by Nora Roberts
“No. Not absolutely.” And there was nothing she could do about it, either way. “So, what now?”
“Once we get back to the Fist I use my innate reporter’s skills to find out more about Deena Black. First, we’ll browse around some of the local jewelry stores. We may find out where he bought the necklace.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. A little mother-of-pearl moon on a gold chain, possibly with diamonds. How many jewelry stores are in Jackson?”
“I’m afraid we’re going to find out.”
TOO MANY, was Brody’s opinion after the first hour, especially when you added in the craft and specialty stores that carried jewelry. He’d never understood the need for people to hang metal and stone all over their bodies, but since they’d been doing so since the dawn of time, he didn’t expect the activity to go out of fashion.
He was, however, relieved that the back-of-his-mind fear that Reece would surrender to the need tobrowse wasn’t realized. She didn’t succumb to the temptation that he believed plagued her breed tojust try this on. A woman who could stay focused on a task when having her senses blasted with glitter and shine was, in his opinion, a hell of a woman.
Now and then he’d see her gaze track offerings, but she stayed on point. He respected that. Particularly when he noticed other men suffering in silence while their women cooed and drooled and hummed over baubles and bits.
His respect and pleasure was such that he stopped along their walking route, pulled her up against him and kissed her enthusiastically.
“Nice. Why?”
“Because you’re a sensible, straightforward woman.”
“Okay. Why?”
“This business would take twice as long, at least, if you were the type who had to stop and make girl noises at every shop window or display. Taking long enough anyway, but this way we’re moving along.”
“True.” She slipped her hand into his as they headed for the next shop. “I also try to be an honest woman, so I should tell you the only reason I’m not stopping and making what you condescendingly term ‘girl noises’ is because I can’t afford to buy anything. And I’m out of the habit. But it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t if I could, or that I haven’t noticed particularly appealing items. Like the black two-and-a-half-inch ankle boots—I think they were crocodile—two shops back, and the tourmaline earrings on white gold hoops in the last shop. Or—”
“Youwere browsing.”
“In my limited fashion.”
“My illusions are shattered.”
“Better to know the truth now.” She gave his hand a friendly squeeze. “Anyway, at this point I’d rather have a set of Sitram than tourmaline.”
“Sitram?”
“Cookware.”
“You’ve got pots.”
“Yeah, that’s just what I’ve got. What I don’t have is heavy-gauge stainless with a thermic copper core base. If I actually sell the cookbook, Sitram’s first on my list. Did you buy anything wonderful when you sold your first book?”
“New laptop, loaded.”
“There you are. Tools are tools. This place looks like a good possibility. Upscale,” Reece continued, scanning the window display. “The real deal. If Deena was telling it straight about the eighteen karats and the diamonds, this could be the place.”
It was, Brody noted on entering, a bit more rarefied than most of the shops they’d visited. A woman with luxuriant auburn hair and a smart leather jacket sat at a table studying some sparklers on black velvet while she sipped from a thimble-sized cup. The man who sat across from her spoke in hushed, somewhat reverent tones.
Another woman in stylish red came out from behind a counter with a winning smile. “Good afternoon, and welcome to Delvechio’s. Is there anything you’d like me to show you?”
“Actually, we’re looking for a specific piece,” Reece began. “A necklace. A moon symbol pendant in mother-of-pearl. Diamonds spaced along the chain.”
“We had something along those lines a few months ago. Lovely piece. While we don’t have anything quite like that now, it may be possible to design something similar for you.”
“You sold it?”
“I don’t believe I sold it personally, but it was sold.”
“You’d have a record of the purchase?”
The winning smile shifted down several notches. “Perhaps you’d like to speak with Mr. Delvechio personally. He’s with a client now.” She gestured toward the customer. “If you’d like to wait and speak with him about a design, you’re welcome to do so. Would you like some coffee, tea, espresso?”
Before they could answer, the redhead rose. With a light laugh she leaned over and gave Delvechio—a distinguished type with pewter hair and horn-rims—a peck on both cheeks.
“They’re perfect, as always, Marco. You knew I couldn’t resist.”
“I only had to see them to think of you. Would you like them sent?”
“Absolutely not. I have to take them with me.”
“Melony will take care of it for you. Enjoy.”
“I certainly will.”
The clerk in red hurried over to scoop up the sparkles on black velvet. Delvechio turned to Reece and Brody. “A mother-of-pearl moon pendant on a gold chain, with diamond accents?”
“Yes,” Reece said, impressed he’d followed their conversation as well as his own. “Exactly.”
“Very specific.”
“A woman named Deena Black had one. She’s missing. Since she said it was a gift, we’d like to find the person who bought it for her. He may have information.”
“I see,” he said in the same polite tone. “Are you with the police?”
“No, we’re interested parties. All we want to know is who bought that necklace.”
“We had several pieces last year designed with moons, stars, suns, planets. Our Universe of Gems theme. They sold quite well for the holidays. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to give you client information, not unless you’re with the police and in possession of a warrant. Even if you were and did, it would take time as all of those pieces were sold in the previous inventory year. And some certainly sold for cash, and there would be no client information in any case.”
