by Janet Dailey
Closed-circuit cameras were everywhere. He wore an earpiece. Someone unseen must have spotted her making her way through the crowd and directed Atwood to this area. A couple moved away from the bar, fresh drinks in hand, eying her and the coordinator curiously.
“Let’s talk over there.” Clutch in hand, she gestured toward a brocade-padded bench in an alcove filled with dramatic flower arrangements.
“Thank you for your cooperation. I think that will do.”
Kelly led the way but Atwood remained standing while she settled herself onto the bench, sipping her coke.
He riffled through the papers attached to the clipboard. “There is a media list. But you’re not on it. Our oversight, perhaps.”
Kelly decided to brazen it out. “I’m a plus one. I’m here with Russ Thorn.”
“Ah.” Atwood consulted the clipboard. “Tibbett. Thompson. There are several Thorns—and there is Russ Thorn.” He took out a pen and made a note. “His name is listed with a plus-one. It seems we never received your name. Unless your middle initials are T.B.A. for To Be Announced.” He chuckled dryly at his little joke.
Kelly didn’t. “I know what it means.” She finished her coke as Atwood reached into his jacket for a communication device. It hadn’t beeped. Maybe it was wired directly into his brain along with the earbud. He pressed a button and spoke into it.
“Miss Johns is the guest of Russ Thorn,” he said in a low voice. “Yes. Of Dixiecon Capital. Please fill in the blank on the master list.”
How much did it matter now? Kelly didn’t bother to ask. Neil Atwood couldn’t be speaking directly to Natalie Conrad. More likely someone with a larger clipboard. Kelly disliked his officiousness, but she understood that it was part of his job.
“Anything else you’d like to know?” she asked brightly. She rose from the bench and handed her empty glass to a passing waiter.
“No, Miss Johns. And I do apologize for interrupting your evening—just a moment.” He covered his ear to hear what the other person was saying, then talked to her. “It seems that Mrs. Conrad would like to chat with you.”
“Oh?” That was out of left field.
He listened again, his expression unreadable. “In an hour. On the dais. Would that be all right?” he asked Kelly.
“Ah—yes.” The chance of landing an exclusive interview with the no-longer-reclusive Natalie Conrad was why she’d come to Dallas, after all. But there was no telling why she had been summoned into the other woman’s presence.
Atwood concluded the conversation with a nod. “Please meet me here in the alcove and I will bring you to Mrs. Conrad.”
“Not a problem.”
She watched him walk away, then turned, almost stumbling into Deke. His warm hands cupped her bare shoulders, helping her regain her balance.
“Where’d you come from?” she asked, tugging a shoulder strap back into place when she was steady.
“I was making my way over to you at the bar, and then I saw that guy talking to you. He looked harmless. Is he?”
“His name is Neil Atwood. He’s the associate coordinator of the guest list. He wanted to know who I was.”
“Out of everyone here? Why?”
“First things first. I ran into Gunther Bach.”
Deke didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I guess he decided to stay in the US.”
“You can ask him,” Kelly said. “Then Natalie Conrad and I happened to lock eyes when she made her grand entrance. Did you see her come in?”
“From a distance. I didn’t see you.”
Kelly smoothed her dress. “I got the feeling that she recognized me and wasn’t too happy about it. So someone sent Atwood to snap at my heels.”
“You should be on the guest list.”
“You were, with a plus one. Not named. Thanks for not taking care of that.”
“Sorry.” He offered a bland smile. “Sometimes the less said, the better. If they throw water on us, we dissolve. Nothing left but the fake ID.”
He ignored her silent glare, taking her elbow to steer her back into the ballroom. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Kelly blinked in the brilliant light. With the ball in full swing, the whirling dresses and jewels made a glittering display of wealth. “What? Money in motion?”
“No.” He pointed upward. “That balcony. Want to sit there? We’d have a great view of everyone.”
