Page 96 of Gilt

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The Chamber Detective Agency looks like the set for an old film noir. Right down to the gold foil letters on the office door. A bell tinkles as I open it and look around to discover a cluttered desk and a half-dead fern. A familiar head pokes around the corner.

“Just a sec. You want coffee?” he calls out.

“No thanks.” I don’t trust my stomach to keep anything, even something as innocuous as coffee, down today. Butterflies are already churning up what’s left of last night’s late-night snack with Josie.

I remember Dominic Chamber more for his woolly eyebrows than his detection skills. It’s a long shot coming to him for help, especially given that he hadn’t been keen enough to spot a fake Babe Ruth card. But since I don’t know any other private investigators, he’s what I have to work with.

Today he’s in a velour jogging suit the color of overly cooked green beans. How he manages to wear it and keep the office at a balmy 85 degrees is beyond me. I fan myself with my hand as he pushes aside a stack of papers to make room for his coffee mug.

“Let me guess…cheating boyfriend?” he asks, sizing me up.

“Close,” I grant him. “Cheating wife.” Amongst so many other things, but I have to start somewhere.

“Well, the times, they’re a-changing.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his nearly bald head. “Do I know you?”

“We had some business before.” I hesitate to mention the baseball card. A shrewd businessman doesn’t accept payment in the form of collectibles.

“Hold on,” he says before I can continue. “I’m good with faces.” A few seconds later, he snaps his fingers. “The waitress from the Golden Nugget.”

If we were playing hot and cold, he’d be in the arctic. I shake my head.

“The lady with the lost Shih Tzu.”

Arguably, I’m about to lose my Shih Tzu just being here, but I can see that he’s not going to stop guessing. “The girl from the pawn shop.”

“The heartbreaker.” He clutches his chest. Then he points to a frame on the far wall. I look over to find the forged card on display. “I decided who cares if it’s real. It impresses clients.”

“You know what? I think I need to be somewhere.” I grab my purse from the floor, but before I can stand up, he starts to talk.

“That’s not your purse,” he tells me, “or your outfit. I’d wager you’re as comfortable in that lipstick as you are in those heels. You’re pretending to be someone else today, which means you’re hiding from someone. Maybe your mother? She’s the cheating wife, right? But you work in your father’s shop, so why would you care?”

My mouth falls open, and I have to force it closed. “How did you do that?”

“I might be bad with faces, but I’m good with details.”

“No, really,” I press. I don’t think private investigators cling to their secrets as tightly as magicians, and I want to know his tricks.

“You looked at the floor for a second before you picked up the purse like you were looking for a different one. You’ve been tugging up your top since you walked in. Whoever that belongs to has a smaller bust line. No offense.”

“None taken,” I assure him. “Go on.”

“I didn’t recognize you at first because you don’t look like the kid who threw that fake card in my face.”

“Sorry,” I interject, but he waves me off.

Taking a sip of coffee, he studies me for a moment. “Hiding from your mom is a guess. Girls your age like to dress up behind their mother’s backs. I’m guessing she wouldn’t want you walking around this city looking like that. No offense again.”

At least, I’ll look the part at the escort agency.

“You said cheating wife, and I remembered that the other guy who works at that shop, who is less concerned about authenticity, by the way, mentioned the owner was out. He’d been coming in less since he got divorced. I gathered since you’re here about a cheating wife and your parents are divorced that we’re talking about your mom.”

“Holy shit.” I applaud politely, and he bows his head.

“So what can I help you with, Miss?”

“Emma,” I correct him. “Can I still call you Dominic?”