Untitled (15 page)

   In a kind of an I-dream-of-profits euphoria, I watched the crowds come and go. They were a well-dressed bunch who asked intelligent questions about the wine list, knew how to pronounce words like
arugula
, and spoke in hushed and refined tones about things like watercress vichyssoise and poached salmon.

   This was all good, I told myself. It was all very good.

   That night, I finished up the paperwork that was waiting for me when I arrived from the bank, waved a quick goodbye to Jim (who was too busy hobnobbing with a congressman from Arizona to do any more than wave back), and by the time I drifted off to sleep that night, I was still smiling. The next day, I had a rare Saturday off from the bank and a million things on my to-do list. But believe it or not—and I hardly believed it myself—when Eve called and asked me to come with her when she dropped Doc off at the groomer, I didn't say a word about the cleaning and laundry I had to take care of or about the personal bills that were stacking up now that I spent so many hours at the restaurant I didn't have time to pay, much less file them.

   I guess for the first time, I realized how much the extra responsibilities of my job and worries about Bellywasher's profitability had weighed me down. Not to mention the nagging questions about Sarah's death. But now that I saw that all our hard work at the restaurant was finally starting to pay off, I felt as light as a feather and as happy as the proverbial clam (though what clams have to be happy about is a mystery to me).

   I couldn't say no to Eve. In fact, I suggested that after we dropped off Doc, we cut loose and treat ourselves to lunch at some place where neither one of us was responsible for seating anyone or balancing the books.

   When she pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, I was waiting for her. I waved, and when she stopped, I slid into the passenger seat and glanced into the backseat where the dog carrier was strapped in and the dog's tiny black nose was pressed against the door.

   "Good morning, Doc," I said.

   Eve pulled out of the lot and swung out into traffic. Both

her hands were on the wheel. Her knuckles were white. "He's a little nervous," she said, though since the dog looked the way he always looked, I wondered how she knew. We stopped at a red light, and she drummed her hot-pink nails against the steering wheel. Her voice was breathy. "He's never been to the groomer before."

   "And except for when you're working, you haven't been away from Doc all day since you got him." I patted Eve's arm. "Don't worry. You said you checked out the groomer. You got recommendations. These folks know what they're doing. They'll take great care of Doc."

   They did. From the moment we walked into Salon de Chien, Doc was treated like a furry little king. The woman behind the reception desk scooped him out of his carrier and cooed about how cute he was.

   Eve's rough breathing calmed.

   The high school–aged girl in pink scrubs who took Doc out of the receptionist's arms and escorted us back to Doc's private "spa room" made little squeaky noises in the dog's ear.

   Eve beamed.

   By the time we were settled in and waiting for Doc's "personal stylist and masseuse," Eve was actually looking forward to lunch. Before we could decide where we'd eat, a stick-thin, middle-aged woman with a store-bought tan and a huge diamond on the ring finger of her left hand came in and introduced herself as Minette.

   "He doesn't need much." Minette was short, her skin was leathery. Her hair was spiked and unnaturally blond. She looked Doc over and nodded. "We don't see many of these Japanese terriers. I'm thrilled to have the chance to work with one." She unfastened Doc's collar. "You really like this little guy, don't you?"

   "He's the cutest little thing on the planet." Eve accepted the collar when Minette handed it to her.

   The groomer laughed. "I know he's cute. That's not what I'm talking about. I mean that." With her chin, she indicated the sparkling collar. "Usually, I ask folks to leave the dog's collar here so we can put it right back on when the session is done. No way I'm going to take responsibility for that one. We don't have that kind of insurance."

   Eve looked confused. And who could blame her? Because she didn't know what to say, I stepped forward. I plucked the collar out of her hands. "Why would you need insurance for rhinestones?"

   Minette winked. "If that's what you want to call them, honey, I understand. I wouldn't want word to get around that my dog's collar was worth ten or twenty grand, either."

   "Ten?"

