"Exactly my thought. Okay, here's my preliminary budget." She kept her eyes squeezed shut as she dropped the figures in Kate's lap. She heard the yelp, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Kate plucking at the back of her shirt. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to pull out the knife you just stuck in my back. Jesus Christ, Laura, we've got the clothes, you've tapped your committees for the models. Why do you need all this money?"
"Decorations, advertising, refreshments. It's all listed. It's negotiable," she said, backing out. "Consider it a wish list. Gotta get back on the floor."
Making noises in her throat, Kate scowled at the door. The trouble was, she decided, both of her partners were too used to being rich to fully appreciate that they no longer were. Or that Pretenses wasn't, she corrected.
Margo had married for love, but she'd married a Templeton, and Templeton meant money.
Laura was a Templeton, and despite being hosed by her exhusband, she would always have access to millions. She just wouldn't take it.
It was up to good old practical Kate, she decided, to keep things on an even keel.
When the door opened again, she didn't bother to turn around. "Don't hassle me, Laura. I swear I'll cut this wish list of yours down until you won't be able to serve anything but Popsicles and club soda''
"Kate." Laura's voice was quiet enough that Kate whipped around in her chair.
"What's wrong? What—"
She broke off at the sight of the man standing beside Laura. Fiftyish, she judged, with a hairline beyond what could legitimately be called receding. He had the beginnings of jowls, and bland brown eyes. His suit was neat and inexpensive. Somewhere along the line, he'd punched extra holes in his brown leather belt to accommodate his paunch.
But it was his shoes that tipped her off. She couldn't have said why those shiny black shoes with the double-knotted laces shouted cop.
"Kate, this is Detective Kusack. He wants to talk to you."
She wasn't certain how she managed to get to her feet when she'd stopped feeling her legs. But she was facing him, surprised somehow that their eyes were on a level. "Am I under arrest?"
"No, ma'am. I have a few questions regarding an incident at Bittle and Associates."
He had a voice like gravel bouncing on sandpaper. It reminded her foolishly of Bob Seger's gritty rock and roll. "I think I'd like to call my lawyer."
"Margo's already calling Josh." Laura moved to her side.
"That's your option, Ms. Powell." Kusack poked out his bottom lip as he considered her. "Maybe it would be best all round if he met us at the precinct. If you'll come along with me, I'll try not to take up too much of your time. I can see you're busy."
"It's all right." Kate put a hand on Laura's arm before Laura could step forward. "It's all right. Don't worry. I'll call you."
"I'm coming with you."
"No." With icy fingers, Kate picked up her purse. "I'll call you as soon as I can."
She was taken to an interview room designed to intimidate. Intellectually, she knew that. The plain walls, the scarred center table and uncomfortable chairs, the wide mirror that was obviously two-way glass were all part of a setup to aid the police in getting information from suspects. No matter how
Kate's practical side ordered her not to be affected, her skin crawled.
Because she was the suspect.
She had Josh beside her, looking particularly lawyerly in a tailored gray suit and muted striped tie. Kusack folded his hands on the table. Big hands, Kate noted distractedly, adorned with a single thin gold wedding band. He was a nail-biter, she thought, staring with dull fascination at his ragged, painfully short fingernails.
For the space of several heartbeats, there was nothing but humming silence, like the hushed anticipation just before the curtain rose on the first act of a major play. A bubble of hysterical laughter nearly fizzed out of her throat at the image.
Act one, scene one, and she had the starring role.
"Can I get you something, Ms. Powell?" Kusack watched her muscles jerk in reaction to his voice as her gaze flew from his hands to his face. "Coffee? A Coke?"
"No. Nothing."
"Detective Kusack, my client is here, at your request, in the spirit of cooperation." His cultured voice chilly and hard, Josh gave Kate's tense hand a comforting squeeze under the table. "No one wants this matter cleared up more. Ms. Powell is willing to make a statement."