“How did Lang or Porter’s wife or whoever get a key to Diamanté?”
“Lang actually worked there when the store was a formal-wear rental place. I remember she told me once she’d met her husband at the mall when he was getting decked out for a wedding. She even said she met him ‘here’ when we were standing in Diamanté. I knew the store used to be a formal-wear rental place; I just didn’t put two and two together. Mea culpa.” The thought rankled. I’d had most of the pieces to the puzzle and just hadn’t fitted them together right until Catherine and Elena ambushed me. Thinking about that night brought Agatha to mind. “Did you see the crowds around the Herpes Hut today?” I asked.
Kyra nodded, grinning. “Kiefer’s really capitalizing on the whole ‘hero snake’ thing. Pretty clever the way he’s using the publicity to nudge the police into tracking down Dawson and his LOAF buddies. Think Agatha will have to testify if it comes to trial?” She chuckled.
“Unlikely.” I imagined the big snake in the witness box, flicking her tongue to point out Dawson as the culprit.
“Are the police going to go after that Lang-Quincy woman?”
“Aileen? Nope.” I plopped down onto the sofa, and Fubar leaped up beside me. “There’s no percentage in it. The death was ruled accidental, the body was cremated, and Catherine Lang stands by her alibi. If Aileen hired it done, the killer has been discreet for years and isn’t about to start blabbing now.”
“I’m sure the police don’t want to have to admit that they might have blown the investigation into Lang’s death, either,” Kyra said cynically. “Although I will say it was gracious of Detective Helland to mention you at the press conference: ‘Fernglen Galleria’s Officer Emma-Joy Ferris provided significant assistance to the police.’ See, I memorized it. I also clipped the article from the Vernonville Times if you want to add it to your scrapbook.” She grinned.
“Pass.” I wouldn’t admit it to Kyra, but I’d felt a tiny tingle of satisfaction at Helland’s praise. It somewhat made up for the way he’d chewed me out the night Catherine and Elena tried to kill me.
The familiar theme music came on and Kyra muted it. “I think you’re wrong about Jay, by the way,” she said as we watched the stars parade in with their professional partners. “He makes one dee-lish-us cookie, and he’s too laid back to be a cop or agent or whatever.”
“Really?” I eyed her, wondering under what circumstances she’d gotten to know Jay Callahan so much better. I hadn’t talked to the man since the night we captured Catherine and Elena. We’d crossed paths once or twice at the police station where we’d each been summoned for numerous interviews with detectives, DAs, and investigators, but we hadn’t had a chance to sit and chat. He might think that by helping me with Catherine and Elena he’d allayed my suspicions about his activities. He’d be so wrong. He might have Kyra snowed with his sweet talk and luscious cookies, but I was keeping an eye on Mr. Jay “Cookie Man With a Gun” Callahan. I was going to find out exactly what he was up to at Fernglen, and I knew darn well it wasn’t selling cookies.
“Not that I’m saying you were ever uptight, or anything,” Kyra added hastily, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “but you’ve relaxed a bit this past year. I think working at the mall is good for you.”
“Really?” I said again. I tapped a business-sized envelope against my thigh. The letter had come today, offering me an in-person interview with the police department in the bustling metropolis of Galax, Virginia, about four hours southwest of here, not far from the North Carolina border. With any luck, it’d be buh-bye Fernglen Galleria and hel-lo Galax before the summer.
But I knew Kyra would be sad at the thought of me moving, so I didn’t hand her the letter as I’d planned. Truth to tell, the idea made me a bit sad, too. Grandpa Atherton popped into my head, as did Kyra, Joel, and, surprisingly, Detective Anders Helland. I didn’t want to jinx the job by talking about it before it was a done deal, I told myself. Sliding the envelope unobtrusively under a stack of guitar sheet music, I slipped Fubar the last piece of sushi, cranked up the volume on the TV, and made a bet with Kyra about which of the male pros would find an excuse to take his shirt off on tonight’s show.
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