She was offended. “I wear that watch whenever I go out.”
“Retrace your steps, Mrs. Baldwin,” the officer said diplomatically. “Then give us a call if you still can’t find it.”
“Of course,” she said coolly.
With word out of a jewel thief on the loose, Mollie expected the police had received numerous calls of potential robberies and not all would pan out. Obviously straining to keep her dignity intact, Lucy Baldwin retreated, and the police followed her out.
Griffen gave a low whistle and whispered to Mollie, “We’ll never know if she finds her watch or not.”
“She’s a proud woman, isn’t she?”
“And that cop just made her feel like an ass. With her status in town, she’s not going to risk having people think she’s gotten daffy. Bet she has that guy’s ass in a sling by nightfall. You know those dignified rich old ladies. You don’t want to cross ’em.”
Mollie laughed. “Maybe she
did
forget where she took off her watch.”
Griffen shrugged, starting out through the mansion with a big bowl of leftover salad. “It’s possible. It’s also possible our cat burglar has struck again.”
“Don’t you think he’d want us to know he’d struck?”
“Not necessarily. He—or she—might get a secret thrill out of hitting a fancy lunch with a security expert up there telling everyone how to avoid getting robbed. Ballsy of him, if you ask me. But I don’t know that he’s in it for attention.”
“Good point. Really, we don’t know much of anything, do we? At least he didn’t attack Mrs. Baldwin.”
And here she was, Mollie thought, once again at the scene of the crime.
“You’re getting into this, aren’t you? Hanging out with Jeremiah Tabak, playing girl detective.”
“I’d like to see this guy caught, that’s all.”
“Well, you’re starting to scare me,” Griffen said, grinning, and was off to her van.
Mollie headed out to the parking lot herself. She needed to get back for a scheduled meeting with Chet Farnsworth, and as she settled in behind the wheel of Leonardo’s car and opened the windows, breathing in the warm, beautiful air, she couldn’t wait to dive back into her work. She’d made the right decision ten years ago to abandon the flute, and she’d made the right decision six months ago to take the plunge and put out her own shingle. This jewel thief business was just a fly in an otherwise very fine ointment.
A mile along Ocean Drive, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw an ancient red VW Rabbit three cars back. The infamous Croc. Mollie couldn’t make out his features with any reliability, but who else could it be? The car immediately behind her turned into a seaside resort hotel. After another half-mile, the second car pulled into a marina. The red car drew up behind her bumper. The reflection kept her from seeing who was behind the wheel, not that she had any doubts.
What did this guy think he was doing?
She took an unexpected left off Ocean Drive.
The red car didn’t follow.
“Well, there, you see?” she said aloud. “Maybe you’re just getting a tad paranoid.”
But two blocks from Leonardo’s, back on her main route, the VW fell in behind her. She eased off the gas and squinted in her rearview mirror, trying to get a better look at the driver. A man. Sunglasses. Longish hair of a medium color. Thin. Definitely Jeremiah’s informant.
She punched the button to open the security gates. What if he followed her in? Rammed her from behind? Pulled out a gun and shot her? Just because he was Jeremiah’s friend didn’t mean he was
her
friend.
But the red car drove on past her and disappeared around the curve.
She managed to get into the driveway, the gates shutting behind her, before slumping against the wheel, out of breath and immediately furious. She had half a mind to hit 95, track down Jeremiah, and tell him to keep his friend away from her. But Chet’s Jeep pulled up, she hit the button to open the gates, and he climbed out for his expected meeting.
He frowned at her. “Jesus, have you been out chasing ghosts or what? Come on. Let’s get you upstairs and fetch you a glass of water or something.”
“I’m sure I look worse than I feel—”
“What happened?” Chet demanded, his military training clicking into gear.
“Nothing. That’s just the thing. This car followed me from my luncheon—”
“Color, make, license plate?”
“It was red, an older two-door VW of some kind—a Rabbit, I think. I don’t know cars that well. And I didn’t think to get the license plate when he sped past me. I was just so relieved he was gone.”
“Understood.” He walked to the end of the driveway and peered through the gates up and down the street. “He’s gone now. Do you want me to call the police?”
“No! Good heavens, Chet, the guy probably wasn’t following me at all. I’m just jumpy after this weekend.”
He turned and grunted at her. “These robberies are getting to you.”
