Beach Rental(75)

Talk about inconvenience. This time of the evening on a Friday—she’d have to find a ride home or—double crap—she didn’t even have a spare house key with her.

The waitress returned her card and receipt. Hurriedly, she put the card back in her wallet and slipped away.

It was nearly full dark.

Through the large plate glass gallery windows, the interior lights shone bright and inviting. A sign in a black lacquered iron holder by the front door read “Private Event” in fancy script.

Guests moved about inside. Anna came near to the window, her hair worn long with a shiny ornament holding the graying locks back behind one ear. She looked stately. Juli started to wave, but caught herself. She was here in her jeans and sneakers, incognito.

It was pitch dark in the passageway between the gallery and the building next door. She paused at the entrance. Her heart had been galloping with the fear of losing her keys. Now, facing the blind passage, it did a steep dive.

She could creep through this narrow darkness or go through the much longer back alley which was about as dark. Going boldly through the front door in her sneakers and jeans wasn’t an option. She was lucky this was one of the few buildings on this side of Front Street with a passage between.

Suddenly, yellow light spilled through the window near the far end of the passageway. Luke’s office window. No guarantee it would stay on, but if she moved quickly, she could take advantage of it.

She didn’t intend to look in the window—never intended to spy on anyone—but it was as natural to turn her head in that direction as it was to put one foot in front of the other.

A redhead in a dark blue dress was leaning against Luke. His arm was around her back and his head was inclined toward her, his profile and hair lit by the desk lamp.

Leslie.

She wanted to be glad for Luke, but it made her sad.

Shame on her. He’d been good to her, more than what his duty to Ben had required. She bent over and moved past while she could benefit from the light.

As she rounded the corner from the passageway to the alley, the back door opened. A white-clad figure stepped out with a trash bag. Perfect timing because the door locked automatically.

She trotted over. “Hey, wait. Can you hold the door open?” She recognized the woman as one of the catering crew who had arrived before she left. “Lost my keys. Did you see them? Maybe on the counter?”

The woman let her in. “On the counter? I haven’t seen any keys.”

“Thanks.” Juli looked among the napkins and cups now stacked on the end of the counter where her purse had been. She tilted the trash can toward her, shaking it slightly. It was half-filled with paper and foil, with some sort of red sauce splattered over everything.

Half-full. Had it already been emptied? Or not used much? The caterer had gone back into the gallery.

Well, it was messy, but she could deal with it.

She reached in, but then pulled her hand back. There must be something she could use to dig around in there.

There were cabinets on the wall and under the sink counter. A small closet was at the end of the room. A broom, a dustpan, rolls of cardboard, and other assorted stuff. A yardstick was leaning in the corner near the door.

She backed out of the closet, yardstick in hand. She turned and saw a guest decked out in finery and jewels, standing in the doorway watching her.

“Juli?”

She had a choice and made it in a split second. Not Mrs. Barlow. They were on equal footing. “Amanda. Hi.”

Amanda came around the table, her hands pressed together. A big, shiny green stone glittered on her finger. “I remember you now. And not only from your visit to my house, isn’t that right?” Her eyelids dropped partway as she stared, giving her a hooded look, like a bird of prey. She tapped the side of her glass with a manicured fingernail. “I think you’ve been less than honest, Juli. Why did you pretend you didn’t know where I’d seen you before?”

“I wasn’t pretending. I was at your house to deliver artwork. My personal business is my own.”

The liquid in Amanda’s glass sloshed back and forth. She put a hand on the table as if posing, or perhaps to steady herself.

“You were in my home. Everything in my home is my business. And you were at the Hammond’s home when my ring was stolen. My ring is my business, too.” She moved forward. “Do you know what happened to my ring?”

“How would I know?”

“It was an expensive piece of jewelry.” She lifted her hand from the table and waggled it back and forth allowing the overhead light to catch the facets of the green stone. “I like rings. Those were your co-workers, your chums, right? My husband checked into Robard’s Catering. The police said there were thefts associated with the parties they catered. The police didn’t question you?”