Catching Claire
Page 5
Derek put down his pen. “Don’t worry about the wallet.” Did she think she had to pay him?
“I see it!” She continued emptying the bag until an explosion of frothy colors littered his desk, reminding him of his twin sister Janie’s rooftop garden after her ex-boyfriend broke her heart and she’d weed-whacked every blossom formerly planted in honor of their love.
It occurred to him Janie would like Miss DeMarco. He could visualize the two of them whacking blossoms together.
“Ah ha!” The blonde produced a slim wallet. A cell phone clattered out of the bag, bouncing across the lingerie and clunking his jar of pens. Amid the chaos, she opened the wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.
A flowery script on creamy stock announced: Lacey’s Little Underthings. Lacey DeMarco, President and Head Designer.
“Lacey?” Derek muttered. “Give me a break.” Yeah, she’s a wing-nut.
A blush stained her face. “That’s right, Lacey DeMarco. My mother, Cather—uh, Christina DeMarco, is the famous lingerie designer out of Milan. My sister is Silken and my brother is Teddy. My mother believes in theme names.”
“Does she now?” Placing aside the card, Derek pressed down another smile. He’d never heard of Christina DeMarco. Or Cather-uh DeMarco. “Look, I need to understand the situation. If someone’s stealing your underwear, what’s all this?” He sifted his fingers through the pile.
She gazed at the heap. “This is...what’s left. What I’ve rescued.”
“Mm-hm. From the culprit, you mean?”
“Yes.” Her voice rose. “This hasn’t been stolen. Yet.” She stuffed the cell phone and lingerie back into the bag.
Derek picked up the green panties and studied the inside label. Well, lookee here. The hand-stitched label read Lacey’s Little Underthings, like her business card.
Maybe his sexy wing-nut was on the up-and-up.
“Okay.” He tossed her the panties, which she caught with surprising deftness. “Please sit.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. On his computer, he saved the grid he’d drafted showing a week of vehicle thefts. “Tell me what happened,” he said as he logged out of the computer and reached for his notepad.
She remained standing. “I’d rather tell you on the way over.” She shoved the wadded panties into the bag.
“The way over where?”
“My place.”
“Your place?”
“My design studio—it’s in my apartment. That’s where the theft occurred. Don’t you want to inspect the scene of the crime?”
“I’d rather take notes first.”
Her eyebrows high-jumped. “I don’t have time! I never know when he might strike again. He’s already plundered me twice!”
Derek chuckled. “The panty thief?”
“The corporate panty raider,” Lacey returned in an uppity tone he swore she employed to disguise her obvious jitters. Because, if her dress was anything to go by, she didn’t look the uppity type.
“Lacey’s Little Underthings is a legitimate company, Detective McAllister. I’ve produced my business card. I demand your respect.”
Derek tapped the pad against his palm. Finishing the vehicle theft grid could wait. While he didn’t buy into Lacey’s business-card definition of respect, she deserved his attention and protection as much as any other Rosewood citizen. Even if he wasn’t technically on-duty.
“Just a minute,” he told her. He got up and strode to the counter. “Harding. I need a ride-along. You available?”
“Sorry.” The guy plunked on his hat. “Just got a call.”
Biggs backed away, hands raised. “I need to write a report.”
Derek nodded. Typical.
He glanced back at Lacey. She stood at his desk, clenching the shopping bag and nibbling her lip.
He drew in a breath. Okay, then. He’d poke around her design studio, call in the crime scene techs if necessary. Volunteer an hour of his time toward her peace of mind, tops.
He motioned her over. “Not to worry, Miss DeMarco. I’d be happy to take a look.”
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