by Cassie Miles
“That doesn’t sound medical,” Gloria said.
“It’s true. I’ve had experience with this before.” Molly glared accusingly at Gloria. “And when Pierce remembers, he can name names. Right, Adam?”
“Yes.” He nodded stiffly. “Common reaction.”
Though Molly doubted that Gloria would burst out with a confession, she said, “Tell me about last night. What happened?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said. “I was here, working late with Stan.”
“Stan?” Adam asked.
“Stan Lansky,” she repeated. “He’s my tailor. We’re terribly busy with the final preparations for the wedding this weekend. There are five bridesmaids and one of these dear little things is pregnant, requiring nearly impossible alterations in her gown.”
“Last night,” Molly said. “Did you hear anything from Pierce’s office next door?”
“Not a sound,” Gloria said. “This is one of the older buildings in Cherry Creek North. Solid brick with thick walls.”
Molly glanced toward the rear of the shop where the inventory was kept and the tailor had his workspace. “What about Stan? Did he hear anything?”
“If he did, I’m sure he would have mentioned it to the police.”
Gloria rested her hands on her hips. In her snug jersey outfit, she was so skinny that she looked like a stick figure Amelia might have drawn to hang on Adam’s refrigerator. But there was nothing childlike or innocent about Gloria. She was pure, sophisticated evil.
Molly blurted. “It’s hard to believe you and Pierce were a couple. You’re so different.”
“Maybe not as much as you think,” she said.
“But you are,” Molly insisted. “Pierce is open and athletic and friendly. You seem…the opposite.”
“That’s a very simplified analysis,” Gloria said. “You know nothing about me. Nothing about my past. Nothing about my triumphs and my failures.”
“Tell me.”
“I think not,” Gloria said. “All that you need to know about me is that I have impeccable taste and I’m very good at my work.”
“How did you and Pierce start working together?”
“Quite naturally. When it comes to wedding plans, we’re a good match. He brings a certain vitality. And I give him a much needed dose of class.”
When she explained it that way, Molly could almost understand their relationship. They were complementary, like the yin and yang of wedding planners. “And in your marriage?”
“None of your business.” Though her words were clipped, Gloria’s dark eyes flickered with something akin to real emotion. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. You will never see me burst into tears. You will never hear me sob. But make no mistake, I am concerned about Pierce. Deeply concerned. The attack on him…devastated me.”
Then, Gloria straightened her shoulders. “Is there anything else I can help you with this afternoon?”
“Not right now. But I’ll be in touch.”
Molly frowned as she exited Gloria’s Bridal Boutique with Adam at her side. Though she wanted to see Gloria as the person responsible for the attack on Pierce, she wasn’t so sure. He gave her vitality. She gave him class. They actually were a much better match than Molly had assumed.
Inside Pierce’s office, she turned to Adam. “Apart from your outright hostility toward the wedding gowns, what did you think? Did she do it?”
He went to the solid wall that separated Pierce’s office from that of his ex-wife and wrapped his knuckles against it. “Solid.”
“What are you doing?”
“According to the police, no one was seen entering or leaving this office. Except for you.”
That didn’t surprise Molly. The rear entrance to the shop was fairly well concealed from traffic on the street. “So?”
“There might be a communicating door between the two shops.”
“Like a secret passage?” She was all over that idea. “That would be so cool.”
“While we’re here, we might as well check it out.”
She walked along beside him as he inspected the walls and moldings. “I’m not very good at being objective. At first, my gut reaction was that Gloria was responsible for the attack on Pierce. Mostly because I don’t like her.”
“She’s not likable.”
“But I think I’ve changed my mind. When she was talking about how devastated she was, I wanted to offer a shoulder for her to cry on.”
“You’re softhearted,” Adam said.
“I guess that’s not a very useful trait for a detective.”
“The worst,” he said. “When you’re investigating, you need to suspect everyone. You need to look on the dark side.”
“How can I do that?”
“Turn off your emotions,” he said. “Think like an investigator. Look for evidence. We’ve talked about this before. You know the three basic things to look for.”
“Method. Motive. And opportunity,” she recited. So many times in the office, they’d gone over those three basic elements in the search for evidence. “Let’s start with method.”
“We have the weapon,” Adam said. “A special gourmet knife. Would Gloria have access to such a weapon?”
“She might.” Gloria was such a snob that she probably had the very best in cooking tools. “There’s a kitchenette in the rear of her boutique, but I doubt she’d have a carving knife lying around.”
“Also, regarding method, I believe our analysis of a two-person attack is plausible.”
Molly nodded. “At least one of those people is someone Pierce knows well enough to be having a conversation in his office after closing time.”
Adam moved into the center room to check the walls. “So, we’ll talk about opportunity. Gloria’s alibi is this Stan person, the tailor.”
“But she was right next door,” Molly said. “She could have sneaked over here without Stan missing her and attacked Pierce.”
“You saw her when the paramedics arrived,” Adam said. “If she stabbed Pierce, she would have been covered in blood.”
