“Chinese national?” Magda plucked at Broncelli’s sleeve. “I thought it was the Germans we were getting the formula for.”
Broncelli ignored her outburst, focusing fully on me. “I’ve learned quite a few inventive ways to torture people during my years with the Secret Service and FBI. You’d be amazed at some of them, really. And you’ll get firsthand knowledge very soon if you don’t open up and tell me what I want to know.”
“From what I understand, you have a very long and respected career in law enforcement,” I said. “Why be a traitor to your country?”
“Why indeed. I can give you four million very good reasons.” He laughed lightly.
“Two million,” amended Magda. “We are still partners, Curtis.”
In spite of my precarious position, I couldn’t resist playing devil’s advocate. “Yes, tell her if you’re still partners, Curtis.”
“Shut up,” Magda spit at me. She glared at Broncelli. “You talked me into joining forces with you, double-crossing the buyer I had for yours. You’d damn well better come across with my portion.”
He whirled on her, lips drawn back in a snarl. “Your buyer was a small renegade group—they would have paid a pittance for this. After the way you bungled everything I should cut you out entirely. You had strict orders that night. If my bullet missed Alexa, you were to finish what I started. Instead you let her get away.”
Magda’s face paled. “She was bleeding so much and it all happened so fast. I thought, no, we thought she’d died, remember?”
“Until we found out otherwise. She was the girl dressed as the Red Death that night. We haven’t managed to track her down yet, but we will. We need to get rid of that loose end.”
I breathed a silent sigh of relief that apparently they weren’t aware Alexa had been here tonight. I lifted a brow at Broncelli. “So then Doris discovered you were the traitor and you killed her?”
He shook his bald head. “Make no mistake, I surely would have killed her had I thought she suspected the truth, but I did not. I had no idea she suspected me. We were both quite confident Reynaud was high on her list.”
I frowned, looking from one to the other. “That’s impossible. One of you had to have killed her.”
“I didn’t,” sniffed Magda. “As for her suspecting my brother, well, I knew she would never be able to prove anything. Besides, if he were going to be fool enough to take that rap for me, who was I to stand in his way?”
Wow, what sisterly love. Made me want to puke. But it still didn’t make sense.
Broncelli glared at me. “I know what your game is. You are trying to distract us, but these flimsy tactics will not work . . . Are you ready to tell me where the stone is yet?”
“I—I don’t have it.”
“Liar.” He jerked a gun from the waistband of his pants and aimed the muzzle at my chest. “You have ten seconds. Ten—nine—eight . . .”
I stared into the big black barrel and prayed for either a miracle or divine intervention and then . . .
“EEROWL!”
“MEEEEOW.”
Two blurs descended upon Broncelli and Magda—one black and white, the other orange and white. The black blur shot out a claw and knocked the gun into a far corner, leaving behind a trail of blood. The orange and white blur entangled its claws in Magda’s hair and pulled her head back, hard. I took advantage of the distraction to scramble to my feet.
“Oh no you don’t.”
Even with his hand dripping blood, Broncelli still reached for me. I knew I had to act, and fast. I doubled up my leg and kicked my foot straight into his groin with as much force as I could muster. He dropped to his knees with a pitiful cry. I spun around. Nick squatted in the corner, near a pile of pots. He shoved the heaviest one toward me with his claws. I snatched it up and brought it down hard on the back of Broncelli’s head. He moaned, and then lay still.
Magda, meanwhile, had managed to disentangle Valentina from her hair. She tossed the cat into a corner and reached for her own gun, tucked in the waistband of the gauze skirt she wore. Nick spun into action again. Rearing himself up on his hind legs, he sprang, spitting and clawing, into the air, hitting her full in the chest just as she leveled the gun at me. His fangs buried themselves in her wrist. She let out a sharp yowl and the weapon clattered to the floor. Valentina leapt gracefully forward, kicked it with her front paws right over to my feet. I reached down and snatched it up.
