by Tawna Fenske
But that wasn’t what she needed to do to bring things into focus. There was an idea forming in the back of her mind…
“Do you know anything about what this guy looks like?” Violet asked.
“Tall, maybe six-three, six-four. He wears a ski mask when he hits businesses, but we have some footage from an outdoor security camera that shows the same guy breaking into a car. No mask there, but he keeps his face turned away. Like he knows where the camera is.”
“Do you know hair color or anything?”
Detective Smeade shrugged. “Dark. That’s all we know. The security camera only shoots black and white.”
Violet nodded and fingered the G-string. “Very interesting,” she said, still grappling with her thoughts.
“Are you getting any sort of… uh… vibe?”
Violet avoided his eyes, pretending to be engrossed in the underwear. “Maybe.”
“Here’s something that might help.”
Detective Smeade reached into the briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Violet and watched her as she took the paper and studied it.
“That’s a still photo from one of the surveillance videos,” he said. “It’s pretty poor quality, but you see the tattoo?”
Violet squinted at the grainy picture, trying to make out details. She could barely make out a human shape, never mind a tattoo. “I don’t see anything.”
Detective Smeade extracted another printout from the briefcase and handed it over. “Here’s a blowup of that shot in the bottom corner there. This is his arm.”
Violet took the paper from him and stared at it. She felt a shiver chatter its way up her backbone. She said nothing as she looked at the inky image, but her brain was going a million miles a second.
She thought of the day last week when Drew had called her in to watch the new guy audition. Jerry. She remembered the tattoo on his arm, the mention of a prison record.
“It’s still too fuzzy to make out the details, but we think it’s a cartoon character of some sort,” Detective Smeade offered.
Violet looked up at him and swallowed. “Is this his right bicep?”
Detective Smeade raised his eyebrows at her. “It is.”
“Tweety Bird. The tattoo, I think that’s what it is.”
Detective Smeade took the printout back and stared at it. “I’ll be damned. I think you’re right. There’s the feet right here, and that big head and—” He looked up at her. “Did you get that from reading the aura when you touched that other stuff?”
“Um… yes.”
“Wow. Can you tell anything else?”
Violet bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. Drew had hired the guy, hadn’t he? The one with the prison record?
Violet looked down into her lap at the makeup bag. She ran a finger over the edge of the underwear, considering what to say to Detective Smeade.
Next door, the sound system was still maddeningly silent. No guidance there.
Violet kept her eyes down, pretending to be engrossed in aura reading or whatever the hell she was supposed to be doing. Should she tell Detective Smeade about Jerry working next door? Did she really want to point a finger at Drew, at his business?
The last time she’d meddled with one of Drew’s employees was her reading with Jamie. Look how that had turned out.
She looked up at Detective Smeade. “I’m still trying to get a sense of who this guy is.”
“Maybe you can get a name? An address? Some idea how we could track him down?”
Violet hesitated. If she sent the cops next door, Drew would know it was her. She’d thought he was angry when she benignly encouraged Jamie to follow his dreams, but what would he say knowing she’d sicced the police on one of his dancers?
A dancer who admitted he just got out of prison, Violet told herself.
Violet fingered the makeup bag, feigning intense concentration. Maybe there was a way to do this quietly. A way to make sure Drew didn’t blame her for meddling with his employees, but she could still do the right thing by reporting a suspicious character.
Or maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do at all.
Violet cleared her throat and returned her gaze to Detective Smeade. “I need to… uh… meditate on this for a while.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I… the vision isn’t solidifying in my mind. Maybe if I had a little more time?”
Detective Smeade frowned. “Well, we’re in a bit of a hurry to close this case. How much time do you need?”
“Can I get back to you tomorrow morning?”
“Sure, sure.” Detective Smeade nodded at the items in her lap. “You need to keep those?”
Violet looked down at the makeup bag and the underwear. “Oh… well, yes. That would help.”
“Okay then. How about if I stop by around nine tomorrow morning to pick those up and see if you’ve learned anything new?”
“Sure,” Violet said as she picked up the makeup bag and underwear from her lap and set them on the coffee table. “I’ll take good care of these, don’t worry.”
Detective Smeade shrugged. “We already searched them for all the evidence we’re going to get. What’s left—auras or vibes or energy or whatever you want to call it—that’s all yours.”
“Great,” Violet said, feeling grim.
Detective Smeade stood up and smiled at her. “Thanks, Violet. You’ve already given us a lot to go on. Identifying the tattoo is huge. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be able to nab the guy just on that.”
Violet bit her lip as she stood up. “That would be wonderful.”
Detective Smeade grinned at her. “You’ve been a big help, Violet. Wait’ll the guys at the station hear what you said about the Tweety Bird thing. They’ve been trying to figure out what it is for days. Even our forensics guy couldn’t get it.”
“Oh… Well, if it’s all the same to you, maybe don’t mention me to too many people?”
