“Neither do I when my friend is wrongfully accused of a crime and there is no evidence to implicate her.” I settled back in my chair, confident in my TV show legal analysis. Detective Garcia wasn’t so bad. Gorgeous. Fit. Dry sense of humor. Not particularly threatening. Employed. Not a professional thief.
“It could be that she had an accomplice,” Garcia said. “Someone who was part of the heist from the beginning. Someone who was there to catch the necklace when it was thrown out the window . . .”
Maybe Garcia wasn’t that handsome after all. He had a cleft in his chin and his cheekbones were almost too defined. He’d probably insist on wearing a tuxedo to our wedding instead of a sherwani and there would be no lazy Sunday afternoons eating chocolate croissants in bed because he’d be a sugar hater and health nut like my dad.
“I think this is the part where I ask for my lawyer.”
“You have that right,” Garcia said. “But I only have a few more questions and then you’re free to go. It might take hours for your lawyer to get here.”
“That might work for someone who didn’t have to binge crime shows with her eighty-year-old landlady to get a reduced rent,” I said. “But I know all the tricks. I’ll make that call.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
?There were times I hated having a huge family. First, I never had a summer weekend to myself. Why couldn’t the Chopras and the Devs （my mom’s side of the family） just stop getting married? Why couldn’t people just live together and save all the poor single people from having to repurpose old outfits, buy expensive gifts, learn new dances, and eat too much food when they’d rather be lounging on the couch eating handfuls of expired candy, drinking fancy cocktails, and watching romantic comedies with their bestie?
Second, I couldn’t go anywhere in Chicago or the burbs without a relative spotting me and reporting back to my grandmother or my mom.
“Simi ate three pieces of pie at the Big Papa Pie Company on West Chicago Avenue last night at seven twenty-eight p.m. and that was right after she had pizza across the street—an entire medium vegetarian special. She won’t find a husband if she eats like that.”
“Does Simi have the flu? I saw her throwing up in an alley outside Bruno’s Pub on North Clark Street last night. She only had one shoe and she couldn’t walk straight. I can send over some chicken soup.”
On the other hand, a big family meant that no matter the problem, someone had the expertise to help you—especially if it involved law, medicine, engineering, or IT.
A criminal lawyer with a prestigious boutique firm, Riswan Dev was one of the family success stories—tall, handsome, professional, employed, and now looking for a wife. For bonus points, he’d bought a four-bedroom house down the street from his parents and then moved them into the suite downstairs so they would be near their future grandchildren. He was also damn good at his job, and he owed me a favor.
“I’m still waiting to hear why you think my client is involved in the alleged theft,” Riswan said. Slim and lanky, with a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on a prominent nose, he’d made it down to the station a mere half hour after I called, along with another attorney from his office to represent Chloe in case there was a conflict of interest.
Garcia had kindly given us a chance to talk in private and had removed the handcuffs at Riswan’s request. I liked Riswan’s tough, snarky attitude. This was why people paid him the big bucks. It occurred to me that I had no big bucks to pay him, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk about his fees—for Chloe or me.
“She was in the garden behind the museum when the alarm went off.” Garcia shot me a pointed stare. I mentally crossed the nightclub fantasy off my list. It would clearly take a small fortune in drinks to loosen Garcia up enough to get him onto a dance floor.
“The theft could have occurred anytime after the museum closed,” Riswan said. “My client could have been there enjoying the plants, for all you know.”
“In fact, I was admiring the ninebark,” I said, sending a silent thanks to Oliver for the botany lesson. “They have a beautiful leaf color, a cinnamon inner bark, and bloom pink in June. They are best kept trimmed to about five feet, but clearly no one looked after the museum garden, which is why the one at the back was eight feet tall. Similarly, the arrowwood—you might know it as fragrant viburnum—wasn’t pruned, which is why it was overgrown.”
“I see.” Garcia wrote something in his notebook. His biceps weren’t as big as I’d initially thought, and upon reflection, his forearms were a bit too hairy.
“We didn’t take the necklace,” I blurted out. “Why don’t you write that down?” I didn’t like Garcia anymore. It was, in fact, possible to be too handsome.
“I’m not the thieving type,” I continued. “When I was a kid, I would break out in hives when my brothers stole laddu from the pantry. I couldn’t even eat them. My therapist thinks it comes from deep-seated anxiety issues. I’ve spent most of life trying not to make waves.”
“Then who took the necklace?” Garcia fixed me with a stare.
“Maybe it was the man who was hiding in the bushes at the back of the garden.”
Garcia stopped writing. “What man?”
“When the police showed up, he grabbed me from behind and dragged me between the ninebark and the arrowwood. He had his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t scream, and he pinned my arms to my sides. I accused him of being the thief, but he said it wasn’t him.”
“I thought his hand was over your mouth. How did you have a conversation?” Garcia tipped his head to the side and gave me a quizzical look. Damn he looked fine.
“He took his hand away after he said he wouldn’t hurt me. His name is Oliver. He said he was there to retrieve the necklace and return it to its rightful owner but someone else beat him to it. He convinced me to stay in the bushes with him because he said I couldn’t help Chloe if I was arrested, too. I believed him until he stole my money and ran away. That’s when I came to my senses and surrendered myself. Why would I abandon my friend and listen to a thief?”
Garcia did a lot of writing in his notepad. Kicking it old-school. I wasn’t a big fan of the old pen and paper, but it fit his personality—the real straitlaced no-nonsense one, and not the sex god fantasy.
“At any point did he let you go? Did you see his face?”
“Near the end, after he’d taken my money, he released me, and I got a chance to look at him. He was gorgeous but in a devilish way.”
“Gorgeous but devilish?” He heaved a sigh. “Can you be more descriptive? Hair and eye color. Weight. Height. Clothes.”
“Leather jacket. Very worn. Boots. Also worn. His hair was tousled like he’d just got out of bed. It looked good on him. Sexy.” I licked my lips, imagining Oliver in place of Garcia in my tropical island fantasy. “He was about the same height and build as you, but leaner. I don’t think he spends as much time in the gym as you probably do . . .” I trailed off when Riswan shook his head. “Or not. It’s nothing to do with me how much time you spend in the gym. Or don’t. Or whether you even like gyms. Maybe you were born with biceps the size of watermelons—”