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driveway to a house with a front lawn that rivaled the land mass of Central Park. The cost of yearly landscape maintenance alone must have supported several businesses.
    â€œWe’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” he quipped.
    The house itself was huge. Reddish brick, white columns, and black window trim. Set back and to the right was a four-car garage in the same red brick. Rick half expected to see fields of beautiful thoroughbreds chewing on bluegrass, flicking off flies with their cropped tails, and waiting for their turn on the track at Churchill Downs.
    His mom loved horse racing.
    â€œIs this right?” Taryn’s voice broke in, as she double and triple checked the address to confirm they hadn’t gotten the wrong place. “I bet she pays her lawn guy more than I make in a year.”
    â€œI was thinking the same thing,” he said. “Brinkman financially downgraded to Mom after this one. Our entire house would fit on this porch.”
    They parked the Olds in front and walked across cobblestone pavers to the porch and the high black door. Huge pots of pink and red flowers sat on either side of the door and matched fancy outdoor furniture was laid out like a magazine spread. The only thing missing was Scarlett and mint juleps.
    Taryn paused. “I wonder if I should park out back so as not to bring down the neighborhood real estate values.”
    He glanced back at the car.
    â€œWhy do you drive that wreck, anyway? Can’t the agency afford to get you a better car?”
    â€œI did have a better car. I usually use the Olds only for stakeouts in rough neighborhoods. But I had a little road rage incident a couple of weeks ago with an irate husband. He ran over my Edge with his monster truck and totaled it. Irving has a new vehicle on order.” She bit her lip, then added, “He’s putting in bulletproof glass and reinforced everything, to keep me safe. I refused to drive a used military Humvee.” At his look, she shrugged. “Too hard to park.”
    Rick took in this new information and rubbed his hands over his face. He was starting to see a pattern here. There was something seriously wrong with Taryn. The woman was trouble in tight t-shirts.
    â€œNo wonder you need good insurance.”
    â€œHey, it wasn’t my fault the jerk had a temper,” Taryn protested. “I was hired to find the monster truck and I did. It’s Gibby Parnell’s only asset worth anything and his estranged wife deserves half of its value. She put the down payment on the truck and bought its first set of monster tires. He wouldn’t be on the show circuit without her.”
    â€œHmmm.” What do you say to that?
    Taryn rang the doorbell. A stout woman with gray hair and a stern expression answered. She wore a pale gray uniform, white apron, and sensible black shoes.
    â€œMay I help you?”
    â€œWere here to see Jane Clark,” Taryn said as she looked past the maid into the foyer. The maid stared at Rick, or rather his snake tattoo, with a strained frown. He grinned. She blanched, recovered, and lifted her nose.
    â€œMrs. Clark is not taking visitors.” She choked on “Clark” and her thin lips came together into a lemon-sucking pucker. Clearly she wasn’t a fan of the missing Joe Clark.
    â€œWe have news about her husband,” Rick said.
    The maid hesitated for a moment in mid–door close. Taryn pressed forward. “It’s very important we speak to her. It’s urgent. We think she might be able to help us find him and save other women from a similar fate.”
    Rick was impressed with the way Taryn spun their visit with a serious tone. Although it was unlikely this wife had anything useful to add to what they already knew, Taryn made it sound like the ripped-off Mrs. Clark would be the key to solving a mystery, as big as the missing persons cases of Amelia Earhart or Jimmy Hoffa.
    No wonder she had an excellent