Lisa Scottoline - Look Again

She never lost sight of Carol, helped by the bright red dress. They threaded their way past Cuban, Chinese, and Italian restaurants, their tables spilling out onto large cafe areas for outdoor dining. Carol paused at a sushi restaurant and talked with a camera-ready maitre do", so Ellen slowed her step, watching them. In the next minute, a tall, dark-haired man slipped from the crowd and stopped beside Carol, kissing her on the cheek and encircling her slim waist in a proprietary way.

Bill Braverman.

She recognized him instantly from the online photos. He was slim, in a light gray sport jacket with jeans, but was too covered up to show the wiriness she'd seen online. Nor could she see his features clearly at this distance. She fake-read a menu posted in front of one of the restaurants, letting the crowd flow around her and waiting to see what the Bravermans would do. The crowd chattered away, and the sun vanished behind the palm trees, their spiked fronds waving. She glanced back at the Bravermans, and hidden by the crowd, edged closer to their table.

They were seated in the center of the outdoor dining area, and she got a good look at Bill's face. He was handsome, with his spray of black bangs over dark round eyes and a nose that looked like an older version of Will's. From time to time, he leaned back in his bistro chair, his cigarette smoldering between his fingers, and he spoke animatedly, laughing frequently.

Time to rock.

Ellen slipped her purse onto her shoulder, walked toward the maitre do" of their restaurant, and asked, "Is there a ladies' room inside?"

"In the back, to the right."

"Thanks." Ellen went inside the restaurant, and it smelled like Thai curry, reminding her that she hadn't eaten in ages. She found the ladies' room, went inside, and slipped off her sunglasses. She headed into one of the stalls, closed the door, and went into her purse. On the bottom was a white plastic bag, her DNA kit.

She took it out and checked the contents. Directions she'd downloaded, two pairs of blue plastic gloves she'd had under the sink, and two brown paper bags, which she used to pack Will's snack for school. She opened the directions and read them again, because she didn't want to screw up:

Our paternity test is the most accurate in the country! We analyze your samples at our state-of-the-art laboratory, using a 16-marker DNA test! Be thorough and collect all samples possible! Results are ready in 3 business days, but can be expedited for a small RUSH charge!

Ellen skipped the blah blah blah, which she'd read online. There had been plenty of DNA-TESTING companies on the web, including the one she was using. Her research had taught her that there were two testing options: the first was a standard paternity kit, which was admissible in court and required collection of the DNA by a cheek, or bucal, swab. She didn't need that one, and she doubted the Bravermans would offer up a sample. The second test was the one she was using, a nonstandard DNA test for paternity. Her gaze returned to the form:

For times when the bucal swab method just isn't possible, simply obtain one of the following items, place it in a brown paper bag, store it at room temperature, and send it to us. Follow precautions below!

Ellen read the precautions:

Must wear gloves so as not to get your DNA on the sample. Store at room temperature and do not get the sample wet. Must be put in a paper bag, not plastic.

She scanned the list of permissible collection items, just to make sure she remembered it correctly:

No need for silly collection kits! You can get DNA from a licked envelope, chewed gum, a soda can or any kind of can, including beer, glass, toothbrush, semen, dried blood stains (including menstrual blood), a strand of hair with the follicle attached, or a cigarette butt!

Ellen folded the papers up and put them in her purse, then slipped the plastic gloves into her jeans pocket. She used the bathroom and left the stall, washing her face and freshening her makeup, which made her feel almost civilized, then took a last look at herself in the mirror, letting her eyes meet their reflection. She had her mother's eyes, a fact that secretly made them both happy, as if it were confirmation of their closeness. Even now, looking at herself, she could still see her mother, within.

Follow your heart.

It was show time.

Ellen got a table in the outdoor dining area of the restaurant next door to the one with the Bravermans, with a clear view of their table. While the couple ate dinner, she checked her email on the BlackBerry, but there was nothing from Amy Martin. Then she'd called home and said good night to Will while she'd devoured a delicious seviche appetizer, a red-lacquered model boat of sushi, and a frothy cappuccino with almond biscotti.

She watched the Bravermans finish their coffee and share a tiramisu. Bill smoked a final cigarette, his third of the evening, but Carol didn't smoke, so Ellen would have to take her glass to get a DNA sample from her. The couple had laughed and talked throughout the entire dinner, cementing their qualifications as a happily married couple.

Which doesn't mean they're better parents than me.

Bill signaled for the check, so Ellen did the same, catching her waiter's eye. They paid at about the same time, and she rose right after the Bravermans, ready to swoop down on their table.

Now!

They left and threaded their way to the aisle, and Ellen made a bee-line for their table. Suddenly a group of tourists shoved in front of her, blocking her way, and she didn't reach the table until after the busboy had gathered the glasses.

Damn!

"Table no is clean," the busboy said in an indeterminate accent, picking up the plates and setting them with a clatter in a large brown tub.

"I'll just sit a minute." Ellen plopped into Bill Braverman's chair. "I only want dessert."

"No is clean." The busboy reached for the full ashtray, but Ellen grabbed it from his hands.

"Thanks." She checked it for gum, in case Carol had chewed some, but it only contained three cigarette butts, all Bill's. "I'll need this. I smoke."

The busboy walked away, but the maitre do" was craning his neck and peering at the table, along with a foursome of hungry patrons. She had to act fast. Her heart pounded. She slid the gloves from her pocket and shoved her right hand in one. The maitre do" was making his way over, with the foursome. She gathered the three cigarette butts from the ashtray, opened the paper bag under the table, tossed the butts inside, then closed it up and shoved it back into her purse.

"Miss, do you have a reservation?" the maitre do" asked, reaching the table just as Ellen rose, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I was just resting a minute, thanks." She headed out of the dining area to the sidewalk, crowded with dogs, skateboarders, Rollerbladers, and a tattooed man on a silver unicycle.

She melted into the crowd, exhilarated. Bill's DNA sample was safe in her purse. She wondered if she could get Carol's tonight, too.

One down, two to go.

Ellen cruised around the block after Carol had pulled into her driveway, followed by Bill driving a gray Maserati. The sky was a rich marine blue, and the street silent, the fancy cars cooling for the night. Lights were on inside the houses, and high-def TV'S flickered from behind the curtains.

She had a second wind, energized by her success with the cigarette butts, and was thinking of the other ways you could get DNA samples. Cans, glasses, licked envelopes.

Licked envelopes?

Ellen rounded the corner onto Surfside and eyed the Bravermans' green cast-iron mailbox. It was at the end of their driveway, but the red flag wasn't up, so there was no letter inside.