Bedeviled Angel (31 page)

She's the reason I fell in love with the clothing styles themselves, as opposed to the dates the clothes were in vogue."

Melody turned in her seat. "Now my mother, she used to buy the latest fashions, the newest designs, and after she wore something once, even for half an hour, she'd toss it. We used to rescue what she discarded and play dress up—me, yickie, and Kira—I still have a couple of her outfits, and llfat's how Vickie got into vintage clothing."

"And it's how you stay connected with your mother."

"It is not!"

Logan raised a questioning brow.

"I don't like that theory."

Logan found Melody's hand, squeezed. "If you think about it, you'll see—"

"No." She reclaimed her hand. "I won't think about it. I hate mining for emotions.

I'm happy, thank you very much. This is me, everything out in the open, on the surface. What you see is what you get."

Logan regarded her with a heated gaze. "Is that a promise?"

"Don't change the subject. I am not pining for a mother who never wanted me."

"Right, and I'm not like your father."

Melody huffed, then she sat forward. "Wow," she said. "Are those police cars waiting for us?"

In minutes they were embroiled in a search for evidence, only to discover most of the damage confined to the video editor's office. Other than the broken lock on that door, they found no sign of forced entry into the station, or into the parking garage.

"Early hypothesis?" said the detective. "A disgruntled employee… a stupid one."

A bookcase containing copies of shows in all formats, lay tipped on its side, its damaged contents strewn about. Desk drawers sat open, while outdated cutting and editing equipment had also been smashed.

"The computer's off," Logan said.

"That's odd," Melody said. "Isn't most of the editing done on a computer these days?"

"Yeah, but I don't think our thief realized that."

"Like I said," drawled a cop. "Check employee IQs; might narrow the search."

"Bingo," said one of the cops, taking something from the rug near the desk with tweezers and placing it into a small clear zipper bag. "Looks like our burglar is a woman." He handed the evidence bag to the detective, who looked at it then handed it to Logan. "Look familiar?"

Logan showed the bagged evidence—a glittering gold fingernail, inset with diamonds—to Melody. Seeing it, the two of them regarded each other for half a beat. "No," Logan said as Melody shrugged and shook her head in denial.

"Where did you find it?" Logan asked.

"Here," said the cop who found it, as he examined the desk. "Looks like the nail broke when the perp forced a drawer open. Unless your video editor is a woman?"

Chuckling, Logan and Melody shook their heads. "Sam Schraft is an ex-jock.

Those nails are not his type."

"Cleaning woman, maybe?" the detective said.

"No cleaning woman in her right mind would wear nails like that," Melody said.

The detective stepped closer and lifted one of Melody's hands, then the other, and examined her lavender nails. "Paint these lately?" he asked, brow raised.

"Yep, I grew a new one and painted it right after you called. Look closer," she said. "They're real."

"Hey," Logan said. "Her show is what's missing, remember?"

"It's okay, Logan," Melody said. "He's only doing his job. Maybe I didn't like my show, right, detective?"

The detective nodded, but Logan saw that Mel had won his admiration, and Logan felt the headache resulting from another adoring male coming on.

"And what about you, Kilgarven? You got anything against the lady's show?"

"Me? That's not my nail."

"No, but you have a history, don't you?"

Logan shook his head. "Not one you can look up. Those records are sealed, and you damned well know it. Find a record in the past twenty years and come back.

The man and the punk are two different animals."

"That's what my father said."

"Your father?"

"Martin Grey. He took you in that day."

"I hate small towns," Logan said, sensing Melody's interest.

They saw the police out of the building, and Logan turned to her. "Don't ask," he said. "And I won't ask why you said you could cook."

Melody nodded. "Fair enough."

They returned to the video editor's office and Logan sat down at Sam's desk to see if anything of Mel's Thanksgiving show had been backed up on the computer.

"I'll tell you about it someday."

Again Melody nodded, glad he felt comfortable enough to confide in her.

"Good thing Gardner left," Melody said. "He would have recognized Tiffany's nail, too."

"Right, and since you didn't say anything, either, I guess you agree it's not in anybody's best interest to finger the station owner's daughter—pun intended."

"What happens when the police show Max the evidence?"

"If Max recognizes it, let him deal with her. If he doesn't, well, you can be sure that as soon as Tiffany notices it's gone, there'll be a new and different set of nails on those corrupt hands of hers."

"How do you think Max will deal with her, providing he recognizes it?"

"He'll send her on a world cruise or something. Max is like your father in that he thinks money represents love."

