Rocky Mountain Maneuvers

by Cassie Miles

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “And the date?”

  “Next year. September fourteenth.”

  Adam glanced up sharply. The date she’d thrown out happened to be his birthday. “That’s a good day.”

  “September weddings,” Denny said, “are my favorite. Have you chosen the venue?”

  Molly shook her head. How could she get their conversation focused on Pierce? Maybe if she pretended to be upset, Denny would comfort her. She fluttered her hand before her face. “I’m so devastated.”

  Beside her, Adam gave a disbelieving snort.

  She ignored him and focused on Denny. “Pierce is such a terrific guy. You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?”

  Denny’s lips pursed as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “I owe Pierce a lot.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s always supported me.” Denny took a bound notebook from a shelf and handed it to her. “These are sample menus. Why don’t you look through them and see if there’s anything that appeals.”

  “About Pierce—”

  “Excuse me.” He stood. “I need to take something out of the oven.”

  Frustrated, Molly frowned. It was hard to pull information out of someone without being obvious. She glanced toward Adam and said quietly, “He doesn’t want to talk.”

  “Let me take a crack at him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Good cop, bad cop,” Adam said. “You just keep being sweet.”

  Denny returned to the table with several tiny chocolate cookies. “Help yourself.”

  Molly dug in. The first bite of the warm cookie melted on her tongue. “Delicious.”

  “The secret is French butter,” Denny said.

  Though she was aware that she was eating pure calories, Molly finished off her cookie and reached for another.

  “Adam?” Denny said, nudging the plate toward him. “Go ahead.”

  “Not interested.” His expression was hard-edged and combative. “I’m not sure I feel safe eating here.”

  “Why not?” Denny said.

  “I didn’t want Molly to hire you.” Adam’s voice was a low, hard rumble—subtle as a semitruck barreling down the highway. “Not after the hepatitis incident.”

  Denny stepped back from the table as if he’d been physically shoved. “I assure you, Adam, that I run the cleanest catering service in town. You can inspect my kitchen.”

  “What about your employees? Wasn’t that your problem the first time around? You hired somebody who was infected.”

  “That’ll never happen again.”

  “Certainly not,” Molly said. She reached over and patted Denny’s arm. “Come sit down with us. I had a question about these menus.”

  Warily, Denny took his seat. “Nobody works for me without a physical checkup at hiring. And follow-ups every three months. All my employees are bonded.”

  “Bonded?” Adam questioned. “They don’t handle money, do they?”

  “Sometimes we cater events in the homes of the wealthy,” Denny said.

  “You’re concerned about theft.” There was a harsh note of triumph in Adam’s voice. “Pierce mentioned items going missing at some of the weddings you’ve catered.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His words came too fast, as though he were prepared for this denial. Molly studied him in a new light. Was Denny Devlin the magpie?

  “The thief could have been one of your employees.” Adam turned up the pressure. “One of those low-wage servers or cooks. If your people are stealing, that would be the last straw for you. That would put you out of business for sure.”

  “I’d already be closed down if it weren’t for Pierce and Gloria.” Denny’s complexion darkened as his anger grew. “They made me a loan—a substantial amount. Because they believe in me and my work.”

  “You’re the best,” Molly put in. “That’s what I’ve always heard.”

  She was beginning to catch the rhythm of this good cop/bad cop thing. Adam would throw out a nasty jab, then she’d soothe Denny’s feelings before he completely shut down and threw them out.

  Slightly placated, he turned toward her. “You had some questions about the menu?”

  “Just last weekend, I attended the wedding of Kate Carradine and Liam MacKenzie. They had these adorable little tarts.”

  “They wanted to use gooseberries because they’re native to Colorado,” he said. “They had several odd requests about the food. It was a challenge.”

  “You did beautifully,” Molly said.

  “Thank you for noticing,” he said. “I worked my fingers to the bone and came up with several brand new recipes. Most people don’t appreciate my efforts.”

  “I do,” she assured him.

  “Most people just toss back the food and wash it down with champagne. The only time I hear about it is when something’s wrong.”

  Adam pounced again. “There was a theft at that wedding. Did you know about it?”

  Denny leapt to his feet. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

  Moving slowly and deliberately, Adam pushed back his chair and stood. His shoulders straightened. He held Denny Devlin in a dark, steady gaze that clearly said, “Don’t mess with me.”

  Though Molly worked with Adam every day and teased him constantly, she was impressed with his kick-ass posture. This ex-Marine looked as if he could take on a whole battalion of Denny Devlins without breaking a sweat.

  Adam said, “Pierce was stabbed in the back with a chef’s knife—a specialty blade. You have access to that kind of weapon.”

  “Are you accusing me?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Not that it’s any of your damned business, but I was here. Waiting for Pierce and Molly.”

  “Alone?” Adam asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I was alone. And that’s what I told the police when they came by this morning and requested an inventory of my cutlery.”

  He was a suspect! The police were looking at him. “Why?” Molly asked. “Why did the police come to you?”

  “Because of the damned knife that your friend seems so interested in. It’s an expensive blade, but not rare. And not mine!”

