“Just answer the question, ma’am.”
Her gaze cut to Kat, who squirmed, embarrassed for her.
“A friend gave it to me,” Denise said, then bent to rummage around on an end table, coming up with a crushed pack of cigarettes.
“In exchange for the letter?” Tenner asked bluntly.
“The King’s letter?” Denise asked, her voice outraged. “Are you nuts?” She looked back to Kat, her expression hurt. “Kat, do you think I had something to do with this?”
Tenner opened his mouth, but Kat silenced him with a stare, then walked over to her friend. “No, I don’t,” she said gently. “But if you want to help me and help yourself, just tell the detective what he wants to know. Did your new boyfriend give you the money for your condo?”
Her friend tossed down the pack of cigarettes with a curse, then turned tear-filled eyes toward her. “Yes. Is that so bad?”
“No,” Kat assured her, laying a hand on her arm. “Just tell the police his name.”
But Denise shook her head miserably. “I can’t tell you���I can’t tell anyone.” A tear slipped down her pale cheek and she roughly brushed it away.
“So it was gained illegally,” the detective said triumphantly.
“No,” Denise snapped. “It was a gift.”
“Oh.” Tenner made a clicking sound with his cheek. “A Chinatown sugar daddy? You provide attention and he provides cash?”
Denise snorted. “You’ve been watching too much television, Tubby.”
Tenner’s face turned grim. “So who is it, Ms. Womack? You’ve got ten seconds to give me a name, or I’m placing you under arrest.”
The color drained from her face. “You can’t do that.”
“It wouldn’t be your first time in jail, now would it, Ms. Womack?”
Kat heard her inhale sharply, then she stiffened.
Tenner must have sensed her panic. “And we’ll find whoever you entertained at Ms. McKray’s apartment that night,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You should have remembered to wipe the prints from the coffee cups.”
Denise’s shoulders started to shake and she held a fisted hand to her mouth.
“Denise,” Kat admonished softly, “just tell us the truth.”
Her friend nodded, her nose glowing from unshed tears. “Okay… okay.” Denise inhaled, obviously gathering her strength. “The money was a gift from a lover to help me buy this miserable excuse for an apartment. H-Her name is G-Gloria Handelman.”
Kat blinked, then looked at James. He nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge he remembered the woman’s name from their earlier conversations.
“A woman?” Tenner croaked in his seemingly infinite capacity for insensitivity. “Who is this Gloria Handelman? The name sounds familiar.”
“She worked at the gallery for a few months as an administrator,” Kat volunteered, still stunned by Denise’s revelation. “Her father is Morris Handelman, and most of the family members are serious collectors of historical documents.”
“Not your everyday family hobby,” the detective noted.
“Working at Jellico’s was Gloria’s first paying job, I think, and she only stayed long enough to find and acquire a half-dozen rare manuscripts through the gallery.”
“Employee discount?” Tenner asked, popping his gum.
“No, but the job gave her access to the names of other private collectors, and she knew immediately when documents hit the market.”
“Sounds like the primo job for a collector. Why did she quit?”
“I never knew,” Kat replied. “But I do know that the Handelmans were to be one of our prime bidders for the King’s letter���Gloria’s mother wanted it, so Morris was determined to buy it for her.”
The detective pulled out a yellowed pocket notebook and pencil stub. “So this Gloria Handelman is familiar with the gallery security?”
Kat glanced sadly at her friend. “Yes.”
James stepped toward them. “Ms. Womack,” he said gently, “was this Handelman woman the same person who had a cup of coffee with you at Kat’s Friday night?”
Looking miserable, Denise nodded. “I guess it’s pretty obvious why I lied about having company. But I called Gloria to chat and she wanted to come by to give me the check.” She smiled sadly at Kat. “I was embarrassed and afraid you would disapprove.”
Kat’s heart squeezed and she patted her friend’s hand.
