No Place To Hide

Mrs. Lewis leaned eagerly forward, her voice fallen to a hush. “One of your own designs?”

“Of course, but don’t tell anyone. I’m supposed to be out of stock right now. This piece is fresh from Charles’s hands and the only one I’ll have for a while,” Emma said, producing a black velvet box marked with her private design label’s logo, Beautiful Things.

“My lips are sealed,” Ginny said. “But I wish you’d quit running out of material. Weren’t you bidding on some huge stone and metal auction thing? Please tell me you got it.”

“Yes, by some miracle, we did. But it’s been held up in the insurance process forever. They always seem to have trouble with rough, uncut stones, and of course that’s what we need before we can get started again.”

“Quit whining and show!”

Emma lifted the lid, watching Mrs. Lewis’s face light up.

“Oh, Emma… Black orchids! How did you do it?”

“Enameled gold setting, the petals are carved obsidian and lab-darkened purple jadeite. See how beautiful semiprecious stones can be?” she asked reverently, casting critical eyes on the bracelet. It was one of her favorites, a seven-inch line of miniature sensual blooms strung end to end.

The telephone drew Emma’s attention from the unveiling. “I’m on phone duty. We’ll haggle in a second.”

“Toliver’s Treasures,” she said, watching Mrs. Lewis’s expression turn more acquisitive by the second.

“It’s me, boss lady.”

Wrinkling her brow, Emma turned to see her caller standing twenty feet away, speaking on his cellphone.

“What’s the problem?” she asked. Brady, her jewelry department manager, looked positively dour. As always.

“Get rid of Mrs. Lewis. We need to talk.”

“If it’s about the auction lot—”

“Save that argument for later. You got another e-mail from the Creep.”

Emma’s stomach lurched. “Lovely. Any luck tracing it?”

“None. I called the Internet people again, but if you don’t call the police today, I will.”

“I don’t… Never mind. I’ll call as soon as I’m through.”

Emma hung up and took a few deep breaths. Definitely a cheesecake in her near future. Between her crazed schedule, Beautiful Things’s material shortage, constant attitude from Brady and the world’s scariest e-mails, she deserved at least three pieces.

Brady was right, though. They should have reported the e-mails immediately. He and the Internet guys had done everything they could. Now she’d have to involve the authorities.

But not until she’d dealt with her friend. Putting on her game face, Emma turned and calmly fastened the orchids around Ginny’s wrist. “There you go.”

“Please tell me this costs as much as a motor home.”

“Sorry,” Emma replied, hoping she didn’t sound distracted. “I’m asking twenty-five hundred. Not a penny more.”

“Five thousand.”

“Three. Final offer.”

“Sold. But you’re never going to make money if you don’t take advantage of your clients, dear.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Ginny’s face split into a grin. “That’s my girl. I don’t suppose you could make a necklace and earrings to match?”

“Of course. You’ll have to be patient, though. Charles and crew can’t start carving until we have more jade.”

“Fine by me, long as I can wear them for the motor home’s maiden voyage.” Ginny shrugged.

“You’re very good to me.”

“Nonsense. I’m a superstitious creature. At this very counter your great-grandfather sold my grandfather his wedding set. That marriage lasted sixty-three years. Given my husband’s retirement plans I need all the help I can get. And speaking of—”

“Don’t start.”

“I will start, thank you very much. A pretty girl like you should be married with children.”

“I am married. To this store. And Beautiful Things is my baby. I barely have time to breathe, let alone start a real family, and if you don’t stop harping I won’t have time to fast-track your necklace and earrings, either.”

“Tyrant. Keep acting this way and you’ll be single forever.”

“God willing,” Emma replied with a wink.

Ginny clicked her tongue and bent to sign the charge slip, muttering, “If your parents were alive I’d tell them how rotten you turned out.”

Pulling a tolerant but affectionate face, Emma handed over the bag and leaned forward to accept Ginny’s peck on the cheek.

“No more bickering with Mr. Lewis.”

“Bah. He loves it and you know it. Behave yourself,” the older woman ordered, then scurried away in a waft of expensive perfume.

Emma put the charge slip in the till and faced the stairs. They loomed, beckoning her to another of the Creep’s e-mailed photographs, which would make her flesh crawl.

The Creep had been following her with a camera, and over the last six days he’d sent forty-two pictures.

Being followed was bad. The photographs were worse. But the big black Xs superimposed on her face in every shot were downright creepy. Hence the nickname.

It wasn’t really necessary to look at this morning’s new arrival before calling the police, was it?

No, she’d spare herself that much. Dealing with the police could turn into an all-day project, but at this point Emma didn’t care how long it took. Her apartment was on the fourth floor of the Toliver’s Treasure’s building, and she’d already lost an entire weekend, waiting for the Internet company to track this person down.

The e-mails had stopped over the weekend, probably only because she hadn’t gone out. No opportunity, no photos, right? So Friday’s trip to the bank had been her last venture until this morning’s coffee run, when the promise of caffeine and a crowded sidewalk had lured her from the building.

Obviously, the Creep had been waiting.

Every hair on the back of her neck prickled at the thought, and Emma’s eyes narrowed. She dared whoever it was to keep this up. She’d be more than happy to introduce the Creep to the infamous Toliver temper. And her stun gun.