Detective Smeade gave her a sympathetic smile. “I got it. You don’t want every cop in the precinct down here begging you for information. Or every criminal off the street, for that matter.”
“Exactly,” Violet said, thinking that criminals and cops were the least of her concerns.
Next door, the sound system finally cranked to life. Violet turned her head to the side, straining to hear the first few notes.
Her heart lodged itself in the bottom of her throat the instant she recognized the song.
Completely oblivious, Detective Smeade grinned. “Wow, haven’t heard that tune for a while. They sure don’t play it on the radio much anymore.”
“No,” Violet said slowly. “No they don’t.”
“Always loved this group. Kiss, right?”
“Right,” Violet said, feeling the dagger sink into her heart. The wave of guilt for something she hadn’t done yet, but knew she was likely to do.
“What’s the name of this one? Don’t tell me, I’ll get it.”
Violet waited, not wanting to say the word, not wanting to hear him say it, either.
Detective Smeade snapped his fingers. “Got it. ‘Betrayed,’ right?”
“Right,” Violet said, and sank back into her chair.
Chapter 17
Drew was just pounding the last nail into Moonbeam’s wheelchair ramp when he heard Violet’s rental car pull up the driveway. He resisted the urge to turn around and watch her walk toward him, her crazy-colored eyes missing nothing as she admired the progress he’d made, studied the completed project.
But Drew kept his head down and continued to pound the nail long after it no longer needed pounding. The hammering covered the sound of her footsteps, so he didn’t realize she was right behind him until he heard her voice.
“Oh, my God. You finished this all by yourself?”
He turned and sat back on his heels, giving her what he hoped was a casual smile. “There wasn’t that much left to do.”
“You mean once the other guys got out of your way?”
&
nbsp; Drew shrugged. “They did a lot of the hard work.”
“Please. It’s really nice of you to cover for them, and I know they tried hard, but don’t think I didn’t notice you were the only one who knew which end of the hammer to hit things with.”
“Well, we all have our strengths,” Drew said, feeling an inexplicable swell of pride that she appreciated at least one of his.
She smiled at him, lighting up her eyes in a way that made Drew consider what other construction projects he might undertake to prompt her to smile again.
“This must have taken you a long time,” Violet said. “I thought you had to work all day?”
“One of my guys didn’t show up to practice, so I cut the day short.”
“Which guy?”
“Jerry… you know, the new guy. The one you helped me audition?”
“Right, Jerry.” Violet looked away, studying the railing.
“He’s sure turning out to be great. I was worried about losing Jamie like that, but Jerry might just be able to fill his shoes.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Anyway, Jerry had the flu today, so he didn’t make it in. And since I have to work late tonight, I took off around one thirty so I could come here and finish this up before I have to go back.”
“So you left before two?”
“Yeah, why?”
Violet shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes. “That explains why I didn’t hear any music later in the day.”
Drew gripped the hammer in his palm and stood up, taking a step closer to her. “Sam was going to head in around three, so I hope the music started up again after that. Otherwise, something wasn’t working right.”
“No, I heard it then. Kiss, right?”
Drew stared at her mouth. “What?”
Violet flushed a little but didn’t move away. “On the stereo. I think Sam was playing some old songs by Kiss.”
“Oh. Right. Probably. That was on the set list I made up, so that makes sense. I told her to make sure to keep the sound down. I hope it didn’t bother you.”
Violet shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “No, not too loud. Really, I’ve started to get used to the music.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I kind of miss it when I don’t hear it.”
“In that case, I’ll keep the butt rock cranked.”
“Glam rock.”
“One of these days I’ll get you to call it by its proper name.”
“Since when is butt included in the proper name of anything?”
Drew laughed and watched her run a hand over the railing he’d just finished sanding. Her fingers trailed over the smooth surface, and Drew felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her caressing the wood.
Get your mind out of the gutter, he ordered himself.
Violet looked up at him and blinked, and Drew had a brief moment of panic.
No such thing as mind reading, he reminded himself. Thank God.
“Thanks, Drew,” she said slowly. “There’s no way I could have built this myself, and it would have cost a fortune to have someone else do it on short notice.”
“No sweat.”
“No, really. I feel like I owe you. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Drew gave some thought to making a crude comment, but decided against it. No sense going down that path again. He was still reeling a little from the double-entendre conversation about tools the night before.
“Just consider it a neighborly favor,” Drew said. “Pay it forward or something.”
“But you deserve something, too. I’m a terrible cook, but I can take you out to dinner. Or what about accounting? Do you have any paperwork you need help with? I’m good at that.”
Drew entertained a quick fantasy of Violet bent low over his ledgers, her blouse gaping open a little in front as she studied the numbers with those wild eyes magnified behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, and maybe one of those plaid skirts with knee socks and—
“Drew?”
“Yes?”
“You had a funny look on your face.”
“Oh. Just wondering if I should have used nine-penny nails instead of sixteen.”
Violet looked at him oddly. “I’m sure whatever you used is perfect. Really, thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome. I was happy to do it. I might take you up on your offer though.”
