I deflected her questions for the next half hour, deciding that Kate would have to provide the details of her breakup. Then we were blessedly interrupted by the doorbell.

I checked the security monitor and saw a well-dressed man standing on the stoop. Probably some new Venture producer. I called out to Aunt Caroline, saying, “Would you mind answering while I run up and get dressed?”

She came out into the foyer, smoothing out the wrinkles in her warm-up pants. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No, but I probably need to talk to this guy.” I wasn’t about to explain my new case to Aunt Caroline. I always avoided talking to her about work.

Leaving her sputtering several buts, I ran up the stairs and threw on jeans and a T-shirt. Animal Planet seemed like a kingdom far, far away now.

When I came back down, Aunt Caroline was blocking a crack in the door and saying, “You must have the wrong address, and if you persist in-”

“Aunt Caroline, step aside, please.” Had to be Venture.

The forty-something man in the charcoal business suit-a trim, hot forty-something guy-was no one I recognized from my few dealings with Venture.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

He smiled. Dimples. Jeez. Who knew dimples and salt-and-pepper hair could look so good together?

“My name is Clinton Roark, and I was supposed to meet Kate Rose here. But it seems I’ve made a mistake. Do you know if she lives on this block?”

I turned and gave Aunt Caroline the stink eye for lying to this guy, then said to Clinton Roark, “Kate’s not home yet. Are you a colleague?” He could be a therapist. He had those soft, probing brown eyes that shrinks use to their advantage-or at least, Kate does.

“Actually, we met this afternoon. I’m a pharmaceutical rep and-”

“Come in and wait for her. I’ll call and see how long she’ll be. I’m her sister, Abby, by the way, and this is Caroline Rose, my aunt.” Aunt Caroline had recently taken back her maiden name, saying she never intended to change it again with three failed marriages and a half dozen dead relationships on her tab.

Roark entered the foyer and held out a hand to my aunt. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Rose.”

Aunt Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Are you here to take my niece on a date only three days after she’s nearly destroyed the most meaningful-”

“Aunt Caroline,” I said sharply, then smiled at Roark. “Will you excuse us for a second?”

I took Aunt Caroline’s elbow, swung her around, pulled her into the living room and whispered, “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Kate’s lost her mind, Abigail. We have to protect her from herself.”

“No, we don’t. You have no idea what this is about. If and when Kate wants to discuss this with you, then you can offer your opinion.”

“But-”

“Think about it,” I said. “Do you want to share details about Kate’s private life with a stranger?”

Aunt Caroline pursed her lips, looking down at her gold-trimmed tennis shoes. “I suppose you’re right.” She pointed at me. “But you tell your sister she has a lot of explaining to do. And now, I’m sick at the sight of this man and worried about what Kate has done. I’m leaving.”

She hurried off toward the kitchen, knocking her knee on the antique trunk that served as a coffee table. I think I heard a “Dammit all to hell” before she slammed the back door on her way out.

I returned to the foyer with another smile for Clinton Roark. Anyone who could send my aunt packing had already scored points in my book.

“Sorry about that. My aunt can’t always weigh the facts because her scales are full of opinions. We’re used to her, but I know she can be scary.”

Clinton laughed. “She sounds protective, that’s all.”

“Right. Sort of like a scarecrow is protective. But you want to know about Kate. She’s out on a case of mine and-”

“I know. She said you’re a detective.” He looked me up and down appreciatively. “I have to say, you don’t look like any private investigator I could ever imagine.”

My cheeks grew hot. “I don’t wear the trench coat and fedora at home. Anyway, what time did she say she’d meet you?”

“Eight thirty.” He glanced at his watch-a TAG Heuer. Drug reps must make good money.

“You want to come in and wait?” I asked.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” I led him into the living room, appreciating his cologne, which was subtle and probably cost as much as his watch. “Meanwhile, I’ll call Kate.”

He sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. “I tried her about ten minutes ago and got her voice mail.”

Webster came prancing out from his spot under the kitchen table. He must have felt safe now that Aunt Caroline had left, and maybe the sound of a man’s voice got his hopes up that Terry had arrived to take him home. Webster adores Terry.

Roark put out his hand for Webster to sniff, and when the dog’s tail started wagging, he scratched Webster behind both ears.

I found the phone that had slipped between the sofa cushions and speed-dialed Kate. She answered right away.

“Hey,” I said. “Your friend is here.”

“I’m pulling in the driveway. But he was supposed to wait for me outside.”

“Hmmm. I wonder why,” I said.

“Don’t start, Abby. I came to a realization today. Giving advice to others can sometimes make you see how you’ve boxed yourself in. Anyway, no time to chat. I’m starving.”

I clicked the phone off and looked at Roark. “She’s here.”

The back door opened, and seconds later a flushed Kate was all smiles for Clinton Roark, who had stood to greet her.

“You said you’d drive, right?” she said, ignoring me.

“Yes.” But Roark didn’t ignore me. “Abby, would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Oh, no. I’ve already eaten. But thanks.”

Kate couldn’t get him out of the house fast enough, leaving me a little stunned and confused. What was the girl thinking?

When Jeff called me later, I told him all about Aunt Caroline’s wrath and Kate’s attempt to jump out of the box and into the fire. He said he wished he could have been here to see Aunt Caroline’s face, since she always put on a good show.

“I wish you were here, too, but not for that reason,” I said. “How much longer will you be gone?”

“I can’t give you an answer. I’m not finished with what I came to do. And Abby, thanks for not asking me the million questions I know you’ve been wanting to. Your giving me this space and time without asking for details means a lot.”

“Hey, no problem. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I was glad I hadn’t started our conversation with a question about the woman I’d heard cry out before he hung up last time. Who knows? Maybe he’d been in a wet Seattle parking lot and someone nearby slipped and fell.

He said, “How about your case? Any progress?”

I told him about my phone call to Gloria Wilks, my discovery that Emma had two half brothers and my plan to find Emma’s mother.

“Sounds like you’ll be busy,” he said.

“What else would you do if this were your case, Jeff?”

“Hmm. The woman was a drunk and had to buy her drinks somewhere. Are there any bars or clubs in Emma’s neighborhood?”

“I can check.”

“Liquor stores are good sources of information. It helps if you know what her drink of choice was. Many times liquor store clerks know their customers by what they drink.”

“I’ll ask Emma if she remembers. Thanks.”

“Another thing. Since she wasn’t homeless, I doubt she drank alone like a street drunk. She probably had drinking buddies. Club cocktails are expensive, but hanging out in the park sharing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s isn’t. Beer joints are an option, too.”

“I would have never thought of pursuing leads in those places. Your job has made you quite the expert about what goes on in the streets.”

“I chased a lot of drunks from under freeways and out of parks early in my career.”