by Cassie Miles
“From the way he’s holding her, it looks like they’ve danced together before.”
She’d imagined Stan being married to someone his own age, in her midforties. Not necessarily a frumpy woman, but solid and housewifely—the sort who baked cookies and planned weekend activities like painting the garage or cleaning the gutters.
Molly hadn’t expected the little tailor to be married to a blond bombshell. “Wow! You go, Stan.”
“He’d steal for her,” Adam said. “Sparkly things to keep her happy.”
“Plus,” Molly said. “Stan could make her fabulous clothes. It’s not a bad thing to be married to a master tailor.”
THE NEXT DAY, she and Adam set out with backup. They were accompanied by Tony, a retired Navy SEAL who volunteered at CCC as a bodyguard. He was a formidable presence—big, silent and strong. It was only after Molly got to know him that she realized Tony was a teddy bear.
At nine o’clock, they showed up unannounced at Gloria’s boutique. The perky young thing at the front desk had a nervous look as soon as she recognized Molly. She busied her hands, rearranging her pens and straightening the white appointment book. “Gloria doesn’t want to see you,” she said.
“She’ll change her mind,” Molly said with the absolute confidence of someone who had not one but two very masculine, very intimidating bodyguards backing her up.
She breezed past the showroom full of gowns and headed toward the less glamorous rear storage area where Stan worked. As soon as she opened the door, she heard Gloria’s voice. Though she wasn’t shouting, every syllable dripped with venomous rage.
“It’s horrible,” Gloria said. “This gown wasn’t designed to look like a snow princess.”
“But the bride wants—”
“I don’t care what that little twit wants. I have a reputation. I can’t have my good name associated with this, this, this…” her voice rose on each word “…this grotesque glitter bomb of a dress.”
Molly cleared her throat, and Gloria turned away from Heidi’s gown, which hung from a padded hanger.
“You!” Gloria snarled.
Her eyes flamed, and Molly felt the heat. She quickly pulled Adam forward. “You remember Adam. And this is Tony.”
Gloria didn’t bother to acknowledge the two men. “This time, Molly, you’ve gone too far.”
“You’re referring to my advice about Heidi’s gown?”
“First, Pierce tells Heidi to raise the hem and show off her ankles. I mean, really! Who looks at ankles? Then, you! A person with no design credentials. A person of questionable taste…” She paused to sneer at Molly’s outfit of high-heeled black boots and leggings with a yellow miniskirt and yellow blouse under a black sweater that fit snugly over her breasts. “You look like a bumblebee on hormones.”
“You’d best beware my sting.” Molly had taken just about all of Gloria’s ego-driven rage as she could stand.
“Where do you get off giving fashion advice?” She yanked at the sparkles on Heidi’s dress. “This beautifully designed gown is all tarted up. Because of you.”
“Heidi likes it,” Molly said.
“She doesn’t know what she likes. Brides can’t think clearly for themselves. That’s why they come to me for advice.”
“And you don’t hesitate to take advantage.” Molly’s temper was rising. “You pump up the costs on these supposedly one-of-a-kind gowns.”
“My gowns are unique. Handsewn in Bangkok.”
“Another way to hike up the price,” Molly accused. “You probably use the services of a sweatshop, then quadruple the charges to the bride.”
“What the hell do you know about my business?”
Gloria jabbed a finger in Molly’s direction, and her two bodyguards stepped forward. Not that Molly needed their help. She could handle Gloria.
When she first met this woman, Molly had been intimidated, even a bit embarrassed by the boutique owner’s overwhelming chic and confidence. But not anymore.
“Gloria, your business isn’t all that complicated. You’re a shopkeeper. Nothing more.”
She bristled. “My reputation is—”
“Don’t care,” Molly said. “It doesn’t matter how many designer outfits you’ve got hanging in your closet. You’ll never have real style because that comes from inside. You’re too angry. And you’re too mean.”
Gloria’s mouth gaped like a trout out of water.
Molly continued, “Your job is to make your customers happy. With Heidi, you failed. That’s why she turned to Pierce. And to me.”
“I want you and your two thugs out of here. Right now.”
“Actually, I didn’t come to see you. I want to talk to Stan.”
“Get out. Or I’ll—”
“What?” Molly got up in her face. “What are you going to do? Stab me?”
Though she hadn’t directly accused Gloria of attacking Pierce, the implication was clear. And Gloria reacted with a gasp. “How dare you!”
“You might be surprised by what I’d dare. The only reason I’m here is to help Pierce. I’m going to be han dling the wedding planner details this weekend. If that means making Heidi happy with a few more sparkles on her gown, so be it.”
Without another word, Gloria pivoted on her heel and stormed toward the rear of the store room. The door slammed loudly behind her.
“Well,” Molly said, “Elvis has left the building.”
Behind her back, she heard Tony chuckle.
She turned to him and winked, then pulled up a smile for Stan Lansky. Even if he was the magpie, the little tailor was one of the more pleasant people involved in this affair. She went toward him and patted his shoulder. “These alterations are beautiful,” she said. “Heidi wanted a snowflake look, and you’ve caught it.”
“Thank you,” he choked out.