I brandished the gun at Magda. “Sit down and shut up.”
Eyes glittering, she eased herself into a chair, clutching her bleeding wrist and moaning. “He bit me,” she growled. “I’m going to need a rabies shot.”
“Nick doesn’t have rabies. And as far as a shot goes, don’t tempt me.”
On the floor, Broncelli moaned. I debated hitting him with another pot or maybe just giving him a shot in the arm; nothing serious, maybe a flesh wound. He started to rise on one elbow, moaned again, then his eyes rolled up and he keeled over on his side. I was still considering giving him another whack on the head for good measure when he let out a deep sigh and then lay motionless. I prodded him with my foot.
Out cold. Finally.
I’d just straightened when the back door suddenly burst open. Daniel and Samms entered, guns drawn, and then stopped as they took in the scene before them.
I dropped the gun and planted both hands on my hips.
“Geez, about damn time you got here.”
Samms and Daniel each pointed at the other. “Blame him,” they chorused, and I laughed and bent down to pick up Nick, whose pink tongue darted out to lick my cheek.
“It’s okay, guys. I’ve got all the calvary I need right here.”
TWENTY-SIX
The following evening found a cozy group gathered at a back booth in the Poker Face: myself, Chantal, Daniel, Samms, Rick, and Alexa. Lance, who’d spent a great deal of the evening fawning over Alexa, approached our table, coffeepot in hand. “Refills?” he asked.
I shot him a look. “Of Jose’s coffee? Really?”
Lance clucked his tongue at me, but I noticed his gaze was riveted on Alexa. “Now, now, be nice. How about if I bring over some nice Kahlúa to add to it?”
“Great.” Chantal clapped her hands. “I’m a sucker for Kahlúa.”
Lance hovered over Alexa’s shoulder. “How about you, Alexa?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s all right. Myself, I prefer amaretto.”
“Funny you should mention that. I’ve got some amaretto-flavored coffee in the back. I can have Jose put another pot on.”
I had to smother a grin. “You do? Since when?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I’m not sure. A week ago, maybe? Jose mentioned flavored coffees were big so I thought maybe we’d give it a shot.”
I held up my mug. “I think the Kahlúa will do for now.”
He hurried off to the bar and returned about five minutes later, a bottle of Kahlúa in one hand and a bottle of amaretto in the other. He set the Kahlúa in front of me and the amaretto in front of Alexa.
“Knock yourselves out. On the house.” He gave Alexa another wide smile. Alexa smiled back. For a split second I felt the slightest twinge of irritation. Did he or didn’t he have a king-sized crush on my sister? The irritation dissipated as I told myself Lacey had always been totally oblivious to Lance’s interest, and if he wanted to shower some attention on Alexa, and Alexa showered some back, so what? They both deserved a break.
I picked up the bottle of Kahlúa, poured a generous helping into my mug, passed it over to Chantal, and looked at Daniel. “So, where’s the stone now?”
“Safely in the hands of the US government.” He leveled me with a stern look. “You do realize hanging onto it was a really insane and dangerous thing to do, right?”
I took a long sip from my mug, which now tasted more like Kahlúa laced with a lit
tle coffee. “All’s well that ends well?” I turned back to Daniel. “How long was Broncelli under suspicion?”
“Actually, quite some time,” Daniel admitted. “It all started back in Monroe. Broncelli’s excellent record in Homicide brought him to the attention of the FBI field office captain, who recruited him. Not long after, he got involved with an underground group who paid him quite handsomely for coming across with some classified documents. It escalated from there, particularly more so when Broncelli was promoted to the International Task Force. Several important formulas and plans found their way into enemy hands, things Broncelli had access to, but no one could prove he had a definite involvement. IA had him on their person of interest list hoping to catch a break.”
“His excellent service record kept him pretty much above reproach for a long time,” Samms added. “That same quality was what made him so valued as a double agent. He’d been around long enough and had enough contacts, knew the ins and outs, so he was very adept at covering his trail.”
