by Cassie Miles
“Our divorce was real civilized, and we still work together. Her shop is right next door.”
“Convenient,” Molly said. “Let’s pay Gloria a visit so I can scratch her name off the list of suspects.”
After Pierce transferred all calls to his cell phone, they exited through the front door of his office and strolled a few paces on the sidewalk to the entrance for Vanderly’s Bridal Boutique.
It was hard to imagine a divorce so friendly that the husband and wife still maintained close professional connections, and Molly thought Pierce might not be seeing the whole picture. His ex-wife wouldn’t want to destroy him because that would hurt her own business, but she might take devious pleasure in watching him squirm.
The boutique’s display window showed a mannequin in a bridal gown, with a front panel of exquisite lace, fit for a princess. Inside the boutique, a plush rose carpet cushioned their footsteps. There was a subtle undercurrent of classical music. And a fragrance. Lilac?
An attractive young receptionist sat at an antique white desk. She fluttered her eyelashes at Pierce who was, after all, a very eligible bachelor. Before she could speak, Gloria herself came into the reception area. She was a tall woman, nearly six feet, and reed thin in her black jersey top and capri-length slacks. Her shining black hair was clipped in a classic, chin-length bob.
In one glance, she assessed Molly from head to toe. Her eyelids blinked twice. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. And Molly knew that her total assets had been tallied and found wanting.
Gloria asked, “Have we met?”
“Once before. I’m Molly Griffith.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m an old friend of Pierce’s. That’s why I wanted him as my wedding planner when I got engaged.”
Gloria’s manicured handshake was surprisingly strong. “No engagement ring?”
“It’s being sized,” Molly said. “I’ll be doing all the wedding planning myself because my fiancé is out of town.”
“And what’s his name?” Gloria inquired.
“Rafael DuBois.”
“His business?”
“He runs a multimillion dollar ranch.” Molly felt as if she were taking a liar’s quiz. She really hadn’t figured out all the details of her cover story.
“A ranch in Colorado?”
“In Australia.”
“What sort of ranch?” Gloria asked.
“Kangaroos.” Molly said.
Pierce stepped forward. “Her future husband is rich, so Molly will spare no expense.”
“Will the wedding be here in Denver?” Gloria asked.
“Right,” Molly said. “Where else?”
“With your little miniskirt and the leopard collar, I assumed you might be more at home in Vegas. At the Little Chapel of Elvis.” She tempered the insult with a well-bred ha-ha-ha. “I’m joking, of course.”
Molly echoed the fake laugh. Gloria had thrown her off guard, but she wasn’t about to lie down and let this snooty woman insult her. Time to unsheath the claws. Molly gave Gloria’s slim outfit a glance and said, “I find basic black to be so dull. So trite. So totally last season.”
“My dear, black is always classic.”
“Exactly,” Molly said. “Classic as in…old.”
“Ladies, excuse me,” Pierce said as he retreated into the showroom. He stood outside the curtain separating the fitting room. “Heidi? Are you in there?”
A small voice wailed, “Pierce! Come in here. I need your opinion.”
When he pulled aside the curtain, Molly and Gloria followed him into the large mirrored room where a fitting was under way. The petite bride fidgeted on a raised pedestal. The tailor was on his knees, pinning her hem.
As Pierce offered a series of appropriate compliments to the bride, Molly realized why the former Bronco did so well in this unremittingly feminine business. He had a gift for making women feel attractive without being gushy.
Molly thought guys like Adam would do well to take lessons from Pierce, who was quick to flatter but didn’t stoop to lying.
He pointed the petite bride toward the back wall where she was reflected in three mirrors. Pierce gave instructions to the tailor, “Be sure the skirt is high enough to show off her slim ankles and her tiny little feet.”
“Ignore him,” Gloria said. “The design of this gown is to the floor.”
“Pierce might be right,” the bride said. “We could bring up the hem in the front and leave the train in the back.”
“That wasn’t the intention.” Gloria’s smile was rigid. “The extra length of the hem will elongate your height and—”
“I want my shoes to show.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” Gloria said.
She took Molly by the arm and escorted her toward an array of design books, magazines and sample gowns displayed on padded hangers. “I’ll have to leave you alone for a moment, Molly. Feel free to browse so we can get an idea of your style.”
“I guess Pierce is causing trouble for you,” Molly said.
“He always does.”
“You’re very understanding. Not many women would be able to work with an ex-husband.”
There was a tightness around Gloria’s perfectly made-up eyes. “I’ve found that Pierce is a far better business associate than a spouse.”
Before Gloria turned away, Molly asked, “If I see something I like, can I try it on?”
Gloria snapped her fingers, and the tailor joined them. “This is Stan Lansky. He’ll assist if you find a dress you’d like to try.”
Gloria pivoted and returned to the opposite side of the shop where Pierce and the bride were chatting and laughing. She pulled the curtain closed around them.
In the midst of all this high-class couture, Stan Lansky was a dose of reality. As plain as his name, he was a bland, rabbity little man with a thin-lipped smile.
“Hi, Stan.” When Molly shook his hand, he seemed surprised. “How do you like working for Gloria?”
