She stood on the sidewalk as the puppies climbed on the glass, shoving each other to and fro as they vied for attention. Leaving was bittersweet. This place was one of the last things that had been Ben’s. Either Ben had been a terrible businessman or he’d gotten involved in a bad situation. Why hadn’t he confided in her? She guessed none of it mattered now; the money from the sale to Grady should get her out from under it all, plus leave some in her pocket. Sadly, money wouldn’t be coming from the recovery of The Old Guitarist. Then again, why not? What was stopping her from working full time to find it? She now had nothing to do but tend her garden and, of course, get back to racquetball. It’d been several days since she’d been to the court. Racquetball had become her passion when Ben junior went off to school—first to pass the time, and second to rid herself of some extra weight. Would Smith be able to take time off from work to help search? Though Westen had asked numerous times, her new friend hadn’t been forthcoming with any personal talk—at least not since Westen poked fun about her playing the tuba.