“Why would a man who held such a respected position throw it all away and commit treason?” Chantal mused.
“Simple.” Rick smiled at her. “He has two ex-wives with expensive tastes and he himself loves to play the ponies. It all made him an easy target. The terrorists were willing to pay top dollar for the information Broncelli was able to provide.”
“These stones were his biggest score. And he might have gotten away with it, except for two things: He got greedy, and Doris Gleason got involved.”
“That is true.” Alexa nodded. “Doris had been using her various newspaper contacts to track down that underground group for months, for an exposé. Her source revealed to her that the formula was going to be smuggled to an undisclosed location in Germany—through the gems—and their contact was an inside source at Meecham. She suspected Reynaud right off because of his political affiliations. Doris wanted to catch the traitors red-handed; she thought the story would earn her a Pulitzer, and it probably would have. What she wanted to do was get the jewels herself to smoke out the persons involved, and that’s when she called me.”
“Meanwhile, our boy Curtis got an attack of the greeds,” Samms said, picking up the gauntlet. “He’d gotten an offer from a different foreign power for the formula at double the original price. So he planned to steal the stones himself, make it look like a robbery to throw off his original bidder, and sell them to his second source. He needed someone on the inside, and Magda, who’d been involved in underground and smuggling activities for years, was ripe for the picking. She’d already acquired a buyer on her own, one she was only too happy to dis when Curtis dangled a larger fee in front of her.”
“The night Curtis planned to steal the stones, two things went wrong,” Daniel said. “First off, Alexa picked the same night. Secondly, the alarm that Magda supposedly disconnected malfunctioned somehow and the guard rushed in. Alexa got away with the red stone, which contained the largest part of the formula, but Broncelli saw her when she went out the window.”
Alexa nodded. “Doris looked up and caught a glimpse of him in the window and realized he’d seen me. That’s when she decided we should adopt new identities. She contacted her source, who in turn contacted the British secret service, who contacted the American FBI, and they determined I should go back to the USA where it was safe. Then they started concocting a plan to smoke out the traitor. And guess who they put in charge of the case?”
“Broncelli,” Chantal and I said together.
“Right. Of course, he had no idea it was a setup. He saw it as his opportunity to smuggle the gems in the grimoire over to the US, where the second bidder resided, and use Doris to smoke Alexa and the other jewel out. He arranged with Meecham to bring the exhibit to California, where he knew Alexa was hiding.”
“Why go through all that? He was in charge. He could have just tracked Alexa down and gotten the jewel,” Chantal said.
“He could have but Alexa’s exact location was known to only a handful of people and on a need-to-know basis. Broncelli wasn’t on that list, and he didn’t want to call attention to himself by making too many inquiries. When the arrangements were made for him to take Mac Davies’s place in Homicide, he figured it was a golden opportunity dropped in his lap: He could smoke Alexa out, switch the jewels, make off with all the money, and leave Magda holding the bag.”
“Broncelli had no idea Doris had seen him that night,” Alexa put in. She tapped the checked tablecloth with one long, bloodred nail. “Their paths must have crossed at some point during the gala, and I’ll bet the fact he was dressed all in black jogged her memory. That’s why she was so insistent we had to be certain before going ahead with our plan and accusing Reynaud.”
I turned to Daniel. “That’s why she seemed so nervous. They must have confronted each other at some point during the evening, and Broncelli killed her to avoid exposure—or he had Magda do it.”
Daniel shook his head. “They were telling the truth. Broncelli didn’t kill Doris. Neither did Magda. They both have alibis for the TOD.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and passed me two photos. One showed Broncelli, Daniel, Samms, and two other policemen grouped together. The other showed Magda chatting with, of all people, Nan Webb.
