Moon Island

 

Two and half hours later, we landed at Sea-Tac Airport which, apparently, was right dab smack in the middle between Seattle and Tacoma.

"Get it?" said Allison. "Sea-Tac. As in Seattle and Tacoma."

"I get it," I said.

"Am I being annoying?" she asked.

"Not yet," I said sweetly, as we stepped out into the chilled Pacific Northwest air. "But you're getting there."

"Most of my friends say I can be annoying."

"You have honest friends," I said, keeping a straight face.

"That was rude, Samantha Moon." But she laughed anyway.

Almost immediately, a shiny Lexus SUV whipped out of the pack of circling cars and pulled up next to us. I recognized the driver. My client, Tara Thurman.

"Wow," said Allison, peeking through the passenger side window. "She looks just like her mom."

"You know her mom?" I asked as Tara stepped out. I had researched the family and knew that Tara's mother had once been a fairly well-known model, and her father was currently the vice president of the family business. A business which just so happened to be one of the biggest hotel brands in the world. A business started by the great-grandfather nearly a hundred years ago.

"Of course," said Allison. "Everyone knows of her mom. At least, everyone down at the shop."

I wasn't sure which "shop" she was referring to, and before I could ask, Tara was already coming toward us. She certainly did not inherit her mother's stature nor build. Like I said, she was shaped more like me. Short and a little curvy.

Earlier, Tara had agreed to allow Allison to join me as my assistant. I was certain she wouldn't agree, but Allison had seemed confident that Tara would. To my surprise, my client had indeed agreed, telling me that, although these yearly reunions were generally for family, sometimes friends or significant others did join in.

I introduced the two, and we all climbed in. I took the front seat and Allison the back, and as the SUV pulled away, Allison leaned forward through the seats and said, "So, is the Space Needle really a needle?"

"Okay," I said. "Now you're being annoying."

*  *  *

As the 5 Freeway wended and twisted its way through the tree-lined suburbs outside of Seattle, Tara, Allison and I had a crash course in friendship.

According to Tara, no one was to know that I was a private eye, or that Allison was my assistant. This wasn't a murder investigation. Not officially. This was a family reunion, on a remote island, during which I would pretend to be a friend, although I would be secretly snooping my ass off.

Luckily, I'm damn good at snooping my ass off.

We decided to give me a fake name, too. After all, it wouldn't  do having a nosy family member Googling my name and finding my agency's website. So, we decided that being old college chums was best, chums who'd recently met again in Seattle and were only now catching up.

Allison was my visiting friend, who got invited along for the weekend getaway.

So, we spent the remainder of the time in the SUV boning up on Tara's college. It turned out she'd gone to UCLA, and graduated with a degree in psychology. I was going to pretend to be a college dropout. Allison pointed out that someone with enough snooping skills could verify that I, in fact, never went to UCLA. So, we decided to give me a very generic name.

Samantha Smith.

In fact, being Samantha Smith for a three-day weekend might just be a welcome relief.

And maybe a little fun.

Especially as we approached the glittering emerald city, whose skyline matched the beauty of any skyline anywhere, and as we did, I received a text message from my son.

Tammy's reading my mind again, Mom.

I sighed and dashed off a quick text to my daughter: Quit reading your brother's mind, booger butt. And make sure you do your homework.