“What on earth are you making so much noise about?” he asked grumpily.I thrust the folded paper into his hands and, pointing erratically at the picture which had caught my interest, commanded, “Look at this!”“It’s Bella,” he replied, as if to ask, So what?“Read the caption,” I replied.“The lovely Miss Arabella Gordon,” Rob read aloud, “daughter of the Honorable Frank Gordon, Mayor of Houston, attended the gala benefit dinner with her steady companion, the dashing Bruce Tindall.”Rob looked up, and together we stated, in tones of smug satisfaction, “A and B.”“Exactly!” I said. “It wasn’t Azalea and Bella, or Azalea and Bruce, after all. I had forgotten that Bella’s name is really Arabella. I bet that’s what Charlie meant in his journal.”“After their little visit yesterday,” Rob mused, “I figured they had to be involved somehow. But do you really think Bella was screwing around with Whitelock? Who’d want him, with a hunk like Bruce around?”“Good point,”
