Chapter 23

 

Penelope hid a yawn behind her dinner napkin as Stan Higgins droned on about the museum and all the great things it did for the city. Salad arrived and she picked at it. At her side, Benton—bless him!—made conversation with the other couples at their table, entertaining them with stories from the golf course. His best stories, of course, came from his days in the prosecutor’s office but he rarely talked about those. She merely put on a smile, hiding her thoughts.

Had Sandy and Gracie been able to glean any new information on the robbery from the museum director’s office? Had they actually gotten in before he came along? How long could this bloody dinner go on?

Pen glanced around the room. Three tables away, Sandy and Gracie sat with two couples and two single men. Gracie was laughing at something one of the men said, gesturing as she added something to the conversation. Sandy appeared much the way Pen must—a false smile, a distracted darting of the eyes, complete boredom with the surroundings.

As a banker with frequent duties toward customer service, she must have had her fill of client dinners and community banquets. Gracie, on the other hand, was no doubt enjoying a dressy night out without her kids.

Perhaps Pen could make use of something here for a character or situation in a future book. She began to take note of little things—the way a particular dress fit its wearer, the melodic tone of another diner’s giggle, the coquettish glances between two of the wait staff who were no doubt romantically involved. To fill her mind with something interesting, she began to concoct an intriguing little plot around them as she cut into the filet before her. The meal was not extraordinary but the sauce was interesting.

 

* * *

 

Sandy kept an eye on Gracie’s evening purse, sitting there so precariously on her friend’s lap. The phone inside held all the evidence they were ever likely to get for Pen. She forked the tender-crisp broccoli from her plate. The sauce on her chicken smelled good but she was dieting again and tried to eat her fill of the lower-calorie foods first. Well, maybe just a bite … She was glad Pen suggested meeting before the dessert arrived.

Thinking of Pen, Sandy glanced toward the other table. Pen’s gentleman friend was talking animatedly with another man. Pen herself had a serene smile. Hard to believe she was in the midst of tonight’s plot. Sandy’s own thoughts didn’t seem to go anywhere except to the close call she and Gracie had awhile ago in Higgins’ office.

A handsome young waiter who looked about eighteen years old came around and asked if she was finished with her plate. She nodded. He might have been her grandson … if only … She turned her thoughts in another direction, a habit so ingrained she hardly had to think about it.

Another glance toward Pen. Dinner plates had been cleared and desserts—something in short parfait glasses—were being set before each diner. Sandy raised her eyebrows and Pen gave a quick tilt of her chin toward the vestibule.

Sandy cleared her throat and turned toward Gracie. “I’m heading for the ladies room …”

“Oh. Oh! I think I’ll come along.” Gracie excused herself to the group who seemed a little perplexed that she’d cut short the punchline of her joke.

At the far side of the vestibule, it became apparent the visit to the restroom was not a good plan. A lineup waited outside the door.

Sandy turned toward Gracie and Pen. “I think I could use a smoke.”

Pen looked startled. “I didn’t think—”

“I could go for some fresh air,” Gracie piped up. She started for the large double exit doors.

The others followed along. Outside, the air felt balmy and the scent of orange blossoms somehow managed to reach the center of the city from the acres of outlying orchards. Or perhaps they came from the few trees on the museum grounds. A fountain bubbled quietly in the roundabout where cars would later arrive to pick up the benefit attendees. To one side an arbor draped with trumpet vines looked like a secluded place for conversation but two men already stood there, their conversation seeming rather intense.

“How about this pathway?” Pen suggested, heading the opposite direction.

Flowering trees, their trunks entwined with fairy lights, made the isolated area feel safe and well-lit as the three walked along, as if for a cordial stroll. Sandy related what little she knew about the safe inside the director’s office—that it was a good one, tough to get into—and Gracie pulled out her phone with the pictures.

Pen peered at the photographed documents. “I don’t think I can make out much detail here.”

“I’ll send them to you. On your computer you can enlarge them quite a lot.”

If I know how, Pen thought. She needed to move ahead in her knowledge of technology if she meant to associate with this group. She watched as Gracie tapped a few lighted buttons on her phone.

“Okay, they’re on the way to your email,” she said.

Pen had a feeling their little computer whiz, Amber, would be called back to action on this one.

“We need to decide our next step,” Sandy said, as if she’d read Pen’s mind. “Amber is working on some things. Let me contact her in the morning and I’ll let everyone know.”

“Meanwhile, we should get back inside,” Pen said.

“Separately, I’d suggest, since we don’t know who among the museum staff might have been involved with the robbery,” said Sandy. “Pen, you go first. We’ll take this other side path so we don’t end up going inside at the same time.”

Pen doubled back, taking enough time so it appeared she was there to admire the landscaping. She passed the arbor where the two men had been talking a few minutes ago. One had left, and she thought she recognized the gait of the man she’d met earlier, Todd Wainwright, who was either Dan Stevens’ or Stan Higgins’ assistant—she’d forgotten. The other man was stubbing out a cigarette in an urn of sand. She definitely knew him. It was Detective Caplin.