“Ms. Womack,” James continued, “did you see Ms. Handelman take anything from Ms. McKray’s bedroom?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you leave Ms. Handelman alone in the apartment?”
Denise shook her head, then stopped. “No, wait���I ran down to my car to get an art book I’d bought for her.”
“Did she have a bag with her?” James pressed. “One large enough to conceal garments, such as a coat and hat she might have taken from Kat’s apartment?”
Her brow furrowed. “A black athletic bag���she said she’d just come from the gym and didn’t want to risk having her racket stolen by leaving it in her car.” Her scowl deepened. “But why would she have gone to so much trouble? Her family is richer than the Rockefellers���and the money her dad would have spent on the letter is a drop in the bucket to the Handelmans.”
Tenner scribbled furiously. “What time did she leave?”
Denise sniffed, then squinted. “Around eight-thirty. I folded a load of towels after she left, then came back here.”
“Were you alone all night?” Tenner asked.
“Yes,” Denise said pointedly.
James cleared his throat. “Ms. McKray mentioned that you requested a private tour of the gallery several weeks ago.”
Denise reddened. “Gloria talks about galleries and museums all the time���I just wanted to be able to converse with her, that’s all.” Her face crumpled with concern. “Are you going to drag her into all this?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Tenner said, sounding not the least bit sorry. “She’ll have to answer some questions, same as you.”
Kat felt Denise’s hand on her arm. “Kat, I’m sorry I lied, but I honestly didn’t think there was any connection to the breakin.” She smiled, her eyes watery. “I’d hate to think that Gloria could have done such a thing, but I’d never knowingly withhold evidence that would take the heat off you.”
Her heart expanded with affection for her friend. “Don’t worry, Denise, everything will be fine.” Kat gave her friend a long, rocking hug, during which Denise whispered, “So, are you in love or what?”
Kat pulled back and opened her mouth to protest, but for once, Denise’s expression was void of teasing. She decided to be honest, especially since Denise had just bared her soul to an audience of virtual strangers. “I don’t know,” she murmured sincerely.
A smile bloomed on Denise’s face. “Toldja you needed a man,” she said in hushed tones.
*
Tenner scratched himself indiscreetly. “The more we stir this pile, the more it stinks.”
James stopped, a hamburger halfway to his mouth. The man had an uncanny sense of bad timing. He glanced sideways at Kat, who bit back a smile as she dipped a french fry in a mountain of catsup.
“The case is certainly more complicated than we first believed,” James agreed.
“It’s taking longer to get a search warrant for the Handelman woman’s apartment.” The detective rubbed his grubby thumb over his fingers in a gesture that said “money.” “Looks like no one wants to step on their toes.” He belched, excused himself, then added. “Another hour���maybe two.”
Wincing at his manners, James asked, “Have you checked out everyone at the gallery?”
“Didn’t see much use,” Tenner said through a mouthful of chili nachos.
Pushing aside his half-eaten burger, James snatched one of Kat’s fries and, curious, dipped it in the catsup. “Anyone at the gallery could have taken Kat’s key ring, duplicated her apartment key, and return
ed them without her knowing.” He took a tentative bite of the french fry, then pursed his lips in concession to Kat’s taste in fast food.
“I’ve still got that list of employees that Guy Trent came up with,” Tenner admitted.
“What about Guy Trent himself?” James asked. “He’s practically a black���” Kat dug her elbow sharply into his ribs, stealing his breath. He’d forgotten she’d gone to great lengths to keep her sordid work arrangement private.
The detective wiped his mouth, missing badly. “What’s that?”
James straightened and frowned at Kat, but unable to match the intensity of her glare, relented. “Um, blackheart. He struck me as being an unlikable fellow.”
“Why would he sabotage his own place?” Tenner asked.
“The breakin has resulted in a lot of publicity for the gallery,” James pointed out. “I’ll bet admission sales have increased.”
