I unplugged the laptop and kicked the power cord out of sight. I folded the screen down, and picked it up, brushing its dust outline off the desk. I turned with the laptop under my arm. I was going to stick it in the cupboard under some towels. Then I was going to hurry and get Marlys.
Instead, I stood there. Just stood there, holding the laptop.
The cop hadn’t waited in the kitchen. He’d followed me.
Followed me! I wanted to crab, Don’t you need a warrant? Don’t you have any manners? But maybe it’s police procedure to follow people so they don’t go get shotguns or something. I wish I’d thought of that earlier.
Marlys appeared in the doorway behind him.
I said, “I was just coming to get you. He wants to talk to you.”
The cop had turned so he could keep an eye on us both. Georgia was coming toward us.
“I thought you two could talk in here,” I said lamely. “I was just going to take the computer, and work in the kitchen.”
Marlys, picking up on my freak-out, looked alarmed. Georgia strode into the middle of the situation like a bull into a china shop.
“Police?” She fiddled with her sarong as a child might. “We haven’t even put our show on yet.”
I was absolutely paralyzed. Georgia had the glitter-eyed look she gets before she flies into the ozone. Though I’d just said I was leaving with the laptop, I didn’t.
The cop held up his paper bag. “We wondered if you could identify this for us.”
I thought for a second he was going to pull out a gun, the one used to shoot Greg Purl’s cereal. In retrospect, that might have been preferable.
He pulled out the fast-food uniform I’d tossed over the cliff last night. It looked damp and sandy.
“Our costume?” Georgia asked. “Is it?”
Marlys was frowning at her as if trying to warn her to be a little guarded for once.
The cop turned the collar inside out, showing the words “Moonjuice Gallery” in felt-tip marker.
Damn. Who’d been organized enough to do that?
I put the laptop back on the desk.
“I just labeled it!” Georgia exclaimed. “How funny! I did it because the overalls and ginghams disappeared.”
I had to hand it to her, she was cool under fire. She smiled at me.
“I thought I’d get some brownie points from you, Nan. And I forgot to even mention it!” She looked at me expectantly. “I did it two days ago.”
“What a good idea,” I said meekly.
“Well.” She held out her hand for it. “Thanks for bringing it back.” When he didn’t return it, she looked confused. “I noticed a bunch of costumes were gone from the stage. I didn’t realize they’d been stolen. I guess I thought Nan had one of her cleaning fits.”
“I did,” I told her. “We put them back in the attic.”
“We think this may have been used in a burglary,” the cop said. “Do you mind if I have a look around here?”
“Do you have a warrant?” Georgia said. She’d pulled herself to her full five feet ten inches. She looked regal. Rather, she looked like she was playing at looking regal.
“You object to me looking around?”
“No, of course not,” Marlys interjected.
But Georgia elbowed her, saying, “Yes, we do. Without a warrant, you can’t look around!” Her tone was adamant, and the look she shot Marlys clearly said, Shut up.
“Don’t be silly, Georgia,” Marlys insisted. “Why invite trouble? He just wants to look around. We don’t have any secrets.”
The cop glanced at the laptop I’d returned to the desk. He glanced at the fast-food uniform in his hand. He didn’t look convinced we had nothing to hide.
And who knew what else Georgia had stashed here. Maybe even the gun.
“I agree with Georgia,” I said. “As a matter of principle—”
“And history!” Georgia was on her high horse now. “We haven’t forgotten Verboten.” Verboten was a lesbian bar the cops had raided years ago, cracking heads and leading to the creation of a citizens’ review board.
“Oh, you guys!” Marlys looked peeved. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill! We don’t have anything to hide.” She looked at me, clearly surprised. “Nan?”
But I repeated, “No. He should get a warrant if he wants to search. On principle.”
I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not even Georgia’s warm look of approval helped.
“Go!” Georgia said to the cop. “Go away. No warrant, no search.”
Still, the cop lingered. He caught Marlys’s eye.
But Marlys looked at Georgia and knew she was licked. She said to the cop, “Where did you find the uniform, anyway?”
“Some tidepoolers brought it in.”
Behind us, another board member—I hadn’t seen her join us—said, “The Burger Burglar! You think he used our costume?”
Marlys, watching Georgia, looked ashen.
When the cop left, Georgia began prancing, repeating, “No warrant, no search; no warrant, no search.” She treated us to a dazzling smile. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“It was a damn stupid thing to say!” Marlys pushed past her, leaving the room.
“I wonder when they’ll be back with the warrant,” Georgia said. “Let’s look around and make sure there’s nobody else’s business lying around for them to get into.”
She went straight out of the room and up into the attic.
I could have hit myself with a hammer for doing that dumb thing with the laptop.
In the cop’s mind, Moonjuice was connected to the burger burglary. Now my idiocy had reminded him of the salt on batteries, too.
I went into the kitchen. I had to get rid of the catnip boxes. They’d provide an additional associative link with the Catnip Kidnap. The boxes would be more incriminating than unincriminating now.
I pulled them out of the garbage. I went out the back door to put them into my car trunk.
I’d just closed the trunk when I turned to find the cop behind me.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he said.
My heart sank.
“You know, I only came here to return the costume. Get some routine information.” He stood too close. “But your attitude about this uniform, your behavior with the laptop computer, and now the catnip boxes.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you make it easy on everyone and talk to me.”