“Very much, indeed.” He had a slight European accent. “Gloria has remarkable taste.”
Molly noticed that Stan didn’t say good taste. “Are you a designer?”
“I’ve tried my hand.” He nodded like a bobble-head doll.
Trying to place his accent, she guessed, “Did you study design in Paris?”
“In Brooklyn. My father was a tailor. From Prague.”
Molly stroked the folds of a strapless gown of flowing satin. Though she was supposed to be investigating, the wedding finery was casting a spell over her. She was captivated by a long-sleeved gown with a plunging neckline. “This is nice.”
“A good choice,” Stan said.
“What if I wanted to try this on?”
“Our best gowns are one of a kind. But I can check in the back room to see if we have something similar in your size.”
“In the back room?” She assumed that Gloria’s boutique, though several times larger than Pierce’s office, had a similar floor plan, with a reception area in front and the real offices in the rear. It might be useful to get a look behind the scenes.
She strode past the changing rooms. “Let’s go.”
Stan raced to catch up with her. “I’m sorry, miss. I really shouldn’t allow you to—”
Molly found the door leading to the rear and pushed it open. The store room was scrupulously clean, carpeted and well-lit with racks of gowns stored in plastic dry cleaner’s bags. There was also a cutting table, rolls of fabric, hatboxes, shoe boxes and sewing supplies.
“Do you work back here?” she asked Stan.
“Mostly. Miss, I insist. You must come back out front with me.”
“How does this work?” She went to the rear door. “You order the gowns, and they’re shipped here.”
“Then we have at least two fittings.” He darted a glance at the door and wrung his small hands. “Gloria won’t be happy if she finds you here.”
But Molly wasn’t working for Gloria. She was working for Pierce, and his ex-wife was a suspect, which meant poking around
in all the dark corners. As Molly checked out the break room, she wondered if the coffeepot was new. Or stolen.
Returning to the center of the room, she handled the fabric of a gown that was laid out on the cutting table.
Stan groaned. “Don’t touch.”
She noticed a few loose threads at the neckline. “This one looks like it needs some work.”
Gloria burst into the room. “Stan! What the hell is she doing back here?”
“Not his fault,” Molly said. “I wanted to take a look around. This is really quite an operation. How many weddings do you handle at one time?”
“Several,” she hissed.
“Just look at all these rich fabrics and sequins and lace.” She meandered around the work table. “You don’t have much security back here. Do you worry about theft?”
“My security system is sufficient.”
“How so?” Molly looked her straight in the eye. In her high-heeled boots, she was as tall as Gloria. “Do you have a guard dog? A big old mastiff?”
“Certainly not.”
“If I were you, I’d think about getting one. Or maybe you need a gun. Do you have a gun?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Molly. I will be delighted to assist you in planning couture for your wedding. But my business is strictly private.”
“I like to know how things work.”
“You’re quite an unusual customer,” Gloria said stiffly. “Most brides are content to believe that their gowns appear magically, as if delivered by winged fairies.”
“I’m not most brides.”
“I should say not.” Gloria looked down her nose. “An absent fiancé. No ring. And, from what I can see, no taste.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Gloria said with a sneer. “Let’s be realistic, Molly. There’s no way you can afford to be in this boutique. Go back to the bargain basement where you belong and stop wasting my time.”
Pierce barged into the back room. “Hey, Molly. What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for a dress to try on.”
Stan raced up to her with a dress encased in plastic. “Here it is.”
Together, she and Pierce walked past Gloria, whose attitude was chillier than the iceberg that sank the Titanic.
Drop dead, Gloria. After her comment about the bargain basement, Molly sure as hell was going to try this dress on. Maybe even rip out a seam or smear lipstick on the hem.
As soon as the silky fabric touched her skin, she knew it would be sacrilege to harm this gown. This was the true definition of luxury. The tiny buttons on the long sleeves fascinated her. The weight of the gown felt substantial, yet the supple skirt whispered around her legs as she emerged from the dressing room and went to stand in front of the mirror. Her skin glowed against the creamy white of the gown, and she felt amazing.
“You look beautiful,” Pierce said.
This might be as close as Molly would ever come to being a real bride. She was thirty-three with no special prospects. Though she had been married briefly to a scumbag when she was eighteen, she’d never honestly been in love.
A wistful sigh pushed through her lips. Being an undercover bride was a little depressing.
Chapter Three
Driving west toward Golden, Molly squinted into the midafternoon sun. Until a few hours ago, her unmarried status hadn’t seemed like a big deal. She was an independent woman with a job, a car and a mortgage. Why did she need a man? Or a marriage?
Then, she tried on that gown and looked into a mirror that reflected the image of herself as a bride. Strange yearnings welled up inside her, washing away her defenses and leaving her vulnerable. She felt the weight of regret in a torrent of unshed tears, and she heard the unsung music of laughter she had never shared. Somewhere in the most secret recesses of her heart, she wanted to be a bride dressed in white—cherished and beloved. She wanted the ceremony and the gifts and the pledge of everlasting love in a glowing relationship.