“Temporarily,” Kat agreed. “But we expected droves of people for the showing of the letter, plus the gallery would have earned a commission from the auction���a few hundred curiosity seekers can’t make up for the money lost.”
“What if the letter had turned out to be a fraud?” Tenner asked.
“Then the auction would be canceled, and Lady Mercer would probably receive some token amount from her insurance company.”
“And if it’s never found?”
“Then the owner would have a case for the full value of the insurance policy, twenty-five thousand if I remember correctly, which the insurer will seek to extract from Jellico’s.” She angled her head toward him. “Is Lady Mercer distraught over the loss?”
James grimaced���he had never heard more vile words spew from Tania’s mouth than when she had returned his call. In rather unladylike terms, she had made it very clear she wanted the American woman who had stolen her chance at worldwide celebrity to perish in prison. “She is rightfully concerned about her investment,” he said carefully. “If the letter isn’t recovered, the insurance money won’t even cover the expenses of having the document transported to the States. Detective, did your men fingerprint the compass Kat found at her apartment?”
“Yep���just Ms. McKray’s prints on it, same as the jewelry, same as the security badge.”
“Were there any fibers on the clothing? Hair?”
“Just hers.”
“Have you sent anyone to Chinatown to see if the letter is floating around?”
Tenner picked his teeth. “No, and that’s a pretty good idea, except they clam up tighter than a vir���” He looked at Kat. “The Chinese aren’t very talkative around the police.”
James glanced at his watch and unfolded himself stiffly from the hard swivel chair. Damn, she’d given him quite a workout this morning. “Call me when you get the warrant and we’ll meet you at the Handelman woman’s place.” He motioned for Kat to bring the remainder of her lunch with her.
“Where’re you going, Donovan? I thought we were working on this together.” Tenner looked crestfallen, but James wasn’t about to expose his local sources to the man. Kat had walked away to dispose of their trash, so James leaned toward the man and said, “We need some time alone.”
Looking like a wounded dog, Tenner said, “High time to be thinking with your crotch, Donovan. We got a case to solve.”
Smirking, James said, “I’m trained to keep several plates in the air at once, Tenner.”
Tenner frowned as Kat walked up to the table.
“Ready?” James’s gaze raked her glorious figure with appreciation. She was demurely tucked into tailored slacks and a high-collared shirt, topped with a sensible wool jacket. Her hair was fastened back in a tight wad, and her wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Only a discriminating eye would recognize what lay beneath the plain brown wrapping. Snatches of their morning tumble surfaced in his mind and he suddenly wished they were indeed off to share a romantic tryst.
Thankfully oblivious to his lusty thoughts, she grabbed her purse. “Where are we going?” she asked when they reached the sidewalk.
He forced his mind back to the case. The sooner he wrapped up this mess, the sooner he could leave San Francisco. And the sooner he left San Francisco, the sooner he could shake these visions of cold English nights with Kat curled up next to him.
Ah, New York… a city where he could immerse himself in fun, frivolity, and anonymity for a few weeks. New York would be the perfect place to distract him from these discomfiting thoughts of becoming… what was the word he was looking for? Monogamous. James shuddered.
“James?” Kat’s voice yanked him from his train of thought. “Where are we going?”
He stared into her blue eyes for several seconds, perturbed by the power she wielded over his psyche. “To resolve this predicament as quickly as possible,” he said brusquely. “I have no intention of staying here forever.”
Chapter 10
Kat was so troubled by James’s comment that she nearly plowed into him when he stopped to make a phone call.
“Who are you calling?”
“An associate,” he said, his tone all business. He turned his body to exclude her from the conversation, but she stepped close and listened anyway, her feelings smarting. Her little theory about the “morning-after syndrome” was kicking in���and apparently the malady was universal.
“This is Agent James Donovan, on assignment in San Francisco. I need to speak with Antonio, please. The code word is ‘Black Mulligan.’… Yes, I’ll wait.”
