hors d’ oeuvres and meet some good-looking rich men.
Detective Perez was staring at her coldly. “What were these cats talking about?”
She thought fast. “Mostly volunteer work.” That sounded positive and upbeat.
His voice sharpened. “And they were volunteering…?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” she managed to say. “But it was clear they were very nice women. Not the sort to steal artifacts. You know,” she continued, the lies not coming easily, “they sounded as if they loved…uh…small children. And pets. I think they even mentioned giving gifts to people less fortunate than themselves.”
“Cat burglars,” he muttered. “Cute.”
Was Detective Perez really considering her friends as suspects? “They seemed like very nice women,” Signe repeated.
His eyes pinned her. “You said they didn’t talk to you.”
“Well—” Her throat constricted, and she swallowed hard. “It was in the way they ordered.”
“The way they ordered?”
“They didn’t sound like thieves.”
“How do thieves sound?”
She searched her brain. “Not like…nice women.”
“Our conversation is getting a little circular.”
At least he’d noticed. Reaching down, she clutched the handle of her overnight bag. As she did, she thought of Gorgeous for the first time since the interview had begun. He’d been truly kind after the theft was discovered, and while he’d never again referred to her invitation, she was sure she’d seen something promising in his eyes. Ten to one, he was going to turn up in the Catskills tonight. “Look, Detective Perez, I’d like to help—I really would—and if you need to speak to me again—”
It was the wrong time for her cell to ring. Wincing apologetically, she slid a hand into her purse and drew out the phone. Quickly opening it, she whispered, “Hello?”
“I’m on my way in a fabulous yellow convertible,” chortled C.C. “I’ve already picked up everybody else. Be in front of the Met in ten.”
As she powered off, Signe wrenched her gaze from the grainy photo of her friends in their cute cat costumes. Detective Perez’s dark eyes were still scrutinizing her, and even without a mirror, she knew she looked guilty. Lying had never been her strong suit. When she was little, she’d actually spent hours practicing telling untruths in the mirror. It had never helped. At the age of seven, her own father had made her swear on a Bible he used for his legal work that she’d never attempt to play poker.
“If we’re done,” she ventured, “I’ve really got to go.”
“One more question.”
“What?”
“How’s your sex life, Ms. Sargent?”
Her eyes widened. “My sex life?”
“Yes,” he said. “Your sex life, Ms. Sargent. It’s where—”
Quickly, she raised a hand, murmuring, “Uh…no need to explain.” After a stunned moment, she added, “Oh.” Was Detective Perez wondering if a lack of potency was her motive? Did he really think she’d stolen the statue of Eros to enhance her life in the bedroom?
Heat flooded her cheeks. “It’s…” Virtually nonexistent right now, except for my dreams about Gorgeous Garrity. “Fine,” she said decisively. “No problems there.” Unless you considered that her mother called every Thursday night like clockwork to see if she’d met “a nice young man,” which meant someone professional and well employed, with a bright future.
Before Detective Perez could asked any more embarrassing questions, Signe lifted the overnight bag, butterflies taking flight in her belly as she thought of Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief, which was tucked next to her panties.
Just as she reached the door, the detective said, “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Winona Ryder?”
“Yes.” Plastering an innocent smile on her face, she felt sure the wheels in his brain were spinning once more, and that he, too, was making the shoplifting connection. “They have.” For good measure, she added the word “sir.”
Sighing in relief, she exited the archives department and followed the few remaining tourists who were being shunted toward the revolving front doors. She was going to be late to meet her friends now. Rounding the grand staircase, she glanced upward, her eyes suddenly stinging as they settled on the Tiepolo painting in the upstairs gallery. What if her dream to work here didn’t materialize?
It had to. She loved everything about this place. The press of the crowds. All the tourists. How the scary, long, dark corridors went on forever, fading into shadowy marble staircases. She’d wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life in this building, cataloging artifacts, but now she—not to mention C.C., Diane and Mara—was a suspect in a heist. Things couldn’t get much worse. Or at least she thought so before she heard Edmond Styles behind her.
“Signe?” he called. “May I have a word?”
Definitely ominous. Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes on the security guards stationed before the brass revolving doors opening onto the autumn sunlight, then she forced herself to turn around. “Of course, Mr. Styles.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly. “But I just spoke with Detective Perez, and until this matter is cleared up, we’re going to have to let you go.”
“LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE,” Diane whispered philosophically.
“What bright side?” Signe considered herself a cup-half-full person, but she hadn’t yet found one. It was hours later and the women were standing in a clearing in the woods, surveying a magic circle fashioned from broomsticks laid end to end.
Between sips of spiked herbal-root beverage, Diane kept her voice to a hushed whisper, so as not to upset the more earnest witches in attendance. “If you’re fired, Sig, you can spend next week helping me with the Manhattan Men program.”
“You’ve got a point,” admitted Signe.
“You’ll be on the payroll, and it will cheer you up.”
Manhattan Men, the program Diane was offering through her business, Wacky Weekends, was an intensive week-long experience designed for businessmen who had more money than culture, and who wanted to learn how to present themselves with more class. Next week was the program’s test run, and so far, six men from around the country had signed up. Their dates—C.C., Mara and Signe, as well as some other friends—would show the rich bachelors how to impress business associates. Between learning how to dress, order in restaurants and select fine wines, they were in for a week long extravaganza that would include trips to art openings, operas and high teas.
“Mara and I are taking vacation time, so we can participate,” reminded C.C.
“Sounds good,” Signe managed to say, still upset over the work suspension, and took another sip. The