Kelly missed it at first. The balustered balcony projected slightly from the vaulted wall among a row of others. She realized it was the only real one. The others were masterfully painted and designed to fool the eye. From where they were standing, the illusion was perfect.
“Sure. How do you get up there?”
“There’s a hidden staircase. One of the agents told me about it.”
Deke took her by the hand to the other side of the ballroom, where they exited through a service door behind a caterer’s station.
The hall they found themselves in had cinder-block walls that were clean and recently painted, but it was still a jarring contrast to the deluxe décor of the ballroom.
“He said to go twenty steps and then left at the second door.” Deke looked down at her and smiled. “The balcony is three flights up.”
Kelly made sure there was no one coming down the hall, listening for a moment for good measure. “Let’s do it.”
They counted to twenty like kids on an adventure and reached a door that opened into a stairwell. Kelly lifted her dress in front to climb the narrow stairs without tripping, glad when they finally stopped on the landing that led to the balcony. The music swelled and rose in waves, interwoven with the chatter and laughter of the crowd.
Deke didn’t step out onto the balcony. She hung back too.
“Wow,” she said softly. From high above, the grand ball was even more breathtaking. Kelly spotted Natalie Conrad on a dais with her entourage, sitting at the center like a queen at court. There was something that looked like a small house next to her. Not a doll’s house—it was all jutting angles and flat planes.
“That must be the architect’s model of the art museum,” Kelly said, pointing.
Deke looked in that direction. “I think you’re right.”
“Well, that’s something we can talk about. I’m supposed to meet her in about forty-five minutes,” she told Deke.
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“You were being annoying.”
Deke chucked her under the chin. “Don’t be so touchy. Sounds like you’re going to get that interview.”
“Maybe. I have to lead up to it gradually.” She retreated back to the landing. “I don’t want her to spot me up here.”
“Good point. Me neither. We’re not the stars of this show.”
Kelly opened her evening clutch and took out the mirror camera. “Hey, I got some interesting photos. Want to see?”
“Sure.”
She pressed a hidden button and the mirror slid off into her palm. Kelly touched the camera screen. “Slide show, coming up. I believe that’s Agent Two in the first shot.”
“Correct.” He didn’t seem terribly impressed.
“And that’s a waiter,” she went on. “Agent Two is giving him the secret signal for more canapés. The waiter stops and—look past the tray to the left. Bad Guys One and Five are standing right there.”
Deke came closer and studied the screen. “You’re right. Doing absolutely nothing illegal. But you spotted them. Good work. I had a tough time getting close-ups of anyone.”
She scrolled through the shots. Some were random. “I tried to take as many as I could. The memory card holds tons. Sometimes I just put the shutter on auto-click.”
“Smart. Like sports photography.”
“If fixing lipstick is a sport. I never got a chance to actually put any on. Hold this.” Kelly handed him the camera part.
She found the lip gloss and applied it, using the mirror in her palm. Deke occupied himself with studying
the photos she’d taken a second time, scrolling back and forth. “Hey. I think you got something important.”
“Besides the canapés? I didn’t get one of Gunther, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m not talking about him. Come here. Check this out.”
Kelly capped the gloss and stuck it back in her bag. “I should go. I don’t want to be late for my chat with Natalie.”
“You have plenty of time to get down there.” Deke put himself and the camera in her way. “Real quick—watch what happens.”
Against her will, Kelly looked down. Deke had pulled up a snapshot of a nondescript male guest in a gray suit. “See what I mean? He’s leaning over that thirtyish woman decked out in emeralds.”
“So? He wasn’t on your laptop,” Kelly said after studying him for a few seconds. “Or do you mean the woman?”
Deke shook his head. “No. I mean him. And he was on it. You didn’t tag him as bad or good. The photo you saw was taken a couple of years ago. Looks like he’s lost a lot of hair since then.”
He zoomed back in until only the couple’s hands were visible. The woman was nervously twisting an emerald bracelet. In photos taken seconds apart, shown quickly, Kelly saw her take it off and rub her wrist. Then the woman half turned, distracted by someone Kelly couldn’t see.
