Chapter Eighteen
Despite heavy traffic, I arrived at the restaurant before Andrea. Never mind the eatery was right down the street from her office. Her tardiness occurred with such predictability I could have put money on it. This habit had nothing to do with the sporadic rain that had me constantly adjusting my windshield wipers, and everything to do with Andrea's tendency to squeeze in "just one more little thing before I go."
A waiter showed me to a table and brought me a glass of wine while I waited. Andrea strolled in before I had time to make a dent in it.
"Thea." She gave me a hug and kissed my cheek, enveloping me in an expensive blend of flowers and spice. "It's good to see you." Her perfect eyebrows descended abruptly. "Did Greg give you those bruises?"
I touched my jaw. "Oh! I tried to cover them. Are they obvious?"
She scrutinized one side of my face and then the other. "No -- a little worse on the right, but you did an okay job. People won't gasp and point." She slipped out of her stylish coat and draped it over the back of her chair. "Are you going after him for that?"
"No."
She frowned and drew a breath, but pressed her lips together instead of speaking.
"I just want him to leave me alone."
"And is he leaving you alone?" She settled into her chair.
"No."
"Oh, Thea, what happened? Tell me you're staying with Vi and Henry."
"I'm staying at home, but --"
"Jonathan is staying with you?" She cringed when she said it.
"I broke up with him yester --"
"Paul is staying with you. That's much better. You know he'll protect --"
"No, Andrea --"
"Thea --"
"I'm okay. It's Blackie I'm worried about."
"Why? He's at your uncle's, right?"
"Yes, but … okay, I can see I need to fill you in on a few details."
"Would you, please? I seem to be confused."
But the waiter arrived to take our order, delaying my recitation of the "few details." I gave the menu a quick glance and ordered a chicken chipotle pasta. Andrea didn't bother to look. I think she had the menu memorized. She ordered the herb-crusted salmon salad, which reminded me of Jonathan—in a manner of speaking. I was beginning to feel bad about what I'd done. And concerned. I seemed to be making an effort to shock myself lately.
The waiter left and I related the week's incidents -- in chronological order. Andrea listened to every word. The only interruption was from the waiter bringing our dinners. When I told her about my dramatic exit from Bernard's the previous evening, she pressed both hands over her mouth, but laughed anyway. She sobered right up at Greg's impromptu visit and his offer to sell me my own horse.
"I'm glad you called Jake," she said. "I think that situation is under control. Everyone knows what he's up to now. If he so much as looks cross-eyed at you his ass is grass." She ate thoughtfully while I alternately picked through my pasta and sipped my wine. Then she laid down her fork, and leaned towards me. "Valerie's father concerns me, simply because I know what he's capable of. Believe me, you don't want to know," she added, heading off the question I was about to ask. "The upside is I think he's waiting for you to make a mistake, and since we know you didn't have anything to do with --" she glanced around, "with any of that, you're okay. He has a reputation for being a patient man, in that he doesn't act impulsively. That his employee isn't around all the time probably means you aren't at the top of his list of duties. Unless he's keeping an eye on any friends or family to use as leverage. But that's not likely." She gave an unconcerned wave of her hand and went back to her salmon.
The tension that had begun as an uncomfortable twinge when she mentioned Valerie's father had continued to build until I understood why. I reached across the table and grabbed her forearm as she raised her fork to her mouth. She raised a startled expression to me.
"Andrea," I whispered, afraid to speak louder. "Those are the words Greg used about himself -- he said he was 'a patient man.' Do you think Valerie's father is using Greg to get to me?"
She thought for a long moment. I barely took a breath. "I don't know. Frederick doesn't recruit from the amateur ranks, as far as I know. It's possible, however, since it involves his daughter. That hadn't occurred to me."
"Wouldn't that just be dandy." I released her arm, and picked up my fork, but Andrea was tapping her fingers on the table top, so I put it down again.
"I was going to comment how oddly connected all of this seems."
"What do you mean?"
"There's something we haven't recognized yet that's tying together Greg, Valerie, Blackie, Donna, Melanie and Randy. Oh, and let's not forget psycho-woman Sarah. There's some nexus. The thought won't leave me alone."
I sucked in a breath.
"Okay, it's a crazy idea." She stuck her fork into her salad.
"No, no it's not." I knocked my wine glass teetering, but caught it before it toppled. "This whole time I've assumed there was one thing, one person, a single event -- I should have realized. I can't believe I've been so blind. I've been looking at this all wrong." I was no longer hungry. I pushed my plate aside and pressed my fingers to my temples. "There's something else. Jeez, I feel like I've almost got it." I shook my head, disgusted. The answer was lurking in the shadows of my mind, and I could not entice it forward.