Unfortunately, being a bride meant she needed a groom, and she had no clue to his identity.
Molly exited the highway and slowed as she drove into Golden. She hadn’t accomplished very much in the way of investigation today. Sure, she’d narrowed the field of suspects to three, but she had no idea how to ferret out the evidence. All she’d learned in her meeting with Gloria was that they hated each other.
She had to do better with the others.
Ronald Atchison, the wedding photographer, would meet with her tomorrow. And Pierce had arranged an appointment with Denny Devlin, the caterer, at six o’clock this evening.
In the meantime, she had another problem to handle. If she intended to pass herself off as a bride-to-be, she needed a suitably flashy engagement ring. When she’d talked to Ronald, he was thrilled about her supposed engagement and couldn’t wait to ogle the diamond.
Which was why she was on her way back to the CCC offices. At her desk, she had the addresses and phone numbers for a couple of jewelers who had done volunteer work for CCC involving jewel heists. She could borrow a ring from one of them.
Behind the office, she zipped into her parking place beside Adam’s Land Cruiser. Though it was after four o’clock, he was still here. Damn. She wasn’t looking forward to another conversation with him.
If this were a regular CCC investigation, she and Adam would share information and develop their ideas as a team. But this case was different. Molly had something to prove that had nothing to do with Pierce’s petty thefts. She wanted to show Adam that she was competent and worthy of his respect—not only as an administrator, but as a detective. Her goal was to become partner and ultimately to hire someone else to do the administrative work.
When she pushed open the door to the CCC office, she was greeted by utter silence. The cluttered surface of her desk showed that Adam had tried to navigate his way through her filing system. The In box held the day’s worth of mail with a stuffed pink teddy bear perched on top.
She remembered that Adam’s two-year-old niece was here. Had he taken the child for a walk? It didn’t seem likely that he’d leave the front door to the office unlocked.
The door to his inner sanctum was ajar, and she peeked inside. There he was. Sound asleep on the sofa. On his lap, he held Amelia, also napping.
The two of them made an adorable picture. The little girl’s rosy cheek rested against Adam’s starched white shirt front. Her blond curls tickled just under his chin. Though he held the child protectively, there was nothing of the hard-edged Marine about him. The lines at his mouth and eyes were smooth. His hair was mussed. He looked paternal and almost sweet.
Molly fought the urge to tiptoe toward them and place a small kiss on both their foreheads.
Adam’s blue eyes opened. As he looked at Molly, he placed his finger across his lips, signaling silence. Carefully, he lifted Amelia off his chest and stretched her out on the sofa. After a few wiggles, the little girl went back to sleep.
Adam crept from the room and closed the door. He whispered, “I don’t want to wake her. The kid’s been on fire all day.”
“Toddlers are a handful.” She regarded him warily as he raked a hand through his neatly barbered dark blond hair, sweeping it back off his forehead. She asked, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He focused on her. “What about you? How’s your investigation?”
Their questions seemed overly formal and polite. There was a distance between them, and she didn’t like it one bit. Circling her desk, she sat in the swivel chair. “You’re not still angry, are you? About my decision to investigate?”
“You’re the one who left in a huff this morning.”
“It wasn’t a real huff,” she said. “When I’m really mad, I throw things. There’s blood.”
He leaned across her desk and stared directly into her face. “I need to tell you something, Molly.”
His tone was serious, which was not a good thing. She much preferred their usual bickering, which was always done
with genuine affection. “I’m ready.”
“It seems that I don’t tell you often enough that I appreciate you.”
“Okay.” She eyed him curiously. Was he trying to be nice?
“Consider yourself told.” He stood up straight. “And I am very interested in your investigation. Tell me what you’ve found out. I might be able to help.”
“Don’t you think I can figure it out on my own?”
“Far from it.” His voice was low, trying not to wake his sleeping niece. “I have complete faith in your abilities.”
She was taken aback. “You do?”
He held up two fingers. “That would be twice I’ve complimented you. Ready for another?”
“Go for it.”
“While you were gone today, I realized something.” He pointed to the clutter scattered across her desktop. “I couldn’t find anything. There were file photos I needed from a crime scene, and I didn’t know where to look. Couldn’t locate the proper phone numbers. I spent half an hour searching for the scissors.”
“I’ve shown you the filing system before,” she said. “It’s alphabetical and cross-referenced. A chimp could figure it out.”
“When it comes to computers, I’m not a talented primate.” Adam was accustomed to tossing out a single reference and having her respond with every bit of information he needed and more. “Things aren’t right when you’re not here.”
He realized that efficiency wasn’t really what he was talking about. He’d missed her in a more visceral sense. He’d been lonely without her, wanted to talk to her, wanted to see her sitting behind the desk. When she was gone, it felt as if he were missing half of his brain. “So. Tell me about your investigation.”
“I reviewed the files for the weddings where items were stolen and came up with three suspects. I met with one—a couturier.”
“A what?”
“Someone who provides wedding gowns and bridesmaid dresses. I tried one on.”
Adam cocked his head to one side, trying to imagine Molly in a wedding dress. It was a stretch. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her without splashy color and bangles. “Other suspects?”
