by Linda Turner
“I smelled bread,” he said, grabbing at the first explanation that made sense. “It smells good.”
“We’re closed,” the girl at her side said coldly. “And even if we weren’t, no one’s allowed in the kitchen but employees.”
Surveying the angry teenager with narrowed eyes, Sam didn’t have to ask who she was. He’d already gotten a list of the café employees, and there was only one other employee he’d yet to meet. “You must be Rosa Martinez.”
She nodded stiffly and made no effort to conceal her dislike. “And you’re the detective who’s trying to pin a rap on Jennifer.”
“Rosa!”
Ignoring Jennifer’s gasp, Sam grinned down at the girl. He liked a kid with guts. And loyalty, even if it was misplaced, was a rare commodity these days. “I’m not the bad guy here—I’m just trying to do my job and get at the truth.”
“She told you the truth, but you won’t believe her. She doesn’t lie.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve never met a suspect yet who did,” he drawled. “They’re all God-fearing clean-living citizens who’d die before they’d do anything dishonest.”
His gentle mockery stung. Color climbing into her cheeks, Rosa said stubbornly, “But Jennifer’s not like that. She’s not!” she insisted when he only shrugged, unconvinced. “If you don’t believe me, look around. All this bread is going to be donated to homeless shelters. Would a thief do that?”
“A smart one would,” he tossed back. “Appearances can fool a lot of people. Take this setup your boss lady has here. It looks legit. She seems like a hardworking, charitable lady who pays her bills and doesn’t bother anybody. But how do I know what she’s hiding upstairs? Even a good-looking apple can be rotten to the core. For all I know, she could be selling dope out of there after she closes up at night. Or hiding loot from a robbery. I don’t know what’s in her closets. Of course, if she’d let me look around, that might go a long way toward clearing up any misunderstandings I have about her.”
Outmaneuvered, Rosa looked uncertainly at Jennifer. “Uh...Jennifer?”
No! Every instinct Jennifer possessed screamed at her not to be a fool. Kelly didn’t have a search warrant. She didn’t have to let him anywhere near her things.
But if she didn’t, it would seem as if she had something to hide.
Seething, she shot him a look that should have slayed him where he stood. The fact that it didn’t only served to infuriate her more. “You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you, Kelly?”
“One can only try,” he said modestly, grinning. “So what’s your answer? Yes or no?”
What could she say? “Yes,” she said through her teeth, “if my attorney says it’s all right.”
She didn’t have an attorney, but that was none of Sam Kelly’s business. Leaving him to cool his heels in the kitchen she hurried into her small office, shut the door and tried not to panic. It was Saturday—most people weren’t working, especially at this hour. Dear God, what was she going to do? Then she remembered the attorney who came into the café just about every morning for Danish and coffee. Praying the woman had a listed number, Jennifer reached for the phone book.
Brenda Ferguson was cleaning house and thankful for any interruption that took her away from it for a few minutes. When Jennifer identified herself and apologized for disturbing her, she laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re a godsend. What can I do for you?”
“I hate to call you at home and on a Saturday, but it’s sort of an emergency and I need a lawyer. I didn’t know anyone else to call.”
Instantly alert, the other woman shrugged off the apology and said, “What’s the problem?”
Quickly and succinctly, Jennifer told her everything. “Detective Kelly is here now and wants to look around. I didn’t know how to tell him no without looking guilty.”
“No!” Brenda said immediately. “If he wants to look around, he can damn well get a warrant. And don’t talk to him! If he doesn’t like it, I’ll explain the facts of life to him when I get there.”
“You’re coming over?” Jennifer asked in surprise.
“Just as soon as I turn off the vacuum cleaner,” she assured her grimly. Without another word, she hung up.
Chapter 4
If she was going to have a lawyer, she should have followed her advice to the letter. Logically, she knew that, but when she returned to the kitchen to inform Sam that she couldn’t, on the advice of her attorney, allow him upstairs, he gave her that look. The one that made her want to squirm and rush to offer an explanation. The next thing she knew, she was instructing Rosa to watch the bread, then leading Sam outside and up the stairs to her apartment. Giving him carte blanche to dig into any drawer or closet he liked, she just dared him to find a single piece of physical evidence that linked her to the burglary and attack on Mrs. Elliot.
He wouldn’t of course. There was nothing to find. Confident, she followed him from room to room, watching him like a hawk when he put his hands on her things and all but crowing when he found nothing the least bit suspicious. Then he stepped into her bedroom and went right to her dresser and the silver-plated antique jewelry box sitting on top of it. She’d played with it as a little girl and loved it all her life. It was the one item above all others that she treasured the most, and at the sight of it in Kelly’s strong, lean hands, her heart lurched.
“That was my grandmother’s,” she said sharply. “All the jewelry in there belonged to her, and I’d just as soon you didn’t handle it. Some of the pieces are quite old and in need of repair.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised, and flipped open the lid. At the sight of the diamonds sparkling there, he whistled softly. “Well, well, well. What have we here? And you said you had nothing to hide.”
“I don’t!” she snapped. Alarmed by the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, it was all she could do not to snatch the case out of his hands. “Those were my grandmother’s!”
