Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

thirty, has castle, seeks prince to help with upkeep and provide occasional foot massage .’”
    Claire’s deadpan expression was angelic. She had spent her formative years tormenting the nuns at Our Heavenly Savior Catholic Girls School in New Orleans, so getting Peggy’s back up was easy.
    Peggy drew herself up straight in her chair, inhaling through her flared nostrils, while across the table, her daughter and business partner covered laughter with a cough. Afton Gallagher truly enjoyed seeing someone make her mother pucker up—it happened so rarely.
    “Mom, why don’t you make sure the computer is set up for Claire to view the eligible candidates. She and I can work on her bio later,” Afton said, careful to not meet Claire’s gaze.
    Peggy surveyed them both for a long moment. “All right. But really, Marie Claire, you should put more thought into developing the caption to go with your picture in the catalogue. It’s the first impression the male candidates will have of you, and you certainly don’t want to come across as too flip. Or assertive. Men don’t care for that in a young lady.”
    Peggy pushed back from the table, straightened her skirt with a practiced move, and went out the door of the conference room. Claire looked closely at her departing figure, trying to see if Peggy was, indeed, wearing nylons and a slip in the sweltering heat of a Washington, D.C. summer.
    Claire looked up and caught Afton rolling her eyes.They shared a moment of silent humor over Peggy’s stodgy approach to both fashion and romance in the twenty-first century.
    Then Claire straightened in her chair, turning dancing black eyes to Afton. “Hey, I left out the part about ‘providing foot massages in exchange for the occasional blow job.’”
    Afton laughed out loud. It was just like Claire to say something outrageous and make her forget that it was after nine on a Friday evening, and she had been working without a break for the last seven days. She’d had to stay late tonight to accommodate Claire’s busy schedule, but she didn’t mind doing her friend this favor. Besides, it had been Afton’s nagging that had convinced Claire to give the dating service a try in the first place. The least she could do was offer moral support.
    “I’m suddenly not sure about signing up for a dating service,” Claire said once she’d stopped laughing. “It seems so, I don’t know, sad. Needy.” That was one word she would never use to describe herself. She hated being in a situation where that particular shoe might fit.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Afton said quickly, not wanting Claire to back out now that she had finally dragged her in. “We went over this before. You’re paying for a service—special friend’s price, I might add—just like getting your carpets cleaned or your car washed. We’re providing you with something you don’t have time to do yourself. It’s as simple as that.”
    “Maybe, but I never had to fill out my preferences for eyes, hair, and build on the carpet cleaner or car wash guy before.” Claire’s eyes were serious, yet she gave a half smile. Afton had become a very close friend in the past sixmonths because Claire admired intelligence, guts, and determination. She didn’t want to wimp out and waste everyone’s time. “Oh, never mind. Let’s go look at our selection of eligible studs in the catalogue before I lose my nerve completely.”

Chapter 2

S everal hours later Claire watched the elevator doors swish closed on the offices of Camelot Dating Services, Inc. Finally, an end to what had to be one of the more humiliating evenings she had endured in her thirty years on the planet.
    How had she let Afton talk her into diving back into the dating pool? And with a dating service —talk about the deep end. Claire cringed every time she thought about it. After looking at hundreds of pictures of male candidates, and reading hundreds of intros ranging from mildly clever to downright cheesy, she was convinced she’d never find anyone worth dating in a single’s catalogue.
    Monday she’d call Afton and tell her it had all been a big mistake.
    The elevator doors opened into the lobby. Claire passed a heavyset security guard on her way out to the street.
    “Want me to call you a cab, miss?” The guard apparently hoped she would answer no, because he barely looked up from the magazine he was flipping through.
    “No, thank you. I’m just going to walk to Dupont Circle and catch the