be interrogated?" I asked lightly.
"I thought we could have a conversation. You know, just friends."
I sent him a look.
"Okay," he amended. "Let's talk about Laura Cooper."
I said, "I heard about Laura's death yesterday. And I read this morning's papers. I can't believe such a vital woman would kill herself."
"I can't believe it, either," he said.
I glanced at his face. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"I'm always serious about murder."
"The papers say it was suicide."
"It's not open and shut." He walked a few more yards before adding, "Because of Oliver Cooper's connection to the White House, our department's been cut out by the FBI. I'm just asking around a little. You know, to make sure all the bases are covered."
He had learned to put a better spin on his Lone Ranger activities, I noticed. "You're on your own, is that it?"
"Right. Nothing official. We heard you had a little scene at the Cooper party Friday night."
"A little scene was exactly that—little. It was a misunderstanding," I said. "I had been talking with her husband. We're old friends and we were—"
"—in the bathroom together," he finished for me. "Yes, we heard about that, too."
I felt myself flush. "It was perfectly innocent, Detective. Laura and I had a conversation afterwards, and I apologized. She understood that what happened was completely innocent."
"Okay," he said.
I decided that further defense of my honor was going to sound fishy, so I said, "Laura was angry, but she was hardly suicidal that night. I thought she was more in a mood to murder someone else, in fact, not hurt herself."
"Who did she want to murder?"
"It was a figure of speech. I only meant—"
"Who was she angry with? Besides you, that is."
"Her husband," I said before thinking about how I was delivering my friend into the hands of the police. "I mean, she was angry with Flan, but hot furious. Not really."
"Have you been seeing Mr. Cooper socially?"
I met his eye. "Flan and I were not having an affair, if that's what you're asking."
He shrugged. "Okay. Tell me what you know about Laura Cooper's life. What did she do with her time? Who were her friends?"
"I don't know."
Bloom shot me another look. "Did she have a reputation for doing anything in particular?"
"You mean her work? She was a part-time designer for a contractor, but that's all I know." I looked at him suspiciously when he didn't respond. "What are you asking? Which clubs she belonged to? Or something else?"
He shrugged. "There was a rumor."
I stopped walking and waited for him to face me.
He did. His soulful eyes didn't look so soulful anymore. "A rumor about things she did."
I didn't respond. Maybe I was attracted to Bloom because he felt safe. But at that moment, he wasn't feeling safe in the least.
"Dammit, Nora," he said. "Do I have to pull your teeth?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I talked to a friend in Philadelphia Vice. Apparently, there have been suspicions that Laura Cooper stole things. Jewelry. Trouble is, the people who complain suddenly get amnesia when the real investigation starts."
"Well, did you look inside Laura's jewelry box?"
"The FBI did. They didn't find anything. Of course, Laura Cooper probably knew better than to hide stolen goods with her personal jewelry. Look, if I could find somebody whose stuff had been stolen by Laura Cooper, it might prove that her murder doesn't involve Oliver's appointment. The case would become a local matter again."
And Bloom would get another shot at impressing his superiors. "Well, I guess you'll just have to start investigating."
He shook his head. "I can't. We don't have the jurisdiction. The FBI is supertwitchy on this. I need some evidence to get started."
"I don't know how I can help you."
He said, "I think you can."
He reached into the pocket of his raincoat and came up with a Ziplock plastic bag. He opened it and upturned the bag into his palm. Before I saw the glitter and flash of the blue stone, I knew what it