“There was another one today, at least potentially.”
Before he let her explain, he insisted on getting her upstairs and a glass of heavily sweetened iced coffee into her hand. Then he listened to her tale of Lucy Baldwin at the luncheon. “You know,” she added, “I’ve been present at every event that’s been held up. Every one. I don’t know if anyone else has—”
“The thief,” Chet said.
“Yes. That’s right.” She nodded dully. “I wonder if anyone else—the police, whoever—will start thinking of me as…I don’t know, a suspect. I mean, am I on someone’s list?”
“Jeremiah Tabak’s,” Chet said. “Guys like that
always
have an agenda. You’re his. He’s onto this common denominator thing. Mark my words.”
“I’m just rattled,” Mollie said carefully. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Chet sat at the breakfast bar and spoke to her in crisp, straightforward terms. “Here’s what you do. You work the problem. You don’t get sidetracked. You don’t feel sorry for yourself. You focus on what you need to do, and you do it. Fears and speculation are just distractions.”
Mollie drank some of her iced coffee. She’d be perked up in no time. Not only was it strong, it was thick. Chet must have added a half cup of sugar. “You’re right, Chet. Thanks.” She smiled. “I guess I should be glad you’re not getting all protective and telling me to hide under your bed.”
“Hiding doesn’t solve the problem.”
“If there
is
a problem,” she put in.
“Well,” Chet said gruffly, “it’s my bet this thief didn’t follow you home in a rusted, banged-up red VW that sticks out like a sore thumb in this neck of the woods.”
Mollie considered his point. “You’re probably right. Whoever it was is long gone by now, and you didn’t come here to discuss my problems. Shall we get to work?”
Chet beamed at her. “That’s the spirit.”
11
J
eremiah fetched a cup of coffee and a hot dog from the cafeteria and ate in his truck on his way home after two minutes at his desk to check messages. There was one from Frank, his cop friend up in Palm Beach, demanding to know what he’d been doing at the luncheon today. Damned cops. Spies everywhere. Jeremiah deleted the message. First he’d lived through the long, miserable night, then he’d lived through the long, miserable day. He’d lost all perspective and objectivity.
He
was becoming a damned loose cannon.
He’d borrowed a friend’s BMW for the day and trekked up to the Gold Coast just because his instincts had sounded the alarm and he didn’t like leaving Mollie up there on her own. The BMW wasn’t his stupidest idea of the past twenty-four hours, but close. He wanted to be inconspicuous, and he didn’t want Mollie jumping in the front seat with him, pissed, distracting, thinking she had a right to every synapse that fired off in his brain.
He headed back to South Beach, where he growled at the old guys on the porch, who ignored him, and changed for a run on the beach. He’d torture himself with exercise instead of thoughts of Mollie and her troubles and his role in them. He’d seen the police arrive at the mansion. He’d called the paper and got the skinny. Old lady loses watch. Maybe the work of the Gold Coast cat burglar. Maybe just an old lady losing a watch.
In the thick of things again, Miss Mollie was.
He walked over to the water and ran on the hard-packed sand on the edge of the outgoing tide, pounding hard, pushing himself. But the thoughts persisted, surging up every time he managed to bank them down. Had he brought this trouble down on Mollie himself? It was convoluted thinking, but he remembered Croc’s comment that up in Palm Beach, convoluted was the norm.
When he finally couldn’t run another step, his lungs burning, his legs aching, Jeremiah forced out another half-mile, then splashed into the ocean. He dove deep, feeling the sweat and the fatigue and the tension slide out of him.
Afterwards, he sat on the sand and dried himself in the warm sun, like a big old sea lion. Maybe he should just give it up and head into the Everglades and go fishing with his father. What good could come from his continued involvement with a string of Gold Coast robberies? And if Croc was involved, if Mollie was involved, he could be risking his reputation.
Croc materialized out of nowhere and dropped down onto the sand two feet away. He had on jeans, a denim shirt, and sneakers, as if it were fifty degrees out instead of nearly eighty. “Nice afternoon to run yourself to death, eh?”
“Perfect. How’d you find me?”
“I came by your place and saw you head out in your shorts, figured I’d give you time to run off the demons. You succeed?”
Jeremiah stared out at the glistening, turquoise water. “No.”
