Slightly Irregular (18 page)

“I did. No one answered the door, but I heard motion inside.”

“Did you peek in the windows or anything?”

“That’d be tough; she lives on the third floor.”

“Oh. So she isn’t even talking to Vain Dane?”

Becky shook her head. “No, and I know he thinks I knew this was coming and just kept my mouth shut.”

“And you didn’t get a tiny hint?” I asked.

Becky breathed in and out. “Maybe she was a little distracted
that last day, but I just assumed she was stressing over a financing deal about to close.”

I thought back to my last encounter with Ellen before she pulled her Houdini. “Yeah, the last time I met with her she seemed distracted, too. She had an envelope on her clipboard. Something from a Department of Corrections.”

“Ellen?” Becky asked as her brows pulled together and she frowned. “Other than briefly helping Jane, I don’t think she’s ever done criminal work.”

“So why would she be getting prisoner mail?”

Becky twisted her hair into a messy updo, securing it with one of the Dane-Lieberman pens from a holder on my desk.

Guess the firm’s name would have to change now. “Did you find the letter or the envelope in her office?”

“I didn’t know to look for it,” Becky said.

“Want me to come help?”

“If you have time. Finish up what you’re doing and then come up.”

“See you in a few.”

I put the plat back in the binder and did a few other minor things. My last task was to check my in-box one last time.

I found an urgent message forwarded through eBay from Tiara64. Scary thing about that was it meant there were probably sixty-three other people who wanted “tiara” in their name. At any rate, she was the high bidder on all the pageant jewelry, but she had a rather strange request. My seller profile listed me as living in Palm Beach County; she said since she was in nearby Lake Worth, she’d like to pick the items up personally when the auction ended on Sunday.

I thought about it for a minute, then decided it made things easier for me, so why not? I replied to her and received an instant response. She didn’t want to wait for me; she wanted the items at the moment the auction ended at noon. Only problem with that? I wouldn’t be back from Atlanta, so I sent her another e-mail letting her know that wasn’t possible.

Then this pageant junkie tells me she’ll pay an additional one hundred dollars per item if I get them to her by one p.m. That’s five hundred extra dollars. That’s a pair of Manolo Blahniks, and not from Nordy’s Rack, either. We’re talking walk into the store and select that perfect shoe. No way was I going to turn down this gift horse.

I couldn’t be in two places at once, but I had a solution. Carrying my super-cute pink bowling bag-style purse with me, I headed for the elevator. The purse was, if I did say so myself, a stunning replica of a classic zip-top Chanel bag. The white lamb’s wool morphed from white to black at the bottom, but unless you inspected it up close and personal, you’d never notice the uneven stitching.

I’d picked it up at a flea market for under a hundred dollars about a month before the man with the stand was arrested for selling counterfeit goods.

It went nicely with my Muse houndstooth ponte knit sheath dress. The dress normally retailed for about one sixty, but I’d gotten it half off because the back zipper was broken. An easy twenty-dollar repair for my trusty dry cleaner. I wasn’t so sure I loved the faux-leather belt with the oversized studs, but it did give the dress an edgy, trendy look. I’d completed my ensemble with a darling pair of Betsey Johnson stilettos that were a mix of
patent leather and pleated satin. The four-inch heel would make traversing airports a bit of a pain—literally—but achieving the overall look made it all worth it. Besides, my mother would be at the other end of the flight, so the last thing I wanted to do was show up looking like something a cat spewed on a carpet.

My heels clicked as I passed the executive sentry, who seemed quite discombobulated when I failed to follow protocol and announce myself.

I found Becky seated in Ellen’s red leather chair, an empty wastebasket perched in her lap.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Cleaning people,” she explained. “I’ve been through this office with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Desk and credenza?” I asked.

“All but the two locked drawers.”

Reaching into my purse, I retrieved a nail file as I came around the desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Becky asked.

“Do you have the key?”

“No.”

“Then can you think of another way to get inside here?”

“This desk is private property.”

I glared at my friend. “Isn’t there some sort of law that addresses abandoned property? You’ve made a few zillion attempts to get in touch with her. Who knows? Could be there’s some pressing Dane-Lieberman stuff in these drawers.”

“Or Ellen just keeps a few private items in her desk,” Becky countered skeptically.

It took me three tries, but I managed to jimmy the lock. A
neat row of hanging folders held labels for such mundane things as
STORAGE
,
BANKING
,
HEALTH INSURANCE
,
VEHICLE INSURANCE
, etc. “How boring,” I mumbled. “Move,” I told Becky, then replaced her in Ellen’s chair.

The lock on the thin top drawer was a little more difficult to open. While I finally managed to twist the lock, in doing so, I also chipped a big hunk out of my favorite Barton’s nail file with the cute Swarovski crystal flower on the end. “Damn.”

The nail file did not die in vain. There, sitting on top of a set of unmarked keys, was the envelope I’d seen a week ago. “Got it!” I quickly blew into the folds of the paper, only to discover the contents missing. Flipping it over, I read the partial address. “… tment of Corrections.” The rest of the address had been obliterated by a Sharpie. “There was more the other day.”

“More what?” Becky asked as I handed her the envelope.

“More to the address. A few letters of the actual name of the department.”

“So you remember it?”

I closed my eyes, hoping I could focus on the memory. “All I can remember is N-A.”

“Can we do an Internet search with that?” Becky asked. “I mean, how many departments of correction can there be?”

“One for each state and one for each county.”

Becky frowned. “How many counties are there, do you think?”

