m sorry, but I can’t place you .”
    “Brooke… Brooke Petersson. It’s been years, and we really barely brushed shoulders.” Brooke’s eyes narrowed intently. “You were here that summer after your freshman year, an intern at