“See?” He tapped the edge of the pictures. “Both photos were date- and time-stamped right at the time the coroner estimated Daisy was murdered—so neither one of them could possibly have done it. As far as the murder goes, we’re back to square one.”
“Great.” I stared at the pictures and frowned. “Looks like I can’t finish up my article for Noir yet, can I?” I still had a gut feeling the key to solving Doris’s murder was staring me right in the face, only I was too blind to see it.
“Er-ewl.”
I’d forgotten that Nick was in the bar, too, because he’d been so quiet—uncharacteristically so, I might add—underneath the table. I glanced down. He was on his back, forelegs in the air, a piece of what looked like red string curled between his paws. I reached down to take it away, and he rolled over onto his paws, eyes wide, ears perked.
“How did you get that, you little devil?”
Alexa peeped underneath the table and laughed. “He might have stolen it from Valentina. I noticed her playing with similar strands.”
Chantal laughed. “It is amazing the things they find to amuse themselves with, no?”
Alexa nodded. “Yes, never mind buying them expensive toys. Just leave a frayed piece of clothing lying around and presto. A new toy.”
Frayed clothing? Something clicked in my memory. I peered underneath the table again.
Nick curled his paw around the red strand and held it out. “Meower,” he said.
And then, in a sudden burst of God knew what—Inspiration? Enlightenment? An epiphany?—it just all became crystal clear.
Thanks to my cat’s eclectic taste in toys, I was 99.9 percent sure I knew who murdered Doris. Now all I had to do was prove it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Daniel brought me home around eight thirty. We stood on my stoop, and he pulled his hand through his thick crop of dirty blond hair. “Once all this is over,” he said, “and we find out who really killed Doris, I think we should celebrate.”
“I’m all for that. What did you have in mind?”
“Something both of us will enjoy. A date where no dead bodies pop up to spoil it. Different, no?”
“Me-owww!”
Daniel chuckled. “Sounds like Nick thinks that wouldn’t be much fun.”
We both laughed, and then Daniel took me in his arms and planted one on me. His mouth was warm, his lips soft, and for a few moments I just lost myself in the sheer bliss of the moment. When we finally broke apart, he trailed one hand down my arm. “Well, I’d better get back down to the station. Lee gets cranky when he has to fill out paperwork.”
“He never was fond of paper pushing,
” I mused. “Seriously, how did he get involved in all this?”
“It was part of the plan,” Daniel admitted. “Lee knew Broncelli from their days together in Monroe, and he always felt something was off about him. When we approached him to help us out, he was only too willing.”
“So all that stuff about his leaving St. Leo was just a cover story.” At Daniel’s nod I added, “I guess he’ll be going back to his old job, then?”
“No.” Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “My superior at the FBI has offered him a job on our Special Task Force, and he’s accepted. He’ll be working with me and Rick, out of our Carmel office.”
I arranged my features into what I hoped looked like a bright smile. “Yeah? That’s terrific.” Not.
At my feet, Nick let out a low growl. He wasn’t too thrilled, either.
Daniel gave me another kiss—this one a bit shorter—and then he headed back to his Range Rover and, with a brisk wave, sped off. I watched him go, then hurried up the stairs to my apartment, Nick cantering along behind me. I walked into the den, pulled the packet containing my set of gala photos out of the drawer, and shook them all out on the table. I thumbed through them, and, on the next to last one, found what I was looking for. I slid the photo into my jacket pocket and reached for my purse and car keys—and then stopped.
Nick stood by the door, waiting expectantly. I nudged him with the toe of my shoe.
“Sorry, bud. You can’t come with me.”
His eyes widened. “Merow?”
“This won’t take long. I have to get proof positive for Daniel of the identity of Doris’s killer. Once that’s done, I can finish that article for Noir and then . . .” I waggled an eyebrow at the cat. “We can celebrate.”
Nick cocked his head at the word celebrate but then he meowed more decisively and planted his cobby-shaped body along the length of the door, paws folded beneath him, head lifted defiantly.
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