Melody slipped into a chair. "Poor kid." She frowned. "What am I saying? She sabotaged my Thanksgiving show, and it was awesome. I was a freaking domestic goddess in that show."

Logan grinned as his fingers continued tapping at the keys. "A goddess," he said on a laugh. "Let's see if we can retrieve any of it."

Melody pulled up a chair. "I thought you said it was gone."

"The backup copies that were supposed to be shipped tomorrow to the stations airing the show are gone. I don't know if any were sent on-line. I do know the copies on the computer desktop have been deleted, but I was thinking Tiff might not know enough to look for backup on the server, so that's where I'm looking."

"You think the show might still exist?"

"Damn!"

Melody's smile froze. "That doesn't sound good."

"Looks like Sam backed up the raw footage but hasn't backed up the finished product yet. Try calling him at home."

Melody tried. "No answer," she said, closing Logan's cell phone.

"Forget it, then. We can't take a chance that the show exists anywhere in or out of cyberspace. We've got the footage in pieces, and that's a beginning."

"A beginning of what?"

"Turning the raw clips back into a Thanksgiving show."

"You know how to do that?"

"Moviemaking is my first love. One of these days, I'll have to show you my documentaries."

"You have hidden depths."

"Depths and depths of depths," Logan said. "I'll need your help, though. Got a few hours to spare?"

"I do, but I don't know about Kira. How many hours are we talking?"

"With what we've got of the original footage, all the show needs is a better than average team of experts—that's us—and five, maybe six hours to put Humpty-Dumpty together again."

"Bad analogy," Melody said, dialing Kira. "They failed with the egg."

"KIRA'S cool with staying over," Melody said, putting the phone aside.

"Thanks for calling." Logan concentrated on the computer, clicking the mouse with the speed of an expert. "Look," he said with a nod, his focus barely taken from his task. "Here's where the lamb walks in and everyone scrambles out of its way."

He chuckled. "Sam cut the best part."

"Nah, the best part was where the lamb pooped on my shoe."

"Oh, God. Here it is." Logan watched the clip twice, wiping away tears of laughter when he saw a close-up of Mel's wide-eyed reaction. "Someday we're gonna send that to a funniest videos show."

The next clip showed Mel returning to the scene, shoe clean, smile in place.

"Look, here's where you hug the lamb and talk it into leaving."

"But the sound's gone. It's ruined."

"I turned the audio off. We'll put the video together first then maximize the audio effects by adding sound bites, titles, credits, and special effects later." He found a segment with Melody tasting something, rolling her eyes in ecstasy, and licking her fingers. "I like that part. What were you eating, and why didn't Sam keep it?"

"Baked Indian Pudding. You're kidding about keeping it, right?"

"Maybe, but you do look cute."

Melody reached up and covered his brow with her palm.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing you for fever. Me, cute?"

"Okay, so I'm tired. So sue me. Here, let's put that clip after the one where you have a similar reaction to the scent of whatever's in the cauldron, and try a freeze-frame… here… and here. Logan hit a couple of keys and sighed in satisfaction. Then we can transition to… hey, I never saw that gang of kids before; they're adorable."

"Oh, I like that clip. Why didn't we use the kids before?"

"It's not unusual to shoot hours of videotape for a half hour show, and every video editor has his or her own vision of the finished product. It's a matter of visual storytelling. Since there's no time for Sam to recreate the original, even if he could, we'll choose what speaks to us. While our show will be essentially the same as Sam's, it'll be different as well."

"Better, you mean?"

"Nah. Sam's the best."

"He is good, but you're good, too, better maybe, and you love what you're doing right now. I would know, even if you hadn't told me. Why don't you try a career in filmmaking, instead of producing? Wouldn't you rather let your creativity run wild than produce the shows?"

"Of course I would. I love the idea. My documentaries are great, but an independent filmmaking career does not make for a stable income."

"Why are you so afraid to take a chance on life?"

"Hey, I've taken more chances than you can imagine, but the fact is that I would be gambling with my son's future. I can't do that. Every decision I make now is made with my son's well-being in mind. Enough said. Let's just get your show reworked and be grateful we can."

After that, they worked pretty much in silence, Logan revealing an amazing talent, asking for Melody's input and opinions along the way. Sometimes he showed her the difference between one visual and another, one sound and another, so she could make educated decisions. But sometimes he just knew, with the gut instinct of an artist.

In that way, with a new camaraderie and professional respect, they worked for hours without a break, except for the coffee Melody made around midnight, to keep them going.

"Sounds like there's a storm brewing outside," Melody said. "Maybe I should call home again. Holy cow, did you see the time? How much longer?" Melody dialed, using Logan's cell.