The Sleeping Doll (Kathryn Dance 1)

Eve headed for the ladies' room.

Dance looked at Susan Pemberton's walls, filled with photos of past events: weddings; bar and bat mitzvahs; anniversary parties; outings for local corporations, banks and fraternal groups; political fund-raisers and high school and college events. The company also worked with funeral homes to cater receptions after an interment.

She saw, to her surprise, the name of the mortician who had handled her husband's funeral.

Eve Brock returned, her face red, eyes puffy. "I'm sorry."

"Not a problem at all. So she met that client after work?"

"Yes."

"Would they go for drinks or coffee somewhere?"

"Probably."

"Nearby?"

"Usually. Alvarado." The main street in downtown Monterey. "Or maybe Del Monte Center, Fisherman's Wharf."

"Any favorite watering hole?"

"No. Wherever the client wanted to go."

"Excuse me." Dance found her phone and called Rey Carraneo.

"Agent Dance," he said.

"Where are you?"

"Near Marina. Still checking on stolen boats for Detective O'Neil. Nothing yet. And no luck on the motels, either."

"Okay. Keep at it." She disconnected and called TJ. "Where are you?"

"The emphasis tells me I'm the second choice."

"But the answer is?"

"Near downtown. Monterey."

"Good." She gave him the address of Eve Brock's company and told him to meet her on the street in ten minutes. She'd give him a picture of Susan Pemberton and have him canvass all the bars and restaurants within walking distance, as well as the shopping center and Fisherman's Wharf. Cannery Row too.

"You love me best, boss. Bars and restaurants. My kind of assignment."

She also asked him to check with the phone company and find out about incoming calls to Susan's phones. She didn't think the client was Pell; he was ballsy, but he wouldn't come to downtown Monterey in broad daylight. But the prospective client might have valuable information about, say, where Susan was going after their meeting.

Dance got the numbers from Eve and recited them to TJ.

After they disconnected, she asked, "What would be in the files that were stolen?"

"Oh, everything about our business. Clients, hotels, suppliers, churches, bakeries, caterers, restaurants, liquor stores, florists, photographers, corporate PR departments who'd hired us . . . just everything. . . ." The recitation seemed to exhaust her.

What had worried Pell so much he had to destroy the files?

"Did you ever work for William Croyton, his family or his company?"

"For . . . oh, the man he killed . . . No, we never did."

"Maybe a subsidiary of his company, or one of his suppliers?"