"I'd like to hire you to find my daughter."

The woman's request caught me by surprise. I'd been deadheading geraniums in pots by my front door in the early morning and held flower snippers in my hand.

Pouffy dark hair framed her face. It wanted to curl, but had been firmly set into a helmet by a hairdresser. Her clothes were equally impeccable. Full–figured from top to bottom, she made no effort to hide her shape under black garments. Her skirt and matching short–sleeved top bore a festive purple, pink and yellow print. I guessed her to be in her mid–sixties, but she oozed energy.

My hound mix, Daisy, sniffed the woman's dainty purple and yellow shoes with kitten heels. Not the best footwear for Old Town's uneven brick sidewalks. Daisy's tail wagged with restraint.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You must have the wrong person."

"Aren't you Sophia Winston?"

Close enough. "Sophie, actually. But I'm not an investigator."

"That's okay. I've heard about you." She dug in a leather purse big enough to hold four large loaves of bread and pulled out a checkbook. "How much do you charge?"

I splayed my fingers and waved my hand at her. "You don't seem to understand. I don't know anything about finding people. I'm an event planner."

"Please." She tucked the checkbook away and pressed her palms together. "Maybe I could tell you a little bit about my Linda?" Her gaze swept to the salmon–colored geranium blooms. "I called her my little Anemone because she loved flowers and gardening. She was such a gentle soul, almost timid. Her father and I made a mistake by pushing her to study accounting. I see that now. We wanted her to make a good living. We only wanted the best for our little girl. She would have been so much happier studying horticulture." The woman plucked a tissue from her pocket and wiped her teary eyes.

I couldn't help noticing that she spoke of her daughter in past tense, as though she didn't expect to find her alive. I wasn't in the habit of inviting strangers into my home, but this woman didn't look like an ax murderer. I considered offering her a cup of coffee.

She looked up at the second story of my house. "This is quite a place for a single girl."

Red warning flags jumped up in my mind. "How did you know I was single?"

For the most fleeting instant, panic crossed her face. So briefly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

She reached out to me. "Your finger, dear. No wedding ring."

The red flags drooped. My mother would have made the same observation, and she would have referred to me as a girl. Still, the woman had crossed some imaginary line and left me wary. "I'm terribly sorry, but you must have misunderstood someone. I've never searched for a missing person. I don't even know anyone who could help you. Good luck to you."

Her mouth twisted to the side. She issued a huge sigh, turned and trudged away, heading toward the center of Old Town.

My best friend and across the street neighbor, Nina Reid Norwood, crossed the street to my house, causing Daisy's tail to spin in an excited circle. "Who was that?"

Without prompting, Daisy sat and offered a paw. "You're such a good girl." Nina pulled a treat from the pocket of loose drawstring pants and offered it to Daisy.

"I have no idea. She wanted me to find her daughter."

"Your reputation is growing. After all, you have solved a few murders." She followed me into the house and stroked Mochie, my Ocicat.

"That's way different from locating someone." I stashed the flower snippers and poured each of us a latte.

"A lot of missing people have been murdered . . ."

"I'm not a private investigator. I wouldn't dream of taking anyone's money for something I'm not qualified to do." I set the lattes and a white platter of chocolate croissants on a wicker tray and carried it out to the backyard.

Daisy and Nina followed me.

I set the tray on a small table in the shade. I'd found the old fashioned wrought iron furniture ages ago when I was still married, had painted it white, and sewn bright red and white gingham cushions for it that matched the gorgeous Blaze roses in bloom by the fence.

I settled back on a chair, cupping the latte in my hands, and listening to the birds twitter.

"It's going to be another scorcher." Nina helped herself to a croissant. "This is the only time of day when the temperatures are still bearable. What are you wearing to Roscoe's picnic?"

I hadn't given it any thought yet. It had been a busy month so far. Everyone claimed that the event planning business slowed down in the summer months, but that hadn't been true for me. I had wound up a big Fourth of July extravaganza and run a week long international radiology expo. I was also working on Roscoe's event, but his annual picnic on National Ice Cream Day was tiny in comparison. And when it was over, I was taking time off for two glorious weeks. I didn't plan to do anything but laze around with a margarita in my hand, flip flops on my feet, and throw a cookout for my friends.

"The invitation said something cutesy, didn't it?" she asked.

I groaned. "Chicken lickin' attire."

Low snickering arose on the other side of the fence.

"Do you want to ride with us, Francie?" Nina raised her voice to be sure my elderly neighbor, Francine Vanderhoosen heard her.

"Not going," came the response from the other side of the fence.

"Do you feel okay?" I asked.

"For pity's sake, it doesn't have anything to do with how I feel. Olive Greene is my friend. I wouldn't dream of making an appearance there."