Page 55 of Deep Tide

Nicole stepped into Amelia’s closet and flipped on the light switch. Scanning the racks, she immediately spotted the dress she was looking for. She reached for the hanger and held the dress up to the light, running her gloved hand over the rose gold sequins. The dress had a halter neckline and a plunging back. Nicole checked the tag. Size four. It smelled faintly of perfume, and the smudge of makeup on the neckline suggested the dress had been worn.

Nicole hung the hanger from a hook on the wall. She reached for a shoebox on the top shelf but couldn’t get it. She spied a plastic stool on the floor and moved it into place, then climbed up and tried again.

“Find something?

She whirled around, nearly losing her balance.

“Damn it! Don’t sneak up on me.”

Emmet stepped into the closet. “I didn’t sneak. What are you doing in here? I thought you guys came over to check out the storage locker.”

“McDeere’s going through it now.”

After learning that the tenants in Amelia’s apartment building each had access to a locker on the premises for surfboards, bikes, and other equipment, they had come by this morning to make sure they hadn’t overlooked any clues among the victim’s possessions.

Nicole reached for the top shelf again, but still the box she wanted was too high. She stepped down.

“Here, get up there and grab that pink shoebox, would you?”

He reached over her head and handed it down.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

She took the lid off the box and lifted out a pair of rose gold stilettos. She held them up to the dress. They were a perfect match.

“What do you think of this outfit?” she asked.

“Looks expensive.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “So, did you hear back from that detective in San Antonio?”

“Not yet.” Nicole poked through the shoebox, hoping to find a receipt. “I left him a message.”

She’d left two messages, actually, but so far the detective handling the two homicide cases Miguel Vidales had told her about had yet to return her calls. In the meantime, she was pursuing every other lead they had come up with.

“Where on the island can you even wear an outfit like this?” Nicole asked. “Everything’s casual.”

“Maybe a wedding? Or a private party?”

“These are Stuart Weitzman.” She held up the sandals.

“Who?”

“A designer. These probably cost five hundred dollars. A little pricey for a barista attending community college, don’t you think?”

He nodded.

“Same for Playa del Rey.”

“Just because she has a matchbook from somewhere doesn’t mean she stayed there,” Emmet said. “Or even had dinner there. She could have just met someone for a drink.”

“I’m beginning to think she was supplementing her income somehow. Maybe selling drugs or working as an escort or something.”

Nicole checked the soles of the shoes. They were scuffed, indicating they’d been worn out at least once.

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