Detective Diaz, NYPD. We need your assistance.
Glad to help. What can we do for you?
The detective’s voice sounded like coarse sandpaper. You’ve probably heard about the theft
of jewelry from Ronda Starr’s home.
It made all the papers here.
We’re trying to trace the whereabouts of the suspect, Rick Timmons.
Leif came to full alert. Do you have reason to believe he’s in this area?
I’ve been questioning a young woman named Tracy Dixon who attended Ronda Starr’s reception
with Timmons. She nearly convinced me that she was an innocent dupe, but now she’s skipped
town. She left me a message with some cockamamie story about her brother in Allerton
having an accident.
Tracy Dixon, Leif muttered.
What a dim bulb I am.
He was probably the only one in Allerton who didn’t make the connection between his Tracy
Dixon and the woman in the news articles about the theft.
She told you the truth about the accident, Detective Diaz. Her brother is in the burn unit
at Massachusetts General.
Diaz sounded skeptical. Well, maybe she is on the level, but she picked an interesting
time to leave New York.
So, how can we help you?
Keep an eye out for Rick Timmons. If Miss Dixon was his accomplice, he may try to contact
her.
Leif picked up his pen and a notepad. Give me a description. Do you have a picture?
No, apparently he’s an old pro. He knows how to blend into the wallpaper, but I’ll fax all
the information we have. He’s well built, about 6’2, blond hair, brown eyes, clean-shaven.
He has probably changed his name and his appearance, but he should be easy to spot in a
small town. If Miss Dixon has a visitor, you’ll know what to look for.
I’ll get the word to my men, Leif assured him.
Better warn them this guy is vicious, Diaz added. We still don’t know if the butler is
going to live. Timmons used the butt of a pistol to beat him senseless. It looks as though
the butler caught him in the act of cracking Miss Starr’s safe.
Do you have a description of the stolen jewelry?
I’ll fax you a list. The street value is probably at least a half million, but most of the
pieces are irreplaceable—family heirlooms, gifts from celebrities, stuff like that.
Priceless.
I’m on it. I’ll stay in touch. Leif jotted down the detective’s phone number and sank back
in his chair. Massaging his bad knee, he considered his strategy. The public tended to
think a crime wave in a small town involved someone spitting on the sidewalk. But this was
grand theft and attempted murder, and Tracy Dixon was right in the middle of it.
He found it hard to believe that someone who looked like a fairy tale princess was aiding
and abetting a dangerous criminal. When he questioned Tracy, he managed to maintain his
professional demeanor, suppressing his normal male weakness for a pretty face, but it
wasn’t easy to keep his focus in the depths of those beautiful eyes. They were a startling
clear blue with a thick fringe of dark lashes. And, when he picked her up, he had almost
lost his objectivity. She was slender, but her curves were in all the right places. A
police officer tried to cultivate his powers of observation, but maybe he had noticed a
little too much about the lovely Miss Dixon.
A year ago, he let a beautiful face undermine his good judgment, and he paid the price
for his weakness. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Miss Tracy Dixon was
about to acquire an extra shadow.
****
Armed with a map of Boston, Tracy climbed into her car. It was much warmer today. The sun
shone bright in the clear blue sky, and a light breeze from the east brought the scent of
salt air from the bay. The beautiful spring day gave a lift to her spirits.
Maggie had given her a little more information about Jeff’s accident. Witnesses said he
had been driving at a high rate of speed, weaving in and out of traffic on Route 3,