Yours for the Night (8 page)

As she did so she saw a manila envelope on her small kitchen table, placed underneath her camera and notebook. Anxiety gripped her. Had Garrett gone through her things? Discovered her other job?

How dare he? She fumed, but put a cap on her anger. He might have just pulled the stuff up from the car, worried it might be stolen.

Moving her camera, she saw the writing on the front in a strong, male scrawl:
Tiff, this is for you. Garrett
.

Short and sweet, and she ripped open the envelope, wondering what in the world he could have left for her. She gasped when she pulled out several clear, damning shots of Marcus Hooper and a dark-haired woman,
in flagrante delicto,
seeming completely unaware of the camera. The images were centered between two dark edges—the curtain, she realized.

Garrett must have walked right up to the window and snapped the shots through a gap in the curtain.

Tiffany shook her head, looking through a stack of pictures, finding ones of Marcus leaving the room, getting into his car, the sign and hotel clearly in the picture with him.

More than enough for Mrs. Hooper to secure her alimony check.

Tiffany noticed that Garrett had not included individual pictures of the woman he was with, and in fact, had only taken pictures that more or less obscured her facial features.

Wow.

A small slip of white paper slipped from the envelope to the floor, and Tiffany bent to grab it, seeing Garrett’s handwriting again:
Give these to Mrs. Hooper and tell her to pay you the full fee. She’ll be able to afford it. Garrett.

Tiffany set the pictures and the note down, coffee forgotten as she absorbed what he had done. What he had done—not her.

Why would he do it? Because it was more than obvious that she couldn’t get the work done? Or just because he was a nice guy, trying to help her out?

So why wasn’t she happier about it?

Because she wanted to get the job done—not have it done for her. Whether Garrett was trying to be helpful or not, he’d interfered where he shouldn’t have.

She would give these pictures to Mrs. Hooper—how could she not? But she wouldn’t accept any money for them. She hadn’t been the one who had taken them, and Tiffany didn’t feel like she deserved to be paid for work she hadn’t done.

More glum than ever, she poured some coffee and dialed her parents’ number, bracing herself to give them the bad news.

As expected, they were stunned, but immediately more concerned about everyone’s safety.

“We’re all fine. Like the others, the robbery was at night, and there wasn’t even any damage to the store or the vault. It’s like someone just walked in, helped themselves and then walked right back out again.”

“I just can’t believe it,” her mother said. “And you’re absolutely positive you locked everything up?”

In the wake of Garrett’s obvious vote of lack of confidence in her ability to do her work, she bridled at the same from her parents.

“I followed the routine to the letter,” she responded stiffly, feeling tears burning behind her eyes. “Four other stores have been robbed the same way, remember,” she said a tad defensively. “They couldn’t all have left the door open, and neither did I.”

“Honey, calm down. We weren’t criticizing you, it’s all just so upsetting. What did the police say? Do they have any leads?”

“None they would share. They are investigating everyone, and the insurance investigator will be there tomorrow.”

“This isn’t good,” her father said, the concern clear in his tone. “We should cancel the current deals here and come back before we make any new acquisitions. If they don’t solve this, the insurance could use this as a reason not to pay out, and we’ll have to pay the Argentines out of our own pocket.”

“I know. Though I can’t imagine why they think we would do this…” she said. “I wish I could find a way to make this easier for you guys.”

“Don’t worry, Tiff. We’ll be home in two days, and we’ll handle it. You’re doing the best you can,” her mom said, and Tiffany knew they didn’t mean it, but somehow, the doubt underlying her mother’s tone dug at her.

How could she prove to them that she wasn’t completely unreliable? The robbery wasn’t her fault, but it had happened when she had been left in charge. How could she ever make it up to them if this cost them Jarvis’s?

As they said their goodbyes, a thought formed.

Maybe Garrett had done her a favor after all. Not that she liked him sneaking around behind her back, but he had gotten the Hooper case off her schedule, and with the store closed, now she was completely free for a few days.

Free to do a little poking around of her own, into the robberies. If she could solve that case, it would be a huge feather in her cap. It would prove she could hold her own as a private investigator and it would save her parents’ store.