“So you said. Can you prove it?”
Taken aback, she paled. “No, but—”
“Then how do I know these aren’t Mrs. Elliot’s? We’ve only recovered two pieces so far.”
“Because they’re not. They don’t even fit the description.”
“She said they were old diamond pins and bracelets.” Dipping his fingers into the jewelry box, he pulled out a handful of old diamond pins and bracelets. His smile smug, he arched a brow at her. “I’m not much of an expert at jewelry, but these look like a match to me. What do you think?” And without so much as a by-your-leave, he dumped the entire contents of the jewelry box into an evidence bag he pulled from his pocket.
“No! Dammit, you can’t do that!”
“Watch me, sweetheart.”
“You have no right! Every one of those pieces was left to me in my grandmother’s will. Give them back right now, or I swear I’ll—”
“Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Whirling, Jennifer sighed in relief at the sight of Brenda Ferguson standing in the open doorway with a frown of displeasure lining her brow. “Brenda! Thank God!”
Dressed in a red suit that had power written all over it, the attorney stepped into the bedroom like she was walking into court. Less than twenty minutes had passed since Jennifer’s call had caught her cleaning house, but she was as put together as if she’d had hours to dress. Her iron gray hair hung to her shoulders in a sleek pageboy, and somehow she’d found the time to meticulously apply makeup. Her sharp blue eyes shifting from the evidence bag in Sam’s hand to Jennifer’s flushed indignant face, she summed up the situation in a single glance.
“If you’re Sam Kelly and that bag is what I think it is, you’re in a whole lot of trouble, Detective,” she told him after crossing the room to introduce herself. “You have no right to search this property without a warrant.”
Not the least bit perturbed, he tucked the evidence bag into the pocket of his jacket with a maddening lack of haste. “Sorry to disappoint you, Counselor, b
ut I don’t need a warrant. Your client gave me permission to conduct a search.”
Glancing at her, the other woman arched a brow. “Jennifer?”
“I know you told me to tell him no, but I didn’t think it would hurt since I don’t have anything to hide,” she said defensively. “How was I supposed to know the man was totally unreasonable? He expects me to prove my grandmother’s jewelry is mine! Tell me how I’m supposed to do that. They don’t exactly come with a deed of trust, you know.”
“There was a will, wasn’t there?” he replied. “If she left this stuff to you, it’ll be in her will. Drag it out and let’s see what it says.”
“There’s no point—she didn’t list the individual pieces. All the will says is that she wanted me to have the contents of her jewelry box.”
“So you could put anything you wanted in there and claim Granny left it to you, couldn’t you? Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not going to wash.”
“Be careful, Detective,” Brenda Ferguson warned quietly. “You don’t have anything against my client and you know it. You’re just blowing smoke.”
Unperturbed, he replied confidently, “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you. Ms. Hart has prior knowledge of the crime and jewelry that fits the description given by the victim. She’s new to San Antonio and may, for all we know, have a rap sheet a mile long in that little town in West Texas where she claims she grew up. I’m going to check out her background and show these pieces to the victim. If I find something I shouldn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”
He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving behind a silence thick with apprehension. Staring after him, Jennifer wondered how she’d ever thought the man the least bit attractive.
Standing at her side, Brenda said dryly, “Please tell me you don’t have a record a mile long in West Texas.”
Jennifer laughed shakily and obediently repeated, “I don’t have a record a mile long in West Texas. But,” she added, sobering, “I did develop something of a reputation there.”
“As what?”
“An oddball psychic. And the woman who accused the mayor of embezzling city funds after I had a vision about it.”
Interested, Brenda lifted a brow. “Did he do it?”
That period in her life wasn’t something Jennifer liked to talk about, but after Brenda had dropped everything to rush over there to help her, the least she owed her was an explanation. “He did it,” she said stiffly, “but not many people thanked me for exposing him.”
She had, in fact, been ostracized and treated like a leper by people she’d known her entire life. She’d only been eighteen at the time, but she still felt the hurt as if it were yesterday. “He was well liked and I was a nobody who everyone thought was a little strange.”
“But surely the local authorities did something to him,” the older woman said incredulously. “He embezzled public funds, for God’s sake! At the very least he should have been run out of office.”
“He was—eventually. By that time there wasn’t much anyone could do to him, though. Last I heard, he’d run off to Puerto Rico and was living like a king.”
“But there were some discrepancies in the books? Just as you told the police? That’s a matter of public record?”
“Actually I went to the sheriff, but yes, I suppose it’s in the case records somewhere. It would have to be. No one even suspected anything was wrong until I came forward.”
Brenda couldn’t have been more thrilled if Jennifer had just predicted she was going to be appointed to the Supreme Court.
“Yes!” she crowed, shooting a triumphant fist into the air. At Jennifer’s look of surprise, she laughed and slung a friendly arm over her shoulder. “Don’t you get it? Detective Kelly is hoping you’ve got a record, and you do, but not the kind he wants. It’s on record that you assisted the police and exposed a criminal. God, I wish I could see Kelly’s face when he finds out!”
