Trust Me

digestive tract.
    “You mean you think she’s using Right Touch as a cover for her light-fingered relatives?” Stark asked with forced casualness. “That she’s running a burglary ring?”
    Dane cocked a brow. “I’d say it’s a distinct possibility. I can’t believe that you haven’t already thought about it.”
    “Hmm.” Something cooked without too much grease or sauce, Stark thought. That’s what his stomach needed. Something mild. Something soothing.
    “Maybe this is a regular routine for the Wainwright clan,” Dane continued. “It wouldn’t be the first time an entire, close-knit family has been involved in crime. You’ve got to admit there’s a certain logic to it. Especially for a family that appears to have had no stable means of support for three generations.”
    “I know.” Stark decided on the halibut and put down the menu. “A caterer is in a perfect position to rip off her clients. She sets them up through a legitimate business relationship. She and her staff have ample opportunity to case the premises and identify valuables.”
    “They make their move during a time when the house is full of people. There are literally dozens of suspects, assuming the victim even realizes when the theft occurred.”
    “Yes.”
    “So you’ve at least considered the possibility.”
    “Yes.”
    Dane raised his hands, palms out. “Then I will say no more.” He grinned briefly. “Except to comment that you’re beginning to sound like a genuine private eye. I’m impressed. You’ve even got an attractive female client, just like the fictional investigators always seem to get.”
    Stark ignored that. He was not at all sure if he still had Desdemona, and the uncertainty was eating at his insides. It was probably doing more damage than the cereal had done. He folded his hands on the white linen tablecloth. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a crime family.”
    “No?”
    “No. The Wainwrights are theater people. They’re romantic. Melodramatic. Emotional.”
    Dane looked thoughtful. “Meaning?”
    “Meaning that if they were involved in criminal activities, they would be more likely to steal expensive necklaces or rare vases or paintings. Not hard disks and computer programs.”
    “I’ll admit that stealing a hard disk isn’t quite like stealing an expensive necklace or a rare vase,” Dane said. “Special expertise is involved.”
    “Yes. And I think Tony Wainwright is the only member of the Wainwright clan who can tell a hard disk from a floppy disk.”
    “In all fairness, Miss Wainwright is correct about one thing,” Dane said. “There may well have been some other people at the reception last night who possessed the skill and the will to dig a hard disk out of a computer.”
    “True,” Stark said. “But none of them had the kind of motive or opportunity that good old, lovable Tony had. Or a past history of having been involved in an embezzlement case.”
    “So what are you going to do about Miss Wainwright’s offer?”
    Stark looked up, mildly surprised at the question. “I’m going to take it.”

    Stark had not called by four o’clock that afternoon.
    Desdemona surveyed the buffet table she had arranged in the center of Exotica Erotica. The opening of Kirsten’s shop was a gala affair. The sky was still overcast, but no rain had appeared. A good-sized crowd had materialized. The throng was composed of Wainwright family and friends, such as Ian Ivers, some neighboring shop owners, and curious passersby who drifted in off the streets of Pioneer Square. Everyone gathered beneath a colorful canopy of multicolored, helium-inflated condoms that decorated the ceiling.
    Stark had not called.
    The food was going fast. The guests munched on eggplant spread, mushroom pate, marinated mussels, and a variety of dips and chips.
    She had been so certain that he would call. Her intuition had told her that he would.
    Kirsten’s talents as a set designer had proved invaluable in the design of the new store. Exotica Erotica was a warm, stylish, upscale shop. She had hired a local artist to turn one wall into a colorful mural featuring a medieval maiden in a bower. Elegant glass display cases lined the walls. They housed a variety of paraphernalia, including vibrators, massage oils, condoms, and sexy garments.
    The bookshelves of Exotica Erotica were stocked with sexual treatises that ran the gamut from the Kama Sutra to Masters and Johnson. There was also an extensive collection of