It would prove to Tiffany herself that this really was the thing she was meant to do. The police didn’t seem to be turning up much, and she was an insider—she could approach the other store owners as one of their own and see if there was anything she could find that would provide some stronger clues.

As she grabbed more coffee, excitement replaced the glum feeling that had colored her morning. At her computer, she began searching and reading everything she could about the robberies. She started with the names of the stores that had been robbed, and found out as much as she could about the people who ran them. There wasn’t much, but if she worked off of what she had here, she could find more leads to follow.

She murmured, “The game is afoot,” grinning. And as she turned her full attention to the task, a plan coming together in her mind, she sent a silent thank-you to Garrett. With his photos, he’d inadvertently taught her an important lesson: she had to get out of the car, figuratively speaking. He hadn’t sat back, waiting for a shot, he’d walked up to the window and taken one.

That was how she had to start thinking if she wanted to make it in this business.

Instead of sitting in the parking lot of the Fall Inn, she’d be spending her time and energy on a
real case,
and she’d get as up-close and personal as she had to to do it.

5

T
IFFANY
WAS
DRESSED
and headed out to her car by lunchtime, her mission clear in her head. She was wired. She planned to meet Mrs. Hooper and give her the pictures before heading to the first store that had been robbed. Mrs. Hooper seemed surprised at the quick turnaround, and offered to pay, but Tiffany declined, apologizing for it taking so long, and feeling her professional points go up. Mrs. Hooper promised to recommend her if she ever knew anyone who needed a private eye.

That alone made Tiffany’s morning, and she set out to start her investigation of the robberies with new zeal. She shook her head at her own slowness in realizing that she couldn’t just sit around waiting for the world to hand her jobs. Crimes were all over the place; she wanted to solve them. And hopefully, eventually, people would want to pay her for the work.

While she had been pouring over whatever she could find in regard to the jewel thefts, her mind had wandered back to Garrett, and a few times she had been tempted to call him. She still wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank him or be angry with him, but if he hadn’t interfered, she wouldn’t have had this epiphany.

So maybe it was best to just leave it at that.

It wasn’t real, what they’d had. It was a weekend fling that had found extra time by chance, and that was all.

In addition to her robbery research, combing over newspaper articles and making lists of people she could contact as well as people who could be the common touch points for access at the stores, she’d given in to doing a little research on Garrett Berringer as well. Unable to resist, Tiffany had also looked up Elaine Berringer on the internet, and what she found told her it had been the right decision to walk away.

Garrett’s late wife was beautiful in a classic, understated manner, with long, straight brown hair that she’d often clipped back in the pictures Tiffany found. She was slim, serious-looking, though the smiles they both wore in a wedding photo that was posted on Ed’s Facebook page told Tiffany all she needed to know. Garrett had loved his wife, and when you loved once like that, did it ever happen again?

She was just a fling.

Ouch.

And Elaine—Lainey—had been more than beautiful. Accomplished, graduating at the top of her class, having published regularly in legal journals and working as a consultant to several high-profile companies, her intellectual credits were impressive. She had been a budding prosecutor on her first big case when she had been killed, tragically, by the brother of a man she had just helped convict.

Tiffany couldn’t imagine the pain Garrett must have suffered. She didn’t want to.

But there wasn’t even a comparison between Garrett’s late wife and herself. Garrett had obviously only been interested in her for one reason. Even though her interest had been the same in him, it still hurt a little. It became clear that there was no way she could ever compete with the memory of Lainey Berringer. Not that she had ever intended to, but it did inspire her to investigate this case even more than before. Tiffany was tired of never measuring up, and she wanted to change that, starting now. Lainey had been accomplished in her career; Tiffany didn’t even have one—yet. If she wanted this to work, it was up to her. Starting now.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she mentally reviewed her research again, thinking about the auction sites she’d discovered, looking for anything that seemed suspicious. That offered her first clue: she had to know what was stolen at the other stores before she could attempt to find it. The police hadn’t shared any information with the media about that, and they certainly hadn’t shared it with her. In fact, they had told her emphatically not to reveal what had been stolen from Jarvis’s.

