The desk phone rang, and I crossed my fingers for a megamoney work order that would cover my lease payment. “Furry Godmother, where every pet is royalty. Lacy speaking.”
“Lacy Crocker? This is Damon Foster from Central Business Bank.”
I perked and engaged my most entrepreneurial voice. “Yes. Thank you so much for returning my call, Mr. Foster. How are you?”
“I’m good. Thank you for asking.”
I smashed my eyes closed and crossed my fingers. “Do you need any additional information about my small business loan? I have copies of everything here. Financials. Testimonials. References. I can e-mail them to you.”
“No. Your business plan was thoughtful, well-researched, and professionally documented, Miss Crocker. We rarely see work of this caliber from our applicants. Unfortunately, we can’t approve you at this time. Perhaps there’s someone you could ask to cosign?”
I opened my eyes and pasted an inauthentic smile on my lips, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t have a cosigner, but thank you for the call.”
I returned the receiver to its cradle and rested my forehead on the desk. There’s always another way.
I sat up tall. Yes, there was another way, and I knew where to find it.
* * *
I arrived at the Barrel Room in time for the dinner rush and took a seat at the bar. Sunshine zipped around the bar, mixing drinks and wiping spills with agility and precision. If she’d tossed bottles in the air like Tom Cruise, I wouldn’t have been surprised. She was lithe, cheerful, and impressive. No one would suspect the amount of weight on her poor grieving shoulders.
When she spotted me, her smile fell. “Hey.”
“Hi. Can I order the grilled chicken salad, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of ice water for here?”
“Sure. Anything else?” She wrote the order on a little green-striped notepad. “I get bonuses for selling house wine.” She tipped her mouth into an ornery smile. “I’m teasing.”
“Lucky for you, my book club loves wine. I’ll take a bottle of the Pinot Grigio to go.”
She lowered her pen, looking a little bewildered. “I wasn’t serious.”
“And I don’t have a book club, but I’ll still take the wine if it helps you. I’m sure I can find someone to help me drink it.” Chase and his promise came to mind.
She nodded silently and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of wine and a slip from her notepad. “Your dinner will be right out. This is for you.”
I examined the paper. Names of cities and random numbers. “Dates and locations.”
She piled dirty glasses onto trays. “Yep. Scarlet called.”
The smile sliding across my lips stretched my face until it hurt. “I came to ask you about these. I forgot to text Scarlet back and tell her not to contact you. I wasn’t sure you’d remember anything specific. This is amazing. You have no idea how much this helps or how much I needed it right now.”
“Funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what I told Scarlet the first time she called me. Thank you. Both of you.”
“You’re welcome.” I logged into the free Barrel Room Wi-Fi and searched for recent jewelry heists, then reduced the hits by adding a timeframe starting six months back.
Sunshine settled a plate and bowl beside my list. “Enjoy.”
The salad looked like heaven. I speared a fresh slice of cucumber, then scrolled through the articles. I worked methodically through my salad and search results until the bottom of my bowl came into view.
“Lacy?” Mr. Tater smiled from a few feet away. “I thought that was you. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He gave my phone a meaningful glance.
“You’re not interrupting. Why don’t you join me?” I turned my phone over and wiped my mouth with a soft linen napkin.
“I can’t. I only have a minute, but I wanted to say hello.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you. I’m swamped at the shop.” I drew out the word swamped, hoping he’d hear money and come back to me.
“Did you get the letter about your lease? I sent it a few days ago. I’ve been meaning to call and ask.”
“Yep.”
“Good. How are things?”
“Everything’s great. I’m very busy. The alarm was installed right on time. Nothing was taken during the break-in.” Not that he’d bothered to ask. “I’m making strong progress on our agreement from earlier. You remember?”
“Of course.” Distraction changed his features and he looked away. “It looks like Mr. Fraser from Harrah’s has arrived. Time to seal the deal and bring the Barrel Room label into the casino. Take care of yourself, Lacy.” He patted my shoulder and left to schmooze Mr. Fraser.
Way to make a girl feel second class. I turned back to my phone. Why had I ever worked with him? Oh, yeah. I was broke.
According to Sunshine’s list, Miguel had been to five cities in the last three months: Gulf Port, Mississippi; Fairhope, Alabama; Pensacola Island, Florida; Galveston, Texas; and Memphis, Tennessee. I sipped my ice water as I checked the local papers in each town for references to a jewelry store break-in. Gulfport papers made no mention of a jewel heist. I went back another six months just in case I’d made the parameters too small. Nothing. Fairhope results came back the same way. No jewel heists. Maybe he had to case the places first? Maybe some stores were too fortified to take the risk?
I thumbed through the next round of search results and clicked on one that looked promising. The Pensacola Island search came back with two jewelry store hits in one weekend. I sent the links to my e-mail and tried Galveston. Another heist on the day Sunshine reported Miguel as being in town. I searched through the Memphis papers. Bingo again! Maybe it was sheer coincidence, but it looked a lot like a pattern.
Miguel took a road trip, and the destination town lost some diamonds.
I grabbed my new bottle of wine and ordered chocolate cheesecake to go. This girl was on a roll.
