Glass Slipper Bride. Arlene James
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not to mention all those jewels.”
Zach rolled his eyes back in his head and smacked the heels of his hands against his temples, suppressing the urge to do worse. “God help me,” he groaned. “You three don’t need a private cop—you need a keeper!”
Carpenter elbowed his way into the room then, asking Zach, “Want us to get a crew in to dust for prints?”
“Won’t matter,” Jillian muttered warily. “He was wearing gloves.”
Zach targeted her with a narrow look. “You’re certain?”
She nodded. “I told you, he was dressed all in black, head to toe. He was even wearing a hood and a mask. I saw his hand where he was holding the flashlight, and he was definitely wearing black gloves.”
Zach sighed. “Bag the paint can,” he said to the police officer, suddenly weary. “Maybe we can trace the buy.” Carpenter nodded and fished a rubber glove from one pocket and a plastic bag from another.
Jennings came forward as his partner bagged the can, saying reluctantly, “I, um, better get a formal statement from her.” He pointed an ink pen at Jillian. Zach nodded reluctantly, hands at his hips. “Okay, but make it quick. She’s been through enough already.”
The man parked himself in front of Jillian, legs braced wide apart, notebook in one hand, ink pen in the other. She told her story all over again, answering questions along the way. It was over in fifteen minutes.
Afterward, Carpenter conferred with Zach. “We can post a drive-by every hour or, so for the next twelve, if you want.”
Zach rubbed a hand across his nape. That was exactly what he’d ask for under almost any other circumstances, but something wasn’t right about this situation. “It’s all right. I’ll...I’ll stay till morning.” He sent a murderous glare at Camille and added, “At which point the security system will definitely be activated.”
Camille flipped a shoulder unconcernedly. “What I want to know is who’s going to take care of this mess?”
Jillian immediately volunteered. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“It really ought to be wiped down now,” Gerry said.
“I want pictures of it first,” Zach said. “Besides, Jillian isn’t wiping down anything. She’s been injured, in case you didn’t notice.”
Gerry seemed to think she’d been insulted. “Well, really!”
“Yes, really,” Zach snapped.
Camille huffed in a put-upon way. “Are you all right, Jillian?”
Jillian nodded. “I’m okay. You go on to bed.”
“I do have an early call tomorrow,” Camille said, “as usual.”
“Just make yourself comfortable, young man,” Gerry said, pattering after her retreating daughter.
“Sure,” Zach drawled. “Thanks.” Gerry didn’t seem to even hear the sarcasm.
“I’ll show you where to sleep,” Jillian said softly.
“Never mind,” he said, irritated at her behavior. “The couch will do me just fine. Right now I want to take a look at the point of entry. Do you have any idea where that might be?”
“Well,” she said, “he went out the back door.”
A muscle twitched in Zach’s clamped jaw. He motioned to Carpenter. “You come with me. Jennings, have you got a camera in that squad car?”
“Sure do. I’ll run get it.”
“Wait here,” he told Jillian. She nodded and pressed the cool towel to her cheek once more.
It didn’t take long to determine that the lock had not been forced. They looked around for a few minutes but found nothing unexpected. By the time they were satisfied that there was nothing helpful to be found, Jennings had taken all the necessary photos of the damage done to the kitchen. Zach saw the police officers out and returned to Jillian. She looked unutterably weary.
“Well, whoever it was, he definitely has a key,” Zach said.
“Yes, I’m sure he does,” she admitted.
“But you’re willing to wait for the Pipers’ society locksmith,” he said caustically. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, eyes closed, and tried to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s Camille’s house and Camille’s problem.”
“Which I’m sure Camille will take much more seriously now.”
He lifted an eyebrow at that but said only, “How’re you feeling?”
She shrugged and winced. “Shoulder’s tightening up, but otherwise—”
“Here,” he said, stepping around behind her. “Let me have a look.” He pulled down the soft neckline of her big shirt, exposing her shoulder blade. Sliding his fingers over her satiny skin, he gently probed, rotating the joint slightly. “I don’t see any bruising,” he said, mouth suddenly dry. “It’s not out of joint.”
“I didn’t think it was,” she whispered huskily.
The sound of her voice sent shivers up his spine. He jerked his hands away, saying, “Got any frozen peas?” The question came out strangled.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “Frozen peas. They make a great ice pack.”
“Oh. Probably in the freezer.”
She started to slide off the stool, but he held up a hand to stop her. He went over to the double-wide freezer-refrigerator in the corner, opened the door on the left and rummaged around the bins. finding what he needed. “Frozen corn works just as well,” he said, carrying the bag over to the counter. He started pulling open drawers until he found another towel. He carried the towel and the bag of frozen corn back to the bar. Folding the bag inside the towel, he fashioned a sling to hold the “ice pack” in place by looping the towel under her arm and tying it around her shoulder. “Now, let me see that finger.”
She held up her right index finger. “It’s no big deal.”
He surveyed it briefly. “Where’s the peroxide?”
“Uh, there’s a first-aid kit in the cabinet above the sink.”
He went there, used a paper towel to open the messy door and took down the kit, then carried it back to the bar counter. He fished around inside, extracting Band-Aids, antibiotic cream and a small pair of scissors. Using the scissors, he clipped the nail neatly. Then he applied the cream and two Band-Aids, one over the end of her finger and the other wrapping around it. “That ought to do it,” he said.
She thanked him timidly, adding, “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”
He pulled out the other stool and sat down, knowing perfectly well that he ought to keep his mouth shut, but somehow, he just couldn’t. “Someone has to,” he said. “Your sister obviously won’t.”
Jillian couldn’t quite seem to look him in the eye. “It wouldn’t occur to her. You have to understand how busy she is.”
“I understand that she dumps everything that doesn’t have to do with her precious career on you.”
She didn’t even argue with him. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I like doing things around the house.”
He wanted to shake her, to make her stand up for herself, but it wasn’t any of his business. Why, he wondered, did the sweet ones always get treated like this? Suddenly he realized what he was thinking, and was shocked at himself. It must have shown, for she laid a hand on his forearm and asked earnestly, “What is it?”
He didn’t want to talk