“Jane knows, of course.” Along with half of Lighthouse Cove. But I felt too guilty to mention that fact to Mac.
“Jane knows,” he echoed as he absently turned his coffee cup around in slow circles, his gaze never leaving mine. “Of course she would, because at this point, it probably belongs to her. But you know, you and I have gone to Jesse’s house at least four times in the middle of the night to investigate what’s going on. So, when were you planning to tell me the truth?”
The guilt swept over me in waves. “I’m sorry, Mac. Jane and I swore each other to secrecy. I was so worried that if anyone knew the truth, her life would be in danger. But I should’ve trusted you.”
“Yeah, you should’ve,” he said, reaching for my hand.
“I feel awful.” His warm palm felt good against mine.
“Good. As long as you’re feeling really guilt-ridden, I’m okay with that. Do the cops know?”
“I told Eric.”
“That was smart.”
“I know. You might not speak to me again, but he could throw me in jail.”
He allowed himself a half grin. “Makes sense.”
Was it my imagination or was some of the ice in his eyes melting?
“Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” he said. He let go of my hand and got up to pour more coffee. “You don’t know me really well, but I’m a good guy.”
I smiled. “I know that much.”
He sat down again. “But now you owe me.”
“Oh.” I frowned as he grabbed my hand again and pressed it lightly between his two palms. It felt secure and warm.
“You owe me the truth,” he said softly. “All of it. Right now. I want to hear the whole story.”
I told him how I found Jesse’s body. How a week later, I was checking the foundation for Jane and came across the cracked bricks in Jesse’s basement where he’d hidden the necklace. I told him about my conversation with Jane about keeping the discovery a secret so that Jesse’s killer wouldn’t come after her. And how we’d immediately put the necklace in the safe-deposit box.
“That was smart,” he said. “Good move. But here’s the deal. It doesn’t do any good to put it in the bank if the bad guy still thinks it’s somewhere inside Jesse’s house.” He gave my hand a squeeze and I liked it a lot. Not just the warm, solid contact, which was really nice, but also the feeling that I wasn’t in this alone. That Mac was willing and ready to charge into battle by my side.
“I agree,” I said.
“Because someone is still breaking in and searching for it. He won’t stop until he either finds it himself or hears that someone else found it.”
“You’re right,” I said, still feeling the guilt seep back in. “And that’s why we didn’t tell anyone else. We didn’t want the bad guy coming after Jane.”
“I understand. But this time when he comes after Jane, we’ll be waiting for him.”
*
A few hours later, I dressed in my prettiest springtime frock, even though it was February. I’d been invited to a Sunday afternoon garden party at one of the “Grande Dame” Victorian mansions on the Alisal Cliffs. It was a beautiful sunny day, but I grabbed a sweater to wear in case the wind got too brisk out on the cliffs.
I’d invited Mac to go with me to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Perry, the art collectors who owned the house. My crew and I had recently done a bit of remodeling for them, turning their downstairs office into a glass-walled solarium. I was pleased with the work and had uploaded some pictures of the pretty, plant-filled room onto my Web site.
The reason for the garden party was to unveil a new sculptural masterpiece that the Perrys had shipped back from Florence. I couldn’t wait to see it after hearing Mrs. Perry rhapsodize over it.
Mac was an immediate hit, of course, and I was considered brilliant for bringing him. There was plenty of great conversation, luscious champagne, and waiters carrying trays of yummy hors d’oeuvres. The only fly in the ointment, so to speak, was that Whitney and a few of her unpleasant friends were among the guests. I should’ve known, since she was one of the Perrys’ neighbors as well as a charter member of the rich folks’ society. Those people really stuck together.
The good news was that Tommy was on hand, too, so I flirted with him every chance I got.
Whitney didn’t like that and she nailed me with a combination cold shoulder and haughty look down the nose. But she couldn’t have been sweeter to Mac, who caught on to her right away. He’d been in town long enough to figure out who was to be avoided. Whitney was one of those.
Which was only part of why he so appealed to me.
Mac was enjoying himself, perfectly at ease among the snooty and friendly alike, and the champagne was lovely. After an hour of socializing, Mr. and Mrs. Perry approached the large canvas-covered statue at the corner of the terraced patio.
“We’re about to reveal our masterpiece,” Mrs. Perry cried. A few people clinked their glasses together to get everyone’s attention.