Chapter Fifteen - Molly
My dress is old, but still nice. I was in charge of security for a high-level foreign official a couple years back. The ballroom was extravagant, the finest chefs were flown in, and the china cost more than everything I owned at the time, including my car. I imagine tonight to be much of the same, minus the dinner.
I chose a long gown last time to hide my weapon in a thigh holster which can be accessed through a slit in the well-hidden pocket on the right side. There’s a pocket on the left too. Both are almost invisible and just in front of my hips, so anything concealed within can be hidden in the layers of the skirt. It’s strapless and intricately beaded from the top of the bodice to the tops of my thighs. It looks, to my dismay then and now, too much like a wedding dress for my comfort level. But at least it’s not white. It’s a subdued cream color.
And it hides my gun. So mission accomplished.
I actually put on makeup too. And my hair is up off my shoulders in a twist I did myself. I might not pass muster with tonight’s fashionistas, but I don’t have to.
I’m security. It’s a ruse. A costume.
“Blah,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. I turn away towards my bed where my gun is waiting. I check the barrel, make sure it’s loaded, then hike my skirts up and snap it into the holster. There are two extra magazines, just in case. But there has been no chatter at all about this party. Why Brooks feels the need for such heightened security is beyond me.
I slip my badge into my other pocket and then my feet into my shoes. They are flats, made to go with the dress, with rubber soles for silence and traction, and the same pretty beads that match the dress for appearances.
“OK, Masters,” I say, looking at my reflection one more time. “Let’s go.”
Atticus Montgomery has sent a car. It’s been waiting outside my house for the better part of an hour. When the chauffeur knocked on the door I was only mildly surprised. Montgomery is a control freak. One of those alpha males who likes to keep the illusion of superiority. And he wants everyone to know that I’m working with him. Maybe even that I’m working for him.
I don’t mind the ride. The idea of slipping behind the wheel of my five-year-old department sedan and driving to the party in a ball gown is ridiculous.
I’m thankful for the car. And Atticus Montgomery can make people think whatever they want. I’m not in his pocket. He can’t buy my cooperation with a ride.
So I walk downstairs, grab my house keys off the foyer table, stuff them in my pocket, drape the matching shrug over my shoulders, and walk outside to the limo. The driver is waiting at the passenger door and I wonder for a second if he’s been standing there the whole time, or he’s just so good at his job, he noticed me getting ready to exit and took up the position.
“Thank you,” I say as he opens it for me and I slip inside. It closes with a soft whoosh one only hears from a luxury vehicle, and then he walks around to get in.
We drive to the cathedral and get in line behind all the other cars waiting to drop off important people. When it’s our turn, the driver turns his head and says, “Mr. Montgomery said he might be a little late tonight. But he will find you later.”
“Noted,” I reply back, as he slips out of the car to get my door. That’s good luck. Gives me plenty of time to chat people up and find out who Thomas Brooks really is. I’m at a disadvantage here because I’m new in town. I don’t have the history of these people. And like most places, Cathedral City has prominent citizens whose families date back generations. They know their own history and they will be talking, even if it is in hushed whispers. If there’s some sort of past relationship between Blue Corp executives and Thomas Brooks, it will be gossiped about tonight.
The driver offers me a hand after he opens my door and I take it so I can ease out of the car with some dignity. Fucking ball gowns.
Immediately cameras start flashing in my face and I have to cover my eyes. The flash lingers in my vision as bright spots, but I bustle past and make my way up the cathedral stairs without comment.
Sergeant Seville greets me at the door and offers me his arm. He’s dressed in his formal uniform and smiles warmly. “You clean up well.” He shoots me a wink and I scowl.
“Thank you,” comes out automatically though. Men. They tell me to fuck off and don’t give me a second glance at work, but put me in a pretty dress and they turn into gentlemen. “Is everybody in place?”
“We are, Detective,” he says, his professionalism back. “Just as you asked. But there’s nothing to report. Quiet and dignified, that’s what this crowd is.”
When we get inside I let go of his arm and turn away, scanning the main room for faces I might recognize.
The mayor is here. Herbert Rothschild is not the first in his family to be mayor of Cathedral City. But so far the only other thing I’ve had time to learn about him is the fact that he went to law school and never ended up practicing law.
Also here is a judge I know by name, Peter Livingston, and several I know by face, but haven’t had the time to meet yet. Livingston and I had an unfortunate encounter my first day on the job. I was shadowing Detective Rollins that day, and he was due to testify. It didn’t go well for him. And the judge was pretty upset that the suspect on trial was found not guilty a few days later.
It bugged me then that Livingston seemed to take it personally and it still bugs me now. But again, I have no history with these people. And I never did have time to look up that suspect’s records to make sense of it.
“You look lost,” a gruff voice says from my left.
I turn to find a tall man with light blond hair grinning at me like a wolf. “I’m not,” I say, “just getting my bearings.”
“You’re the new detective, right? I’m Case Reider.”
He extends his hand and I reciprocate but instead of shaking it, he bows a little and touches his lips to the back of my hand. “So very nice to see you,” he says, standing up tall again.
I squint at him for a moment, almost in a trance, and then shake myself out of it. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
He smiles and lets out a soft laugh. “No, not really. But I run ToyBox Inc. We’re based over on the west side of town. You probably saw my picture in Cathedral Reports last week.”
“Oh,” I say, smiling. “One of those Peter Pan guys, huh? You never quite grew out of the video-game phase and decided to make your fortune by selling good times to other perpetual children?”