She knew only the names of the stores from the police blotter, and she planned to visit each of them today. They were all small stores, like theirs, that functioned on a foundation of trust and reputation, much like a bank. Surely the other stores were in similar financial binds as Jarvis’s, having to cover their expenses while waiting for the investigation to conclude before the insurance would pay out.

If she could find the diamonds, or at least find some clues that she could take to the police, before her parents got back, maybe they would all stand a fighting chance.

Crossing the Bay Bridge, Tiffany headed south to San Jose, where the first store had been robbed. After talking to management there, she’d circle through Menlo Park, Berkeley and back to the city. It would make for a long day, but at least she felt like she was
doing
something. And who knew what she would find; she had to start somewhere. Spotting the exit for San Jose, she pulled away from the main highway and followed her GPS’s directions to her first destination.

The store was smaller than her family’s, dealing more in vintage gems and jewelry, and Tiffany spent several minutes rapt with the beauty of some of the old pieces, loving their classic design and the original settings. These old pieces were about glamour and class, not the flash that was so often the focus these days. There was a green opal necklace she would give her right arm for, but it was totally out of her price range.

“Would you like to try it on?” the clerk asked, and Tiffany smiled, knowing the move. Trying it on was one step closer to a sale, but as there was no way she could afford it, she wasn’t in any danger of caving to that.

“I’d love to,” she accepted happily as the clerk retrieved the necklace from the case and attached it around her neck.

Tiffany looked in the mirror on the counter and sighed.

“It’s lovely. The orange fire is so intense. I’ve never seen opals quite as color-saturated as these. They’re almost brilliant,” she commented, leaning to the light.

She’d have to take it off to get a better look, but there were no blind spots—a bad thing in an opal, where the color dulled or disappeared when looking at it directly. She assumed there would be no real defects in these beauties.

Seduced by the small, iridescent teardrops that hung daintily around her throat, Tiffany found herself mentally calculating the sums left in her savings and credit card balances, but regrettably shook her head.

“Maybe someday. Thanks for letting me try it on,” she said, taking the necklace off and handing it back to the clerk.

“Those stones are gorgeous, aren’t they?” a male voice asked from behind her, and Tiffany turned to find a handsome young man watching her admiringly.

“They are.”

“You wear them well. They complement your hair and skin tone, also lovely,” he said suavely, and Tiffany found herself smiling. He was probably five years younger than she was, but he had adopted the mannerisms of Clark Gable, she thought with a grin. And he managed to pull it off.

“You must be Armando,” she said, recognizing his face from the collection of family pictures at the front of the store. His grandfather owned the store, but he was the manager. He reminded her of her younger brother, and was sure he wouldn’t care for the comparison. “I’m Tiffany Walker.”

“So nice to meet you,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Tiffany explained that her family owned Jarvis’s, and had also just been robbed. “I was sorry to see your store mentioned in the paper as the first one in the recent series of thefts. Do you mind me asking what was stolen?” she asked, getting right to the point.

“We were asked not to talk about it by the police, and for insurance reasons, you understand,” Armando responded. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just…reaching out, trying to find any information I can that might shed some light on what’s going on. Maybe if we all shared with each other, we might find some connection, something the police could use—”

“I am not sure that is a good idea.” The young man started to walk away, and Tiffany put her hand on his arm. She hoped she could use some female charm on him the way female TV detectives did all the time.

“I’m just another family business owner, like you. If this situation isn’t resolved, my family could lose Jarvis’s,” she risked revealing. “The police don’t seem to be coming up with much, and so I hoped perhaps we could all at least talk to each other, and maybe try to work together to see what we might come up with.”

Armando softened, and his eyes were warm on hers as he took her hand from his arm and sandwiched it between his.

“Certainly. There is a café across the street. Let me buy you lunch, and we can talk. Though I don’t know if there’s much I can tell you that would help. We lost several pieces that had been set aside to go to auction,” he explained, opening the door for her as they emerged out onto the sunny sidewalk. “My grandfather despairs of ever getting them back. They have already been sold, most likely.”

“To go to auction?” Tiffany repeated Armando’s words. They sometimes bought jewels at auctions, but rarely sold them there.

