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“I do.” I make my way to the front of the gallery to a small closet near the information desk. I hid my purse there when I arrived. Opening the closet door, I nudge over a bottle of floor cleaner and see my red clutch. With clutch in hand, I pop open the clasp, reach in, and retrieve my keys. Glancing at the man standing in wait, I ask, “Garrett? May I give Molly my car keys?”
“Go ahead,” he grunts. “I’d give them to her, but she’s kind of scary.”
“She can be, yes.”
“What is she, four feet tall?”
I snicker. “Five feet, one-and-one-half inch.” I arch a brow. “I wouldn’t say anything about her height. She’s extremely sensitive about that.”
“Jesus,” he grumbles. “She’s terrifying. Like an angry little gremlin.”
“She prefers pit bull, but you’re very perceptive, Garrett.” I enjoy saying his name.
“I’m a cop. It’s my job to be perceptive.”
“You must be an excellent detective.” I mean that.
“I am.”
“I thought so.”
“You’re right.”
Giving him the final word, I take my keys to Molly, wrapping her a quick hug before I’m hauled off, well, more like escorted, to the police station.
Chapter Four
My goodness, if Grandma could see me now. “She’d be so proud.”
As Garrett hunts and pecks away at his computer keyboard, I take a moment to observe my surroundings. I’m in a police station not far from the gallery. There are a few men and one woman wearing normal police uniforms and several others in suits like Garrett’s. I’m sitting in a chair next to a desk that looks to be as old as Garrett’s suit. The top of it, what isn’t covered in scattered papers, has a layer of dust so thick, I have the urge to write my name in it with my finger.
“Who’d be proud?”
“My grandma.”
“Proud?”
“Yep. She spent the last twenty or so years of her life looking for that locket. She’d be very pleased at this series of events.”
“You’re telling me she’d be happy you’re about to be booked for robbery?”
“Yep.” Wait. Booked? “Um. You’re booking me?”
“I’m not, but you’re fortunate the captain isn’t here. He makes a point never to work on Saturday nights. If he were here, though, he’d insist on it.”
“You mean Stanley?”
“Yeah. The one the Konigs know.”
I lean over to see what he’s typing on the computer. I see my last name, Locket, but I can’t read the rest. “What are you doing?”
“Searching for the police report your grandmother filed. When did you say it was stolen?”
“Twenty-three years, two months, and thirteen days ago.”
That got his attention; Garrett stops typing to look at me.
Shrugging, I admit, “I had a few minutes to calculate that. I knew you’d ask.”