Kat’s pulse picked up. Code word? Did they really say stuff like that?
“Antonio? Agent James Donovan here. Good to speak with you again too. I’m in town looking into the disappearance of a piece of fine art, and have reason to believe it may have been sold on the black market…. Yes…. Very good. I’ll be there, with a���” he paused and Kat’s ears perked up. “With a female companion. Thank you.”
He hung up and Kat stepped away, feigning fascination with a banged-up coffee table in the window of an antiques shop.
“A future project?”
She turned and gave him a crooked smile. “Maybe my own business one of these days. A girl’s got to pay the rent somehow.”
“So you won’t be going back to Jellico’s?”
She shook her head slowly, suddenly melancholy for all the years that Jellico’s had been her second home. “Even if Guy would take me back, it’s time for me to move on.”
His brow creased. “Will you stay in the city?”
“I’m not sure. I have a friend in Los Angeles who’s been trying to get me to come work for him for years.” She gestured to his phone. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his wrist to check his watch. “And we have an appointment in Chinatown in thirty minutes.”
He handed her a card with the name and address of the bakery where they were expected printed neatly. “With whom?”
“Someone who will keep an eye out for the infamous letter.”
“Who?”
James sighed. “I don’t know his name, and for the love of God, don’t ask him when we get there.”
Going to Chinatown to meet a stranger who moved in the underworld of the black market. It was all so, so… clandestine. Her heart pounded with excitement, her skin tingled with anticipation. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she said, “Let’s go.”
“I’ll hail a cab,” he said, stepping to the curb.
“James, you’re in San Francisco. Van Ness is just a couple of blocks over���we’ll take the trolley and still get there in plenty of time.” His car was still at the police station.
He winced. “A trolley really isn’t my style.”
“Fine,” she said, pushing up her glasses. “I’ll meet you there.” Then she turned and started walking.
“Kat!” he called, his voice flat with impatience. His second attempt sounded more cordial. “Kat, I need the address���I don’t even know where this place is.”
She turned, walking backward and farther away from him with her hands raised, palms up. “Guess you’re going to have to depend on me for a while, Agent Donovan.”
His mouth twisted in resignation, and he began walking after her. “Okay… uncle.” He caught up to her in a few strides but his face remained stoic. Kat felt burdensome for preempting his trip to New York, and disappointed that his demeanor toward her had changed since this morning.
Then she kicked herself mentally. What had she expected? That this morning’s tryst would mean something to him? When would she learn that men were simple creatures driven by base needs… regardless if they were American, European, or Martian. Take James for instance���strip away his impeccable clothes and his suave accent, and what was left?
Kat winced. A gorgeous, naked, mute man with a big gun.
So why did sex have to change things? Because it erased the thrill of the chase? Didn’t the thrill of the catch count anymore?
Biting back a sigh, she chalked up another one to experience. Right now, though, she needed this man’s help. So she swallowed her wounded feelings, donned a cheerful smile, and played tour guide, indicating shops and other points of interest along the way. After a few minutes, James seemed to relax, asking questions about the local architecture. By the time they’d reached the trolley stop, he seemed to be in better spirits.
“Sit or stand?” she asked, climbing onto a red car the size of a small school bus. Clear vinyl window covers had been rolled down in deference to the mild weather, funneling a salty breeze across the passengers’ faces.
“Stand,” he said, wrapping one large hand around a pole. The driver rang a bell, then the car lurched into motion, heading directly downhill.
“You have to lean out to get the best view,” she yelled, showing him. The sensation of hurtling into the heart of the city with the wind blowing on her face was a thrill she never tired of, even though she’d experienced it dozens, perhaps hundreds of times since childhood. The car moved at a speed just slow enough to allow a passing glimpse of the stunning homes and store fronts on either side of the street, but fast enough to cause her stomach to flutter.
License to Thrill (a romantic mystery) Page 11
