That Touch of Ink by Diane Vallere Page B

directions to the closest La Quinta hotel and walked her halfway down the sidewalk. She corralled her boys into the minivan and waved before getting inside and pulling out onto the street. I’d call Hudson about her early tomorrow.
    I pulled my car around to the back of the building and backed into my space. After getting out, I came around the side of the car for the box from Joanie Loves Tchotchkes. I pulled the rubber gloves back on before grabbing it from the back seat.
    For the second time that day, I entered a room I didn’t know. Rocky ran out of the bedroom and danced around my feet. I set the box on the floor and joined Rocky on the carpet. Time to dig into the box.
    On top of the box was a T-shirt with the smiling image of my favorite actress. Underneath was the caption, “Have a Doris Day.” Under the T-shirt was a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings about her movie openings. If I ever returned to my volunteer position at the theater, these would be a nice addition to the lobby.
    Below the scrapbook were two lobby cards, one from Midnight Lace , one from Julie . A dog-eared paperback copy of Day by Day , her autobiography, was wedged into one of the corners. It was a good night for a bubble-bath and a couple of chapters. I pulled it out and set it in a separate pile from the scrap book and lobby cards. So far, no surprises. Someone who knew I’d modeled my life after Doris Day had arranged for me to receive a box of memorabilia that was worth more in warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feelings than cold, hard cash.
    I plunged my hand into the bottom of the box and my fingers closed around a small bundle. I pulled it out with my right hand and transferred it to my left palm. It was wrapped in a white handkerchief monogrammed with the initials PS. I unwrapped the handkerchief and revealed a man’s tri-fold, brown leather wallet. I flipped it open, and then flipped it open again. An unfamiliar face looked at me from a Pennsylvania driver’s license: Philip Shayne.
    I’d taken the box fair and square, so I ignored the unease that tickled the back of my neck. As I emptied the contents of the wallet on the floor, I wondered how this man’s wallet had come to be trundled up inside of a box that had been dropped off at Joanie’s store with my name on it. It wasn’t until I peered inside the billfold that my heart skipped a beat.
    Four bills were tucked inside: a twenty, two ones, and a five thousand dollar bill.

TEN

    Coincidences like these were rarer than sightings of the Chupacabra. Slowly, I felt around on the floor for my handbag and fished around inside for my cell phone. I dialed Tex’s home number, and a woman’s voice answered.
    “Could I please speak to Lt. Allen?”
    “Is this Madison Night?” she said. I recognized the direct tone of Officer Donna Nast.
    “Yes, it is. Donna?”
    “Officer Nast.”
    “I’m sorry, Officer. May I speak to Tex? Is he there?”
    “Is this your damsel in distress call of the day?” she demanded.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but this is important. I need to speak to him. It has to do with his case.”
    “He’s off duty,” she said and hung up.
    I immediately called back. “Officer Nast, I’m serious. I need to speak to him.”
    “Like I said, he’s off duty.”
    “It’s important.”
    “If you need help, call the station.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re different, Madison, and I know how his mind works. Different to him is good. He sees you in those polyester outfits and thinks you’re sexy. And I’ve seen how you two relate to each other.”
    “Then you know we spend more time arguing than agreeing on anything.”
    “To a cop, that’s foreplay.”
    I took a quick, sharp breath and exhaled it in a huff. Officer Nasty was earning her nickname tonight.
    “If you talk to Tex, let him know I’m on the verge of withholding evidence in his case.” I hung up the phone and stuck my tongue out at it.
    I called Tex’s personal cell