214 Palmer Street(11)

“Nice.”

“The handle is decorated with espresso wood and held in place with brass pins. Very unique.”

“Let me guess,” Sarah had said. “This piece is one of a kind and someone else wanted it, but you got it?”

Gavin nodded, a smile stretching across his face. “Correct.” He turned to Kirk. “She catches on quickly. Pretty soon she’ll know all your secrets.”

Sarah thought she’d caught a flash of irritation cross Kirk’s face, but it was gone in an instant. Perhaps she’d misread him. “Time to go upstairs,” Kirk had said, gently pulling on her hand. At the time she’d wondered if Gavin was needling Kirk by trying to hit on her. Kirk had never struck her as competitive, but Gavin definitely had a superior air to him.

The rest of the evening was so lovely that it made up for the awkward beginning. Natalie’s beef Wellington was delicious. The wine flowed and the conversation, punctuated with a lot of laughter, was light and easy. On the way home she’d asked Kirk if there had been tension during the tour of Gavin’s collectibles, and he’d shrugged and said, “Gavin gets a bit full of himself at times. You were being a good sport about it, but I could tell he was getting tiresome.”

“I didn’t mind,” she’d said, and that was the last they spoke of it. After that, the two couples got together every few months. She grew to enjoy their company, even if neither Natalie nor Gavin was the type she’d have befriended otherwise.

Seeing him now, at the hospital, gave Sarah a new appreciation for Gavin. As he and Kirk talked about her injury and what had transpired since, she thought she saw Gavin blink away tears. He said, “I promise you, Sarah, that we will not stop until we find the person who did this to you.” He leaned over and smoothed her blanket. “You just work on recovering. I’ll take care of keeping you safe and getting you justice.”

“Thank you,” she’d murmured, feeling a surge of warmth toward Gavin. Yes, he could be full of himself, but he was Kirk’s oldest and closest friend, so clearly he had his good qualities.

Maybe she hadn’t given him enough credit.





SEVEN





Clarice opened the door to her apartment, a smile crossing her face. “Chief Kramer, how unexpected! Do come in.” She waved him inside. “And in uniform too. My, my, this looks official. To what do I owe the visit?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but beckoned, then turned and went into the kitchen, hips swaying as she walked. To Clarice the world was a stage and she was the star of the show.

He followed her, watching as she took two tumblers out of the cabinet, then filled them with ice. Typical of Clarice to start everything with a strong drink. The last time he’d visited her he’d come home smelling like a distillery. After leaving her place, he realized that no amount of gum-chewing or mouthwash would obliterate the odor. It was actually oozing out of his pores, the smell so pervasive he’d had to tell Natalie that one of the guys at work had gotten engaged and he’d stopped at a bar for happy hour to celebrate with the gang. This was completely out of character. He had a policy of never socializing with his guys, something Natalie knew, but she accepted the story without question. No guarantee he’d be that lucky again. He’d vowed to be more careful in the future.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the barstools at the island. “Whisky or gin?”

“None for me,” he said gruffly.

“You don’t want a drink?” Without waiting for a response, she got down a bottle of Jim Beam and poured two fingers into a glass. “More for me, then.”

“Actually, I’m here on police business.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “And what would that be?”

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a silver hoop earring set with alternating sapphires and diamonds and slid it across the counter. “I believe you lost this?” Now he was the one with the raised eyebrows, deliberately mimicking her facial expression.

“You darling man!” she exclaimed, picking it up and holding it in her palm. “I never thought I’d see this again. Wherever did you find it?”

“Funny story,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I was at a crime scene. Kirk Aden’s wife was attacked in their backyard. This earring was on the ground near where the first responders found her lying unconscious. You know anything about that?”

“Sarah was attacked? Oh no! What happened?” She set the earring on the counter and covered her mouth with her hand.

“You tell me, Clarice. Seeing as you were there, I think you’d know best.”

“I was there?” She frowned, forehead wrinkling. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, come on.” He pulled out a barstool and took a seat. “This is me you’re talking to, Clarice. I just covered for you”—he pointed to the earring—“and now I’m here giving you incriminating evidence. You might as well tell me the whole story.”

“What exactly are you implying? Sarah is my friend.”

“That doesn’t mean much. I know how you tend to cycle through friends.”

She frowned. “What happened to Sarah?”

“Someone hit her in the head with a rock and knocked her unconscious,” Gavin said, his eyes narrowing. “Kirk told me that the doctor said it could have been worse. She’ll probably come out of this just fine.”