Page 56 of Fire Dancer

“Call me back in an hour,” he finished.

Then the line went dead.

Chapter Thirteen

PIPPA

I left the hot shop with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was jubilant at finishing my contest entry — and still tingling from kissing Ingo. On the other hand, I worried about Stacy. But there were a dozen reasonable explanations for her absence, and only one off-the-deep-end, paranoid one to worry about. The odds didn’t add up.

That didn’t stop me from checking my phone for messages at every red light, though.

Twenty minutes and a few miles of back roads later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Kokopelli Spa and Resort.

“Thanks so much for coming!” My friend Nancy hugged me when I found her inside.

I smiled. “Happy to help.”

I was — truly — but the money didn’t hurt either. Even half a day of catering work paid well at pricey resorts like this. And unlike that glass contest, the payoff was a sure thing.

“So, what do we have today?” I asked, pulling on an apron.

She motioned to a glass pavilion beside the resort kitchen. “Late lunch for a group of fifteen. They’ve booked the entire resort.”

I whistled. The resort had space for five times that number.

Nancy shrugged at the question in my eyes. “I guess they really wanted their privacy.”

That total lack of curiosity — aka discretion — made Nancy’s small company one of the most sought-after caterers in Sedona. That, and her award-winning food.

“Kind of late for lunch, though, huh?”

She shrugged. “From what I understand, they slept in and had a late brunch.”

I peeked out the door for a first impression. My eyes roved around, then I stopped for a low, “Wow.”

Nancy chuckled. “Do you mean the guy closest to the door or the one over by the pool?”

I’d meant the first one, but now that I’d spotted number two…

I whistled. “Wow again. Is this like the Olympic volleyball team?”

Nancy laughed. “Nope. The women are too short. My guess was an elite dance or cheerleading squad, but they mentioned something about being consultants.”

Ha. That was a lot likeartist— an occupation that could mean anything. And, heck. What would those gorgeous twentysomethings lounging by the pool be qualified to advise anyone on? Beauty products? Exercise programs?

I tightened my apron and looked around the kitchen. “You want me to start with drinks?”

Nancy nodded. “You know the drill.”

I did, because I’d moonlighted for her catering company lots of times. Some of them memorable, like the time I’d first encountered Harlon Greene and Angelina Saint James. Some less so, like that conference of dental assistants…or had they been safety inspectors?

I picked up a tray of glasses and headed into the adjoining pavilion — one of those giant glass structures that conveyed an outdoors feel even in nippy winter weather. This one was bigenough to enclose the entire pool and a deck with thirty or so lounge chairs, only half of which were occupied.

I poured a dozen orange juices and started making the rounds.

“Juice?” I asked the nearest woman, a stunning redhead in a bathrobe.

“God, yes. Please.”