Twice, Andrea began to speak, and twice cut herself off. Then she pushed her plate away. "Okay, I'm done, too." She waved at a waiter. "Let's get out of here and employ some time-honored problem solving procedures."
"Which would be …?"
"Retail diversion for purposes of clarification."
"Ah."
We paid for dinner and wandered out into Bellevue Square Mall, where Andrea kicked the conversation back into gear. We rehashed what we knew while wandering around Nordstrom looking at shoes on the first floor, then taking the escalator upstairs to the lingerie and Point of View departments.
"I know you think I'm obsessing," I said across a rack of Anne Klein Separates. "But I'm sure Paul knew Valerie. I mean really knew her well. You don't handle a guy the way she did when I saw them together at Copper Creek last week if you aren't more than slightly acquainted with him. Even Valerie wouldn't have done that."
"You might be right, or you might be underestimating Valerie's libido again, or you might be trying to turn Paul into a bad guy so you can convince yourself he wasn't worth all the hormones, since you're obviously not over him." She handed me a pale green silk blouse and a smug look. "Try this on. The color's great with your eyes."
I sneered at her and put the blouse over my arm with the other things I'd picked up to try, then moved to another rack and examined a sleeveless cocktail dress with wide straps. The tag said, "Petite." "I'm just trying to be thorough and consider all possibilities." I held the dress up for Andrea to see.
"Yeah, sure you are," She said, then looked the dress over. "Yummy. Try it."
"You don't think it looks too 'Juliet'?"
"No, too tame. Try it. Paul would like it."
I shook my head, refraining from commenting on her supposed knowledge of Paul's taste in women's clothing or her refusal to believe I wasn't holding out hope. Once in the dressing room I directed us back to a safer subject.
"I still don't understand why Blackie was taken. It had to have been a mistake, but on the other hand I can't get rid of this feeling that he's important in figuring this out."
"You know," Andrea said through the dressing room wall, "I wouldn't dismiss it." She paused, and a hanger rattled. "I think it's unlikely it was a coincidence, too. Tell me what you think of this."
I heard her door open and poked my head out of my dressing room.
"Nice, but not 'wow.'"
"Yeah." She scrunched her nose. "That's what I thought. What do you have on?" I opened the door wider and showed her the blouse. "Oh, get it! It's great. Let's see the dress."
I exchanged the blouse for the cocktail dress and stepped out. Andrea opened
her door.
"Holy cow, cleavage! Who knew? You look so curvy. That little bit of ruching on the side is perfect, and I love the color on you. It's not actually gray -- kind of purplish. What do they call it?" She grabbed for the tag, read it and snorted. "Blackberry? Huh. Not like any blackberries I've seen."
My bra peeked out at the bottom of the V. I tried, alternately, to push it down or pull the dress up. "You don't think it's too low cut?"
"No, I think you need new underwear. We can stop at Victoria's Secret."
"What I don't need is a cocktail dress."
"Au contraire, my dear. Since you have so cavalierly thrown Paul aside, you must have something to wear to the parties I'm going to take you to. Men will throw themselves at your feet, honey. Guaranteed. You'll discard so many you won't be able to remember their names."
"Gee, I can't wait," I said without an ounce of sincerity.
"Darned tootin'. I'll have you know I've found plenty of hotties with my method. Just haven't found one I want to keep, yet."
"What's your criteria for keeping one?"
"Not being able to forget his name, of course." She slid me a vampy look over her shoulder as she went back into her dressing room.
I laughed, glad she could be flip about something that caused her periodic angst, and took another look in the mirror. Pretty form fitting and definitely sexy. Andrea's right, you look pretty hot. I struck a pose and laughed again, then changed back into my own clothes.
"All right, I'll get it -- and not because what's-his-name might like it."
I took the items I wanted to the register to pay. Evidently it was a good shopping night. I ended up with the dress, two blouses, a pair of slacks, and a skirt that had a tasteful ruffle at the hem. Andrea thought it was sexy without being cheap. Hmm…all these pieces were the ones she liked. My shoulders sagged. Damn. She dressed me again, and used my distracted state to keep me from noticing one of her favorite habits. No wonder she was such a successful attorney.
The sales woman smiled the total at me and politely took my debit card out of my hand. My consolation was seeing Andrea pay more for the blouse she liked than I had paid for my dress and skirt together.