First thing Monday morning Sam called the sheriff of Sandy Bluff. He was named Homer, for God’s sake. Homer Winslow. He was a slow-talking good ol’ boy who either had too much time on his hands or didn’t take his duties all that seriously. When Sam told him he was a detective with SAPD and calling on official business about Jennifer Hart, all the man could talk about was the cherry Danish Jennifer’s grandmother, God rest her soul, used to make. It was the best he’d ever put his mouth to.
Struggling to hold on to his patience, Sam said, “That’s great, Sheriff. But about Ms. Hart—”
“I always said it was a shame about that girl,” he confided. “She comes from good people, you know. And she lost them all by the time she was twenty-two. But she handled that just like she handled everything else life threw at her.”
“And what was that?” Sam asked curiously. “What exactly has life thrown at her besides the loss of her family?”
“Well, you know, she never had many friends when she was growing up. She was different, and a lot of parents didn’t want their kids associating with someone who always seemed to know what was going to happen tomorrow. And then there was that mess with Mayor Denton.”
Alarm bells clanging in his head, Sam sat up straighter and grabbed pencil and paper to take notes. “What mess?”
“The jerk was helping himself to city funds.” Disgust flattened the sheriffs voice. “Even when she came to me and told me what was going on, I’m sorry to say I didn’t believe her. I liked the guy, you know. So did everybody else. But he was nothing but a two-bit thief and no one could see it but Jennifer.”
“How did she know it?”
“How does Jennifer know anything?” he asked ruefully. “She just did. And people didn’t like her for it, either. In fact, it got pretty ugly. Some even accused her of framing the mayor because her grandparents didn’t agree with his politics. I had to check her out of course, but she was clean, just like I knew she’d be. That didn’t stop people from talking, though. Then when old Denton destroyed most of the records and slipped away in the dead of night, the holier-than-thou types blamed Jennifer because he got away. Nobody was too surprised when she sold their business after her grandparents died and left town. She wasn’t real happy here.”
He rattled on about her grandparents and how the bakery just hadn’t been the same since it had changed ownership, but all Sam heard was the case he was trying to build against Jennifer going down the drain. And he couldn’t even say he was surprised. On the way into work, he’d stopped by Agatha Elliot’s to show her pictures of the jewelry he’d confiscated from Jennifer. The old lady had loved them, but none of the old-fashioned pins and bracelets were hers. He’d still needed to check out her background just to be sure, but he’d already figured he wasn’t going to find anything.
That didn’t, however, mean he was willing to concede that Jennifer was in any way, shape or form, psychic. She just had good instincts.
She wasn’t real happy here.
Long after he thanked the sheriff for his help and hung up, Winslow’s words echoed in his ears. The sheriff had painted a grim picture of a young girl who’d grown up alone and lonely, all because she had the misfortune to be different. Just thinking about it made Sam furious.
“Problems?” Tanner asked, pushing in on his troubled thoughts with the arrogance of an old friend.
“It looks like we may be back to square one with the Elliot case,” Sam said in disgust. “The sheriff in Sandy Bluff verified that Jennifer Hart worked with him on a case a few years back. She had a hunch about the mayor embezzling money, and it turned out she was right.”
Amusement glittered in Tanner’s eyes. “So she is psychic. Ain’t that damn interesting?”
“Stuff it, Bennigan. She just got lucky, all right? If she was really psychic, she should have known we’d suspect she was somehow involved. So why didn’t she take steps to prevent that from happening? Tell me that, hotshot. One phone call from the sheriff in Sandy Bluff and she would have saved herself a lot of grief.”
“Maybe,” Tan
ner said with a shrug. “Maybe not. The sheriff just verified that she’s psychic and you still don’t want to believe it, so what’s the point of verifying her story? You still wouldn’t have believed her.”
“Because there’s no such thing as psychics!”
Amused by his vehemence, Tanner grinned. “Isn’t there? The lady looks pretty damn real to me. And I think that’s what’s got you all in a stew. You’d rather not notice, but she’s kind of hard to ignore.”
He was right. Deep in his gut Sam knew it, but he was damned if he’d admit it. “Don’t start with that crap that I need a woman. I date.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. I went out with Tom Saboda’s sister. We went to that new Harrison Ford movie.”
“And you left early with the excuse that you were catching the flu,” Tanner retorted. “You had to take two days’ sick leave just so Tom wouldn’t guess you’d lied to his sister. You haven’t been out since.”
“So I’m busy,” he growled. “And I just got busier. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve now lost our one and only suspect. Unless you want to be the one to tell that to the lieutenant, I suggest we find us another one.”
They spent the rest of the day running down leads, but they had little to work with. There were no fingerprints at the Elliot estate or on the two pieces of jewelry hocked at Benny’s and no description of the perp. Agatha could testify that the man was big and strong, but that was all; and Benny conveniently had a memory that wasn’t good with details. If he got a good look at the character who’d brought in the jewelry, he wasn’t talking, and the name and address the man had left had, not surprisingly, turned out to be bogus.
All Sam wanted to do at the end of his shift was go home and forget the whole damn thing. But first he had to return Jennifer’s jewelry to her and concede that she’d been telling the truth, at least about that. He wasn’t looking forward to it.