Deke zoomed in as tightly as the camera would allow. The man’s hand covered the removed bracelet. Deke zoomed back to show the whole scene again. The man was steps away from his victim, his back barely visible. The bracelet was gone.
“Huh. I really didn’t see that happening,” Kelly said with amazement. “But like I said, no one wears real jewels to an event like this.”
“Send me the photos, please. I think this woman did. I overheard someone having hysterics over a missing bracelet. The security people were trying to calm her down.”
Kelly took the camera from him, pushing buttons to send the photos to his e-mail. “Really?”
Deke nodded. “I didn’t see her, but I’d bet anything it’s the same woman.”
“Not to be cold-blooded about it, but she should have been more careful. Things like that happen,” Kelly said. “But—how does it connect to your investigation?”
“That guy’s got a record and more than one felony conviction. He’s been out on parole for a while. If the cops can arrest him for grand theft—and I think that’s what we’re looking at—we might get him to talk about a whole lot of other things. He’ll be facing hard time if he doesn’t.”
“Over a bracelet? Why would he risk prison again in the first place?”
“Criminal compulsion. Staying in practice. Just plain stupid. Take your pick.”
“How come I didn’t notice him in action?” she asked.
“You weren’t looking for anything like that. Which is why we work in teams, Kelly. We cover each other.”
“Hmph.”
“Besides, crooks of his caliber have a sixth sense about being watched. I hope we can find him before he gets away.”
The mayhem at the abandoned building at Atlanta came back to her. Investigating was one thing. Dodging bullets was another. “Good luck. That’s where I draw the line.”
“Damn right. I’m not putting you in danger.”
Kelly zoomed in on the bracelet. “Look at those big green rocks. If they’re real, that bracelet could be worth close to a million.”
“Put it in perspective. Gunther Bach probably steals a hundred million every year, maybe more. And he’s still not the biggest guy.”
“I was just going to ask you about that—”
“Later.” Deke gestured toward the stairs beyond the landing. “Let’s go.”
Kelly walked quickly around the ballroom’s perimeter, going back the way she came but without Deke. He was mingling again. The bracelet thief had to be long gone.
She reached the alcove a few minutes ahead of time. Neil Atwood was waiting for her, half-concealed by the flower arrangements. He wasn’t holding the clipboard.
“Do I have time for the ladies’ room?” she asked hopefully.
Atwood looked at his watch. “Just barely. Please hurry.”
She dashed in. There was no one in front of the mirror and she didn’t hear anyone in the stalls. The presence of a ladies’ maid guarding fresh hand towels and a tray of little conveniences would limit casual chatter between female guests anyway.
Kelly set her evening bag on the marble counter, then dampened a folded hand towel with cold water and pressed it to her cheeks. Then she ran a small comb quickly through her hair, wishing she’d worn something more demure. The backless, clingy dress would look wrong somehow next to Natalie Conrad’s elegant evening suit.
That couldn’t be helped. Kelly left and followed Atwood through the crush of guests to the dais where Natalie Conrad still sat.
Atwood brought Kelly up the low stairs to the side, approaching Mrs. Conrad with deference. There was an attractive older man on either side of her, leaning in attentively as she spoke in a low voice. They were both impeccably groomed. One had dashes of silver at the temples and the other had snow-white hair. Natalie Conrad seemed younger than either man, but she might have been close in age to the first.
She stopped talking when she saw Kelly, rising graciously from her seat. The two men rose also. “Run along,” she told them playfully. “We can pick up where we left off later.”
They obeyed, nodding to Kelly without expecting to be introduced and leaving the dais. Atwood retreated to a respectful distance.
“I was so surprised to see you when I walked in, Kelly,” the older woman began. “Forgive me for not smiling. I wasn’t sure it was you at first. By the time I realized it was, the crowd had closed in.”
