Kenzie’s belongings were in a flimsy wardrobe: the slinky black dress, ripped and ruined by bloodstains. The spiked heels, which she wouldn’t be wearing anytime in the near future. The wig had been stuffed soaking wet into a plastic bag, which was clouded up with condensation. And on the top shelf, shoved to one side, was her purse, a glass-beaded black clutch with a brass clasp. It looked old, like something she might have found it in a vintage clothing store.
Ted sat down again. “I’m going to look in your purse. Normally I would never do that, but these aren’t normal times.”
She didn’t object.
Lipstick. Keys. A slim metal credit card holder with a Visa and a folded, crisp twenty-dollar bill. And her cell phone.
“See? Success.”
He noticed a zippered pocket. There was something inside. He debated for only a moment. He opened it and found two foil-wrapped condoms.
“Wow.” He zipped the pocket closed. The implications of this discovery were both pleasing and disconcerting. Kenzie had come to dinner prepared, her decision already made or at least more than half-made. Should he feel flattered? He did. Did he also feel a step behind the beat in their mating dance? He did, but maybe it didn’t matter. There was also the possibility that the mere existence of the condoms in her purse had nothing to do with him. He took the phone and replaced everything else.
“I will never admit to having seen these,” he whispered.
He woke the phone. “I’m going to need your thumb.” He gently took her right hand and pressed her thumb to the screen. Nothing happened. “Not your thumb? Okay.” He switched to her index finger. The screen flashed. He was in.
“And this is something else I would never do. Except I am doing it. I’m not intentionally violating your privacy. I’m looking for a way to get those bastards.”
He opened the camera function. The most recent photo file opened with another touch. It was a video. The video. He tapped it.
The picture was clear enough, though the distance and perspective were not perfect. Cheryl could be identified only occasionally in profile. Jackie never, as the back of her head was to the camera the whole time. The others were easier to make out: the fat man, Pak, and Kid Reisner. The camera lingered on each one. It passed over the model—Ted generously granted her that description—in a blur.
“This is dynamite, Kenzie. I’m sending the video to my phone,” he told her as he found his own number in her phone’s contacts. “I’ll share it with that detective as soon as I get the chance.”
He checked his phone. The video had come through. He pushed her phone down into the purse and opened the wardrobe.
Kenzie’s voice hissed at him in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing?”
He whirled around, fighting to control the explosion of emotions that were all firing at once. Guilt—her purse was in his hand. Elation that she was awake and aware. Confusion—Kenzie’s eyes were still shut.
A woman was standing at the door. Kenzie’s mother—there could be no doubt. She was a stunning redhead with the same light blue eyes, though in her case they peeked out from behind gold-framed glasses. She had either danced nightly in the Fountain of Youth or given birth in her early teens. She could have passed for an older sister. And there was the voice. Breathy, husky, and deep.
“I’m Ted Molloy,” he said, knowing that would mean nothing to this woman, but he had to say something while he thought of a way out of this predicament. He was holding the damn purse.
The clincher for identification of the woman was the attitude. “I didn’t ask who you were. I asked what the hell you’re doing.”
“I was worried,” Ted said.
“Yes?”
Ted thought this would have been a perfect time for Kenzie to wake up and explain everything to her mother.
“I was with her last night,” he said. “I wanted to see that none of her things had gone missing.”
Apparently he had blurted out the magic words. “You were there? Did you see who did this?” The woman softened visibly. Her voice was no longer commanding but pleading.
“I saw it happen, but, no, I couldn’t see the driver. It was dark, raining. And it happened so fast. You’re Mrs. Zielinski?” If Mrs. Zielinski was there, then Mr. Z, as Lester called him, was probably not far. Ted needed to be gone before the man arrived.
She smoothed Kenzie’s hair. It hadn’t needed smoothing. “I am. Dolores Zielinski. Dee.” She almost reached out a hand to shake but stopped herself. “What did you find? Was anything missing?”
Ted handed the purse to her. “I don’t know. Her wallet and phone are there.” Too late, he thought of the zipper pocket. “I don’t think she was carrying much cash. I’d guess it’s all there.” He began to edge past her toward the door.
“Ted Molloy?” she asked, obviously trying to remember if she’d heard his name before.
“Yes. Kenzie and I met recently.”
“So you were on a date?” She had managed to shift her stance so that she was subtly blocking his exit. It was well executed, too well to have been unconscious.
If she was as perceptive as her daughter, he could not risk lying to her.
“Yes and no.” He was not comfortable with this line of questioning. The condoms in the purse would give one message and a tale of bribery and fraud an entirely different one. It was time to change direction. “When you arrived was there a policeman here?”
“Yes. Why?”
“When I left here last night, I asked that they keep an eye on her.”
“Why would you do that? The detective told me this was an accident. A car theft.” Ted was stunned but he struggled to recover. He could not let her see his surprise. “Was this someone from NYPD? Detective Duran? Or Kasabian?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Duran’s a big black man. Long face. Square jaw. Kasabian looks like the old Marlboro man—”
She cut him off. “No. No. They were nothing like that. Could they have been local? I mean from here. Nassau County. They were here this morning.”
“What did they say?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. They talked to me for a minute or two, told the uniformed policeman he could go, and they left.”
A string of curses ran through Ted’s mind, but he managed to stop them before they erupted out of his mouth.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “I didn’t think to ask them to stay.”
Ted did not want to frighten her. He’d talk to Duran or Kasabian as soon as he could get away from her. They’d had a deal. “I’m sure it’s fine. They wouldn’t have left if there was a problem.”
Ted watched her rearrange her features to appear fully convinced. It was an impressive attempt. A less skeptical man might have believed it. “Where did you two meet?” she said, making polite conversation. “According to my daughter, her life begins and ends with her work.”
He tried a laugh to reassure her and dispel any suspicions. He failed. The laugh was false, and Mrs. Zielinski was sharp. “She stopped me on the street. In front of the courthouse.”
“Hmm?” It was a perfect response. She gave nothing away and at the same time invited more. How did a librarian develop lawyers’ skills? Ted didn’t fall for it. He had more pressing issues. He needed to talk to the detectives.
“I should be going,” he said. “I’d rather we had met under other circumstances.”
She brushed by him and placed the purse in the wardrobe. “Will you be back?”
Ted heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Mr. Z? Trapped. He’d waited too long.
“I’ll try and stop by this evening.” He ducked out the door. A tall, spindly man in doctor’s coat passed him, moving quickly down the corridor. Ted released an anxious breath and headed for the elevators.