Page 30 of In the Line of Ire

"Interesting," said Delgado. "Nothing to report from meeither. Heavenly Handbags was closed today but the sign saysthey'll be open tomorrow. I saw a couple of plainclothes policeofficers going inside. No dubious phantoms lurking around with apile of fake purses in their arms though."

"Sincethey managed to get the goods inside already, they have to be a lotmore discreet than that," said Solomon.

"Couldthe goods come in with the regular deliveries?" I asked.

"Maybe,although that would add even more people to the operation. It couldalso be a single employee sneaking things in one at a time,concealing them inside their bag."

"Therewasn't any compulsory bag check when I left," I told them. "Somestores do that now just to make sure their employees aren’tstealing."

"Even ifthe real purse were hidden on their person, there would be asecurity tag that would instantly sound an alarm as soon as theytried to smuggle it out," said Delgado. "All the stores have alarmpanels built into their exits and entrances."

I shookmy head. "The only purses that are tagged are the ones on the shopdisplay. The brand new purses aren't tagged while en route from thestore room."

"Are yousure about that?" asked Solomon.

"Yes.Magda showed me how to ring up a couple of sales through theregister and I noticed it then."

"So it'seasy to smuggle a fake purse in and sneak the real one out,"concluded Solomon. "Sometimes simple works best. Lexi, you need tokeep an eye on what all the store employees wear and carry on them.See if it's possible for any of them to conceal the purses on theirperson. Look for big jackets and sports bags. We also need toconsider any other ways the fake ones could be gettingin."

By thetime we pulled up in the underground parking lot of the agency, wehad plenty of ideas about how the purses were getting inside. Someof them, like the air drop on the roof, were fantastical; butothers, like concealing the merchandise inside a person's pants,were actually feasible.

"See youtomorrow," said Delgado, taking off in his mall securityuniform.

Solomonand I got out of the van and leaned against the side. "It'll takeme a little longer to review the recordings and write up today'sreport," said Solomon. "Do you want to hang around here for awhile?"

"No, I'mgoing to take off. A walk-in client asked me to check out herhouse," I told him. "I don't think it will take long but I don'twant to postpone it indefinitely."

"Something wrong with her house?"

"Shefears it could be haunted but neither she nor I really believethat. I'm going to take a cursory look around and see if I canfigure out what's actually going on."

"Don'tforget we have therapy at seven."

"I willmeet you there," I said, standing on my tiptoes to kisshim.

Solomonhesitated. "You are definitely coming, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Isaid, affronted that he would even ask if I intended to duck out ofour therapy session. "It's as important to you as it is to me. Irecognize the intrinsic value in it."

"Did youread that off the brochure the therapist sent us?"

"Um..."Yes, but I didn't want to admit that. "Powerful words," I saidinstead. "Very powerful."

I leftSolomon to his fun-packed report-writing, hopped in my VW and droveover to the address Natalie Morgan gave me. She lived on the faredge of Harbridge, a nice area that was already long past "up andcoming" and well into "desirable" vis-a-vis realtor speak, althoughthis particular area was definitely rougher. The houses weren'tquite so nice although the lots were oversized. Linden Street layon the outer edges of the neighborhood. I passed severalconstruction sites on the way to her house, all boasting off-planpurchase deals for smart, cookie-cutter houses that catered toyoung families and licensed professionals. If I were climbing upthe success ladder and had a young family, I would probably be veryattracted to the neat lawns and photo-worthy kitchens. Right now, Iwasn't on any career ladder but actually enjoying my uniqueoccupation, along with the enviable advantage of having two homesto live in: one, my dream bungalow where Solomon and I currentlyresided; and two, the house where I saw Solomon get shot in thedoorway. Decisions, decisions…

"Hi,"said Natalie, coming to the door to greet me. She wore a simpleuniform and her hair was swept back in a ponytail. "Come inside andI'll show you around."

Istepped into a hardwood hallway, noticing the walls were lined withframed family photos. Most were portraits of two little girls whomI guessed were her daughters since they shared the same chiseledcheekbones and bright, happy eyes. "Are your daughters at home?" Iasked as I turned to close the door behind me. Three heavy-dutylocks and a chain were fixed to the door and I noted one of thelocks was brand new. Natalie was more than a little concerned abouther security.

"No,they're at a friend's birthday party," she told me. "I didn't wantthem to worry."

"I'm alldone," called a male voice from the back before a tall, lanky manwearing navy Dockers and a Polo shirt stepped into the doorway. Hewas carrying a toolbox.

"Lexi,this is Larry, my landlord," said Natalie as he walked towardsus.

"Hi," Isaid.

"Hellothere," he smiled unevenly, running a hand over his wispy, recedinghairline before pulling a baseball cap from his pocket and slidingit on. "Natalie, I put the keys on the kitchen counter. You cantoss the other set of keys for the old lock in the trash. I didn'tsee anything wrong with it except that it's really old but Ichanged it anyway."

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