Chapter Eighteen
Furry Godmother’s business tip: Without proper marketing, zealous admiration is just stalking.
I headed to my parents’ house on the way home. I needed to review ideas for the Jazzy Chicks’ pianos with Mom and brag to Dad about the connection I’d made between Miguel and the other jewelry heist locations. He would know what to do with the information.
I slowed at the end of their block. I’d completely forgotten that tonight was Mom’s benefit dinner. Twinkle lights lined the wrought iron fence around their property. Lanterns hung from the reaching limbs of the ancient oak. Spotlights illuminated the master craftsmanship of their home’s nineteenth-century architect. Neighbors were walking the path to the front door wearing Armani and thousand-watt smiles.
As much as I wanted to find exasperation with the fact Mom was on her second dinner party this week while I was on my second death threat, I couldn’t. A flutter of nostalgia wiggled in me. In high school, Scarlet and I would steal abandoned champagne flutes at these events and pour them into sports bottles until we’d accumulated enough to have a party of our own. We’d climb to the widow’s walk and talk about boys and the future. Mostly boys.
I rolled closer, feeling the urge to peek inside.
A man in an emerald vest smiled and waved from his position behind a portable stand at the drive’s end. He jogged into the street and waved through my closed passenger window.
I powered the barrier down and weighed the merits of jumping a side road home to watch Netflix with Buttercup.
“Are you attending the Crocker dinner?”
I gave the twinkling house a long look. Nostalgia or microwave popcorn and seven seasons of Gilmore Girls? “Yeah. I think so.”
“Great! May I see your invitation? I’ll get you a ticket and take your car.”
“I don’t have my invitation.” I scanned the street, rehashing my options. This was my last chance to drive away. Acceptance pulled my shoulders away from my ears. I was already at the party. I might as well say hello.
I shifted into park and freed the driver’s license from my wallet. “I’m on the list. Probably at the top.”
He looked at the identification and passed it back. “Of course, Miss Crocker.”
He rounded my hood while I prepared mentally for whatever awaited me. My mind had a habit of jumping to the worst possible conclusions and absolute ugliest scenarios. Everyone will stare and whisper. They had to wonder by now how I was involved with a murder and a break-in. I’d been listed on more police reports this week than I’d thought was humanly possible.
I’d use the back door and ease into the party. It’d been a long time since I’d attended one of Mom’s dinners. Party situations were tough enough when I lived here. Now that I was grown and involved in a murder, the experience would probably be worse.
Unless I was wrong and everyone would be thrilled to see me. After all, meeting a single thirty-year-old woman in high society was like finding a unicorn. I’d be the belle of the ball. Mothers would drag their newly divorced or obviously gay sons to my feet, listing their grand attributes and smoothing their hair for them.
Soft music drifted from the kitchen on the clang of glass and dishes. I opened the door and slid into the steamy room.
“Oh!” A woman in a gray pantsuit jumped to attention. “Guests enter through the front. This is the service door.”
I dodged her attempt to capture me before I could move farther into the house. “I’m Lacy Crocker.”
She gave me another look. “Lacy?”
“Yep.” I lifted my palms hip-high.
She raised her arms, like security gates, and corralled me toward the rear staircase. “You need to change. Go this way so your mother doesn’t see you, and make a proper entrance via the grand staircase in the foyer.” She gave the French pronunciation: foy-ay.
I did a slow blink and took the first step.
Maybe coming inside was stupid. I’d already eaten. I couldn’t talk to Mom about the pianos in the middle of a party, and upon second thought, Dad might not be as enthusiastic as I was about the jewelry heist link I’d found. He seemed to side with Jack on the topic of me leaving this alone.
“Go on,” the lady shooed.
The narrow passage was lined in wainscoting and had made the perfect escape route for a rebellious teenage girl. I opened the door to my old bedroom. Everything was exactly as I’d left it ten years before. Every blue ribbon, book, and stitch of clothing was precisely where I’d left it, though someone had obviously kept up the dusting.
When I turned sixteen, Mom hired an interior designer, and I’d spent months with her designing and outfitting my room with the perfect color scheme and accessories for my life. We’d trimmed pale-blue walls in white woodwork, and I’d chosen accents in various shades of silver or gray. Glass jewels dripped from the chandelier and lampshades. I used to imagine they were diamonds and I was the queen of a kingdom. The down comforter on my bed was as puffy and inviting as any cloud in heaven. My exhausted body begged to sink into it and sleep forever.
Across the room, an overflowing pair of bookshelves spilled their treasures onto the floor and every flat surface a book could call home. A pile of paperback copies of Wuthering Heights anchored my closet. I still bought a new copy whenever I saw one with a cover I didn’t already own.
Someone rapped on the wall inside my open door. “Lacy?”
I turned to greet the voice I heard in my sleep most nights. “Hi, Mom.”
“What are you doing here?” Her simple black dress was perfection with Grandmother’s striking white pearls. Her hair was pulled into an elegant chignon. Her shoes and nails were understated but noticeable. She was one hundred percent casual elegance. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She wrinkled her nose and stepped back. “Are you ill? Are you contagious?” She turned in a helpless circle, proving I got my conclusion-jumping skills honestly. “I have fifty guests who will blame my cooking if they leave here sick.”