“How about when it was sold, and for how much?”
Delvechio raised his eyebrows at Brody’s question. “I couldn’t say when, with absolute certainty.”
“Best guess? Don’t need a warrant for a guess on when and how much.”
“No. We ran that theme, with those pieces, from October of last year through January. A piece as you describe would have been priced at around three thousand.”
“Whoever gave it to her knows what happened to her,” Reece insisted.
“If that’s so, you should contact the police. I can’t tell you any more under the circumstances. If you’ll excuse me.”
He left them to go into the back and closed the door firmly. After a moment’s pause, he went to his computer, called up data. He nodded at the name and the transaction.
His memory was excellent, and no less honed than his client loyalty.
Picking up the phone, he made a call.
29
THREE THOUSAND isn’t chump change,” Brody commented on the drive back.
Reece continued to frown out the window. The shadows were long as the sun eased toward the far west with the mountains holding on to every drop of that fading light. “A man even goes into a store like that, he’s decided on an important gift. And as you said, a man doesn’t buy an important gift for someone when it’s just sex.”
“So, they were serious.”
Reece shifted around to him. “He wouldn’t be seen with her, snuck around. How serious is that? I thinkobsessed orinfatuated are better words. She was using him, he was using her.”
“Okay.”
“From what we know about Deena, she was a topless dancer at a dive, dissatisfied, bitchy. She brought a variety of men home, drove a motorcycle and wasn’t above exchanging sexual favors for rent. And maybe not for cash, e
ither.”
“Figuring she charged some of those men.”
“Seems likely. But this guy’s different. He wants an exclusive, and she gives it to him. Maybe she wanted it, too, or maybe she saw it as an investment. If Delvechio was telling it straight—as much as hewould tell—this was probably a Christmas gift. A man doesn’t buy an important piece of jewelry as a Christmas present for someone he’s just banging. Especially one who’d have probably been impressed with a fifty-dollar pair of earrings.”
“You women are hard on each other,” Brody commented after a minute.
“She wasn’t an innocent, nor by any accounts so far a particularly nice woman. She didn’t deserve to be strangled for it, but she wasn’t a passive participant, either. I’m just saying this man was involved. He was infatuated. He was seeing her on the side, or certainly the sly, but she mattered. At least for a while.”
She turned back. “So who on the list could spend three thousand dollars on a secret sex partner without it being noticed?”
“I’d say any one of them. Some live alone, and their bank balance is their own concern. Guys who don’t live alone often have a nice stash tucked away, just like women do.”
“Even a nice stash trickles away after a while. Maybe that was part of the problem.”
“She wanted more.”
“Isn’t it likely? ‘Why don’t you take me anywhere nice? I’m tired of living in this dump. When can we go on a trip’ and variations of the same. They’d been seeing each other for months. She’d want more.”
“And infatuation trickles away,” Brody decided, “just like cash.”
“Dark side of the moon,” Reece murmured. “It wants to click in my head with something. Did I see the necklace when he strangled her? I can’t remember, not quite. But there’s something.”
“In fiction land we could go to the cops with all this and they’d get a warrant, get the name. Unfortunately, in this world there’s the pesky problem of probable cause.”
“There’s positive cause,” Reece argued. “Deena’s dead, and whoever bought her that necklace is the killer.”
“No proof she’s dead. Or even missing. Just gone and considerate enough to turn in the keys to her apartment. Even if we got lucky and nailed down who bought the necklace, it’s still no proof. No absolute proof he gave it to her. Certainly none that he killed her.”
Logically, he was right, but Reece was growing weary of logic. “Then what the hell are we doing, Brody?”
“Gathering information. And we have more today than we did yesterday.”
“It’s not enough. For weeks, months, after the murders in Boston, the investigators would tell me they were looking, they were compiling information. But there was never an arrest, never a trial, never a conviction. I had to walk away. I had to. But how many times can you walk away?”
“No one’s walking, Reece. We’ll figure out a way to get the name from the jeweler. Or we’ll find somebody else who knows something else. But no one’s walking.”
She said nothing for the next mile. “I could have used you in Boston. I could’ve used that bullheadedness.”
“It’s called tenacity.”
“A rose by any other name.” She laid a hand over his. “Listen, if your infatuation trickles out, let me down easy, will you?”
“Sure. No problem.”
It made her smile as they zoomed across the blooming flats toward Angel’s Fist.
HIS HAND SHOOK as he closed his cell phone. How had they gotten so close? An inch away from him. How could he have covered his trail so carefully, and still they followed it to Deena?
They knew her name.
He’d done everything—everything—that could be done to protect himself, to shield that part of himself.
A temporary madness, that’s all Deena had been. And when he’d regained his senses, he’d done his best to act honorably.
When honor hadn’t worked, he’d done what was necessary.
All a man could do was what was necessary.
He would do so now. For the good of the whole. To preserve what deserved preserving.
