Normal people considered one, possibly two scenarios when confronted by a problem. People like me? We fell asleep at night adding possibilities to lists as long as Rip van Winkle’s beard. I filed this particular list away for later. Tonight I just needed to find any connection between Craig, Kim, my sister and Against the Wind.

Just.

Never having visited a biker bar, I debated what to wear. I didn’t want to look like a biker chick or a wannabe, either of which might create a whole new set of problems. I was planning to present myself as a friend of Kim’s. The Craig I’d seen ripping apart a motorcycle struck me as a guy who wasn’t looking for the All-American girl. So even mere acquaintances of Kim’s were probably a little glittery, a little sexy. I called my fashion consultant, who picked up right away.

“I found a photo of this Kearns character,” she said instead of hello. “A mug shot, so it’s not the best quality. I sent you the link. Close-cropped reddish-blond hair. Freckled complexion. His ears stick out, but he’s good-looking.”

I thanked her and promised I’d check him out. “I’m going to do some research at the biker bar tonight. Tell me what to wear.”

She asked for the possibilities, so I went to the closet and listed what was hanging there. She made a noise not unlike a teenager’s dad when his daughter presents her first boyfriend for his approval.

I tried to cheer her up. “We can do this.”

“Doesn’t your sister have anything you can wear?”

“She’s a head taller. Plus she’s an officer’s wife and a lady.” The words weren’t out of my mouth before I remembered Wendy’s stash of sexy undies.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the clothes in my sister’s closet, except for the pockets, but now I pulled my own additions closer to the door and started sorting through Wendy’s.

“Wow,” I said in the middle of whatever Sophie was telling me about colors that would suit me.

“I gather you’re not complimenting my fashion brilliance,” she said.

I held up a camisole that was heavy with silver sequins. On the same padded hanger hung lipstick-red satin pants so narrow that if Wendy had worn them, some willing assistant had poured her into them.

“I didn’t really notice before. There’s a whole new Wendy hanging in this closet.” I described my finds.

“Put down the phone and see what else you come up with.”

By the time I returned, Sophie was humming Ravel’s “Bolero.” She was just getting to the part where I always have to turn down the volume. I wasn’t sorry to interrupt. “She’s got a little treasure trove of sexy clothes in here. Everything interesting is hidden under suit jackets and smashed between mommy dresses.”

Ever practical, Sophie moved on. “Can you wear any of it?”

“Way too long and way, way too glitzy. But I bet my big sis makes a real splash when she’s out on the town.”