Wanting to put him at ease, she settled onto a stool beside Stan and posed a nonthreatening question. “These gowns are made in Bangkok. How does that work?”
“Not all of the gowns come from Thailand,” he said.
“Which ones are imported?”
“It depends on the designer and the complexity of the gown, especially those that require detailed beading.” He warmed to the topic. “It’d be a waste of time and money to ship a plain sheath halfway around the world.”
“I understand,” she said. “Which designers do you use?”
“All the big names, including Armani and Vera Wang. And, of course, Gloria does her own designs. All of her dresses come through Bangkok.”
“Like Heidi’s dress?”
Ruefully, he nodded. “That’s why she’s so upset.”
Too bad! Molly would spare no sympathy for Gloria.
When Adam stepped forward to join them, she wished she could warn him that this wasn’t the right time for a good cop/bad cop scene. Stan was already quaking. More hostility might turn him into a mass of Jell-O.
But Adam seemed to instinctively understand her concerns. Cordially, he said, “This is a complex process. How do you do it?”
“It’s not hard. I take the bride’s measurements, and Gloria coordinates with the designers and the seam-stress to make sure the fabrics are precisely correct. Then, the gowns are shipped here.”
“But they still require alterations,” Adam said.
As Stan’s head bobbed, the glare from the overhead light flickered off his balding head. “Or else I wouldn’t have a full-time job.”
“You work fast,” Molly said. “You managed to put all these shimmers on Heidi’s dress overnight.”
Stan beckoned them closer and whispered, “Sometimes, I’ve made the whole gown. And the bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“That must be satisfying,” Adam said.
But Molly had concerns about the ethics of this arrangement. “You’re not sewing designer knockoffs, are you?”
“Certainly not.” He was honestly affronted. “The dresses I’ve made are original designs from Gloria.”
Still looking for th
e criminal side, Molly visualized the start of a sweatshop right here in Denver. And Stan Lansky was the number one employee. “I hope Gloria pays you extra.”
“She’s a generous employer,” he said, staunchly defending her. “Alterations don’t take up all of my time. Someday, Gloria might let me do my own original designs.”
“I bet you’d be good at it,” she said soothingly. “Maybe you already do some of your own designing. For your friends. Or your wife.”
A tiny smile quirked his mouth. “My wife says we should start our own bridal boutique. She could be my model. She’s not tall enough for couture, but she’s very pretty. Much more pretty than most of these rich brides.”
Molly detected a chord of hostility, and she played on it. “I meant what I said to Gloria. Style doesn’t come from money. You can’t buy class.”
Stan nodded. “My wife has class. She’s sweet and innocent and she deserves the best of everything.”
“Do you have a photo?”
Stan pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. On one side was his driver’s license. On the other was a glamour shot of the young blonde who he’d been dancing with at the Deitrich wedding reception.
Both Adam and Tony came forward to look. Both made appropriately admiring comments.
“You’re right,” Molly said. “She deserves the very best.”
“Sometimes,” he said, “I get so angry when these brides throw money around like it’s nothing. What did they ever do to merit such finery?”
“Like Heidi?”
“I don’t mind her.” He shrugged. “At least she pays attention to me. Most of these women don’t even bother to learn my name.”
“They’ll be sorry when you’re a famous designer.”
“That’s right.”
With a final, longing glance at his wife’s photo, he closed his wallet. Then he went to his suit coat that was hanging on a rack beside several gowns in dry cleaner bags. He reached into the inner pocket. “After I got home last night, I realized that I accidentally took your pen, Molly.”
As he held out the silver pen to her, Molly’s suspicions crumbled. She liked Stan Lansky. Maybe he wasn’t the magpie, after all.
“IT’S GOT TO be him,” Adam said as he parked on the street in the trendy area known as LoDo for Lower Downtown Denver. Pierce’s loft was nearby. “I don’t know why Stan gave your pen back, but he’s the magpie.”
“I’m not so sure,” Molly said.
“It’s him.”
Adam wouldn’t let go of the one conclusion they’d managed to draw. Stan Lansky was the magpie. He fit the bill: motive, method and opportunity.
He had the opportunity to commit these petty crimes because he was acquainted with the wedding schedules and possibly had visited the homes of the brides for final fittings of their gowns.
Regarding method, the thefts varied in the ways they were committed. In Stan’s profession as a tailor, he was clever with his hands.
But the most damning evidence in Adam’s mind was evidence that could not be specifically quantified: motive. When Stan talked about these wealthy brides, his resentment was blatant. Stan felt as if he deserved more, deserved all the lavish wedding gifts. Which he would then present as prizes to his attractive young wife. Oh yeah, Stan Lansky was the magpie.
After plugging all his spare change into the parking meter, Adam walked beside Molly on the sidewalk. Tony brought up the rear. Though it had been a waste of time to drag Tony along to the boutique, it was good to have backup. Adam didn’t know what to expect inside the loft that Pierce had told him was leased.
Last night, Molly had researched that statement by studying the personal financial statements they’d taken from Pierce’s town house. Every month, Pierce received a substantial check from the Sylvan Company for rent on this address.
