Page 59 of 2045 Clementine Lane: Catherine

I saw her the momentshe entered the room, her green, long-sleeved gown shimmering, her fiery hair cascading in ringlets down her bare back. For a full minute, I could do nothing but stare.

I don’t consider myself a shallow man.

But neither am I blind. And when Catherine Beauchamp is in the room, I don’t see anyone else. It’s like looking at a light so bright that everything peripheral fades away.

I don’t like that Bernard Leard is a client of hers. Everything you need to know about him you can garner from looking into his eyes. Cold. Calculated. He’s not someone I’d trust around Catherine for one simplereason: He’d never hire an escort. So, what is he planning to use her for?

If my original plan had been to greet my captain, have a beer at the bar, and then go home to catch up on some much-needed sleep, that plan changed the moment she arrived, and my decision to stay solidified the moment she told me Leard was her date.

I wait for them to get halfway across the room before making my way back to the table I’d been occupying before she arrived. Detective Sade is sitting where I left her, nursing a Balvenie Scotch, neat. She doesn’t say anything as I pick my beer back up.

“Ready?”

“I thought you were going to make a run for it?”

“Plan changed.”

“Figured.” She slides off the stool. The wide-legged black jumpsuit she’s wearing falls perfectly, covering her red, strappy heels.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“About?”

“Catherine Beauchamp.”

“Haven’t talked to her much,” she reminds me. “Seems to have had a rough go of it, from what I read in her file. But she seems like a good egg.”

“Based on what?”

“I trust your judgment, Lieutenant.” She looks at me, her brown eyes serious.

“I don’t know her.”

“You do. Maybe not everything about her. But you know enough that you trust and respect her. And if that’s enough for you,” she shrugs, “it’s enough for me.”

“She doesn’t have an alibi.” Saying it out loud helps me to remind myself that Catherine is still part of an open investigation.

“Well, we had better find who killed Elizabeth York then.”

Giving her my arm, I lead her from the bar back toward the elevator bay. “You look lovely, Sade.” And I mean it. The black jumpsuit, pale skin, and black hair make her stand out in a way that has heads—male and female—turning.

“Thank you.” We step into the elevator. “But you still owe me for this,” she adds as we begin our ascent to the rooftop. “Being unarmed makes me itch—and there is no place to hide a gun under this thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Mani couldn’t come. His excuse was half-assed, but I didn’t want to pull the order card, especially considering things have been a little rough between us since our visit to the Dressmaker. Sade didn’t offer to come either, but she at least had the grace to let me bribe her with Dodgers tickets.

As soon as we’re on the rooftop, Sade peels off. “I’m going to take advantage of the open bar.”

I watch her walk away, momentarily overcome with dread. I hate these events. I hate playing dress-up. And I despise having to pretend to be grateful to be on the guest list when I’d rather be at home. The entire reason I brought a plus one was so I wouldn’t have to play the loner cop, floundering at the party while all the politicians talk circles around me.

I take a moment to observe my surroundings, noting the opulent decorations and glamorous party guests. Tiny, white fairy lights are strung overhead, from one side of the rooftop to another, forming an odd blanket of stars above our heads. A full bar has been set up on the far side of the terrace, its black top glistening. The pool has been covered with a dance floor for the night. Music, something with soft violin and piano that reminds me ofelevator music, trickles from speakers hidden in some nearby greenery.

I mentally inventory people I know by sight.

Deciding that I’d better start with the captain of my division, I meander over to where he’s standing with whom I can only assume is his wife. “Captain,” I greet him with an outstretched hand.

“Flint.” He grins and returns my shake. “This is my wife, Evangeline.”

“Ma’am.”

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