“Which one?”
“The paperwork. It’s the end of the month, and I still have some organizing to do before I can hand everything off to my bookkeeper.”
“Oh… Well, I’m happy to do some bookkeeping for you.”
“No, I’ve got that covered. But I could really use a hand getting my receipts organized, tallying up some of the preliminary numbers. It’s kind of grunt work, but—”
“Deal,” Violet said, giving him another smile. “When do you want me?”
Now, thought Drew. Immediately. If I have to wait a second longer, my brain might explode.
“How about if I bring it by the studio in the morning?”
Violet frowned a little. “What time?”
“Nineish?”
“Can we make it ten?”
“Sure. Not a problem. You have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
Violet was quiet for a moment, her fingers still trailing over the new rail. “How’s Jamie doing?”
Drew felt a tiny flicker of irritation. He tried to ignore it, but it was still there, still reminding him that if it weren’t for Violet, Jamie wouldn’t be leaving. Wouldn’t be putting himself in harm’s way.
“Fine,” Drew said, trying to keep the tightness from his voice. “Still talking about Afghanistan.”
“So he’s really planning to go?”
“Apparently. He’s been talking to some not-for-profit organization that builds schools over there.”
“So he’ll be with someone? I mean… he’s not just going to go wandering off by himself?”
“That’s the plan, but it’s hard to say what he’ll do.”
“But he’ll definitely be safer if he’s with a group.”
Drew gripped the hammer a little tighter. He looked at it for a second, then bent down and set it carefully back in his toolbox. Avoiding Violet’s eyes.
“Can we not talk about this right now?” he said finally. “I know we agreed that Jamie should do whatever he wants to do with his life, but I guess I’m still not used to this war-zone idea. He’s a good kid, and if anything happens to him—”
“It’s okay,” Violet said quickly. “Sorry to bring it up.”
“Look, I’m not still mad. It’s just the whole thing about meddling with people’s lives, with my business—”
“No, really. I understand. I know you worry about Jamie. I’m sorry if what I said prompted him to do this.”
Drew nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Violet just stood there looking miserable, and Drew wanted to kick himself for being a jerk. It wasn’t her fault Jamie had quit. Not exactly. It probably would have happened eventually. So what if Violet had been the one to nudge him from the nest?
Drew was just about to open his mouth to say so when a car wheeled into the driveway. A black Mercedes. Drew stared at it, feeling his mood darken.
“Looks like your boyfriend’s here,” he said.
Violet looked at him, her eyes wide. “We’ve been dating, but he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Does he know that?”
Violet didn’t say anything, but he saw her go stiff as Chris opened the car door. He watched as she made a conscious effort to paste a smile on her face.
“Chris, what a nice surprise,” Violet called as he strode toward them, looking dapper and well dressed and so obviously smitten with Violet that Drew wanted to grab the hammer and knock the guy in the forehead.
He’s a perfectly nice person, Drew told himself.
Still, the way he was looking at Violet…
“Hey, man,” he called to Chris. “Good to see you
again.”
He caught a flicker of dismay in the good doc’s expression, but Chris recovered quickly. Drew kicked the lid shut on his toolbox. No sense taking any chances with the hammer.
“Hey, Drew,” Chris replied cheerfully as he took a couple more territorial steps toward Violet.
Jesus, he might as well lift his leg on her.
Chris surveyed the new wheelchair ramp, looking impressed. “Wow, did you finish all this today?”
“Ah, it was nothing,” Drew replied. “We did most of the hard work yesterday.”
Chris gave Violet a modest smile. “Well, hopefully this helps speed things along with getting Moonbeam home. I saw her today. She’s looking great.”
“She’s feeling great, too,” Violet agreed. “I know she’s eager to get home.”
“Rehab cleared her for release, so now it’s just a matter of making sure everything’s ready here.”
“I think we’re close. The occupational therapist is coming to check tomorrow.”
“That’s great. You must be so excited.”
Chris shot a quick look at Drew, his expression friendly. But Drew could read the message in his eyes. Leave.
Drew folded his arms over his chest and smiled. “You kids have plans tonight?”
“Oh,” Violet said, glancing at Chris. “I didn’t sleep well last night, so I was hoping to go to bed early and—”
“Actually, Violet, I thought maybe I could take you out for dinner,” Chris said.
Drew watched as Violet curled her fingers in toward her palms. She didn’t answer him right away, and Drew saw the tension creep into Chris’s smile.
“Dinner?” Violet repeated.
“Sure. There’s this great little Italian place. Or if you’d rather stay in, we could order something casual.”
Violet hesitated. Drew watched her eyes. Did she want to be rescued? Or did she want a quiet, romantic dinner with the doc?
None of his business. It was time to make his exit.
Drew cleared his throat. “I have to get back to work before the evening crowd starts showing up. Violet? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She turned and looked at him, her eyes wide, her smile tentative. What the hell was she thinking?
