Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4)

by Zanna Mackenzie

  I gulp. “Yes, I suppose they do.” So, it has nothing to do with him wanting to be around me or enjoying my company.

  The lights change and we pull away. “I reckon we make a good team workwise. It’s relationship-wise we have the problems,” he says, swiftly manoeuvring the SUV through the city street.

  So true. Unfortunate, but true.

  Lunch ends up being some grabbed sandwiches from a Subway branch, along with coffees. We eat and drink in the car and then head on to the North Shores property. Charlie flashes his badge and once again we’re waved through. A security guy gives us directions to Cate’s old dressing room and we take the steps two at a time, eager to find out if we are on to something or not. Well, Charlie takes the stairs two at a time. I half-run up them to keep up with him. Cate’s dressing room looks messy. I wonder if it was like this before, or if this is courtesy of the investigation. We start searching. Charlie pulls out drawers and opens cupboards. I gawp at the extensive shoe collection, spotting several designer names, and then lose myself in the walk-in wardrobe. There’s row upon row of garments, neatly arranged, even colour-coordinated. Wow. I brush tentative hands along the edge of the clothing and one of the chiffon blouses slips off its silk hanger and glides to a pool on the floor. Oops. Bending down, I pick it up and that’s when I spot a package stuffed towards the back of the clothes rail. On hands and knees, I shuffle forwards and gently pull the bag towards me. Tucked inside are a few Hermes scarves and several small boxes which look like they could contain jewellery. Scrambling to my feet I shout, “Charlie!”

  He appears in seconds, sees the bag in my hands and scoots over to take a look. I know my head is concentrating on the package in my hands but another part of me is focused on something else entirely – how close Charlie is standing. His hands close over my own as he peeks inside the bag. The delicious waft of his aftershave makes my stomach tingle with happy memories. It feels as though I’m standing next to a radiator, I grow so warm, my pesky cheeks blushing. That’s the curse of having pale skin, it blushes at the drop of a hat. Or, in this case, having Charlie Huxton in close proximity.

  “Several copies of the same thing,” he says, inspecting the identical sets of earrings glistening in each box.

  “Just like Ronnie was saying earlier. These are Millie Marchant, the designer name for jewellery at the moment, and expensive as well. Are they all real though, or is one real and the others fakes?”

  Charlie shrugs. “I have no idea. We need to get these to an expert to decide that. If we’re on the wrong track with this then we’re wasting valuable time with this investigation. Dan and Martha are working on background and financial check stuff today and providing support for Jack on anything he finds in Toronto which needs following up online or via agency HQ, so we’ll have to get these to somebody ourselves.”

  “I’ll go and ask around, shall I? See if I can get a recommendation for a name or company where we can get these authenticated.”

  Charlie nods. “I’ll carry on looking through here and see if I can spot anything else that’s replicated.”

  I scoot outside and run straight into William Denver. “Oomph! Sorry, I’m in a rush as always.”

  “Not a problem.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach as far as his eyes. “What where you doing in Cate’s dressing room? I thought the police had already looked it over as part of the investigation.”

  “They have but Charlie and I had an anonymous tip off about wardrobe stuff and so we were just taking a look inside,” I explain.

  Denver frowns. “Anonymous?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What sort of wardrobe stuff were you guys looking for in there?”

  “Do you usually buy a couple of the same dresses or items of jewellery on the show?” I ask, beginning to think I should have never started this conversation.

  “No,” he replies, narrowing his eyes at me. “We have to work within the allowable budgets so we can’t always afford to have back-up copies of things just in case they’re lost or damaged during filming; everyone has to be careful instead. Why do you ask?”

  Something about his demeanour makes me opt for a little white lie rather than the truth. “Oh, no reason, just curious, you know, interested in how these things work. I’ve never been behind the scenes on a big soap opera before.”

  Denver’s gaze shifts from me to the door behind me. I turn to see Charlie standing in the doorway holding up two identical designer dresses he must have just discovered.

  “Some more duplicates,” he says before I can shush him.

