Jeremiah sighed, feeling his fatigue, the frustration of his role in this mess. As a journalist, he knew where he stood: his job was to get the story and report it. But this time, he wasn’t acting as a journalist. He didn’t have a prescribed set of rules to follow. He was involved.
He walked over to the edge of Croc’s bed, his body barely visible under the blue-and-white striped coverlet. “Croc, you didn’t steal Mollie’s necklace.”
It wasn’t a question, but Kermit Tiernay said, “Nope.”
“But you know something,” Jeremiah said.
Croc turned his attention back to the television.
“I’ve had most of today to think because my best source on this thing has his jaw wired shut and can’t yak at me the way he usually does about conspiracies, fantasies, goblins, and ghosts.” His stab at humor failed, his voice registering all the tension and urgency he was feeling. “Left to my own devices, I’ve come to the tentative conclusion that we’re dealing with more than one person. One is willing to use violence. One isn’t.”
Croc’s eyes never left the television, but he pulled his scrawny arms out from under the covers and said, “The thief and whoever hired the thug.”
“I’m thinking coverup,” Jeremiah said. “Someone wanted to pin this thing on you to keep the real thief from being caught. In order to frame you, he had to steal the necklace from Mollie. He did it in the most expedient way he could, possibly because he doesn’t blend in with the Palm Beach crowd as easily as the real thief.” He paused. “Are you following me?”
Croc lifted his gaze to him and said nothing.
Jeremiah smiled, without humor. “You’re not following me—you led me here. Mr. Harvard.” He felt his body go stiff, willed himself to stay centered. “The thief steals. He likes the element of risk and danger. He doesn’t attack. This second person wants to mislead the police, you, me, Mollie. Mislead, cover up, and scare off.”
“Protect.” Croc winced, hissing as he breathed through his wired teeth. “Mislead the police.”
Croc’s words were almost unintelligible, but Jeremiah got their meaning. He breathed in, thinking.
“The thief…” Croc adjusted his position, groaning almost inwardly from the pain. “Ribs.”
“I know, Croc. You don’t need this aggravation.”
He waved a bony, bruised hand in dismissal. His eyes, a muddier green than usual, grew serious. “The thief…daring and stupid…”
“Like you were at nineteen?”
He nodded without comment, but Jeremiah knew he, too, was thinking about his younger brother. His face screwing up in pain, he threw back the covers and kicked his legs over the side of the bed.
“Croc, what the hell are you doing?”
“Mollie’s party. I gotta go.”
Jeremiah felt a sudden chill. “Why? What do you know?”
His bony feet landed on the floor, and he reeled, steadied himself, held a crooked arm over his wrapped ribs. He had on shorts and a polo shirt, both new. “Let’s go, Tabak.” Drool dribbled down his chin. “No time.”
“Croc, this is insane. You’re hurt. You’ll never make it to the damned car. I won’t make it before the maid calls the police and accuses me of kidnapping.”
“Let her.”
“Croc…”
The eyes leveled on Jeremiah, the imaginative, hyperbolic Kermit Tiernay replaced by a young man of great focus and clarity. “Tabak, Mollie’s next.”
He held his breath. “You can tell me on the way.”
Mollie’s first Palm Beach cocktail party went off without a hitch, her guests departing promptly at eight, off to other dinners and parties. She and Griffen slumped on lounge chairs, Griffen moaning in relief before beginning the cleanup. “I don’t know why I was so nervous,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “You’d think it was my reputation on the line.”
Deegan dropped onto a chair beside her. He looked handsome, calm, confident. Mollie wondered if she’d been an ass for suspecting him. He grinned at her and Griffen. “At least it went off without incident.”
Griffen groaned. “Thank God.”
“It makes me wonder if my brother really is…well, no, it doesn’t. Kermit wouldn’t have the energy or the ambition to steal.”
“You think he’s innocent?” Mollie asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
Griffen, suddenly restless, flung herself to her feet. “I’d better start cleaning up or I’m likely just to strike a match and call it a night. Deegan, would you mind doing a survey of the house, give me an idea of what kind of mess I’ve got to face in there?”
“No problem.”
He strode off to the well-lit house, and Mollie followed Griffen over to her makeshift wine bar. “Griffen, there’s no rush—”
“Thanks, but we’re all tired. I know I am.”
Mollie hesitated. “About what you said earlier—”
Griffen swung around, her dark curls whipping into her face. “Will you forget what I said earlier? Please?” She sounded grouchy and tired more than distressed. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“But, Griffen, if you’ve got any ideas or insight about what’s going on with the Tiernays and this jewel thief—”