“It’s a wonderful ball. Thank you—” Kelly stopped. She couldn’t say thank you for inviting me. She hadn’t been invited.
“You and I had such a nice chat in Atlanta at the benefit gala—ah, it was years ago, wasn’t it? But I remembered you the instant I saw you. What are you doing now? Are you still a reporter?”
“Not really,” Kelly said. “I anchor the evening news. Occasionally I do a feature.”
“Oh, I see,” Natalie said. “I must confess that Monroe Capp let me know you’d be here.” She smiled blandly.
And Kelly thought she’d escaped unnoticed. Good old Monroe. He had a way of finding out what everyone was up to and he loved to meddle. But how did he know Natalie?
“Kelly, please sit.” The older woman made it easier for her by resuming her own chair. “You must be exhausted. By the way, he mentioned that you’d been shot while you were taping a report. Some sort of criminal altercation, was it? I had no idea that reporting could be so dangerous.”
Kelly racked her mind for the right words to downplay her experience. “I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wasn’t hurt.”
“Even so—you had to have been traumatized.”
The older woman’s nervous manner and fixed stare were hard to take. Kelly looked away. “Not really. All in a day’s work for me.”
“My dear, I admire your courage.”
“I really was just standing there. There are neighborhoods in Atlanta where you don’t want to do that. I wouldn’t even call the area a neighborhood. It’s slated for development.”
“A word that so often means condemned.”
Kelly looked at her, puzzled. “Natalie, with all due respect, I’d rather not think about the incident. If we could talk about something else . . .”
“Of course.” The older woman condescended to her with a gracious smile. “Are you enjoying the party? I hear you’ve been dancing nearly all night.”
One thing was certain about Natalie Conrad: she paid extremely close attention to a lot of things—and she could pay other people to do her watching for her.
“What else can I do? The band keeps playing.”
Natalie’s silvery laugh rang out. “My dear, I think it is the company you keep. Is the young man your fianc
é? Last time we met I believe you were unattached.”
“No,” Kelly said quickly. “Russ is just a friend. He’s a wonderful dancer.”
Natalie gave her an amused, conspiratorial look. “I don’t know him, but I wish I did. Atwood had a photo—he and his team keep me informed as best they can.”
Kelly had noticed that.
“The guest list just kept getting longer. We need donors at all income levels for this fund-raiser. Not everyone has a million to give away.”
“I certainly don’t,” Kelly said cheerfully.
“So did you know I was hosting the ball when Mr. Thorn asked you to accompany him?”
“I did, yes. He made sure to tell me. He didn’t know that you and I had met before.”
“Such a small world.”
Kelly was desperate to change the subject again. Natalie’s gaze held an inquisitive intelligence that went far beyond her ability to make small talk. “Tell me more about the art museum, Mrs. Conrad.”
“Please call me Natalie.”
Fair enough. Kelly didn’t mind. “Is that the architect’s model?”
Natalie looked proudly at the small structure beside her. “Yes. Isn’t it marvelous.”
That didn’t seem to be a question. Kelly agreed with a nod.
“And it will cost millions to build,” the older woman said thoughtfully. “I do wish you worked in Texas and not Georgia.”
“I don’t know if I ever told you that I’m a Texas native—does that help?” Kelly could almost feel the twang coming back. She suspected that wouldn’t impress Natalie Conrad one way or another.
“Oh. How interesting. But it doesn’t really matter. I know you and I would trust you to produce a feature story.”
“What about the Dallas media?” Kelly asked.
“Out in force,” Mrs. Conrad said dismissively. “In all honesty, an art museum benefit simply isn’t their sort of story. Nonetheless, they are here.”
Kelly didn’t need to look at dangling press passes. She’d spotted several reporters already, swilling champagne and eating all the coconut shrimp. Took one to know one. She’d made meals out of canapés and free drinks more times than she could count, back when she was an underpaid newbie. There were undoubtedly many more media people here tonight representing local TV, the newspapers, and the blogosphere.