They weren’t part of the Fist. Strangers really, changing what should remain constant. They’d have to be removed, as Deena had been.
He had to restore the balance.
THE SATURDAY CROWD kept Reece busy while she left what she knew, didn’t know, wanted to know simmering in the back of her mind.
She imagined, even now, Brody was picking his way through the Internet, gathering information on Deena Black. But knowing where and when she was born, where she went to school, if she had a criminal record wouldn’t point the way to her killer. Not in Reece’s mind.
Met him at the bar, most likely, she decided. He picked her up, or she picked him. Either way, they started an affair. Or a business arrangement.
A man didn’t want his friends and neighbors to know he was paying a woman to have sex with him—it was embarrassing.
First, he traveled out of his own sphere to frequent topless bars and engage hookers. Basic preservation of reputation.
But he’d gotten involved, maybe even believed himself in love for the short term. Enough so that he bought her expensive gifts. Made promises? Reece wondered.
Older men often fell for younger, inappropriate women. She tried to imagine Doc Wallace or Mac Drubber with a woman like Deena Black. Reece wondered what it said about her, about them, that it was all too easy to do so.
Just as someone young, still impressionable like Denny, might fall—or someone used to getting his own way with women, like Lo.
Maybe they should bypass Sheriff Mardson—as for all she knew, really, he could be a stone killer—and dump all they knew or suspected in the lap of the Jackson police.
It couldn’t be any less productive than doing nothing. And she couldn’t keep living with these people, cooking for them and wondering if one was a killer.
“Talking to yourself again.”
She jumped a little, then glanced over at Linda-gail. “Probably.”
“Well, when you finish your conversation and it’s time for your break, can you take a look at something?”
“Sure, what?”
“This dress I ordered online. It just came in. I ran and picked it up at the post office on my break. God, I hope it fits. I just want your opinion.”
“All right, as soon as I—”
“If the two of you are going to stand in my kitchen talking fashion, you might as well take your break now.” Joanie moved in, took over the grill. “Make it quick.”
“Thanks, Joanie.” Linda-gail grabbed Reece’s arm and pulled her out of the kitchen, into Joanie’s office.
“I paid more than I should have,” she said as she hustled Reece inside. “But I just loved it.” She snagged it from where she’d hung it on the back of Joanie’s office door, then held it up against her. “What do you think?”
It was short and strapless in a tender, spring leaf green. Reece imagined when Linda-gail filled it, it would be a knockout.
“It’s great. Sexy and still fresh. Should be fabulous with your hair, too.”
“Really? Thank God. Now if it doesn’t fit, I’ll kill myself.”
“Or try something radical like exchanging it for the right size.”
“No time. I need it for tonight. Special Saturday night date with Lo. His term—and he said to wear something wow.” She turned and angled in front of the mirror again. “This is pretty wow.”
There was a quick jump in Reece’s belly. “Where are you going?”
“He won’t say. Really secretive about it. I wish I could’ve gotten back to Jackson for a touch-up, but I had to color my hair myself. It’s not too bad, is it?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s good. Linda-gail—”
“It’s an ultimatum night.” She fluffed one hand at her hair as she did a three-quarters pose for the mirror. “He’s got to explain—and make it good—about why he lied to me the other night about where he was. He kno
ws it’s on the line.”
“Linda-gail, don’t go.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Just wait. Don’t go off with him anywhere until you know what’s going on.”
“I’m going off with him to find out what’s going on.” With care, she hung the dress on the door again, smoothed its skirt. “He swore it wasn’t another woman, and I believe him. If I want this to work I have to give him a chance to explain things.”
“What if…what if he was involved with someone? Before. Seriously involved.”
“Lo? Serious?” She huffed out a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“How could you know, really? How could you be sure?”
“Because Lo’s been on my radar since we were fifteen. He hasn’t been serious about anyone ever.” Her pretty face went tight with determination. “Not the way he is with me, and the way he’s going to stay. What’s gotten into you? I thought you liked him.”
“I do. But he wasn’t honest with you.”
“That’s right, and now he’s going to be. I’m either going to like what he has to say tonight, or I won’t. I’ll either take him or leave him. But I’m damn well going to look fantastic either way.”
“Just…call me. On my cell. Call me when you get where you’re going, and after he explains.”
“Jesus, Reece.”
“Just do me that favor. I’ll be wondering and worrying if you don’t. Just do me that favor, Linda-gail. Please.”
“Okay, fine. But I’m going to feel pretty stupid.”
Better stupid, Reece thought, then hurt and alone.
AT HIS COMPUTER, Brody was making some progress. He knew Deena Black was born in Oklahoma in August 1974, had a high school diploma and some slaps for soliciting, one for disturbing the peace, two for assault. The second assault had earned her three months in county.
Her credit rating was in the toilet. Not that this would be a major concern to her now, if it ever had been.
He’d managed to backtrack her to her last two places of employment and residences. She didn’t receive glowing references from her employers—a strip club in Albuquerque and a biker bar in Oklahoma City—and her last landlord was still bitter about the two months’ rent she’d skipped on.