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I grabbed his arm, dragging him along. He caught up, and while heading to the table, he gathered my hand, holding it.
It made me giddy inside for some reason. I felt like the hard part was over. I’d gotten away with replacing wallets. I did it once. All I had to do now was wait and replace it again and run away. I’d won. I deserved a snack.
The buffet was a mountain of finger food: fruit tarts and finger sandwiches, tiny chocolate cakes and some fresh homemade crackers. I think the crackers were for the caviar in the goblet bowls but even I had my limits. Too squishy a thing to want to put it in my mouth.
I piled a plate and made Corey hold one, too. At first I was trying to sample a bit of everything, except for the fish eggs, but I ended up with a third plate of what I liked best: the fruit tarts and tiny barbeque meatballs speared on frilly toothpicks.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry before we left?” Corey asked. “Didn’t we just eat pizza? Did you not get enough?”
“Look at all this food,” I said. I wasn’t going to waste a moment when I could eat free rich people food. Now that I was somewhat satisfied, I scanned the other people at the party feeling completely different about it now. Most of the others were absorbed in each other. Their gazes flew from dress to tie, to who was sitting with who. Heads turned. Lips flapped. It was a lot like high school. “Is this what rich people do with their time?”
“Some of them still work,” Corey said.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “What would you do if you had enough money not to worry about working? Would you throw parties?”
“Never thought that far ahead,” I said. Never believed it would ever happen so didn’t worry about that. Surviving pretty much took up all my time.
A pair of deeply sunken eyes caught my attention as I was scanning the people. It struck me, because usually people who caught my gaze were quick to look bored and glance away. He simply held my attention longer than most. It was a younger guy ... no, he dressed younger, with a polo shirt and tan slacks instead of a shirt and tie like everyone else. He was maybe late twenties. It was hard to determine. His face was stern and lean so he could have been thirty and just appeared younger. He broke his gaze, caught Corey standing next to me, and then seemed disinterested. His attention moved on, and I followed his line of sight to Mr. Coaltar, who had taken up a position closer to the band.
“Do you know who all these people are?” I asked Corey. “I mean if Mr. Coaltar was doing what you thought he was doing, could he be considering distributing with people at his parties?” My brain wanted to start working now. I wanted to figure out this new riddle, because their prior assumptions of Mr. Coaltar didn’t fit with who I’d met.
“A contact for the wealthy?” he asked. “I want to say yes, because maybe it would be a simple answer. But the rich generally tend to be more careful than to work with petty street dealers. It’s too easy to get caught, and they either mask a habit with a prescription, or they fly off to Amsterdam or anywhere that it’s legal to do what they want.” He took up the empty plate in my hands. “Did you want more?”
I smiled. I didn’t think I could stuff myself with another bite, but his offer made my heart melt. I shook my head. “I’m going to end up with a gut,” I said.
“You could use one,” he said, holding out the plates for an attendant to take as he passed by. “You’re a stick.”
An arm cut through between us. I glanced up to find the man who had interrupted me with Mr. Coaltar earlier. He stared at me. “Pardon me for interrupting you again,” he said. “You’re Miss Kate, aren’t you?”
It was my turn for my cheeks to heat up. “Oh ... yes.”
“Mr. Coaltar has mentioned you did research. Biology, wasn’t it?”
I nodded slowly, glancing only once at Corey. He didn’t react like he was surprised to hear this, only curious about who this man was. I was, too. “I’m afraid Mr. Coaltar didn’t introduce us.”
“My name is Mr. Fitzgerald.” He turned, nodding his head at Corey. “And you must be...” His question trailed off with a hint of expectation.
“Brandon Henshaw,” Corey replied casually. He stuck out a hand in offering at Mr. Fitzgerald.
“Henshaw? Yes. I see. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Henshaw, but I wonder if I could steal Miss Kate from you for a moment. Mr. Coaltar was asking about her.”
Corey’s eyes widened. “Was he?” He glanced at me, keeping his eyes big, asking me silently if I was comfortable with this. “Would you like for me to join you?”
Yes! Did he find out about the wallet in his pocket being replaced? I thought if that were the case, Mr. Fitzgerald wouldn’t be asking me to see Mr. Coaltar. It would be a policeman. “I’ll be fine,” I said, lying my lips off. “He was telling me about how he previously did chemical research. Forensics. Really interesting ideas.”