“We sell many antique and vintage pieces that special collectors, museums and other buyers are interested in. More of our overall revenue comes from those sales than walk-ins at the store, though we do a good business there, too. Vintage is in these days,” Armando said as a waitress who obviously knew him well—and liked him—took them to a table.

The woman noted their orders, but smiled particularly warmly at Armando.

“What kinds of things were you sending to be auctioned off?”

“It was a Hollywood collection my grandfather managed to buy from a private collector in L.A.—some jewelry used in old movies. In this case, three pieces all worn by Marlene Dietrich in her films,” he said with a sigh.

“I thought that movies used costume jewelry, or paste?”

“Most do, but some pieces were owned by the actors or actresses, so even those are collectible, but others were loaned by jewelry stores for use in the films. These were real and had their own, intrinsic value, but are even more valuable for the film history.”

Tiffany sagged, suddenly not hungry. “It’s very sad to lose that history as well as the jewelry itself,” she said.

“You understand, then,” Armando said, flirting with her again.

They talked more as they ate, and while Tiffany was glad she’d come and learned more about this aspect of the industry, there were no common denominators between the thefts at this point. Entirely different security, vaults and items stolen.

“Do you think it’s a job-for-hire of some sort? Perhaps someone is targeting our special collections specifically for some reason?” she asked as they left the café.

“It’s possible. Many collectors would have liked the pieces that were stolen, but doubtful in your case—how many private owners would want uncut, unset pink diamonds?”

Tiffany wondered that, too. Was there any chance the robberies weren’t related? Everyone was only assuming they had been carried out by the same thieves.

“Well, thank you so much, Armando. If I find out anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Armando smiled and took a step closer. “Perhaps you could let me know over dinner. Next weekend, perhaps?”

Tiffany smiled, though she had no interest at all in seeing Armando again. Her mind was still on a particular bodyguard who made Armando, for all of his polish, look like he was playing dress-up.

“I’m sorry, but I’m involved with someone at the moment,” she said, lying to let him down gently.

“I should have known,” he said with regret and a smile, far too charming for his own good. She imagined he was a successful salesman, though.

“Thank you, again,” she said, getting into her car. She drove off, mentally going over all that they had discussed when a connection she hadn’t seen earlier occurred to her.

Armando had mentioned that his grandfather was thinking about selling the business, sales being down in general. Armando was urging him not to do so because it was his dream to run the store. As in the case of Jarvis’s, the robbery had potentially cost them far more than the insurance might cover.

How could someone know about the financial status of each business? The robberies put both stores in financial jeopardy—but why would someone want that? Or was that even a factor?

Tiffany hit the gas a touch harder, eager to arrive at the next store to see if her theory held. Seconds later, she noticed a car behind her. She remembered seeing it from the restaurant window, and had not thought twice. But the SUV had pulled away from its spot on the curb almost as soon as she had.

She shook off the paranoia as she pulled into a gas station. There was no way the SUV was following her. Was it?

As a P.I., she needed to follow her instincts, and years of living in a large city had taught her not to ignore hers when she felt there was something dangerous nearby.

The car still hung by the corner as she put gas in the car and tried not to look.

Tense, and reluctant to get on the road again until she knew that she wasn’t in trouble, Tiffany decided to take the bull by the horns. In the small convenience store, she paid for her gasoline and bought a sample-sized can of hair spray. Putting it in her pocket, she asked where the restroom was, and made her way to the back, but slipped by the ladies’ room and found the rear exit instead.

She’d circle around the back of the few businesses between here and the corner to approach the SUV from behind. Then she could at least find out if anyone was in it, or she could grab the license plate and note any distinguishing marks, just in case.

Making her way carefully to the spot, she realized the car was empty, which relieved her paranoia and made her feel a little foolish. Still, she took down the plate number and noticed it was a rental, with a San Francisco parking tag on the dash.

So whoever it was had come here from the city, just as she had. Typing it all into a message app on her phone, she took a deep breath and thought to return to the gas station.

Emerging from the restroom area, she headed toward the door just as she saw the shape of someone by her car. Tiffany froze. A man. He’d been standing, but then ducked down as if looking under her car, but she’d only caught sight of his shoulder and the side of his head before the column of the gas pump obscured her view.