She blanched, and Griffen sent one of her helpers for the manager, who, after a brief search, decided it prudent to contact the police, just in case their clever, opportunistic thief had struck again.

“I quite understand,” Lucy Baldwin said, looking as if she wished she hadn’t mentioned her missing watch.

Griffen quietly resumed her cleanup, and Mollie hung around until the police came. Trying not to be obvious about listening in, she heard enough to realize they weren’t convinced her watch had been stolen-and that it didn’t exactly move their needle if it had been. They suggested Mrs. Baldwin first go home and make sure it wasn’t there and that she’d actually worn it.

She was offended. “I wear that watch whenever I go out.”

“Retrace your steps, Mrs. Baldwin,” the officer said diplomatically. “Then give us a call if you still can’t find it.”

“Of course,” she said coolly.

With word out of a jewel thief on the loose, Mollie expected the police had received numerous calls of potential robberies and not all would pan out. Obviously straining to keep her dignity intact, Lucy Baldwin retreated, and the police followed her out.

Griffen gave a low whistle and whispered to Mollie, “We’ll never know if she finds her watch or not.”

“She’s a proud woman, isn’t she?”

“And that cop just made her feel like an ass. With her status in town, she’s not going to risk having people think she’s gotten daffy. Bet she has that guy’s ass in a sling by nightfall. You know those dignified rich old ladies. You don’t want to cross ’em.”

Mollie laughed. “Maybe she did forget where she took off her watch.”

Griffen shrugged, starting out through the mansion with a big bowl of leftover salad. “It’s possible. It’s also possible our cat burglar has struck again.”

“Don’t you think he’d want us to know he’d struck?”

“Not necessarily. He-or she-might get a secret thrill out of hitting a fancy lunch with a security expert up there telling everyone how to avoid getting robbed. Ballsy of him, if you ask me. But I don’t know that he’s in it for attention.”

“Good point. Really, we don’t know much of anything, do we? At least he didn’t attack Mrs. Baldwin.”

And here she was, Mollie thought, once again at the scene of the crime.

“You’re getting into this, aren’t you? Hanging out with Jeremiah Tabak, playing girl detective.”

“I’d like to see this guy caught, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re starting to scare me,” Griffen said, grinning, and was off to her van.

Mollie headed out to the parking lot herself. She needed to get back for a scheduled meeting with Chet Farnsworth, and as she settled in behind the wheel of Leonardo’s car and opened the windows, breathing in the warm, beautiful air, she couldn’t wait to dive back into her work. She’d made the right decision ten years ago to abandon the flute, and she’d made the right decision six months ago to take the plunge and put out her own shingle. This jewel thief business was just a fly in an otherwise very fine ointment.

A mile along Ocean Drive, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw an ancient red VW Rabbit three cars back. The infamous Croc. Mollie couldn’t make out his features with any reliability, but who else could it be? The car immediately behind her turned into a seaside resort hotel. After another half-mile, the second car pulled into a marina. The red car drew up behind her bumper. The reflection kept her from seeing who was behind the wheel, not that she had any doubts.

What did this guy think he was doing?

She took an unexpected left off Ocean Drive.

The red car didn’t follow.

“Well, there, you see?” she said aloud. “Maybe you’re just getting a tad paranoid.”

But two blocks from Leonardo’s, back on her main route, the VW fell in behind her. She eased off the gas and squinted in her rearview mirror, trying to get a better look at the driver. A man. Sunglasses. Longish hair of a medium color. Thin. Definitely Jeremiah’s informant.

She punched the button to open the security gates. What if he followed her in? Rammed her from behind? Pulled out a gun and shot her? Just because he was Jeremiah’s friend didn’t mean he was her friend.

But the red car drove on past her and disappeared around the curve.

She managed to get into the driveway, the gates shutting behind her, before slumping against the wheel, out of breath and immediately furious. She had half a mind to hit 95, track down Jeremiah, and tell him to keep his friend away from her. But Chet’s Jeep pulled up, she hit the button to open the gates, and he climbed out for his expected meeting.

He frowned at her. “Jesus, have you been out chasing ghosts or what? Come on. Let’s get you upstairs and fetch you a glass of water or something.”

“I’m sure I look worse than I feel-”

“What happened?” Chet demanded, his military training clicking into gear.

“Nothing. That’s just the thing. This car followed me from my luncheon-”

“Color, make, license plate?”

“It was red, an older two-door VW of some kind-a Rabbit, I think. I don’t know cars that well. And I didn’t think to get the license plate when he sped past me. I was just so relieved he was gone.”

“Understood.” He walked to the end of the driveway and peered through the gates up and down the street. “He’s gone now. Do you want me to call the police?”

“No! Good heavens, Chet, the guy probably wasn’t following me at all. I’m just jumpy after this weekend.”

He turned and grunted at her. “These robberies are getting to you.”

“There was another one today, at least potentially.”

Before he let her explain, he insisted on getting her upstairs and a glass of heavily sweetened iced coffee into her hand. Then he listened to her tale of Lucy Baldwin at the luncheon. “You know,” she added, “I’ve been present at every event that’s been held up. Every one. I don’t know if anyone else has-”

“The thief,” Chet said.

“Yes. That’s right.” She nodded dully. “I wonder if anyone else-the police, whoever-will start thinking of me as…I don’t know, a suspect. I mean, am I on someone’s list?”

“Jeremiah Tabak’s,” Chet said. “Guys like that always have an agenda. You’re his. He’s onto this common denominator thing. Mark my words.”

“I’m just rattled,” Mollie said carefully. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Chet sat at the breakfast bar and spoke to her in crisp, straightforward terms. “Here’s what you do. You work the problem. You don’t get sidetracked. You don’t feel sorry for yourself. You focus on what you need to do, and you do it. Fears and speculation are just distractions.”

Mollie drank some of her iced coffee. She’d be perked up in no time. Not only was it strong, it was thick. Chet must have added a half cup of sugar. “You’re right, Chet. Thanks.” She smiled. “I guess I should be glad you’re not getting all protective and telling me to hide under your bed.”

“Hiding doesn’t solve the problem.”

“If there is a problem,” she put in.

“Well,” Chet said gruffly, “it’s my bet this thief didn’t follow you home in a rusted, banged-up red VW that sticks out like a sore thumb in this neck of the woods.”

Mollie considered his point. “You’re probably right. Whoever it was is long gone by now, and you didn’t come here to discuss my problems. Shall we get to work?”

Chet beamed at her. “That’s the spirit.”