   "Twenty?"

   Both our voices broke, and Eve and I exchanged looks. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth opened and closed over words that refused to come out. Knowing that I had to take over, I shook aside my surprise and skimmed my finger over the collar. It was less than an inch wide and completely covered with the small, sparkling stones.

   "You don't think these are real, do you?" I asked Minette.

   "You don't think they aren't?" She tipped her head, considering the possibility, then dismissed it with a wave of one hand. "Come on, you two. Stop putting me on! Let me tell you something. I'm older than both of you, and I've learned a couple things from three husbands . . . no, wait, it's four now. Anyway, I've learned a whole lot about diamonds." She held up her left hand and turned it back and forth, and the overhead florescents sparked against her ring. "Believe me, I know the real thing when I see it. You can be sure I checked to see if this one was real before I accepted it."

   I knew right then and there why diamonds were sometimes called
ice
, because that's exactly the sensation that shot through me. Icy water rushed through my veins and hardened in my stomach. I swear, it felt as big as the burg that did in the T
itanic
. While I tried to come to grips with what Minette had to say, I turned the collar over in my hands and saw Doc's initials inside it.

   "But . . ." While I was still thinking through everything Minette said, Eve found her voice. "But if the diamonds are real, that means Sarah—"

   I didn't let her get any further. Before she could say another word, I latched on to her arm and dragged her toward the door. The collar clutched in my hand, I told Minette we'd be back for Doc by three and hurried Eve out of Salon de Chien and into the car.

   I looked all around to make sure no one was watching before I handed the collar over to Eve. I made sure the car doors were locked.

   "You don't think she was right, do you?" Eve asked. I looked where she was looking, at the collar she held in a death grip. In the sunshine, it sparkled like a million supernovas. "I mean, if she is—"

   "If she is, we've got another reason to believe that Sarah didn't commit suicide."

   "Because nobody who has that kind of money can possibly be depressed?"

   It was one theory, but I didn't think it was the right one. "Because somebody who has that kind of money has to get it from somewhere."

   "Which means—"

   I sighed. I hated when I didn't have all the pieces to a puzzle, and this one was definitely minus a few. "I don't know what it means," I confessed. "And I'm sorry I dragged you out of there like that, but I didn't think we could risk the chance of talking about Sarah and where the money might have come from. Not in front of strangers."

   Eve gave me one of her
gotcha!
looks. "I get it. Until we know what really happened—"

   "Lips sealed." I trusted Eve. Honest, I did. But I knew her well enough to know that it wouldn't hurt to remind her that we might be dealing with murder. "We can't tell anyone. Not about the collar and not about where Sarah got the money."

   "We couldn't even if we wanted to, Annie. We don't know where Sarah got all the money."

   "No, we don't. But we're going to find out. Remember that old saying: follow the money. Well, that's exactly what we're going to do."

   Eve didn't dispute this. But as she started up the car, she did ask the logical question. "How?"

   "Remember that day we were at Sarah's? The night we found the body?" Like I had to ask. Like either of us would ever forget. "Well, I saw a letter in her office. A letter from my bank. If she had an account with us, I just might be able to do a little sleuthing."

   A slow smile inched up the corners of Eve's mouth. She didn't have to ask any more questions. She pulled into traffic.

       the idea of lunch completely. We might be women on a mission, but we weren't completely without priorities. And we
were
hungry.

   First things first. We went through the drive-through at the local greasy burger joint and discussed what we'd discovered and what it might mean over French fries, double cheeseburgers, and so-thick-you-could-eat-them-with-a-spoon chocolate shakes. By the time we were done slurping up the last of our milk shakes, we had a plan all worked out.

   We had a couple hours before we had to pick up Doc, and we planned to use part of that time to hit the bank. Before that, though, we took a quick detour around Arlington and headed back in the direction of Bellywasher's and Old Town Alexandria.

