that chart in the paper each day . . . well, things didn’t add up. In fact, the figures the charity gave us were only about 60 percent of what I figured they should have been.”
“My, aren’t you good at math,” he quipped.
“I’m serious,” she shot back. “Someone is diverting a big part of those funds somewhere else. There are tens of thousands of dollars in donations that are not going to ever get to the orphans or widows that the blasted war created. So, I had an appointment to give Elrod my information on this scam. He was interested.”
“Why didn’t you run with it?” Lane asked. “Most papers go with the story and hide their sources from the police. This sounds like a hot headline to me.”
“Ah,” she replied, “printing the story might have ended the scam, but it wouldn’t have gotten the money back. Plus, it would have caused folks not to give donations to the legit Santas. In this case, I don’t want a scoop or a byline, I just want to get the money back and have those responsible for this con game arrested.”
“So, Tiffany Clayton has a heart after all.”
“I also have something else you are lacking,” she chuckled.
“What’s that?”
“A brain.”
He shook his head. Why did she have to be so beautiful? She’d be so much easier to deal with if she were just average-looking. Then his mind could stay focused. And that was the big problem. Whenever he looked at her for too long he lost his train of thought. If fact, the train almost always jumped the tracks! It was one of the reasons he’d missed a few of their dates. He was afraid she’d look at him with those baby blues for several hours and he’d then say something that would trap him for life. Though, in truth, maybe that trap wouldn’t really be so bad. After all, weren’t these verbal wars just a way to keep from admitting he really liked her?
“Copper, your eyes are burning holes in my new gray suit.”
And they had been. Maybe it would be better if the lights were out. No, that wouldn’t be any good. The darkness would just bring out her perfume. What was it? Oh yeah . . . Tabu. How he wished she’d changed to a scent that was not so intoxicating.
“Mr. Walker, do you have any thoughts on Elrod or does the cat have your tongue?”
He had to look at anything but her in order to make sense. That’s the way it had been since he met her on a summer day in Wrigley Field. Clearing his throat, he once more turned his eyes to the radio.
“Lane,” she all but shouted. “Speak up!”
“Sorry, Tiff,” he finally answered, “I was thinking about another case.” Shuffling in place, he continued, “Elrod, yeah, I have some thoughts.” As his eyes focused on the radio’s dial he added, “I probably knew him better than you did. Like you said, he was a good man, and more importantly, I think he was about to hit the Delono family’s operation with a blow that would have knocked them to their knees. Sadly, he didn’t share his information with anyone. He couldn’t. He knew there were spies all over the courthouse, so he kept everything in his head.”
“So,” she cut in, “you’ve got nothing to go on?”
“All we’ve got,” he admitted, “is that somebody stuck a knife in Elrod to keep him quiet, and therefore, the one person who might have stopped Richard Delono is dead.”
As he nervously looked back to her, the reporter shifted uneasily, her eyes finding a picture of Elrod and his wife hanging over the fireplace. It was easy to read the obvious sadness etched on her face.
“That photograph was probably taken on an anniversary,” she noted. “She’s dressed up, wearing a lily, and there are a lot of folks in the background. Must have been quite a party.” Turning her head back toward his she smiled, “And speaking of anniversaries, weddings, and such, I understand you and Lorraine Day have parted company.”
“Old news,” he quickly replied.
“Must be,” she punched back, “because she’s already engaged to George Carlisle. She sure wore a dreamy look as she showed off her new rock at the Holiday Charity Ball last night. That diamond must be five times bigger than the one you gave her. By the way, did you get the ring back and have you finished your payments on it?”
“Carlisle,” the cop spat, “wonder where she met that shyster? Hard to take the law profession down a notch, but when that guy passed the bar he did it.”
“Take it you’re not a fan,” she smiled as she applied another verbal jab. “Now don’t avoid the question, where’s the ring you gave her? Did the Cracker Jack Company repossess it and repackage it as a prize?”
His frown quickly turned upside-down, as he began his counterattack. “I see you’re not wearing your ring either. Does that mean you’re not soon becoming Mrs. Malcolm Diamonds? What a jewel he is!”
She quickly covered her left hand with her right and turned her head. Now it was her turn to change the course of the conversation. “Wonder if Mrs. Elrod will stay here in Chicago? Aren’t both of their children married and living on the West Coast? And I think she’s originally from Madison.”
Lane ignored the woman’s quick conversational detour. “Just as well he dumped you, I always thought your being called Tiffany Diamonds was nothing . . .” he paused for dramatic effect . . . “that carried much weight or class.”
She turned and once again their eyes met. This time hers were filled with fire. “He didn’t end it; I did.”
“Yeah,” he laughed, “I’ll buy that just like I’d buy one of those used cars Mr. Diamonds sells.”
“At least he’s more honest than George Carlisle.”
“Tiffany, I’d expect a more imaginative reply from one of the city’s best scribes. Anyone is more honest than a lawyer!”
“Why does it always come to this?” she demanded. “Every time we get together you have to turn it into a verbal war. A war, I might add, that you never win.”
“I would win,” he laughed, “I just don’t have your stamina. And even if I did, why would I hang around for hours just so you can get in that last feeble word? And, I might add, I didn’t start this, you did.”
“Flatfoot” she shouted while sticking out her tongue.
“Gossip monger,” he shot back.
Folding her arms across her chest she asked, “You know what your problem is? I mean other than looks and intelligence.”
He shrugged.
“Personality. When you walk into a room it feels like two people have left.”
“Then, Miss Clayton, why do you always follow me? I can’t make a turn anywhere in this city without bumping into you.”
She set her jaw and shot out a glare that carried the explosive power of an atomic bomb. “I’ve got better things to do than sit here and wait for you to get a phone call.”
“You know where the door is,” he countered.