“You have a caterer.”
“And?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. I’m not sick or hurt. I just came to talk to you about the Chicks, but then I saw the party and thought you’d like me to stay.”
She lifted her eyebrows into her bangs. “You’re staying?”
“If my invitation’s still good. I left it at home. I had to dodge security.”
Her smile came and went in a heartbeat. “You need to change.”
“Of course.” When I’d left home this morning, I’d planned to spend the day sorting the Furry Godmother stockroom. My white tennis shoes and T-shirt weren’t exactly party ready for this crowd.
“I have a rack of LBDs in my room. That’s pop culture speak for little black dresses.”
“Thanks, I know.” I stifled an eye roll. “I’ll take a look.”
She wrung her hands together. “You can stay as long as you like, you know. If you want.” She motioned to the bed. “I haven’t touched a thing in here since you left. It’s still your room. Always.”
“Thanks.”
“Jack thinks you’d be safer here than at your place.”
I once again fought an eye roll. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Don’t say you’re fine as if I’m worrying about nonsense.” Lines raced over her forehead and gathered between her brows. “You’re my daughter. My only daughter and my whole world.” She cleared her throat. “I won’t have you dead.” Her eyes were glossy, but her attitude was as firm as ever. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now change. I’ll make you a plate and find a way to keep the desperate men at bay.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded and turned away. “I can make no promises if I see a solid catch.”
“Deal.” I followed her into the hallway. “That was funny, Mom. When did you get to be funny?”
“Where do you think you get your sense of humor?” Her eyes twinkled. “Certainly not your father. I’m the personality on this cruise.”
“If this week has been a cruise, it was the Titanic.”
She turned for a trip down the grand staircase. “You see? We’re comedy gold.”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She adjusted her hair and dress. “Maybe this is my lucky night and your father will come in from the office where he’s monitoring a patient.” She used finger quotes around the last three words. “He doesn’t think I know he drinks brandy in there and watches sports.”
“Men, right?”
She took the first step and looked at me over one shoulder. “Like you would know. Zing!”
I turned the spotless glass knob on her bedroom door and inhaled thick scents of makeup and Chanel No. 5. The master bedroom was layered with cast-off dresses. The plush carpet was speckled with shoes that didn’t make tonight’s cut. I opened her closet and walked in. Motion sensor lights lit my path. The rack of black dresses was in the back, near her dressing table, where a collage of photographs had nearly overtaken the mirror. All shots of me, from pageants to proms, graduation to college.
I thumbed through the rack and chose the dress I thought she would’ve picked for me. It was an elegant, knee-length number covered in a layer of Chantilly lace that formed a modest scoop neckline. Little satin buttons hid the zipper in the back, and a wide, matching ribbon formed a belt around my center. The dress was a little loose in the hips, though not as much as I would have liked. I smoothed my hair into a low ponytail and borrowed some earrings. Simple. Classic. Not bad for a girl who spent the day sorting stock. One pair of black slingbacks later and I was on the grand staircase, pretending I’d been there all along.
Mom met me at the bottom with a warm smile and a plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I’m so glad Jack came. He always draws a crowd.”
I accepted the plate from her.
He was easy to spot. Handsome, brooding, and seve
ral inches taller than the throng of women surrounding him. My heart did a dumb flutter. “He’s stalking me.”
“That would be difficult, since he arrived first. And from the looks of your previous outfit, you made a last-minute decision to come here, probably while driving by.”
What was she? A psychic?
“I’ve arranged the cover story, as promised, to avoid any unwanted advances from male suitors tonight.” A sly smile reached her eyes. “I’m spreading the word that you’re dating.”
“Oh?” I stole another look at Jack in his timeless black jacket and slacks.
This time he lifted his glass in response.
“Isn’t that clever?” Mom said.
I didn’t hate the idea, but he had been a little short with me this morning. He probably needed to apologize.
Mom’s smile grew. “Here’s your boyfriend now.”
I turned to see who she was referring to. Jack hadn’t taken a step away from his position across the room.
Chase materialized from a crowd of similarly dressed men in khaki pants, white dress shirts, and brown shoes.
Mom stage winked. “You two make such a lovely couple.”
He squeezed her to his side. “What can I say? I’m a lucky fellow.”
“You two have fun.” She patted his cheek and slipped away.
My “boyfriend” wiggled his eyebrows.
I shook my head slowly. “All these men and Mom chose you as my love interest?”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure how to take that.”
I sampled a cheese chunk from my plate. “It’s not you. It’s her. I assumed she’d pick an overachieving, work-obsessed show-off with a high personal station and coffers of money.”
“Maybe she picked the guy she thought you’d have the most fun with.”
“I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like her.”
Mom worked the room, looking for me every few minutes and smiling as if we shared the most delicious secret. I’d never been in on something with her. It was kind of fun.
Chase nudged me with an elbow and took my plate. He set it aside and wrapped my hand around his elbow. “Shall we?”
Cat Got Your Diamonds Page 19