Corey nodded. “I’ll come find you later,” he said. His eyes told me a different story. He’d stay back, but he’d be watching.
With Mr. Fitzgerald walking so close beside me as I turned, I couldn’t look back at Corey and send him pleading looks that he come find me soon and maybe plan to hightail it.
Stealing wallets wasn’t my original objective when I’d started picking pockets when I was in school. Instead, I lifted all sorts of objects. Most of it was for fun, and I’d usually put it back in or around someone’s book bag after a successful pull. I wouldn’t know what the object was before I lifted it and I’d take a guess at what I’d find just looking at the pockets. Sometimes I was spot on. Sometimes I was completely wrong. The challenge to me was trying to guess the item. That carried with me as I spent a lot of time observing people trying to find my next target when picking pockets for actual money. I wanted to make sure I lifted a wallet and not something useless. And I’d gotten very good at it.
What I was certain about as I glanced again at Mr. Fitzgerald was that he carried a holster underneath his sport coat. Probably common since it was the South, but this was a fancy party and I didn’t think there were many civilized snobs that toted guns to a scene like this.
To me, it wasn’t the biggest gun I’d seen. I guessed it to be a .38, or close to it. It made sense to have a small caliber at a social event, no need to go overboard.
The fact that he had it though, made me wonder again about his relationship to Mr. Coaltar. Was he a bodyguard? I hadn’t exactly walked in the same circles as Mr. Coaltar by any means, but I didn’t think many kept a bodyguard around just like that. Unless he was up to something dangerous and felt he needed protecting.
As Mr. Fitzgerald escorted me to Mr. Coaltar, I suddenly realized this could mean he had noticed the missing wallet.
A JOB OFFER IS A JOB OFFER
Mr. Coaltar sat on one of the white folding chairs on the wide back porch that overlooked the partygoers in the yard. These had been placed on the porch under wide wicker ceiling fans casting a cool breeze on some of the more elderly people who had gathered there. Some held buffet plates. Others simply chatted.
More chairs surrounded Mr. Coaltar as he talked to a couple of other men. One chortled and the other nodded his head, amused.
As we approached, Mr. Coaltar looked up and directed his attention to me. “Oh good. You haven’t left.”
“Nope. Still here. Did you need something?”
“Yes, actually.” He nodded to the two gentlemen and then excused himself. He stood, captured my elbow, and directed me to another group of chairs. “I was thinking.” His eyes zeroed in on me, and then lowered again to my bod
y and back up. “Were you serious about making a transition from biology research to a real science?”
Uh oh. “Well, it is a lot to consider. Very tempting but I’m not sure how and...”
“You see, your studies had me thinking about that project from a number of years ago. Your research might not be too far off of where I was going with it. You did mention Sea Sparkle, didn’t you sweetie?”
“Right,” I said. “The self defense mechanism when disturbed...”
“Causes those pretty lights under the water. Yes, I know.” He turned, and patted the chair. “Would you care to sit down? I don’t mean to be rude.”
“Ah well, my boyfriend—”
“Oh. Right. You mentioned him.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not going well though?”
My lips parted. “What?”
“Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald said he noticed your little spat earlier. Seems you resolved it but you were a bit upset.”
I stuffed my hands behind my back to hide my fists clenching. He rattled off the comment as if it wasn’t invasive. This was some rich tycoon I was talking to! And why was he interested in who my boyfriend was? “It was nothing, really. Mostly a misunderstanding of what he was saying.”
He patted the chair again. “This will only be a moment. I have a job proposal for you.”
“A job?” I couldn’t help it as the words slipped out of my mouth. My mind raced with ideas of what he could mean. Was he serious? “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, absently sitting in the chair. “I have to admit, I wouldn’t know where to start with such a project.”
He turned toward me, his knee grazing mine though he seemed not to notice as he focused on my face. “Most of the research is already done. It’s just in the testing phase.”
I resisted the urge to flinch. He was considering me based on one accidental bump with him? “Were you reconsidering the government contract?”
“I’ve grown beyond government grants. They want to oversee the experiments, and are never satisfied with the results, plus they’ll pay you the same rate as a college intern for all the work. Usually worse. It’s a free world market. I can dabble in a few of my own ideas as long as I’m not killing anyone, right?”
