A Priceless Find. Kate James

gala. Headache be damned, she took off her more practical shoes and slipped on the pumps. Using the small mirror she kept in her desk, she touched up her lipstick. Sam might want to talk police business, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look her best.

      By the time she spritzed on some perfume, her headache was fading.

      * * *

      THE FIRST THING Sam noticed when Chelsea walked out of the back was that she looked...taller. He slid his gaze down and saw the shoes. Unless he was mistaken, they were the same shoes she’d worn the night of the exhibit, but they worked even better with the skirt she wore today.

      Caught in the act, he realized when he looked up and saw Chelsea’s amused smile. “Ready to go?” he asked, proud of how smoothly he managed to recover from his lapse of professionalism. He helped her with her coat and walked her to his vehicle, having agreed that he’d drive her back to the gallery to get her car when they were done. “How was your day?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

      She leaned back against the headrest. “Don’t ask. One of the worst.”

      He thought of Joel Sinclair and how unpleasant he’d seemed and glanced at her. “Boyfriend trouble?”

      “What?”

      “Sorry. Too personal.” And where the heck did that come from?

      “Oh, no. It’s not that at all. Just something...unusual happened at work today.”

      He glanced at her again. She had her eyes closed and seemed unwilling to elaborate.

      He drove into The Coffee Shoppe’s parking lot and took a spot close to the entrance, and let her precede him into the café

      They both had coffee and Chelsea ordered an enormous cinnamon bun.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked him after swallowing a generous bite.

      He watched her tear off another sizable portion. “Where do you put all that food?” he asked.

      “I get plenty of exercise walking around at work, and I try to do yoga a couple of times a week,” she explained. “Fortunately, I’m also blessed with a high metabolism,” she added with a flash of even white teeth. “But you said this was official police business. Do you know who’s responsible for the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines?”

      “I did say it’s police business,” he replied, although he’d nearly forgotten, enjoying her company as much as he was. “It’s about the robbery, although regrettably we haven’t caught the responsible person yet.”

      Chelsea had been about to put another bite of the pastry in her mouth but paused. “Does it usually take this long with a robbery of this sort?”

      “Generally not. The longer it takes, the lower the odds that we’ll be able to catch the perpetrator. This case is somewhat out of the norm. And that’s part of the problem.” He preferred not to tell her outright what he was considering, for two reasons. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily; she looked troubled enough as it was. Also, if he was going to share his theory with anyone, it should be the curator or owner of the gallery. His purpose in meeting with Chelsea was to get her take on whether there’d been anything out of the ordinary that could indicate the gallery might be a target.

      Or so he told himself.

      “What’s unusual about it?” Chelsea probed. “Is it that Mr. Rochester was hurt? There aren’t many incidents like that in Camden Falls. Not that I’ve heard of, anyway.”

      “You’re correct. We don’t see a lot of crime like the jewelry store break-in. Generally, that makes my job a lot easier,” he said with a smile. “But since it did happen, we don’t want to see a recurrence. Catching the perpetrator will not only keep him or her from a repeat performance, but it’ll also act as a deterrent to other potential thieves.”

      “Sounds like a plan. How can I help?”

      Her hands were wrapped around her mug, and her smile was warm and inquisitive. She looked so appealing, he had to force himself to remember what he’d been about to say. “Uh, Willowbrook Avenue is home to most of Camden Falls’s retail stores, the most likely targets for a thief. I couldn’t help noticing,” he said, smiling again, “that you seem to be aware of what goes on in the neighborhood and don’t mind getting involved, if the need arises. I don’t mean that as a criticism,” he added quickly, when he saw her eyes narrow. “I was wondering if you’d seen anything suspicious in the area, either before or after the robbery.”

      Her brow furrowed. “Not that I recall. The store owners and employees along that stretch of Willowbrook all know each other and we’re a close-knit group. We tend to look out for each other. If anyone had seen anything, I would’ve found out.”

      “Have you seen or heard of anyone unfamiliar or someone who seemed out of place visiting the gallery or any of the other stores?”

      She took a sip of her coffee but kept her eyes steady on his. Finally, she shook her head. “You’re asking me because you don’t think the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines was an isolated incident. You think the gallery or one of the other businesses on Willowbrook might be targeted.”

      It wasn’t posed as a question. Her agile mind impressed him. “We haven’t discounted the possibility. We’ve arranged for extra patrols along Willowbrook for the time being. Just in case.”

      Chelsea nodded. “Thank you. There wasn’t much of value stolen from All That Glitters and Shines, was there?”

      “No.”

      “But there was a great deal of damage. I can’t imagine Mr. and Mrs. Rochester having enemies. So, I don’t think it was targeting them.” Sam assumed she was looking for confirmation or denial. Careful to give her neither, he was again struck by how bright she was. He was starting to respect her intelligence as much as her courage, kindness and humor.

      “It wasn’t strictly vandalism, though,” she continued. “There are easier, less risky ways to accomplish that than breaking into the store. What was the motivation, then?”

      “Interesting line of reasoning,” he said. “You’ve taken courses in criminology?” he teased.

      Her delighted smile caused a twinge—like extreme hunger—in his gut.

      “No, but I love reading crime novels.” Her expression turned serious. “I can put two plus two together well enough to know that if you considered it a routine robbery, we wouldn’t be here having coffee.”

      The thought of them doing just that, but for personal reasons, ran through his mind. “Maybe I used it as an excuse to get you here.”

      She rolled her eyes, but not before she smiled at him again—flirtatiously this time. “I understand you can’t tell me more,” she said, “but I honestly don’t know what I can say that would help. Believe me, I want the person who hurt Mr. Rochester caught.” The intensity in her voice underscored her words.

      “You care about him,” he said, stating the obvious.

      She raised her hands. “Of course I care about Mr. Rochester. And Mrs. Rochester, who’s been worried sick about her husband. They’re a sweet couple. The way they are with each other, you’d think they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. They’ve been married more than forty-five years.”

      He mentally added romantic to the list of her attributes. And the list was getting long. She had intelligence, warmth and compassion. She had a spirit of fun that he readily admitted he was lacking but admired. And, needless to say, he loved the way she looked.

      But she had a boyfriend and he had to stay focused on the case. “Another question, if you don’t mind. Is there anything more you can tell me about Adam Rochester or his mother?”

      “Not really.” She stared down at the table. “I told you everything I know the other night.”

      He’d