   As I might have mentioned before, Arlington, where I live, is a mix of old neighborhoods and new, funky and fabulous, ordinary and out-of-this-world. Old Town Alexandria, where Bellywasher's is located, is something else altogether. The area was first settled way back before the American Revolution, and the streets are narrow and lined with skinny buildings that stand slap up against each other. Once upon a long time ago, they were the shops and homes of the early settlers. Today, they house everything from fusion restaurants to antique galleries, wig shops to clothing stores.

   King Street is the main thoroughfare through the heart of Old Town, and Bellywashers's is located on the not-sofashionable end of it. In the other direction, closer to the river, the real estate is pricier, the shops are more exclusive, and the clientele is a mixture of tourists and the area's upper crust.

   As is true of the entire region, parking in Alexandria is horrendous even on good days. On Saturdays, horrendous morphs straight into impossible.

   Which is why I sat up, surprised, when Eve found an empty space not far from where we were headed. Within minutes, we were parked and walking toward an unassuming shop with a plain-Jane facade, a nondescript display window, and prices that I knew for a fact were beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

   This was the shop where not one, but two of Eve's former fiancés had bought her engagement rings. Edgar, the clerk behind the long glass counter, knew Eve on sight, and since I had accompanied her on a couple of buy-gifts-forthe-bridal-party jaunts, he probably recognized me, too. The moment we came through the door, his eyes brightened and, believe me, I knew it had nothing to do with the way I looked. Or with Eve's outfit, for that matter.

   Aside from the fact that I was clad in black pants and bundled in my winter coat and that Eve was wearing a thighhigh pink dress and a fake fur that I knew cost nearly as much as the real thing, ol' Edgar immediately pictured another happily-ever-after. Yup, his ear-to-ear smile could mean only one thing: he was thinking of the commission check that would result from the too-expensive ring he knew Eve was about to choose.

   I hated to burst Edgar's bubble, and I told him so.

   Right before I showed him Doc's collar.

   I guess the fact that he practically dropped his teeth proved that when it came to diamonds, Minette knew what she was talking about.

   The good news was that they had a safe at the store, and after filling out the proper paperwork and getting a receipt, we left the collar with Edgar for safekeeping.

   The bad news?

   What with stopping to eat and driving all the way to Alexandria, we didn't have much time left before we had to collect Doc, drop him at Eve's apartment, and get back to Bellywasher's for what we hoped would be a blockbuster Saturday night crowd. I took full responsibility and blamed it on the milk shakes. Eve, as befits her beauty queen background, wasn't one to point fingers. She accepted her part of the responsibility and drove like a bat out of hell all the way back to Arlington. She got us to Pioneer Savings just before closing.

   I rushed through the front door and waved a quick hello to Cheryl Starks, the part-timer who filled in on weekends, and because I didn't want to have to explain what I was doing there on my day off, I headed right for the employee break room and the computer that sat in one corner.

   A couple minutes later, I was back in the car, where Eve was waiting for me.

   "Well?" She looked at me expectantly, and when she saw that I wasn't carrying anything, her expression fell. "Don't tell me you were wrong? Sarah didn't bank here?"

   "Sarah banked here, all right. Not this branch. The one over in Clarendon." I glanced around at the cars parked on either side of us and the bank at the other end of the parking lot. "That's all I'm willing to say. At least while I'm sitting where my branch manager can see me."

   Eve got the message.

   It wasn't until we were back in the lot at Salon de Chien that I pulled out the computer printout I had folded and tucked under my gray sweater.

   I skimmed my finger down the columns of numbers that laid Sarah's financial history out before us. "Regular deposits, twice a month," I told Eve. Even though she was looking over my shoulder at the numbers, I knew she wasn't understanding them the way I was. "The first and the fifteenth. Those have to be her paychecks. And her paychecks . . ." I glanced at Eve, just to make sure she was paying attention. "They're not nearly big enough to account for Sarah's lifestyle. They're sure not big enough for her to be able to afford a diamond collar for Doc."