Page 19 of Caper Crush
“It’s called covering all your bases,” I say. “And I don’t thinkshedid it. I’m not saying that someone else in her company didn’t do it.”
“If they did, I don’t think the sympathy card will work. That’s going to hurt her business.” He closes the binder.
She turns off the exhaust fan, but she’s now running water to wash the trays.
“Not if they return it discreetly,” I say. “It doesn’t have to be public.”
“How can you guarantee that?” He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed.
“I’m not going to guarantee that,” I whisper. “But I’m not about to go screaming to the press that the paintings were stolen and then returned. The press won’t particularly care if the paintings have been returned. There’s no longer any story then. And do you think the police or DA will prosecute the crime? I mean, given that they’ve called it a victimless crime when the paintings have been stolen, it’s going to be even more of a victimless crime when the paintings are returned. I can’t imagine it will be high on the list of crimes to prosecute.”
He nods. “Why do you think she didn’t do it?”
“I believe her that this is her dream job. No one is going to hire her if things are being stolen while her company is catering.” I eat the last chicken satay, dipping it into the peanut sauce.
“Yes, but it’s a half-million-dollar painting.”
“But you’d never look at it and think it’s a half-million-dollar painting.”
“That’s why we know whoever stole it knows its value,” William says.
I get a chill. “All right, that’s a good deduction. We need to work from that point.”
Kimberly turns around at the sink and comes over.
“Excuse me, but are you guys almost done discussing?” she asks. “I have to prepare for my gig this evening, so it’d be good if we could wrap this up.”
Her body language is comfortable. She’s facing us, her arms open, a spatula in one hand, a potholder in the other.
William shakes his head at me. I grimace. Not saying anything is hard for me. I’d like to blurt it out and see what we get. I pile up our plates on the tray. We both stand. A sudden rainstorm outside patters against the windows.
“The food was delicious,” he says. “We have a few more to try, but we doubt that they’ll be able to top you. You’re definitely top of the list.”
Or at least your employees are.
Her phone beeps, and she checks her email. “I just got a booking request for that date. It’s a long-term client. I have to give her preference.” She walks us to the door. “But please keep me in mind if you want to do something in the future.”
The booking seems too convenient. She doesn’t want to cater our party because we’ve been too weird.
“We will. Thank you for the food anyway,” William says. “If you reconsider, please let us know.”
The rain outside stops as quickly as it started. William grabs his jacket, and she walks us out to the front door. He pushes the door open and steps into the hallway. I follow him, but then turn around.
If we’re not hiring her, I won’t get a chance to ask her.
“Would you st—?”
William covers my mouth with his hand.
“Argagag.” My words come out muffled behind his hand.
“C’mon, Miranda,” he says. “We’ve taken up enough of her time. Miranda is just having a rough time today because she suffered a career setback.”
Career setback. What a euphemism. I glare down at his hand.
He shuffles me toward the elevator.
“You guys are cute. Strange, but cute.” Kimberly closes the door.