  “I thought you said you didn’t have copies of things,” I chip in, watching for Denver’s reaction.

  “We don’t. I’ve never seen those before.” Was that a flicker of unease on his face? If it was, it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Maybe Cate got them done herself for some reason.”

  “Seems a strange thing for an actress to do, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it be down to the wardrobe department to make those kinds of arrangements, presumably authorised by somebody in charge of budget?” Charlie says, handing me the dresses. “Amber, I think we’ll borrow these for a while, along with the jewellery, and have an expert look them over.”

  Denver straightens to his full height. “If you feel that’s absolutely necessary, then I assume you will do so discreetly. I can get you the contact details for a man who will assess the jewels for you. I’ll ask Lindy from wardrobe to supply you with a suitable contact to do the same for the dresses. Come with me and I’ll get you the information from my office.”

  “Just a second,” I say, darting back into the room. “I need to grab the other items first.”

  Ten minutes later, we are on our way back into the city, accompanied by Lindy from the wardrobe department. Denver refused to let us remove the items to take them to the authentication guy without being accompanied by somebody from the show. Guess he doesn’t trust us not to do a runner with the scarves, dresses and earrings. I did try to explain that I’d never manage to squeeze into the dress and I’m not really a Hermes scarf kind of girl, but he insisted Lindy go with us. She’s currently barking out directions as she guides us to the place Denver has arranged to look over the items. Funny thing is, the scenery is starting to look mighty familiar. We are back in the area near the docks where we were this morning with Ronnie. Coincidence? I think not. Lindy directs Charlie to turn right and then left. Now, we’re in the same street we were earlier and parking the SUV outside the very property Ronnie had delivered the package to days before.

  “This is the place,” Lindy says, clambering from the back seat in her skinny jeans and baggy black top. “I’ll just go and let them know we’re here.” She scuttles ahead of us, the items of clothing and earring boxes tucked into her capacious handbag.

  I meet Charlie’s gaze before we exit the car to follow her. “This is weird, right?”

  He nods. “Yeah. There’s definitely something dodgy going on with the wardrobe department on North Shores but whether or not it has anything to do with our murder investigation, I haven’t decided yet.”

  I notice an extensive security system as we enter the building. What goes on behind these doors? A young guy with long hair pulled back in a ponytail is standing behind a counter chatting with Lindy. They seem to know each other pretty well. There are no signs of any kind in the reception area. It’s just blank walks. A couple of chairs sit off to one side on the typical grey office-style carpet. Whatever this place does, it certainly likes to stay anonymous.

  “Right, these are the items,” Lindy says, pulling them from her bag and popping them on the counter. The guy opens the boxes and gets a magnifying gadget to inspect them at close quarters. We all stare at him. This has got to be a set-up. But why?

  Ponytail man hmms and ahhs a bit and then eventually replaces the earrings in their boxes, braces his hands on top of the counter, and says, “No problem with these. They’re all the genuine article.”

  “And what about these
?” Lindy asks, pushing the garments towards him and then grabbing the jewel boxes and quickly tucking them away in her bag again.

  Ponytail guy makes a show of inspecting the scarves and then the dresses. Charlie is strangely quiet beside me. He’s probably concocting some plan.

  “Yeah, these are good too,” the man announces.

  “Thanks,” Lindy grins at him and hastily grabs those items too, adding them to her kitchen-sink-size designer handbag. “We appreciate you helping us out at such short notice.”

  “What is this place?” Charlie asks. “How do I know who you even are? I’m just supposed to accept your opinion on this?”

  Here we go…

  The guy shrugs. “Take it or leave it, man, it’s no skin off my nose.”

  “Tony knows what he’s talking about,” Lindy protests as Tony, AKA The Ponytail, disappears through a door, leaving the three of us in the reception area to bicker it out between us.

  “I want another opinion,” Charlie says. “I’ll find another place to take them.”

  Lindy clutches the bag to her ample chest. “No. I’m only allowed to bring them here, that’s what William said.”

  “Well, we’re going somewhere else,” Charlie says, heading for the exit.