But I’m the careful one, the practical one, the meticulous one. It’s supposed to be Georgia who screws things up, not me.
“No,” I said. “No. I can’t.”
I was so intimidated, I’d have confessed any of my own sins. But I couldn’t deliver Georgia to the cops. This whole thing had been about protecting her.
I walked past him. I went back inside.
I’d ruined everything. I couldn’t believe it. I’d put Georgia in peril of arrest. I’d undermined all our work at the gallery, and whatever reputation it still sustained.
I found Marlys sitting at the table.
“I’ve wrecked everything for Georgia,” I confessed in agony. “They’re going to investigate now.”
“For Georgia?” she repeated. “Georgia’s upstairs feeling important and dramatic.” Marlys sounded almost bitter. “She’ll be fine. She always is.”
I tried to say more, but she waved me away. She didn’t want to talk, that was apparent. I thought she must, in her heart, understand what I’d done to Georgia.
But I didn’t fully understand the sparkle of tears in her eyes for three more days, until the cops came and made their arrest.
I should have known Georgia wasn’t organized enough to pull off performance art crimes. I should have realized that Marlys was.
I should have realized Marlys wanted to feel she was more than just Georgia’s friend, that she was also a kindred spirit. I should have recognized her need to distinguish herself from the rest of Georgia’s entourage.
Marlys. If I’d k
nown, I’d have trusted her to take care of things. I’d have butted out.
After the arrest, the story didn’t get much press; Marlys wasn’t pretty enough to be a celebrity. Georgia was extravagant in her admiration, but only at first; her attention span was too short to visit Marlys in jail. I thought Marlys would become a legend in the performance art community, but artists get depressed if they have to admire someone else.
By the time Georgia sang in the naked choir, nobody talked about poor Marlys anymore, that’s for sure.
Permissions
WOMEN ON THE CASE: Introduction copyright © 1996 by Sara Paretsky
PARTIES UNKNOWN BY THE JURY; OR, THE VALOUR OF MY TONGUE by P. M. Carlson copyright © 1996 by Patricia Carlson
A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE by Nancy Pickard copyright © 1996 by Nancy Pickard Trust
SOLAR ZITS by Liza Cody copyright © 1996 by Liza Cody
THE ASTRONOMICAL SCARF by Ruth Rendell copyright © 1996 by Ruth Rendell
ON THE EDGE by Inna Muravyova copyright © 1996 by Irina Muravyova. Translation copyright © 1996 by Marian Schwartz.
NIGHTFIRE by Eleanor Taylor Bland copyright © 1996 by Eleanor Taylor Bland
BENEATH THE LILACS by Nevada Barr copyright © 1996 by Nevada Barr
NOTHING TO LOSE by Frances Fyfield copyright © 1996 by Frances Fyfield
THE SURPRISE OF HIS LIFE by Elizabeth George copyright © 1996 by Elizabeth George
ONLY A WOMAN by Amel Benaboura copyright © 1996 by Amel Benaboura. Translation copyright © 1996 by Jeremy L. Paretsky.
MILES TO GO by Dorothy Salisbury Davis copyright © 1996 by Dorothy Salisbury Davis
A LESSON IN MURDER by Andrea Smith copyright © 1996 by Andrea Smith
MISS GIBSON by Linda Barnes copyright © 1996 by Linda Barnes
GREEN MURDER by Susan Geason copyright © 1996 by Susan Geason
THE BARONESS by Amanda Cross copyright © 1996 by Carolyn Heilbrun
7.62 by Pieke Biermann copyright © 1996 by Pieke Biermann. Translation copyright © 1996 by Ines Rieder and Pieke Biermann.
I’LL GET BACK TO YOU by Susan Dunlap copyright © 1996 by Susan Dunlap
SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER by Helga Anderle copyright © 1996 by Helga Anderle. Translation copyright © 1996 by Tobe Levin.
DREAMS OF HOME by Dicey Scroggins Jackson copyright © 1996 by Mary Jackson Scroggins
HAMLET’S DILEMMA by Linda Grant copyright © 1996 by Linda V. Williams
LOST DREAMS by Myriam Laurini copyright © 1996 by Myriam Laurini. Translation copyright © 1996 by William I. Neuman.
A WITCH AND HER CATS by Antonia Fraser copyright © 1996 by Antonia Fraser
BELLADONNA by Barbara Wilson copyright © 1996 by Barbara Wilson
PUBLICITY STUNTS by Sara Paretsky copyright © 1996 by Sara Paretsky
THE CRACKS IN THE SIDEWALK by Marcia Muller copyright © 1996 by Marcia Muller
PERFORMANCE CRIME by Lia Matera copyright © 1996 by Lia Matera
SARA PARETSKY is also the editor of A Woman’s
Eye, a collection of women’s crime fiction.
She is the author of twelve other books, including
the most recent V.I. Warshawski novels, Total
Recall and Hard Time. Ms. Paretsky lives in
Chicago with her husband.
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.
1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036
Copyright © 1996 by Sara Paretsky and Martin Greenberg
Permissions appear on pages 448–449.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-42576-8
Reprinted by arrangement with Delacorte Press
v3.0
Women on the Case Page 47