She conjured up a clear memory of last night. There had been blood, but the smears were all on Molly. Her sleeves. Her boots. “Gloria was clean.”
“What about the tailor?”
“Stan?” She couldn’t imagine that rabbity little man stabbing anybody, much less Pierce, who was nearly a foot taller than he was. “I don’t think so. And he didn’t have blood on him.”
“What about Denny Devlin? He claimed to be at his shop, but what if he’d come here for the meeting with you?”
She had to agree with his conclusion. “And we really don’t know anything about the whereabouts of Ronald, our third suspect.”
“Which brings us to motive,” Adam said. “If your theory about the magpie thief being involved in the stabbing is true, I doubt Gloria did it. She doesn’t impress me as the sort of woman who would steal gravy boats and toasters.”
“Then there must be a different motive.” Molly didn’t want to give up on Gloria as a suspect. “She and Pierce were involved in all sorts of business dealings.”
She trailed behind Adam as he moved into the third area—the plain rear offices. He peered behind the file cabinets. As he leaned down, she was distracted by the rear view. His broad shoulders tapered nicely to a firm torso. He had an excellent butt—probably from clenching all the time.
She sank into the chair behind Pierce’s desk and refocused her thoughts on the crime. “If it was Gloria, why did she choose last night to attack?”
Adam completed his inspection of the walls without finding a secret passageway. He turned to her and said, “We have new information to add to our investigation.”
“What’s that?”
“Diamonds. Eight hundred thousand dollars worth of antique jewelry from Lucien Smythe.”
“What about it?”
“The loaned jewelry is a worthy target for a thief. Possibly, the other robberies were a setup for a bigger haul.”
“Not likely,” she said. “Practice at stealing isn’t really how it works. For a big heist, a thief doesn’t want to attract attention. If the mark is aware, security gets amped up.”
“The mark?”
“The target of the theft,” she explained.
“I know what a mark is,” he said. “I don’t like to hear you use that slang.”
She met his gaze. Though Adam knew all about her nefarious past, he’d never been comfortable with the knowledge that she was capable of picking his pocket at any given moment. He’d rather pretend that she didn’t have a life before she came to work for him. “I know about these things, Adam. Somebody who gets excited by petty theft, like these wedding robberies, isn’t a mastermind who would go after eight hundred thou in antique jewels. Our magpie is just that. A magpie. Attracted to shiny objects.”
“Why?”
“There are lots of possible reasons. Petty revenge. To get attention. Or for the thrill.”
“The thrill?”
“You’re getting away with something. Your heart beats a little faster. You feel more alive.”
Usually, this would be the end of the conversation. Adam would turn and walk away from her, shaking his head and mumbling. Instead, he continued to gaze into her eyes. “Did stealing give you a thrill, Molly?”
Defiantly, she lifted her chin. “I’m not going to apologize for what I used to do. Because it’s over. Totally in the past. Working for CCC all these years, I’ve seen the other side. The victim’s side. I can empathize with what it’s like to be robbed. Violated. I know right from wrong.”
“I know you do.”
His gaze took on a gentle, distracted glow. She recognized the expression because she’d seen it before on dozens of other men. But not Adam. Never on Adam. He was looking at her as though he wanted to kiss her.
No way! She had to be mistaken.
When she rose from the desk chair, she was standing close to Adam. They were only a few feet apart. What would happen if she kissed him? Damn, she knew better. She and Adam had a good working relationship—a great working relationship. They were friends. Nothing destroyed a friendship with a man quicker than sex. Intimacy made everything weird.
“We should go,” she said. “It’s time to pick up Amelia.”
“Right.”
He stepped back to let her pass, and she eased self-consciously past him.
After she’d locked up Pierce’s offices, she glanced toward Adam again. He was back to his regular demeanor, checking his wristwatch and scowling at the passage of time. “Hurry it up, Molly.”
“The sitter said we could be late.”
“You know how I feel about punctuality.”
“It’s your mantra,” she said. He was always where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there. As she glanced toward him, every hint of sexuality was gone.
She must have imagined that glow. Adam would never change.
Chapter Eight
The computer screen at Molly’s desk in the Colorado Crime Consultants offices blinked rapidly in response to her typed queries. She was comfortable here in her lumbar-support desk chair with her favorite knickknacks on her desk. No family photos, of course. Though she had dozens of foster care parents, there were none she remembered with particular fondness. And her real parents? The last time she heard from her father, he was in prison in California. She had no idea where her drug-addicted mother might be. Rehab? Jail? The closest Molly could come to a family photo was an array of mug shots.
The past didn’t matter. She’d turned out okay.
A thought crossed her mind, and her fingers danced across the keyboard. This desk was her battle station during a CCC investigation. Usually, though, she had more focus from investigators in the field. In a typical case that fell under CCC scrutiny, new evidence had been uncovered. They had tangible suspicions to follow up on.
In spite of the fact that Molly herself had discovered Pierce after the attack, she didn’t have a clear idea about motive. Why had the magpie stolen various objects from weddings? How did those meaningless thefts lead to the attack on Pierce?
