Bodice of Evidence (10 page)

I stopped by Gage's prop warehouse on my way back to my apartment. Well, it wasn't exactly on the way, but I was in a happy mood. The moment I had gotten in my car, I drove straight to an ATM machine and deposited that check. There was no way I was going to be robbed with a ten-thousand-dollar cashier's check in my purse. I'm sure it would take a few days to process, but at least it was in a safe place.

Don't get me wrong, Mom had been correct when she told Vidalia that Warren had helped me start Perfect Proposals, but this was my first big client check. I still didn't quite believe it. In fact the whole thing was so odd, it certainly felt too good to be true. If Todd decided he wanted his money back, or I discovered I couldn't figure
out how to make his proposal perfect, I could still give him a refund. If I lost the check or worse—got mugged—then I would be in a bad, bad place.

I parked in the lot at the side of the warehouse, checked my hair, slicked on some fresh lipstick, and went to see Gage. The prop warehouse catered to the Chicago theater and movie scene. Many movies were shot in town, and we had a very active commission for the arts that ensured we were, if not world-class, then nationally known for our theater and film support.

The doors were rigged with bells that went off when you crossed the threshold. There was a young guy sitting at the desk that served as a reception area. He looked about nineteen with floppy light brown hair, a generous nose, dark brown eyes, and a thin build.

“Hi,” I said.

He put down his graphic novel. “Hey.”

I stood for a moment, awkwardly expecting him to ask if he could help me. Finally, I gave in and spoke. “Right, I'm looking for Gage. Is he around?”

“Sure.” The kid went back to his novel.

I guess that was my cue to go back into the warehouse proper and look for my boyfriend. Gage had taken me through the place a couple of times with my first two jobs, but I had followed him like a little puppy, not really paying that much attention to where we were going and how we got there. That happened sometimes when I was around a handsome guy.

“So, he's in the back?” I asked, and pointed to the door that led to the rest of the warehouse.

“Yep.”

I moved my gaze from the kid to the door and back a couple of times, shrugged, and made my way into the back. The bay doors must have been open because there was the distinctive smell of diesel from a truck. I heard the
beep, beep
sound of someone backing up a forklift. It was a lot dimmer in the huge warehouse than in the front office reception space. I stood there a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

Between the scent of dust, the diesel, the dimness, and the beeping of the forklift, I found it difficult to get my bearings. Someone put their hand on my shoulder and I may have screamed a little.

“Whoa, it's okay, it's me,” Gage said with a big grin.

I put my hand on my racing heart. “You scared me silly. My heart is going a mile a minute.”

“I'd rather it was desire that got your heart racing,” he teased, and kissed my cheek. “It's nice to see you. What brings you by the old prop house?” He waved his hand at the racks of warehoused furniture and crazy props of all shapes and sizes. Just for the treasure hunting alone, I'd love to have the time to go through the place. It was like the city's giant attic.

“I came to see you, mostly.” I kissed him back and smiled.

“Now that's the kind of thing a man likes to hear from
a beautiful woman. Let's go into my office and get out of the dust and the noise.” He put his hand on the small of my back and I got all gooey inside. There was something so nice about walking beside him and feeling the heat of his body.

At work Gage wore a pale blue, long-sleeved, button-down shirt with
Prop House
embroidered over the front pocket. The collar was open showing a snow white V-neck tee underneath. I wanted so bad to bury my nose in the little vee and inhale the scent of cotton T-shirt warmed by clean male with a hint of aftershave. Loose-fitting jeans and Top-Sider shoes finished his uniform.

I was thankful I'd checked my hair, which was in a neat—well as neat as curly red hair could ever be—low ponytail at the base of my neck. Today I wore a floaty floral top over a cotton tank dress and wedge sandals that made me nearly as tall as Gage, who was six foot two.

His office was to the right of the door at the front of the warehouse, so it faced the long rows of shelves and you could almost see the open bay doors. “Have a seat.” He waved toward a plastic chair in front of his desk. “Can I get you some coffee or a bottle of water?”

“Yes,” I said with a short laugh. “I just met with a new client and was expecting at least coffee, but it didn't happen.”

“No?” he asked as he snagged two mugs from the side credenza in his office.

“No, and I was willing to buy, even.” I shook my head at the memory of the odd encounter with Toby.

Gage poured coffee from a small eight-cup drip maker. “I just made this so it's fresh. Creamer?”

“Yes, please,” I said as I took the warm mug. The room filled with the rich scent of coffee. “Oh, the good stuff,” I said as I sipped and held out my hand for the two liquid half-and-half servings he gave me.

“I'm not much into house blends,” he said with a laugh.

“I figured,” I said. The coffee was definitely not the standard coffeehouse brew. “No Keurig?”

“Naw, I'm still old-fashioned enough to like a pot of coffee.”

“I agree. There's something about seeing the full pot sitting there ready for you and watching it being poured into your cup. Gosh, I sound like a nostalgic old person.” I giggled at the thought.

He sat on the edge of his desk and sent me a look. “You really like your coffee.”

“I've spent a lot of late nights with just me and my coffeepot.”

“So tell me about this new client,” he nudged.

“I don't know what to think.” I shook my head. “It's why I stopped by. The whole thing is odd and I wanted to talk to someone about it.”

“Okay.” He sipped and studied me with his warm gaze.

