Page 60 of Presley's Christmas Catch
A random confession from the thief that includes breaking into Aunt Shannon’s and stashing it in a storage container? A girl can hope.
The Christmas song ends, and the quartet starts playing another song. The violin’s melody is somehow familiar, but I can’t place it right off.
“Follow me.” Brock pulls me through the crowd toward the stage where the quartet is set up.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but Brock just smiles, the way he has been all night.
When we get right up to the front, he puts his hands on my shoulders. “Stand right here.”
“Miss Tatum?” a voice says, making Brock look up. I turn to look behind me. A man in an official-looking suit, not a sleek party suit like all the other men at the party, stands there, eyeing me. One of the gentlemen Mrs. Westcott was talking about?
My stomach drops. I know way more than I should, and I’m not comfortable talking to someone about the party last year given where the ring ended up. Is there any way to get out of this?
“Yes?” I ask politely.
“I need you to come with me please,” he says in a low voice.
Brock steps in. “I know Mrs. Westcott wants you to talk to all the guests, but can this wait until later?”
“No, Miss Tatum. We need to speak toyouright now.” The way he emphasizes that has me thinking this could be more than just relaying what I know about last year. But how? We slipped the box under the tree quickly and naturally.
I think it’s best to act innocent until proven otherwise. “Is something wrong?” I ask. I hope my confused face looks convincing.
“Please come with me.” He moves to take my elbow to escort me out, I assume, but Brock blocks his hand, putting an arm protectively around my waist.
“We’ll answer your questions later.” Brock’s expression is impassive, but his resting face is … intimidating. It reminds me of that glare I thought he was giving me at Lincoln’s wedding when he was just concentrating on my necklace. I’m pretty sure he means forthisexpression to be threatening.
The guy forces a smile, but he doesn’t cow. “You’re welcometo enjoy the party. We need to have a quick word with Miss Tatum. Now.”
Brock’s expression narrows. “I go where she goes.”
The man hesitates and then finally says, “Follow me.” He leads the way back the way we came into the party. I make sure not to look over at the tree, and Brock doesn’t say anything as we exit. Before we leave the ballroom, I glance over my shoulder at the last place I saw Mom. She isn’t there, but a quick scan shows her and Dad not very far away talking to someone else. Mom furrows her eyebrows at me, but I give a quick shake of my head and force a calm expression for her. I definitely don’t want her getting involved in this.
The security guy takes us back to a small office off the entry foyer. Inside is a makeshift security office like you might see on a TV show. I’ve only been in the Westcotts’ house once, outside of the Christmas parties I’ve attended, but I think last year it was a regular office. There’s a computer on the desk with two large screens, and another man in a suit like the one who led us here sits in front of it, scanning feeds from all over the house. I flush when I see that between three different camera angles trained on the ballroom, it has full coverage of the tree. I swallow but turn to look at the security guy standing in front of us with that same confused look. Everyone knows they’re here to ask questions, and for now, I’m going to pretend that their intense interest in me doesn’t have something to do with the box I left under the tree. Maybe there’s a chance they’re going to ask me if I saw anything because I’m on camera near the tree. I cross my fingers, hoping that something blocked me when I set the box down.
The first security guy holds a hand out to a straight-backed chair in one corner. “Would you like to take a seat, Miss Tatum?”
“What’s going on?” I repeat before moving. Someone who’s innocent would be getting nervous about that by now. Lucky for me, the nervous part is easy to portray given that I am indeed nervous.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about the box you left under the tree.” He gestures to the chair.
I take one more stab that they’re bluffing because Brock and I were in the area around the time the box appeared. “Box?”
The security guy lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “Booker,” he says to the guy at the computers. The computer guy taps a bunch of buttons and on one of the screens a video comes up. The camera shows very clearly me and Brock walking up to the tree. It’s from the side, so when Brock stands behind me, it hides nothing. You see me crouch, put the box down, and then stand back up to Brock wrapping his arms around me.
My face is completely on fire.
“I made her do it,” Brock says.
“Don’t even start with that.” The last thing he needs in his career right now is to get mixed up in this. “He had nothing to do with it. Don’t listen to him. Make him leave.”
The security guy eyes us both. Brock is scowling hard core now. “Presley.”
“He had nothing to do with this,” I insist.
“What is ‘this’?” the security guy asks.
I’m not dragging Aunt Shannon into it either. Not without knowing more than I do. “I found the ring”—Security Guy scoffs, like I knew he would—“and I knew no one would believe me.” How did I not consider the fact that the ring was stolen from this very party last year, so obviously the Westcotts upped security? Given all the things Mrs. Westcott has done recently, and especially the warning we got at the beginning of this party, I should have foreseen this. Did I really convince myself it was just a couple PIs asking questions?