  Molly rose to her feet and stood between the two men. “Denny, I’m so terribly sorry for the way this turned out. Perhaps it’s best if I make another appointment with you.”

  “Don’t bring him,” Denny snapped.

  “I won’t.” She aimed Adam toward the exit, waving goodbye as she went. “Lovely to meet you.”

  Without a word, she and Adam hurried across the parking lot and climbed into his car. As they drove away from Devlin Catering, Molly howled, “So cool! The good cop/bad cop thing was fantastic!”

  “We did okay,” Adam said.

  “Are you kidding? We’re good together. I mean, we’re really good together.”

  When she first started talking with Devlin, fumbling around and making up details about her fictitious wedding, it didn’t seem she’d get anywhere. With Adam’s help, they discovered a lot.

  She summarized, “We know that Denny got a substantial loan from Pierce and Gloria. The police consider him a suspect, but the knife isn’t from his inventory.”

  “What else?” Adam asked.

  “He uses French butter in his cookies?”

  “What else?”

  She didn’t know what he was getting at. “He has a lot of hostility under the surface?”

  “He was alone last night at the time of the attack,” Adam said. “No alibi.”

  Chapter Six

  While Molly negotiated at the nurses’ station to arrange a brief visit with Pierce, Adam stood by silently with his arms folded across his chest. He hated hospitals—the faintly antiseptic smell, the squeak of sneakers on the tile floors, the rattling carts, the bland walls. Hospitals were for the wounded. A visit to the wards tasted like bitter failure in the back of his mouth. He was not a healer, but a warrior
. Here lay fallen comrades that Adam had been unable to protect.

  He watched an old woman being pushed toward the elevators in a wheelchair. Her gnarled fingers gripped the metal arms of the chair. Her faded eyes were wide and yet unseeing.

  Adam turned away. He remembered when he was a boy and had visited his mother in her hospital bed. He remembered the bruises on her face, her slender arm in a white plaster cast. She shouldn’t have been there, lying in a bed of pain. He should have saved her.

  Purposefully, Adam shut down that memory center. He was here to help Molly and wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted from that purpose.

  She came toward him. “We have five minutes with Pierce.”

  “Swell.”

  As he trailed her down the corridor, Adam avoided glancing into the rooms by concentrating on Molly. Watching her made him smile. In her flashy red outfit, she didn’t belong in a hospital setting. Her step was jaunty. Her butt swished back and forth in her tight leather pants. Her long blond hair rippled across her shoulders.

  He had an urge to touch her hair. If he reached out, he might tangle his fingers in that shimmering length of sunlit blond. He might pull her close, tilt back her head, look into her china-blue eyes and kiss her senseless.

  He had to stop thinking these thoughts. His newly awakened awareness of Molly was inappropriate. And yet, he enjoyed these glimpses of her femininity more than he could say. Recognizing her charm was like finding buried treasure in your own backyard.

  When she charged into the private room, he thought she was going to scoop her friend, Pierce, up in her arms and carry him out of here. Instead, she came to a sudden halt beside his bed, gracefully leaned down and placed a light kiss on his cheek. Holding his hand, she spoke gently, “You had me worried, old pal.”

  Pierce looked like hell. His pallor was emphasized by sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. His cotton hospital gown hung limply from his broad shoulders. Managing a weak smile, he said, “They tell me I’m going to survive.”

  “When do you get out of here?”

  “Maybe a week. Maybe sooner.”

  “Excellent.” Pointedly, she counted the four huge bouquets that were placed around his hospital room. “Looks like you’ve got people who care about you.”

  “Florists,” he said. “Business contacts. I pay their bills. You bet they care.”

  “They do care. We all care.” Her lips pinched together. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  “Me, too.”

  Adam’s gut clenched. The two of them were talking as if Pierce had been injured in an accident instead of a deliberate assault. He reminded Molly, “We only have a few minutes.”

  Though she waved her hand to acknowledge his comment, she didn’t take her eyes off Pierce. “Who attacked you? Do you have any idea?”

  “Didn’t see a thing,” he said.

  She nodded, accepting him at his word. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Don’t investigate,” he said.

  That was a piece of good advice if Adam had ever heard one. Pierce rose several notches in his estimation.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Dangerous.” His voice was already fading; he seemed at the end of his stamina. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  The determined look on Molly’s face told Adam that she wasn’t about to listen to logic. She asked, “Do you think the attack on you was related to the magpie thefts?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If it is,” she said, “there’s all the more reason for me to figure this out. You’re not going to be safe until your thief is caught.”

  Inwardly, Adam groaned. She wasn’t going to give up on this investigation.

  “I’ll figure this out,” she said. “I’m not a quitter.”

  Pierce looked past Molly to Adam. “Make her back off.”

  “If I could,” he said, “I would. But Molly is one stubborn lady. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t forbid her from doing anything.”

  Obviously exhausted, Pierce closed his eyelids. His voice was a whisper. “As long as you insist on being involved, there is something you could do for me.”

  “Tell me,” Molly said.