  “I’ll need to clear it with William,” she whines, scurrying after him. “He’ll know someplace else that can verify these are all the genuine article.”

  “You do that,” Charlie surprises me by saying, then flashes her a knee-weakening smile.

  Ah. I see. He’s switching to flirting tactics.

  “I will,” Lindy says, lifting her chin defiantly, a flash of confusion in her eyes. I’m sure I detect a slight blush on her cheeks, the usual female response to one of Charlie’s carefully-targeted smiles. I should know, they’ve had that effect on me often enough.

  Lindy makes her call and gets another address for us to visit. On the way, Charlie detours and pulls into a diner-style eatery with a view of the harbour. “Time for a refreshment stop,” he says. “Lindy, let me buy you a coffee and some cake as thanks for your help with this. I appreciate you letting us take these items to a second place for verification.”

  “No worries,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him. And there’s that flush on her cheeks again.

  What is he up to?

  Inside the diner we all order coffee and assorted cakes. Charlie chats – and yes, flirts – with Lindy. I feel a bubble of unease. Sitting here and witnessing him turn on the charm with another woman is uncomfortable to say the least. This is the reason we’re on a break. Actually, are we still on a break, or is it more than that? We haven’t had the ‘this is definitely over’ conversation but then we haven’t had the ‘we’ll find a way to make this work’ conversation either. The man siting opposite me is an anomaly. There’s the Charlie who is (was?) my boyfriend. Smart, sexy, funny, loveable Charlie. Then there’s Special Agent Charlie Huxton. The man who gets caught up in an investigation and will stop at nothing to solve the case. The man who is openly flirting with another woman right in front of me. And, you know, I don’t think it even crosses his mind that I might object to the way he’s behaving with Lindy. Even if we weren’t on a break. He sees what he’s doing in a very different way to me. To me, it’s him flirting with another woman. To Charlie, it’s him trying to further his investigation and using his charm on this woman to try and help him solve the case. Which of us is right? Me or him? I guess we both are in a way. I’m beginning to see that Charlie can easily separate the two things – flirting with his girlfriend is entirely different to flirting with someone to get information out of them in a work situation. It’s just me who has trouble differentiating between the two. Like when I saw him hand in hand in the photos in the newspapers with Diva Delilah. To him – work. To me – betrayal. If Charlie and I are going to try and make a go of things again between us then I realise with sudden clarity how unrealistic I’m being. A Charlie who behaves in the way I think he should behave is never going to happen. It’s totally unpractical in his line of work, and with his driven personality. I’m going to have to recognise that to him this, what he’s doing now, means nothing, it’s just all in the line of duty. The ultimate goal is not to woo this woman, it’s to get her to assist him in solving the puzzle that is this case. In Charlie’s eyes, it’s as simple as that. But is that something I can accept?

  Lindy stands up. “I’m just going to the bathroom before we leave, won’t be a minute.”

  Charlie stands as she gets up to leave the table and she blushes once again at his gentlemanly behaviour. I watch her walk across the diner and something clicks in my brain. My eyes swivel to Charlie and he smiles and then nods.

  “You want me to follow her?”

  “Yep.” Still standing he reaches across the table and lightly rests a hand on my arm. “Oh, and while you’re about it, can you find a reason to have her leave the bag with you when she’s in the toilet.”

  “And then what?” I ask, though I know what he’s about to say. He wants me to steal the North Shores items from said bag.

  “You know what to do,” he says, beaming me a smile and then a wink.

  I wish he wouldn’t do that. Will I ever be immune to his oh-so-yummy charms? I doubt it. I bustle into the Ladies’ room and find Lindy re-applying make-up in the mirror. She stops and turns to me.

  “Are you and Charlie, you know?” She places her lipstick on the edge of the sink and I spot her bag on the floor. “Because I kinda thought I noticed something going on between you, but then he started on flirting with me and I wondered if I’d got it wrong.”

