“No,” Michael Tiernay said, his wife visibly uncomfortable beside him, “and I’m afraid Kermit’s not able to be of much help. The attack happened fast, and it was dark.”
Diantha Atwood smiled politely. “There’s so much confusion right now. We’re just delighted to have an evening free to meet some of the people Deegan has been working with. I see Chet Farnsworth.” And she subtly moved in his direction, her daughter and son-in-law following her lead.
Deegan, looking sheepish, said with just a hint of sarcasm, “Gran’s the expert at coping with the socially awkward moment.”
Mollie grimaced. “I should learn to keep my big mouth shut.”
“You’re just direct,” he said. “Be glad. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go give Griffen a hand.”
“By all means.”
Mollie turned to Jeremiah, who, she knew, had been watching and listening with interest, if not objectivity. “Anything new?”
He shook his head. “Croc has no idea how the necklace ended up in his back pocket. None. Zip. Or so he says. I think he has ideas—Croc always has ideas—but I’ve been on his case for two years about sticking to the facts.”
“What’s his mood like?”
“Contemplative. When he has something to say, he’ll say it. That’s one thing, anyway, he and his Kermit Tiernay alter ego have in common.”
Mollie could sense Jeremiah’s confusion, his sense of betrayal mixed in with his loyalty, his affection, for a troubled young man. “Have you had a chance to speak with him alone, or are his parents always hovering?”
He smiled thinly. “Trust me, Mollie, the Tiernays don’t hover. Michael’s trying, and maybe in her own way so is Bobbi. But, Jesus, could you be here tonight? Sure, they want to support Deegan, but he’s right—they’re also running up the flag, demonstrating that their older son might be a suspected jewel thief, but they’re from strong stock, they’ll carry on.”
“Where would you be if you were in their shoes?” Mollie asked.
“We’d all be with Croc.” His eyes darkened, lost in the shifting shadows of the pool lights, Griffen’s candles. Mollie could feel his somber mood. “The parents, the grandmother, the brother. I’d have told him his publicist boss could throw a cocktail party without him.”
“Which I did tell him.”
“I know you did. I’m not criticizing them, him, you. Look, you’ve got guests,” he said. “See to them. Have fun tonight.”
She sighed, felt a little breathless, asked abruptly, “Do you think the real jewel thief will show?”
He went still. “Mollie…”
“It’s not Croc. You know it’s not. And it’s not me.”
It was as if a mask had dropped over his face. “This isn’t the time. I think your mutt owner has just arrived.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll go mingle.”
She watched him saunter off to the wine bar, couldn’t stop herself from imagining more parties, all different kinds of parties, with him at her side. His was a commanding presence, mitigated by his dark good looks and easy humor. Like herself, he was accustomed to going it alone, forging his own way, yet he was also surprisingly good with people, at ease with them, tolerant if opinionated.
He wandered among the crowd, saying little, and she could see that a Palm Beach cocktail party just wasn’t his thing, that where he was most comfortable, most himself, was when he was working a story. And that knowledge slammed her fantasies up against the hard wall of reality. Resolving mysteries, unraveling intricacies. Those were what made Jeremiah Tabak get up in the morning. And once he had things sorted out in his mind, resolved and unraveled, finished, he was on to his next mystery, his next set of intricacies.
And no matter how good his intentions, how much he believed he wanted to be with her now, his attention span for her just might not extend beyond figuring out who’d ripped the necklace off her neck Friday night, and why, and how all the pieces fit together.
He joined her at the wine bar. “You’re looking restless,” he said.
She managed a smile. “I was just thinking the same about you.”
“I am restless. Have you noticed Griffen and Deegan? They seem to be on the skids to me. I’m wondering if they know more than they’re saying.”
“Me, too.” She inhaled, thoughts and images swarming over her, snippets of conversations flooding her brain. “Jeremiah—”
He stiffened. “What is it?”
“I haven’t thought of this before, but it’s been sifting around since I talked to Griffen a little while ago. It’s possible—they could be another common denominator.”
“Griffen and Deegan?”
She nodded. “I’m not positive. She said something to me earlier, and it’s been eating at me…” She paused, pushing through her uncertainties about him, about what she was saying. “I could never testify to it—and maybe it’s just the wine and the stresses of the past few days—but I wouldn’t be surprised if they made some kind of appearance at every event the thief hit. They might just stop in for a few minutes, like they did on Friday, or Griffen would be catering—”