  “There’s a wedding this weekend. Reception at the Brown Palace Hotel. The bride is Heidi…”

  “I saw her,” Molly said. “She’s the bride who was having a fitting at Gloria’s boutique.”

  “Right,” he said. “If you can oversee the last details…”

  “Perfect,” she said. “I’m a great organizer. I’ll keep your business on track until you’re feeling better. Okay?”

  Weakly, he nodded.

  “I have your keys, and I’m sure I can find your appointment book in your office.

  “Isn’t my office a crime scene?”

  “As if a piece of yellow tape is going to stop me? Don’t you worry about a thing except getting better.” Giving his hand a final squeeze, she stepped away from his bed. “Get well, pal.”

  “Thanks, Molly.”

  She stepped into the hallway and leaned against the wall, allowing the forced cheerfulness to fall from her face. Her blue eyes were rimmed with sadness, and Adam wished he could offer her an honest reassurance that they would find the thief and Pierce would be safe.

  However, in his opinion, their chances of reaching a solution weren’t good. The lack of forensic evidence, combined with Pierce’s inability to identify his attacker, made investigation difficult. “Let’s go, Molly. I need to pick up Amelia from the baby-sitter.”

  “I feel terrible about the attack on Pierce.”

  Were those tears in her eyes? His heart melted. It took all his self-control not to pull her into his arms, to hold her and to comfort her. “His injuries aren’t your fault.”

  She swallowed hard. “But there should be more I can do.”

  The oppressive hospital atmosphere weighed down upon him, and he understood her frustration. He’d often felt the same way himself. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion and being unable to stop the crash. “You feel powerless.”

  “Yes.”

  “The balance between right and wrong has been overturned, and it seems like there’s nothing you can do to fix it.”

  “Totally.”

  There was a lot more Adam could say about the frustration that came from knowing disaster would strike. Being here in the hospital reminded him of his helplessness, his inability to stop the crash. But he kept his memories inside. He never discussed his private life or his personal feelings, not even with Molly. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They went down the corridor, into the elevator, through the waiting area and into the outdoor pavilion where patients still hooked to IVs turned their faces to the sun. The crisp autumn weather embraced them, and Adam found himself breathing easier.

  “Before we leave town,” she said, “we ought to check in with Detective Berringer.”

  “I thought you hated him.”

  “I do,” she said emphatically. “But Berringer was smart enough to ask for an inventory of Denny Devlin’s knives. He might have uncovered some decent leads.”

  As a rule, Adam never used his position as the head of CCC to interfere in an ongoing police investigation. But he didn’t think a simple phone call to Berringer would fall into that category. As they walked toward the parking lot, he placed the call on his cell phone, finally reaching Berringer.

  After Adam identified himself, he asked, “Any new leads on the Pierce Williams stabbing?”

  “What’s your interest in this, Adam?”

  Not wanting to admit that Molly had been pursuing an investigation that should have been the purview of the Denver PD, Adam stated the obvious. “Pierce is a friend of Molly’s. She’s concerned.”

  “She ought to be.”

  Adam frowned. Berringer’s statement sounded vaguely like a threat. “Why do you think Molly should be concerned?”

  “We have witnesses who saw some
one going into Pierce’s offices before the attack.” Berringer paused. “The person they saw was Molly.”

  “Of course,” Adam said. “She discovered the assault.”

  “Why didn’t she place the 911 call?”

  “I called 911,” Adam said. “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m not naming Molly as a suspect,” the detective said in a tone that indicated otherwise. “But evidence shows she was the only person in Pierce’s office. Her fingerprints are all over a lamp that was overturned. I need to talk to her again.”

  There was no mistaking his accusation. “You don’t seriously believe she—”

  “I’ve been checking the records, Adam. And it seems that several weddings where Pierce was the planner reported thefts.”

  “So?”

  “Well, I know Molly’s been on the straight and narrow since she’s been working for you, but she has a record. Petty theft. Kiting checks.”

  “You’re out of line, Berringer.”

  “Yeah? You want to tell me what Molly was doing at the crime scene?”

  Adam had never lied to the police, and he wasn’t about to start now by launching into a half-baked story about Molly’s fake engagement to a kangaroo farmer. “I’ll tell her that you’re interested in another interview.”

  He disconnected the call and turned to Molly. “We have a problem.”

  MOLLY USED Pierce’s keys to unlock the rear door to his shop and stalked inside. After Adam told her that Berringer considered her a suspect, she was outraged. In spite of all the good work she’d done at CCC, helping the police solve crimes, they suspected her. How could they? How dare they? She was a good person, a solid citizen, a taxpayer. “I’m not calling Berringer. No way. Not ever.”

  She stormed into Pierce’s office and started yanking out the drawers on his desk, looking for his appointment book.

  “Call him back,” Adam said, “and tell him the truth.”

  “That I’m investigating crimes that the Denver PD should have taken more seriously? He’ll be ticked off. He’ll scold me for sticking my nose where it shouldn’t be.” In the middle drawer, she found Pierce’s scheduling notebook. “Or maybe I should tell Berringer that I invented a fiancé and was pretending to be engaged. God, that sounds pathetic.”