But Gloria and Denny had been interested enough in this property to remove the file from Pierce’s personal files. Their actions were suspicious enough to merit this further investigation.
Molly glanced up at him. “Did you have time to take care of that other thing?”
“What other thing?”
She whispered, “The room at the Brown Palace?”
“A suite,” he said. “It’s booked.”
He’d enjoyed making the arrangements himself. Usually, the reservation of hotel rooms or rental cars was a task he assigned to Molly. Handling it himself emphasized that tonight was different. Tonight was special. “Everything will be taken care of. All you need to bring is yourself.”
“Okay.” She turned to pull Tony into their conversation. “What do you think about all the wedding stuff?”
“Been there, done that.”
Adam grinned at Tony’s stoic comment, spoken like a man who had been married for thirty-five years.
Molly said, “When you got married, I’ll bet your wife did all the planning.”
“Still does,” he said. “I just go where I’m told and try to stay out of trouble.”
“Wise man,” Adam said.
“Honestly,” Molly said, “you guys make it sound like women are the adversary.”
“Hell, no. I’ve already surrendered,” Tony said. “She’s the boss.”
“And if you step out of line, what happens?”
This big, tough, former Navy SEAL cringed. “We have a relationship talk.”
“A fate worse than death,” Molly said dryly.
Adam didn’t think he’d mind talking about relationships with Molly. Because they’d known each other for so long, he figured there shouldn’t be many surprises.
In the lobby of the converted brick building where Pierce had a loft on the eighth floor, he turned to Tony. “I’m not sure what to expect in here. Be ready for a confrontation.”
“Right.”
As Molly found the right key and opened the outer door to the lobby, he said to her, “You stay down here. Tony and I will secure the premises and I’ll call you on the cell phone when we’re sure it’s safe.”
“You want me to stay out here on the street?” Her eyebrows raised. “Is it safe for me to be here by myself?”
He frowned. Her logic was correct. If somebody was after her, she’d be an easy target on the street. “Maybe we should walk you back to the car.”
“Where a white van could pull up beside me?” She shook her head. “The point of having you be my bodyguard is…for you to guard my body.”
Tony chuckled. “She’s got you there, pal.”
“I’m coming with you,” Molly said breezily. “No arguments, Adam. I have the keys.”
No surprises. Her attitude had always been sassy and feisty. She could be a regular pain in the rear.
And tonight? He might see a different side of Molly.
Chapter Fifteen
Riding in the elevator to the eighth floor, Molly subtly inched back until she was almost touching Adam’s chest. He rested his hand lightly on her hip, and their slight physical contact excited her. Later today, that contact would deepen. They’d share the night at the Brown Palace Hotel, and she wished she could concentrate only on that event.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t escape the tension that came along with this investigation. Adam and Tony were her bodyguards, and there was a reason for them to watch over her. DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.
If something bad happened to her or to Adam before tonight, she’d know for sure that her life was cursed, and she just wasn’t destined to be happy. Not now. Not ever. The closer she came to a real loving relationship, the less she dared to believe it was going to happen. She’d never been lucky.
Outside the elevator on the eighth floor, she eyed the long hallway. Refinished wood baseboards and old-fashioned wall sconces maintained the historic atmosphere in this building. If she recalled correctly, this place had once been a bank, and there was an old, walk-in safe in the basement. “It’s so quiet in here.”
“Solid brick walls,” Adam said. “They built them to last in the old days.”
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sp; “It’s hard to believe mobs of people are just outside the front door.” She liked the sense of isolation, finding a quiet nest in the middle of a bustling metropolis. “I wouldn’t mind living here.”
“Not me,” Adam said. “I don’t care for city living. When I walk out the door, I want to see grass and trees, not sidewalks.”
Outside the loft apartment, Adam and Tony drew their sidearms. Their readiness increased her foreboding. If anything happened to her…or to Adam…
No matter how much she wanted to deny the danger, it was ever-present and increasing. Someone had tried to murder Pierce. Someone had attacked her. She wasn’t visiting this loft for a party this time.
Adam knocked on the door and waited for a response. He knocked again.
Silence. The narrow hallway was utterly still. The air hung heavy and cool. Molly shivered, wondering if ghosts from the Old West inhabited these walls. Maybe she didn’t want to live here, after all.
Adam held out his hand. “Key.”
She closed her fingers around the key ring. “What are you going to do?”
“Tony and I will secure the premises.”
“Does that mean you’re going to charge through the rooms, waving your guns?”
“Essentially.”
“You can’t do that,” she said. “According to Pierce’s records, somebody lives here. They might be completely innocent.”
“We’re not taking that chance,” Adam said.
Though she agreed with him in theory, she felt un comfortable about the SWAT-team approach. If Adam and Tony charged inside unannounced, any rational person would freak out. Any litigious person would call their attorney.
“I need the key,” Adam repeated.
With a scowl, she handed him the key ring. “What should I do?”
“Much as I’d like to have you out of harm’s way, stay with me.”
With a nod to Tony, Adam pushed the door open. As she followed, he and Tony made their way through the spacious loft, checking in closets and opening all doors. Nobody was home.