“Three thousand one hundred forty,” I answered. Becky looked at me as if I’d just recited the Bible by rote. “It was one of the questions when Izzy and I played Trivial Pursuit.”

“I guess that makes an Internet search kinda tough.”

“Yeah, it’s not like hangman.” I glanced at my watch. “Sorry, but I have to go. By the way, would you mind doing me a favor on Sunday?”

“Sure, what?”

“There’s a lady coming to my place to pick up some items I sold on eBay.” I considered telling Becky where I’d gotten them but decided now wasn’t a good time. “I’ll send you a text with the amount she owes.”

“You want me to meet some loon from an online auction? What if she’s some sort of mass murderer?”

I laughed. “With a screen name like ‘Tiara64’? I think you’ll be safe from a beauty pageant junkie.”

“What time?”

“One o’clock. I’ll leave the stuff on the counter. All you have to do is take her cash and give her five items I’ll put in a velvet jewelry bag.”

“Can I do the transaction on the porch, or do I have to let her in?”

“Do it in the street for all I care.”

Becky met my eyes. “Are you that hard up for money? I can—”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “This is a sale of opportunity, not necessity.”

She hugged me. “Have a great time in Atlanta.”

I cringed. “That’s kinda like telling me to enjoy my own execution.”

It took me two
suitcases to fly to Atlanta for a long weekend. In my defense, I had to pack my maid-of-honor gown, and that alone took up half of the first bag. Then I had the substitute little black dress, plus three casual outfits and my return-flight ensemble. I'm a firm believer that if you dress well to fly, you get better service.

The second bag was smaller, and it was full of hair, makeup, shoes, purses, and other accessories. That I blamed on the strict TSA rules regarding liquids. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. I’d never been one for lugging my own bag onto a plane and forcing it into the overhead compartment. When I traveled, I wanted my own stuff, not those complimentary bottles, even if they were from one of the best hotels in the world.

Carrying only my purse and a tote with my laptop, I cleared security and went directly to the Starbucks at the entrance to the gate area. Taking a seat near my departure area, I took a sip of my frappe, and then dug the cloisonné compact Jane had given me for my birthday out of my bag. There was still a little redness around the injury at my hairline but nothing I couldn’t tackle with some concealer. I wouldn’t have to worry about how it would look for the wedding. There would be stylists available who could easily make it invisible.

My cell rang, and when I glanced at the caller ID, I smiled. Right on time.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Are you at the airport?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t sound so impressed with yourself,” she warned. “Remember Great-aunt Mary’s funeral.”

Even though a decade had passed, I was still doing penance for missing my flight and the viewing. I think it was a subconscious thing. I was nineteen and didn’t want to view a dead body. “I remember, and I also recall apologizing a few zillion times.”

“Yes, but it still reflected badly on me.”

“I’m sorry I was late for Great-aunt Mary’s funeral.”

“Did you pack your dress?”

“Yes, though asking me now might not have been the best plan.”

“No, the poor planning was your decision not to ship it to the hotel so it could be properly steamed.”

“I’m sure the Ritz can properly steam my dress between tonight and Saturday.”

“Well, worrying about your dress is one more headache Lisa doesn’t need.”

I doubted my sister was stressing about the dress. She was probably still trying to remember how to walk in heels. But when it came to Cassidy Presley Tanner Rossi Browning, I picked my battles. Not that I ever won any of them, but placating her was the safest route. “I’ll apologize to her as soon as I see her.”

“So now you want her to stop tending to details to listen to you say you’re sorry?”

No, now I wanted to stick a pencil in my eye. “I’ll send her a text.”

“Really, Finley. Electronic apologies do not replace an appropriately sincere note.”

I wasn’t going to win this one. Not even close. “Mom, I hate
to cut you off, but I need to step into the powder room before they call my flight.”

“Fine. I’ll see you for dinner at eight o’clock. The Atlanta Grille. Do try to be on time.”

I downed my frappe and went to the ladies’ room to fix my lipstick. While I was there, I brushed my hair and touched up my blush as well. The flight to Atlanta was less than two hours, but I still wanted to log in to the airport Wi-Fi to check my eBay auctions.

As I expected, Tiara64 was the high bidder on the pins, the bracelet, and the earrings. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I’d be getting the auction price plus an additional five hundred dollars. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting costume jewelry so badly. I sent her an e-mail, telling her that I would contact her with my address at the end of the auction and that she could pick up the items around one.

She instantly zinged back a positive response. “Do you live on eBay?” I wondered aloud.

My flight was called, and I powered down my laptop and placed it in my tote. Because I was flying business class, I was allowed to board before the masses.

I settled into the window seat in the second row, stowing my purse and tote under the seat. As the plane filled, I glanced out the window, watching suitcases being tossed onto a conveyor belt. It wasn’t a gentle process, and I almost wished I could open the window and chastise them. Then again, the brief chat with my mother had taken all the fight out of me.

As the flight attendants began marching down the aisle, slamming overhead bins, I settled into my seat, glad the one
to my right was unoccupied. I’d be spared the possibility of snoring and drooling or incessant talking, allowing me to relax before what promised to be a taxing weekend. I was happy for Lisa, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending time with Liam. Or Tony. Izzy was going to be the only bright light during the next three and a half days.

A pretty brunette in a navy uniform took the microphone and began the seat-belt-and-safety drill when she was interrupted by a late arrival.

The next thing I knew Liam was standing at the entrance to my row, shoving a duffel bag into the overhead.

“Shouldn’t you be in coach?” I asked in my most sarcastic tone.

“Then I wouldn’t get to sit next to you.”

I speak Italian … Prada! Dolce & Gabbana!