We exited Nordstrom on the second floor, which put us on the upper level of the mall. As we strolled along looking in the shop windows, our conversation turned to Sarah and Greg. Andrea knew Sarah only because of what I said about her. She knew Greg because the nature of her job had her socializing from time to time with the very wealthy, though she'd not actually met him.
"If I were you I don't know if I'd be going home tonight."
"I'll be fine," I said, convinced I would be.
I looked over the walk-way railing to the shops on the first floor and toyed with other ways to spend money. Then I caught sight of a familiar figure and ricocheted sideways, nearly knocking Andrea down.
"It's Greg!" My voice was a frantic whisper. I grabbed Andrea as much to steady myself as her. "He's downstairs right outside of Tiffany's."
She glided to the railing and peered down, then dashed back to me.
"Oh shit," she whispered.
"What's he doing?"
She glided back over and watched again for a moment then came back to where I cowered in the doorway of a candle shop.
"He went inside." Her voice was barely audible. "What do you suppose he's going into a jewelry store for?"
I ventured a guess. "Jewelry?"
She gave me a skinny-eyed look.
I worried my bottom lip, straining to see over the railing. My feet refused to move any closer. "We should watch and find out where he goes when he comes out."
"Right. Wait. What if he sees you? I know." She glanced around. "Go sit over there by the coffee shop. I'll sit there on the bench where I can watch the store and pretend I'm on my cell phone."
I hurried to the bistro table and perched where I could see her. She arranged herself on the bench, crossing one long leg over the other, swinging her un-businesslike stiletto from her toes. She looked for all the world like she was enjoying a conversation with a friend. And if Greg saw her, her legs would keep him from looking in my direction.
At last Andrea stood and casually strolled toward me, still engrossed in her "phone call." She sat down at the table and put her phone away.
"He came out," she said, her eyes danced.
"He's not coming this way, is he?" I pulled my feet under me, ready to run.
"No." She waved her hand to her right. "He went toward the parking garage."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd held.
"He had a little bag with him, took something out -- a box -- and what appeared to be a receipt and put them in his coat pocket. Then he threw the bag in a trash can. I think it's safe to go to Victoria's Secret now."
"Why would he buy jewelry …? Come on." I pulled her to her feet. "The sexy underwear's going to have to wait."
"Hold on a sec. Where are we going?"
"To Tiffany's." With Greg safely gone, the excitement of the hunt put a grin on my face. "We're going to do some detective work."
"Oh no. In the movies this sort of thing always ends up in a car chase and shoot-out. Need I point out that we are not armed and with your car we'll have no hope of escaping?"
"Oh come on. I just want to get a little information." I headed off toward the stairs to the first floor without her. Andrea scurried to catch up, as I anticipated, and fell into a pouty silence. Also as I anticipated.
When we reached the store she grabbed my arm and stopped me. "What exactly are we going to do?"
"I need to find out what he bought. Follow my lead and agree with everything I say."
"No problem." Her tone was as sour as her expression.
Only one clerk was present when we walked in, and I made a beeline for him.
"Welcome to Tiffany's. How may I help you?" He cocked his head attentively.
The well-dressed, pleasant-looking man was perhaps in his mid-fifties, with hair graying at the temples, neat hands, and a bird-like mien. I produced my most dazzling smile and set my Nordstrom shopping bags conspicuously on the counter, just to make sure we came across as Women With Money.
"I think my brother may have come in here a little while ago, and maybe bought a ring."
"We don't give out customer information," he said, no longer cocking his head.
I pretended I hadn't heard the comment. "He's thirty-two, six-foot, has on a gray suit and light tan trench coat." I wasn't sure what a "sisterly" description could get away with. But Andrea saved me. In my heart I knew she wouldn't be able to resist a bit of intrigue.
"She didn't mention how handsome he is. But then I guess sisters never think their brothers are good looking, do they?" She actually winked at the guy. "He's got dreamy eyes, perfect hair, and I'd kill for a manicure like that." She fluttered her eyelashes and sighed like she was describing a rock star.
"You don't look anything like him," Mr. Observant said to me. "You're a brunette. The gentleman I may have noticed had light brown hair with blond highlights, and like your friend said, a much better manicure." He cast a judgmental glance at my hands.
"I resemble our father's mother, although we do have the same color eyes." I crossed my arms, tucking my hands out of sight.
"No, I think his were more blue-gray. Yours are definitely green."
"Contact lenses."
"I see," he said.
I doubted it. I don't wear contacts.
"The point is," I continued, "Grandmother has a ring Grandfather gave her, and she wants Greg to have it for his fiancée. If he already bought her a ring I'm going to have to figure out some way to break it to Grandmother." I bit my lip and gave him an imploring, desperate, and worried gaze.