“I got a call from this guy, Toby, who said he overheard Warren and Felicity talking about their proposal at the country club.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“We set up an appointment at his local bookstore, Centre City Books. Do you know it?”

“I've heard about it.” He tilted his head, his gaze intent.

“I get there expecting to get some coffee and talk. Instead I find him. He wore a red carnation—”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was safety pinned to his T-shirt.”

“His T-shirt?”

“Yes.” We shared a smile. “I introduced myself and he got up, asked me to follow him, and started shopping.”

“Shopping?” Gage raised his left brow and took a sip of coffee.

“Right? He pulled an armful of old B action movies from the DVD section. He never made eye contact as he told me he wanted to ask his ‘love'”—I made air quotes around the word
love
—“to marry him and he wanted me to pull out all the stops. But when I asked him some questions about his girlfriend, he wouldn't or couldn't tell me anything about her.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, when I pressed him, I got her first name. And he had a picture of her running a marathon. Come to think of it, I should have asked him if he had any photos of them together.”

“I don't have any photos of us together,” Gage said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Really?” I scrunched my brow. “We've know each other for years.”

“And you were with Bobby the entire time.”

“Oh, well, we'll take care of that right now.” I got up and wiggled in close to him, he put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “Smile,” I urged as I held out my phone and took two quick snapshots. “I'll—”

He snagged my chin with his index finger and kissed me on the lips. The kiss was soft and warm and nearly perfect. In my surprise I made an
oh
sound and he took advantage to deepen the kiss.

Well, then, I thought. Since that was so nice, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back until my toes curled. Someone knocked on the window of his office and catcalled loud enough that we could hear it through the glass.

“Okay,” I said, and stepped back. “Wow.”

He sat there grinning.

My cheeks flamed bright red. I knew this because the heat in them was intense and I couldn't stop the pinchy smile that always came on when I was embarrassed. Being a redhead, every emotion showed on my skin. I distracted myself by looking at the pictures on my phone. They were really quite good. “I'll text these to you.”

“Thanks,” he said, and picked his coffee cup back up. “You were telling me that there was something off about this client.”

“Right.” I sat back down after sending the text. “Toby, that's his name.”

“You told me that,” he said, and nodded. “Go on.”

“He finally gave me his girlfriend's full name. She's a
high-powered attorney with that law firm that represents the politicians and other politicos here. He told me there was no way I could contact her at work, and I believe him. A law firm that big has all kinds of gatekeepers to keep the press out. So I asked him to take me to lunch with her, you know, introduce me as his friend. He refused.”

“This guy wants you to do a proposal for a woman, but he only has a snapshot of her running a marathon and knows nothing else about her?”

“Weird, right?”

“He's lying to you,” Gage said, and crossed his arms. “A guy in love would tell you all kinds of things about the woman of his dreams . . . like the way her red hair glints in the sunlight or the fact that she likes two creams in her coffee or that she looks spectacular in florals . . .”

The heat returned to my cheeks. “That's what I thought. I figured he was a kook and I was going to turn him down, but then he said he was very rich and that money was no object.”

“Lie.”

“I agree. I told him that I needed a retainer deposit before I'd do any kind of in-depth work.”

“Smart.”

“I even gave him a ridiculous 40 percent fee for services.”

“And that didn't make any difference? I'd run not walk away from this one.”

“Except he handed me a cashier's check made out to Perfect Proposals for ten grand.”

Gage turned his head slightly and eyed me through narrowed eyes. “Ten thousand dollars?”

“Yes, and he told me he was looking forward to the ideas I'd come up with. Then he paid for his movies and a few books and walked out.”

“What did you do?” His brows pulled together.

“I deposited that check in the nearest ATM machine.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I wasn't going to take the chance of losing it.”

“Was it a real check?”

“It appeared real. I'll know in a few days when it posts to my account.”

“Wow, okay. So you're stuck helping this guy.”

“It was ten grand, Gage. Should I have chased him down and refused it? I mean, what if it is only the tip of what I can make? He told me twice that money was no option. He's very rich and apparently used to people doing things for him.”

I picked up the mug that I had absently left on the desk when I had gotten up to snap the picture and wrapped my hands around its warmth.

“No, no,” Gage said, “taking the check was fine. So was depositing it.”

“It's going to clear, right? Because it's a cashier's check.”

“It should clear, yes.” His expression still looked puzzled. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to do some digging online first, I guess. If Laura has a Facebook page or at the very least a LinkedIn
presence or something . . .” I put down the mug and dug around in my purse, pulled out my notebook and pen, and wrote down,
Check for Laura's Facebook page
. “I'll have to ask Toby if he has a Facebook page. That way if her privacy settings are what I suspect they are, I can connect to Toby's page and at least see her posts on his feed. Maybe I can get her to friend me.”

Gage shook his head. “I doubt an attorney of her caliber has anything personal on the Web. With their clientele there's too much of a chance for anyone to hack it.”

“Right.” I frowned. “Maybe I can search her LinkedIn for hints.”

“Again . . .”

“She probably only has a professional face online,” I finished.

“Exactly.”

I sat back and frowned. “I'm going to have to try to meet her in person.” I sighed. “Or”—I raised my eyebrows—“I could get to know her paralegal or secretary and see if I can get any good gossip from them.”

Gage nodded. “Now there you might have a shot.”

“Thanks,” I said, and stood, suddenly all my focus on finding out more about Toby's Laura.