Just like they asked me to, I did my best to stall Jack. The way to do that, I knew, was to keep him talking. “You know exactly where the cards were. No, wait! You didn’t know where they were, did you? That’s why you’ve been looking for them. First in Marjorie’s house. Now here in her locker. It was the locker,” I said, like it was a no- brainer, and slipped the cards into my pocket before he could get too close a look at them and realize they weren’t part of his phony-baloney stash. “Too bad I got to them first.”
His blue eyes glittered, even in the miserable locker room lighting. “You’re amazing. Have I told you that?”
“So many men have.” I tossed off the compliment with a shrug.
He stepped closer. “What else do you know?”
“Everything.” Sure it was an out-and-out lie. But as long as I was stalling, I was hoping to egg him on into filling in the blanks of my investigation. “I know you’re not a history teacher, but then, I’ve known that practically from the beginning. Before you say you teach at Lafayette High School in Hammond, Indiana, you really should check to see that there’s a school by that name in that city.”
He was as smooth as a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra ice cream. “I don’t know another woman in the world who would have checked.” He gave me a quick bow. “My compliments. You’re as smart as you are beautiful.”
“And I’ve got a really good bullshit detector.”
Another smile. If the whole criminal genius thing didn’t work out, the guy could do toothpaste ads. “Is there anything else I should know you know?”
“You mean about the rest of the phony credit cards? The ones in the president’s memorial?”
His eyebrows rose the slightest bit. One corner of his mouth lifted into what was almost a smile. Call me egotistical (and who could?), but I actually think I’d just impressed him.
“That’s where Marjorie got the credit cards,” I said. He knew it. I knew it. But it didn’t hurt to run it all by him, just in case some of my information was off target. “It wasn’t this newest batch, either, because this newest batch . . . . well, you’ll find out what happened to them soon enough. The ones Marjorie took were from an older cache of cards. She found them and she was using them to feed her Garfield habit. But what, there’s some kind of system of checks and balances for phony credit cards? Well, there must be. Because you found out that there were a few cards missing. The trick was, you needed to figure out who took them. At first, you thought it might be me, but let’s face it, if I had unlimited access to unlimited spending, I would not still be working here at Garden View, and you saw that right from the start. Marjorie was the only other likely candidate, and she did spend all her time at the memorial. I helped you figure out that part of the puzzle when you asked about Marjorie’s spending habits and I told you about her Garfield sprees, right?”
I didn’t wait for him to answer. There was plenty more I wanted to know and time was running out. The cemetery isn’t all that big, and the feds can drive hard and fast, even when they’re trying to be sneaky. “There was no sign of the missing cards anywhere in the memorial so you ransacked Marjorie’s house looking for them. No dice. That’s why you’re looking here now. You’ve checked everywhere else. How did you find out about the locker in the first place? We just remembered it yesterday.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I heard a rumor.”
I wondered which of the cemetery employees he’d charmed like he’d tried to charm me. I wondered if that was the same way he’d managed to get a key to the ballroom. While I was at it, I wondered if whoever that employee was, if he’d kissed her, too. Maybe that’s what made me testy because, while I was on a roll, I figured I might as well pull out all the stops. “I also know you can drop the phony American accent . . . Jonathan.”
This did surprise him. He stepped nearer. “Splendid,” he said, in that way that Brits can get away with that would sound corny coming out of an American guy. Just that fast, he lost the phony American accent and sounded like he’d just stepped out of one of those PBS presentations where everybody wears funny, old-fashioned clothes and rides in carriages. “You apparently have me all figured out. Care to share how it happened?”
I didn’t. But then, it was a little awkward explaining that the feds were on their way and that they’d better get there fast because I was running out of things to say.
“Care to tell me what all this has to do with murder?” I asked him.
“Murder?” For a moment, he was baffled, as if he really had forgotten that behind the secrets and the scheming and the counterfeiting, there really was a woman whose life had been snuffed out. “You’re talking about that silly woman who took those few cards?”
“So you didn’t kill her?”
He was either horrified at the thought or he was a mighty good actor. “You know me well enough. Or at least, I wish you did.” He looked me over, slowly and carefully. “Ah, Pepper! If only we’d met in another place and at another time. Then you would know I’d never do such a thing.”
“But one of your minions would do the dirty work for you.”
“Minions?” Jack . . . er . . . Jonathan’s laugh was as bright as the lighting was not. “You’ve been watching too much bad American TV. I don’t have any minions.”
“Not even Viktor Patankin?”
This time, he narrowed his eyes, and when he looked me over again, I think he was trying to see beyond the surface. “You’re a cop.”
“I’m a cemetery tour guide.”
“Patankin isn’t my minion. He’s just a silly little man who sometimes performs a few select services for me. Don’t tell me he’s gotten himself in trouble.” He twitched away the thought. “Whatever he says, I’m sure he’s got it all wrong. Viktor’s English isn’t very good. He tends to get things mixed up.”
“Except that he’s pretty much told them everything, and the feds have the credit cards to back up his story.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You are a fount of knowledge. I’m impressed. With your good sense and your resourcefulness and your . . .” Again, he gave me a careful once-over. “Your other assets. I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered a life of crime.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Oh, no. This is an invitation.” He was standing close enough now to look me in the eyes. “White sand beaches. Palm trees. Crystal blue waters. I’ve got a place in the Caribbean.”
“And my guess is you’re not sharing the address.” His smile was his only answer. That, along with, “We’d make a great team.” A noise from upstairs distracted him and his smile dissolved in an instant. “Or maybe not. You called the police?”
“Nah, I went right to the top and called the FBI,” I said. “Right before I walked in here. I figured it was my best bet.”
Footsteps pounded down the hallway, but even that wasn’t enough to get Jack flustered. “Don’t worry about the credit cards and leaving me in the lurch,” he said. “I won’t be penniless. There are plenty more credit cards where those came from and plenty of dead people who don’t mind in the least when I appropriate their names. I won’t suffer. In fact, I’m heading to a place where there’s no extradition. You wouldn’t—”
“Care to join you? I’ll have to pass.”
“Just as I thought. Then it’s good-bye, Pepper.” We were toe-to-toe, and he leaned in close, then paused, asking permission without saying a word.
I gave it the same way.
The kiss was deep, searching, and intense, and when it was over, Jack disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the room just as the federal agents burst in.
They scrambled up the old stone stairway that led out into the cemetery, but they never did find him.
Too bad. It would have looked good on Scott’s record to have collared the head of the counterfeiting operation.
Too bad Jack was a crook, too, ’cause he sure was a mighty good kisser.
Call me crazy. Or maybe it was just my hormones talking.
I believed Jack when he said he didn’t kill Marjorie.
I was glad. Sure he was a major felon (at least that’s one of the things Scott called him when he showed up at the cemetery and read the riot act to the agents who’d let Jack get away), but aside from that teensy character flaw, Jack didn’t seem like such a bad guy. Besides, now that I knew he hadn’t killed Marjorie, I could relive those