He chuckles again, this time heartier. “Something like that.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure—”
“Let’s dance, Detective Masters. Do you waltz?”
“Um,” I say, hesitating.
“I’m sure you do. I can see many days of dance lessons in your past.” And with that he takes my hand, pulls me towards him, and begins to lead.
“I do waltz,” I say, my feet reluctantly following along. “But I’m here on business tonight.”
“The dress is a ruse, then?” He smiles, making his blue eyes light up. “But you can’t let it go to waste.” He looks down for a moment as we glide across the stone floor together, like we’ve been partners for ages instead of seconds. “You’re very good at it. Where did you learn?”
“Yeah, well…” I sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Where did you learn?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Oh, my life has been one long boring string of charm school classes.”
“Oh, has it?” I can’t help myself, I laugh for real this time.
“Have you ever seen the debutante ball they have each year in the main cathedral?”
“No, but I imagine that is some affair.”
“You have no idea. I was roped into being someone’s date back in the day. And let me tell you, if she had warned me about the rehearsal time, I might’ve never agreed.” He says the words but I can immediately tell he’s not sincere. We glide past a few other waltzing couples as his eyes glaze over a little. “Close your eyes, Detective. And let me help you imagine it for a moment.”
“Close my—”
“Just do it. I promise it’s worth the few moments of trust you’ll have to give me to lead you around this room.”
Jesus. Another alpha. What is it with the men in this town? They are all handsome, rich control freaks.
“Come on, it’s a vision you’ll enjoy. Women love shit like this.”
“Well, you certainly have the gift of persuasion,” I say through a chuckle. But when I glance up at him again, he looks… nostalgic. And maybe a little sad. Possibly a bit regretful.
I close my eyes. Because I would never turn down the opportunity to get a story that can cause so much emotion a decade later.
“Picture this, Molly,” he says, leaning down into my neck. I breathe in deeply as he whispers my name across the sensitive skin. “Hundreds of girls dressed in white gowns, much like the one you’re wearing tonight. And hundreds of escorts, dressed in a tux, much like mine. We filed into the grand cathedral, four abreast. Girl, boy, girl, boy. Black, white, black, white. Each escort holding the hand of his beautiful partner up, like he’d won the lottery.
“The stained glass was glowing from the interior lights. The music was lively. And nothing but proud faces beamed from the perimeter. My heart was beating fast that night. We’d been practicing the dances for months. Each one was coordinated to show us off. Each one classically choreographed to stun the families who sat in the boxed seats above. And when I watched the video days later, I felt like we were spinning for Heaven. Like every move that night was synchronized for God’s pleasure.”
“It sounds lovely,” I whisper, lost in his dream.
“It was a moment of peace in a life overflowing with chaos.”
“So what happened to her?”
“What?” he asks, breaking the spell he’s put me under and stopping our dance.
I open my eyes. “Where is she? It sounds like the night of your life.”
His smile is gone and his eyes are no longer bright. “I was a few years older than her, already in my third year of college by that time. And she was still in high school. But she never finished because there was a family emergency a few days later and she left town. I never saw her again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It sounds like she meant a lot to you. Did you ever go looking for her?”
“No.” He sighs. “I couldn’t. I—” He stops talking abruptly and his gaze fixes on something across the room. “Sorry, I have to go,” he says, letting go of my hands and bowing slightly. “Maybe we can dance again later?”
I nod as he forces a smile, and then turns and walks off, leaving me there in the middle of the floor.
I try to follow him with my gaze as he makes his way through the throngs of dancers, but there are too many people. So I start after him, unwilling to let go of the fantasy that he put in my head and the implied tragedy he left there.
I search, pushing past the other dancers, my detective instincts on full alert for some reason. I think back to the moment I saw his face. There was something there. That bit of recognition might’ve been more.
And then I see the back of his head. He waves his hands as he talks to another man in a tux about his same height. It almost looks as if they are arguing, so I keep walking. Slower now. Taking it all in. The cathedral, the dancers, the music, the stained glass. I have that vision in my head of the debutante ball he put there, still clouding my senses. It all seems rather too romantic, considering what has happened today. Someone peeks out around Case Reider and I stop dead.
That face. I know that face. And this time it’s more than just a slight bit of intuition. It’s…
- A soft kiss across my neck.
- A dark place with lights and technology.
- A muddy road and rain.
He looks me straight in the eyes, looks away, but his lips move and then Case Reider turns around and looks at me too. An instant later the other man turns and walks out the open back door of the cathedral, where two of Thomas Brooks’ doormen stand watch in their matching outfits. They seem militaristic in their uniforms, almost Secret Service in the way their attention focuses on the events before them.
But they ignore the stranger. Case makes his way towards me and I towards him, and when we meet a few feet apart, he’s stuttering excuses. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing past him. “I need to talk to someone.”
I walk through the doors, the men on either side giving me only a brief glance, and when I check over my shoulder to see if Case Reider is following, he’s disappeared.
“Hmm,” I say to myself as I lift my elaborate skirts and descend the stone stairs that lead out to an expansive garden with tall hedges. It’s a cool night, and there are only a few couples milling about, but I hear laughter coming from the other side of the hedges and stop in front of a sign explaining what it is.
A maze.
I look around for the stranger I instinctively recognized, but he’s nowhere to be found. The back garden has a stone wall around it twelve feet high, at least. And the gate is locked, per instructions. So there is only one possible place he might be hiding.
I find the entrance and head into the maze.