"Are you sure you're his sister?" he asked, looking at me sideways.
"Of course I'm sure," I said doing my best to sound offended.
"You're not his fiancée?"
"Oh, please!" Andrea rolled her eyes and leaned toward the man,
as if to share a confidence. "Do you honestly think a guy that good looking would go for Miss Plain Jane here, even if she got her cuticles fixed and wore a little polish?"
"Oh, well, you have a point," he said, eyeing me in a peculiar avian manner.
I stared, openmouthed, at Andrea. She shrugged.
"Yes," he continued, finally buying my story. "I'm afraid you're too late. He was in a little while ago and returned an absolute stunner of a ring he bought last Saturday for a much simpler piece. It is lovely, though." I doubted he believed what he said. He looked like he'd just tasted something bitter—like a smaller commission. "A brilliant cut, white diamond solitaire, slightly under a carat, set in white gold."
"Oh dear," I sighed, trying for the right display of disappointment. "I suppose I'm going to have to break the news to Grandmother. Thank you for your help."
"Of course," Mr. Observant Bird said.
"'Miss Plain Jane'?" I huffed at Andrea when we left the store.
"Oh, come on, Thea. The guy was so gay he wouldn't know a good-looking woman if she bit him on the leg. Besides, you got the information you wanted, didn't you? I didn't know you were such an accomplished liar."
"I learned from the best." I shifted my shopping bags and patted her back.
"And that is why I am such a hot attorney," she replied, laughing. "So, who did Greg buy the ring for?"
"Well, I'm fairly certain the one he returned is the one he had with him Sunday morning at Copper Creek. But he's obviously gotten himself a new engagement ring. Do you think Melanie is forcing an issue with Jacquelyn?"
"Could be."
"Seems pretty cold, right on the heels of Valerie's funeral," I said.
"Maybe she's pregnant," she said softly, stopping to look in the window of a chic maternity shop.
Uh-oh. I needed to distract her from her biological clock. "Wouldn't that have pissed Valerie off."
"I don't think Valerie's in any condition to care." She'd rebounded into her attorney tone.
Phew.
"True. But that's still pretty heartless. I guess someone who plays around wouldn't have the decency to wait a respectable amount of time, even if the girl is pregnant. Lots of brides are pregnant these days. Some of them wait until after the baby is born to get married. And some don't get married at all." I steered our course toward the parking garage. It was late. I'd go look for a new bra some other time. "You know, Andrea, certain aspects of human behavior absolutely disgust me. Valerie is murdered and Greg rockets straight from grief to the altar. I wouldn't want someone who couldn't display even a drop of humanity. Melanie and Randy should show a little sensitivity, too, especially since their daughter's involved."
"I see stuff like this all the time, and worse, Thea. Someone dies and the family turns into a pack of hyenas."
"It's disgusting."
"But not uncommon."
"Do you suppose Greg's got something on Randy?"
"What do you mean?"
I told her about my "loan from Valerie" theory.
"Hmm … hard to prove without access to bank records. For that, you'd need a search warrant." She patted my shoulder when I sighed. "Sorry. It's a worthy idea, though, and I expect the sheriff's looking into it. So what's next, Sherlock?"
"To The Broken Axle."
"What's that?"
"A biker bar in Snohomish."
"Eww." She scrunched her nose. "Do we have to? I really and truly don't like this idea."
"We don't have to, your majesty. However, I'm going."
"Not alone!"
"No, with my trusty sidekicks, Delores and Miguel. Miguel was there last night and he believes he spotted the guy who stole Blackie. We're going to see if he shows up again this evening. I think he's the key to finding out who killed Valerie."
"You're just not letting this go, are you?"
"Don't worry, I'll be well protected."
"Be careful. I mean it, Thea."
We reached my car and got in. I would drop her at her office, since she had walked over, then go home to change into something appropriate for beer with the bad boys.
"Call me," she said, when I pulled up next to her car. "Let me know you're all right and what's going on."
"One more thing, Andrea. What do you know about Jacob Green?'
"Your attorney? He's one of the best, why?"
"He's kind of weird."
Andrea laughed. "Jake is that."
"But does he know what he's doing? Am I going to land in jail because of some peculiar idea Jonathan has for revenge?"
"Thea, I told you, don't worry about Jake. He's excellent. He'll take care of you. I wish you had called me for advice instead of Jonathan, but I can't fault him for sending you to Jake. Call me tomorrow."
We said goodnight and I waited while she started her car. It was time for me to rub elbows with the biker crowd.