“Miss Mollie, Miss Mollie. Well, she’s pretty and smart, but I don’t trust her. Our thief had another attack of light fingers today. Lucy Baldwin lost a diamond Rolex in the ladies’ room. The police aren’t too sure if she
thinks
she was wearing it or if it was our guy. But I don’t see Lucy Baldwin as a forgetful, spooked old lady.” He stretched out his skinny legs in the sand. “Nah. I don’t buy it.”
Recognizing the name of one of Palm Beach’s most respected, wealthiest year-round widows, Jeremiah frowned at Croc. “How do you know this stuff? Were you there?”
Croc squinted, his face crinkling up. “Yep. So were you. I saw you in your Beemer. Why didn’t you stick around?”
“There didn’t seem to be any need.”
“I guess Lucy Baldwin losing a watch isn’t up there in excitement with Mollie Lavender getting a necklace snatched right off her neck.” Croc kept his eyes on the water, which was calm, no big swells moving in, and he added, “I followed her.”
“Mrs. Baldwin? Why—”
“Miss Mollie.”
“Jesus, Croc.” Jeremiah cursed himself. He should have spotted Croc—if anyone would stick out in Palm Beach, he would—but he’d never seen him. “What were you trying to accomplish?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, it just seemed like something to do. I figured you lacked the appropriate objectivity. Anyway, she made me on the way home. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up on your doorstep to blame you.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t call the damned police. I would have. I’d have your ass in the slammer. Ever occur to you that you might have scared the hell out of her?”
“Trust me,” Croc said, confident, “this lady’s no damsel in distress.”
Jeremiah was silent. Seagulls whined and wheeled overhead, and he could hear the laughter of beachgoers in the distance. His stretch of beach was quiet, just him in his wet running shorts, Croc in his jeans.
Croc yawned and fidgeted simultaneously. “You have to admit, it’s a tad incredible that she’s been at the scene of every robbery.
And
she’s the only victim who’s been physically assaulted. Awfully convenient, if you ask me. Nice way to take suspicion off yourself.”
“Hell, you’re even more cynical than I am.”
“Ain’t no one more cynical than you, Tabak.” He grinned. “You’re just not thinking with your head these days. If Miss Mollie isn’t the thief herself, maybe it’s a client or someone who works for her, or someone who’s using her to gain access. Maybe she’s being set up. Maybe she’s got enemies we can’t even begin to fathom. The possible scenarios abound.”
“And maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree altogether.”
Jeremiah got to his feet, brushed the sand off wet shorts and legs, gripped with a tension he didn’t want to fully understand. He knew it had everything to do with Mollie. He’d done stories more dangerous and complex than this one, but this time, he couldn’t stand back and observe with clarity and neutrality. He was involved.
“You can lay off this story, Croc. You’re going to land up in jail if you don’t watch it.”
Croc remained in the sand, angled a look up at Jeremiah. “You’re falling for her, aren’t you?”
Jeremiah ignored him. “Go for a swim. The water’s nice.”
When he arrived back at his building, Mollie was sitting out front with the guys. She’d changed from her business clothes to slim khakis and a white shirt that, he hoped, made her look paler than she actually was. Otherwise he’d probably have to head back to the beach and drown Croc.
“I stopped by the paper,” she said, “but you weren’t there. I found your street on the map.”
Albert, the ex-mobster, settled back against his half-shredded lounge chair. He was plump and had a full head of snow-white hair. “Bennie and I was just showing her some of our wares.” Indeed, they’d arranged a display of whittled animals on their table. Flamingos, parrots, toucans, alligators. “Sal’s gone in for lemonade.” Salvatore Ramie was a defrocked priest. Albert wiped sawdust from his knife blade with his thumb. “You want to stay for lemonade, Jeremiah? Or you want we should send Sal up with the pitcher?”
“Sal doesn’t have to—”
“Sal won’t mind,” Bennie said. He was bony and short, almost totally bald, his fingers still callused from decades of tailoring.
Mollie smiled at the two old men, both obviously taken in by her blonde good looks and easy charm. “I’d love some lemonade. If you’re sure your friend won’t mind bringing it upstairs, I really need to talk to Mr. Tabak.”
“Sure.” Albert grinned, dark, smart eyes flashing between her and Jeremiah. “You and
Mr.
Tabak go on up and talk.”