Accessing the database for the FBI’s National Crime Information Center, Molly found no criminal record for Gloria Vanderly or her tailor, Stan Lansky. There was a DUI for the caterer, Dennis Devlin. Ronald Atchison, the wedding photographer, had a couple of white collar criminal charges and one conviction for fraud.
She typed in Lucien Smythe’s name and waited while the NCIC information bank whipped through a massive number of crimes, criminals and missing persons. The sheer volume of wrongdoing was depressing. Adam sometimes said that half the population was running around committing crimes while the other half tried to catch them. Kind of a cynical attitude, but that was Adam. His world view was black and white, good and bad, right and wrong.
The system paused; she had a hit. Lucien Smythe, the jeweler, had been charged, six years ago, with assault. Molly flipped through several other information sources until she had the whole story. Someone had tried to rob Lucien’s jewelry store. There was a fight. Lucien won.
Molly frowned at the screen. The jeweler had been defending himself and his merchandise. Why would he be charged? She read further. Before calling the police, Lucien had sliced off the thief’s pinky finger. Ew! Molly cringed. Though she could understand Lucien’s outrage, violent mutilation went beyond the acceptable limits of self-defense.
Nonetheless, the charges against Lucien were dropped. He was reinstated as a solid citizen with a permit to carry a gun.
This detail from his past was worth noting. Lucien had used a knife on the thief, and she had to wonder if it was a high-carbon, stainless steel chef’s knife from Germany.
Her gaze drifted to the window. Outside the office, dusk had settled. It was after six o’clock, and she’d promised to meet Adam and Amelia for dinner at seven. One more phone call, and she’d head over to his house.
For the fourth time, she punched in the phone number for Ronald Atchison. Though expecting to hear his answering machine again, Ronald himself picked up.
She identified herself and said, “I’m so glad I finally caught you. We need to set up a meeting. Tomorrow?”
“Sweetie, I can’t wait to see you.” His voice was smooth and warm as scented oil. Ronald was a sensual man—classically tall, dark and handsome. “You’re my type of woman, Miss Molly. Tall and vivacious with masses of blond hair and cleavage like the prow of the Queen Mary.”
She grinned at the phone. “Thanks, I think.”
“The last time I saw you was at a party.”
She remembered. “At Pierce’s downtown loft.”
“And you were wearing burgundy sequins.”
“Right,” Molly said. “And you wondered if my dress came in your size.”
“Indeed, I did.” Ronald regularly put his gorgeousness on display as a different kind of queen—a drag queen. “I can’t believe you’re getting married and need a photographer. I hope my humble services will suffice.”
“Humble?” That had never been Ronald’s style.
“I’m so fabulous that I’ve gone full circle back to self-deprecating,” he said. “Rather charming, if I do say so myself.”
Charming and clever. Though it was hard for her to imagine Ronald as an assassin, Molly thought the photographer might be tempted by the magpie thefts. He might get a thrill out of stealing small objects and stirring up trouble.
She asked, “Have you heard about Pierce?”
“Dreadful.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“It’s all about the money, honey.”
“How so?”
“Are you sure you want to hear my theory?” he asked. “You know how much I love to lecture.”
“Do tell, Ronald.”
“Wedding economics are largely based on what the market can bear. The fixed cost of my film is the same whether I’m taking photos in the park or doing a formal sitting. If Pierce tells the blushi
ng bride that I’m the very best, I can charge more.” He paused. “Obviously, that wouldn’t apply to you.”
“Money is no problem,” she said. “My fiancé is loaded.”
“Good golly, Miss Molly. I’d expect no less from a babe such as yourself.”
Though she enjoyed Ronald’s banter and didn’t want to believe he was a suspect, she simply had to stop seeing the good side of people. If she meant to be a real detective, she needed to be more distrustful. “Tell me more about wedding economics. Why would the money cause somebody to attack Pierce?”
“Weddings are expensive. Insanely expensive. Even a penny-pinching bride on a budget reaches a point when she’s throwing money around like a drunken sailor, telling herself that it’s her day. She deserves it.”
“What does that have to do with Pierce?”
“The wedding planner is influential in where the money gets spent. And how it gets spent. Cheap daisies or imported orchids? Faux fur or mink? Maybe Pierce withheld a lucrative contract.”
Though it was difficult for her to imagine a knife-wielding florist or a homicidal wedding cake baker, there was merit to Ronald’s opinion. “You might be right.”
“There’s a dark side to all this gauze and glitz,” Ronald said ominously. “Pierce makes a lot of money planning weddings. You really ought to look into his business dealings.”
“Save me the time,” she said. “Did Pierce ever cause you to lose a contract?”
“I don’t recall.”
She didn’t believe him. Though Ronald acted the role of a flamboyant artist, he was a businessman at heart—a businessman who had been convicted of fraud.
After Molly explained that she was taking over Pierce’s business while he was in the hospital, she set an appointment with Ronald for the following day. “We also need to talk about Heidi’s wedding at the Brown Palace this weekend.”
“The petite bride,” he said with a groan. “I’ll need to be careful in the ceremony photos so she won’t look like a munchkin.”
