Mad About You

down the computer printout. He scowled, then pursed his lips. He raised his gaze long enough to glare at Kat, then read, "Enter rear staff entrance, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty-five a.m . Enter painting vault, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty- seven a.m ." His voice escalated. "Exit painting vault, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve thirty-nine a.m . Exit rear staff entrance, badge number one three five, Katherine McKray, twelve-forty a.m."
    All eyes were on Kat, who was slowly shaking her head. Andy Wharton stared at her, openmouthed. The two police officers edged closer.
    "Let me see that!" she demanded, grabbing the log. She scanned the sheet, and tossed it on a table. "That's impossible—I wasn't here!"
    Detective Tenner turned toward her. "Then you have an airtight alibi from twelve to one o'clock this morning?"
    James's heart sank at the guilty look on her face. "I-I was asleep," she stuttered.
    Tenner picked at his teeth. "Alone?"
    "Yes," she said through clenched teeth.
    "I see," Detective Tenner said. "In that case, we're going to need you to come down to the station for questioning."
    "This is crazy," she said. "I didn't steal the letter—I wasn't even here."
    Hiding his alarm, James put a calming hand on her arm. "Relax, Kat." He turned to the detective with an ingratiating smile. "Sir, don't you think it odd that the lady would allow herself to be captured on tape?"
    "I told Ms. McKray just yesterday that the cameras were on the blink," Ronald Beaman offered quietly.
    James's heart thudded as his gaze swung back to Kat. Pale and sweaty, hers was not the face of a woman who had nothing to hide. Had she actually burglarized her own gallery? "Detective, can't you take her statement here?"
    Tenner's laugh was dry. "Not if she's the thief, Mr. Donovan. I don't know how you do it in England, but here we make an arrest if we have a video of the person carrying off the goods."
    "This is ridiculous!" Kat exclaimed, spreading her arms wide. She turned to her boss. "Guy, we've had our differences, but you know I'd never do something like this."
    Guy looked her up and down with contempt. "All I have to say, Katherine McKray, is 'like father, like daughter.'"
    She blanched and James wondered what the man was referring to. She'd mentioned her father had worked for the museum—had he been connected to some wrongdoing?
    James stepped in and raised his hands. "Before we clamp on the handcuffs, gentlemen, let's consider another possibility."
    Guy Trent crossed his arms. "Which is?"
    "Perhaps someone dressed up as Ms. McKray to pull off the heist." He turned to Kat. "Where do you keep your security badge?"
    "In my bedroom," she said slowly.
    "Do you remember putting your badge in its usual place last night when you arrived home from work?"
    "Wait a minute," Detective Tenner said, waving his arms. "I'm supposed to be asking the questions here."
    James frowned. "Sorry—you may proceed."
    Tenner harrumphed, turned to Kat and pulled out a small pad of paper, then clicked a cheap ballpoint pen, poised to write. "Now then, do you remember putting your badge in its usual place last night when you arrived home from work?"
    She bit on her lower lip. "I-I think so—yes, but I left so quickly when Mr. Donovan called a few minutes ago, I didn't even think to bring it with me."
    "Kat," James said calmly, "was anything disturbed in your apartment last night when you went inside?"
    Her eyes widened. "I didn't turn on any lights—I went straight to bed."
    "What time was that?" Tenner asked.
    Kat and James answered at the same time. "Around ten-thirty."
    The detective's eyebrows shot up. "You were with her, Mr. Donovan?"
    James bristled at the man's accusatory glance. "We had dinner and I walked her to her door."
    "Was anyone else in your apartment last night?" the man pressed. "Or more specifically, your bedroom?"
    Kat looked cross. "No! Wait—there's my friend Denise. She was at my apartment doing her laundry when I left with James—er, Mr. Donovan."
    "Short hair or long?" Tenner asked.
    "Short and red," Kat said. "But Denise doesn't have anything to do with this."
    "We'll be the judge of that," the detective said, then wrote down Denise's name and address. "What about the getup the thief was wearing?" he asked Kat. "If we searched your apartment, Ms. McKray, would we find a hat and coat?"
    Kat glanced at James, worry in her eyes, then looked back to