Read Online Billionaire's Runaway Princess by Mia Caldwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Mia Caldwell
Ads: Link
got there.
“That’s okay. I’ll find a place to park not far. If I have to drive around the block until I do that’s okay too. Mr. Kelley told me not to expect a call until around seven tonight, so I have all day.”
“And this is what you do? Wait for calls to take him somewhere?”
“Yeah. It’s a great job. For time to time, I’ll get a call to take a business associate somewhere, but it’s mostly Mr. Kelley.”
Marisol was dying to ask him if he ever drove any ladies with or with Mr. Kelley, but resisted the urge.
The driver’s phone rang, and he answered it.
“Sure, I’ll take care of it, Mr. Kelley.” He turned and looked at Marisol. “I’ve got to make a trip to Penn Station, but I’ll be back for you. Shouldn’t take me longer than an hour, even if the traffic is bad.”
“That’s fine,” said Marisol. “I’m sure it will take some time to do what I came here to do.”
“See you later then.”
In the library, Marisol spent several frustrating hours researching her mother and her family. While at first she found nothing, her excitement climbed she found a book about her written by her mother’s brother. The first half of the book was filled with pictures of her mother as a child, and in different dancing costumes as she grew up.
Marisol couldn’t help but feel pride of the beautiful young woman, but it was also apparent Alonda grew up poor and used dance as a way out of poverty. Unfortunately, the book didn’t have details about where the family lived. However, it was filled with Marisol’s uncle’s ruminations about how Alonda Morrison left behind her family when she became famous. Marisol was taken aback by the bitter tone. Her mother never said anything bad about her family, but then again, she never said anything good either.
Through the obituary records, she found both her mother’s parents had passed on, but there wasn’t anything on her uncle. Was he alive? Marisol had to find out.
The librarian that helped her kept staring at Marisol as if she was trying to figure something out.
“Is something wrong?”
“You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”
Marisol’s gut clenched, wondering if the woman was about to figure her out. She needed to finish up here quickly.
“I’m sure we’ve never met before. Is there a phone I can use?”
“There’s a public phone in the corner,” the librarian said, pointing to the area.
Marisol had a few coins in her pocket left from her ill-fated hot dog purchase and used them to make the call. “Hi,” she said, “I’d like to speak to whomever might have information about the writer of ‘The Alonda Morrison Story.’ Wilson Morrison is the author.”
It took several minutes before Marisol was put through to an editor.
“Yes, I remember him. Very sad story.”
“Did he die?” asked Marisol, her stomach sinking at the thought.
“Just who is this? I’ll tell you he doesn’t have any money. He comes in every so often looking for royalties, but that book is deader than the proverbial doornail.”
“No, I’m a reporter,” said Marisol, trying to keep the woman on the line. “I thought with all the news of the missing princess, I’d get some background on her mother.”
“Oh, yes. That is a story. It’s been running in the news day and night.”
“It has?” said Marisol. She was shocked she got that much interest from the media, but she also felt embarrassed. What was going her father going through? She had to bet a message to him. Then it hit her how her words sounded. “I mean, it has.”
“Well, I’m not sure you’ll get much out of him, but he likes to hang out at Munson’s Coffee House.”
Marisol secured the address from the woman and thanked her profusely. Feeling much happier than she had in a long time, she walked toward the entrance of the library. Then she spied the librarian that helped her with a security guard pointing toward the direction of the phone.
With her heart pounding in her
“That’s okay. I’ll find a place to park not far. If I have to drive around the block until I do that’s okay too. Mr. Kelley told me not to expect a call until around seven tonight, so I have all day.”
“And this is what you do? Wait for calls to take him somewhere?”
“Yeah. It’s a great job. For time to time, I’ll get a call to take a business associate somewhere, but it’s mostly Mr. Kelley.”
Marisol was dying to ask him if he ever drove any ladies with or with Mr. Kelley, but resisted the urge.
The driver’s phone rang, and he answered it.
“Sure, I’ll take care of it, Mr. Kelley.” He turned and looked at Marisol. “I’ve got to make a trip to Penn Station, but I’ll be back for you. Shouldn’t take me longer than an hour, even if the traffic is bad.”
“That’s fine,” said Marisol. “I’m sure it will take some time to do what I came here to do.”
“See you later then.”
In the library, Marisol spent several frustrating hours researching her mother and her family. While at first she found nothing, her excitement climbed she found a book about her written by her mother’s brother. The first half of the book was filled with pictures of her mother as a child, and in different dancing costumes as she grew up.
Marisol couldn’t help but feel pride of the beautiful young woman, but it was also apparent Alonda grew up poor and used dance as a way out of poverty. Unfortunately, the book didn’t have details about where the family lived. However, it was filled with Marisol’s uncle’s ruminations about how Alonda Morrison left behind her family when she became famous. Marisol was taken aback by the bitter tone. Her mother never said anything bad about her family, but then again, she never said anything good either.
Through the obituary records, she found both her mother’s parents had passed on, but there wasn’t anything on her uncle. Was he alive? Marisol had to find out.
The librarian that helped her kept staring at Marisol as if she was trying to figure something out.
“Is something wrong?”
“You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”
Marisol’s gut clenched, wondering if the woman was about to figure her out. She needed to finish up here quickly.
“I’m sure we’ve never met before. Is there a phone I can use?”
“There’s a public phone in the corner,” the librarian said, pointing to the area.
Marisol had a few coins in her pocket left from her ill-fated hot dog purchase and used them to make the call. “Hi,” she said, “I’d like to speak to whomever might have information about the writer of ‘The Alonda Morrison Story.’ Wilson Morrison is the author.”
It took several minutes before Marisol was put through to an editor.
“Yes, I remember him. Very sad story.”
“Did he die?” asked Marisol, her stomach sinking at the thought.
“Just who is this? I’ll tell you he doesn’t have any money. He comes in every so often looking for royalties, but that book is deader than the proverbial doornail.”
“No, I’m a reporter,” said Marisol, trying to keep the woman on the line. “I thought with all the news of the missing princess, I’d get some background on her mother.”
“Oh, yes. That is a story. It’s been running in the news day and night.”
“It has?” said Marisol. She was shocked she got that much interest from the media, but she also felt embarrassed. What was going her father going through? She had to bet a message to him. Then it hit her how her words sounded. “I mean, it has.”
“Well, I’m not sure you’ll get much out of him, but he likes to hang out at Munson’s Coffee House.”
Marisol secured the address from the woman and thanked her profusely. Feeling much happier than she had in a long time, she walked toward the entrance of the library. Then she spied the librarian that helped her with a security guard pointing toward the direction of the phone.
With her heart pounding in her
Similar Books