  “There used to be something,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “But we broke up. Working together and dating, well, it’s never a good idea, is it?” I say, adding an I’m-totally-fine-with-you-fancying-him breezy laugh. At least, that’s what I’m aiming for it to be. Inside, my stomach is clenching and I just want to push her head into the sink and turn on the taps full blast.

  “Oh, wow. Even if he had some serious faults, I don’t think I’d push him out of my bed. He is so hot.”

  I flinch. She goes back to slapping on more make-up.

  “That’s a gorgeous colour lip gloss,” I say, forcing myself to be friendly. “You look as though you really know how to apply make-up. I’m rubbish at it. I never know what colours I should wear.”

  She looks at me and wrinkles up her nose. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re so pale, must be tricky. Look, I’ve got a ton of stuff in my bag, want to have a look through and try some bits? I’m just gonna…” she tilts her head towards the bathroom stall.

  “I’d love to,” I say, smiling so much my mouth is starting to ache. Hah! Gotcha.

  As soon as she disappears into the end stall I grab her bag, pull out the garments and jewel boxes and wedge them into my own much-smaller bag. Now I just have to hope she doesn’t spot that they’ve gone. When she reappears she frowns at her reflection in the mirror. “Do I need some more blush, do you think?” She looks at me via the mirror. “What am I doing asking you that? Ha! Oh, you haven’t put any make-up on.” She grabs her bag. “Let me sort some blush and lip gloss for you. It’ll really warm up your complexion.”

  I grab her arm and hustle her to the door. “No! No time for that. Charlie will be wondering where we are.”

  She fluffs up her hair at the mention of his name. Wonderful.

  “Hey, ladies!” Charlie is already waiting by the diner’s door. “Change of plan, I’m afraid. Amber and I have been summoned on another matter relating to the investigation. Lindy, a cab just dropped somebody off at the diner, so I grabbed it for you. I’ve paid the driver and told him to take you back to the North Shores house.”

  Disappointment wreathes her face. “Maybe we can catch up with each other another time?” she says hopefully.

  Charlie nods and ushers her towards the waiting cab. “Sure. I’d love that.”

  “Can I have your contact details?” she garbles as she’s climbing int
o the vehicle, but Charlie has already swung the door shut and is banging a hand on the roof of the car to let the driver know he can speed away.

  “You haven’t even asked if I got the items from her bag,” I say as we walk towards the SUV.

  “I don’t need to. I have every faith in you,” he replies.

  As I fasten my seatbelt, he pauses in reversing the car from its slot and looks at me. “You’re OK, right?”

  For a second I’m not sure why he’s asking the question.

  “With that stuff back there. You know it was all for the cause, right? I just wanted to throw her, get her thinking I’d cooled off on the investigation and wanted to well, you know, be friends. It was just work.”

  I nod and smile as he whisks the car on its way towards the city. I guess we both had a moment of revelation in that trendy diner. I realised he’s a man who can compartmentalise his life. Flirt with someone for work matters. Flirt with girlfriend. Two entirely different things. I recognised he can do that without a flicker of concern. He recognised I might have misconstrued his flirting with Lindy and actually reassured me it was just for the case. Maybe there is hope for us after all. I hug that feeling to me as we head back into the city. “Where are we going?”

  “I did some research on my phone when you ladies where in the bathroom. I’ve looked up a couple of places we can take this stuff to which aren’t a set-up by Denver. We need to get an honest opinion on whether or not they’re having that place at the docks make copies of designer clothes and jewels from North Shores or not. But we also need to establish a link between that and the murder, unless we are, once again, completely on the wrong track here. In which case we need to find out ASAP and get back on the right track. If the murders are unrelated to the forgery stuff, then there’s a very real danger the killer will strike again and I won’t let that happen on my watch.”

  His phone buzzes to life and he answers on hands-free. “Yep, Martha, what have you got for me?”

  I can hear Martha’s eager voice as she replies. “Might have a link. You told us to dig deeper on the victim’s friends and families. Well, Cate Villier’s mum had children from a couple of different flings and marriages. Turns out Cate has a stepbrother with a criminal record. He has a different surname, Frank Meades.”