"Good night, Scarlett," he said.

I ended my call and hurried downstairs to Viv's room. She was already tucked in on her side. The ma.s.sive bed was big enough for the two of us and two more besides.

"Slumber party!" I yelled and jogged across the room and jumped on the bed. I quickly pulled the bedcovers up, because as everyone knows, bedsheets are magical and keep the monsters out, or at least I hoped so.

Chapter 26.

Coffee was my excuse to duck out of the shop and meet the inspector before we opened. Viv was more of a tea in the morning girl, so she just nodded and waved at me with a sleepy yawn. We had stayed up, chatting into the wee hours of the morning.

I had no luck in cracking her about her husband, and we made no progress on our suspects for my attacker or Win's killer, but we did revisit our memories of Mim, which were rich and plentiful and, because it was Mim, odd.

There were so many things I had forgotten, like the way she always put milk in her teacup before pouring in the tea; she felt this was critical. How the Second World War was always referred to by her as The War. Even though she was just a child when it occurred, she still had plenty of stories about it and its aftermath. Oh, and her obsession with the Royal Horticultural Society's Chelsea Flower Show. She attended it every year because she said it gave her great inspiration for her hats, but she also then watched it televised. Yes, they televise a flower show in England as it is that popular.

I have no idea when we stopped talking and pa.s.sed out. Probably I was in the middle of a sentence and just finished it with a deep breath. I do not snore, no matter what Viv says.

In any case, I found myself hopping onto the tube at Notting Hill Gate on my way to the financial district, where Harrison's office was located, at a much earlier hour than I am used to. I wondered if Harrison would be surprised to see me. I had a feeling the answer was yes, but I had no idea if it was going to be a happy surprise or a gasp of horror.

As I followed the directions to Carson and Evers on my phone, I was the one left gasping. I knew Harrison's offices were in the financial district but I'd had no idea they were in the skysc.r.a.per that I thought of as a big beautiful egg.

At forty-one stories tall the Gherkin, as it is called, is one of the most eye-catching buildings in London with light and dark gla.s.s spiraling in triangles up its ma.s.sive sides to meet in a brilliant room at the top. I stood on the walk in front of it, feeling woefully underdressed in my jeans and black Converse sneakers with my thick fleece-lined jacket. Had I known I was coming here, I would have worn a business suit to blend in, but as it was, the best I could hope for was to be taken for a delivery person of some sort, maybe coffee since I still had my paper cup in my hand.

I glanced around the entrance. There was no sign of Franks. I paced the front and then waited off to the side, not wanting to be seen by anyone who might recognize me until after I was up in the office.

This plan would have been terrific if I hadn't smacked right into Reese Evers coming around the corner. At first, I thought I could bluff and pretend not to know her, but her sharp gaze narrowed on my face. I was sure she knew who I was because of the altercation with Win and because of my past.

Undoubtedly, she had heard my name in the aftermath of the Carsons' party, and let's face it, it wouldn't be hard to do an Internet search of my name and drag up some horrifying pictures. Yes, I had been that hot of a topic less than a year ago.

What I wouldn't give at this moment for one of Viv's floppy hats to hide my face. No such luck.

"Excuse me, you're Harrison's friend Scarlett Parker, aren't you?" she asked.

I sighed and nodded. She looked as polished as she had at the party in the same expensive coat with just dark hose and patent Louboutin pumps showing beneath the hem. I stiffened my shoulders. A fabulous wardrobe did not make her better than me. In the end, it was just clothing and besides I worked with one of the hottest milliners in town. So there.

"Good morning, Mrs. Evers," I said. I didn't think she considered us on a first-name basis.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. One eyebrow was raised higher than the other in an angry expression that made me think she was debating calling security.

I glanced from side to side, hoping Inspector Franks would make an appearance. No such luck. I checked my phone. I was ten minutes early so I couldn't really fault him.

"Are you here to see Harrison?" she asked.

"Yes," I lied. "He's expecting me."

Now why did I go and say that? Perhaps because I was afraid she was going to have me escorted off the premises.

"Well, I suppose you might as well come in then," she said.

She made it sound like I was holding a gun on her. I made one more visual sweep for the good inspector but I figured he could just get upstairs on his own. I didn't want to risk having Reese run into Harrison and tell him I was here before I was ready for him to know, plus that would really blow my cover, now wouldn't it?

"Oh, right, that'd be great," I said.

Reese led the way through the revolving gla.s.s doors and over to security. I had to be formally admitted as a guest since the building is not open to the public. Reese then led the way to one of the elevator banks. I didn't get much of a chance to gawk at the reception area as she was moving very quickly. My impressions were of floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s with large steel triangles shaping and holding it all together.

From my brief glance at the directory in the lobby, I noted that the offices for Carson and Evers took up floors thirty-one through thirty-three. Reese hit the b.u.t.ton for floor thirty-three and I went along with it, hoping that it was the floor where I would find Harrison because suddenly I felt like I was deep in the ocean and my water wings had deflated.

We were the only two people in the plush elevator. I wasn't sure if I should try to engage Reese in conversation or not, something told me not, but then, when else would I have the opportunity? I braced myself against her stern frowny face and asked the question I had been dying to know the answer to, good manners and talk of the weather be d.a.m.ned.

"Were you in a relationship with Win?" I asked.

She reeled back as if I'd slapped her.

"I . . . what . . . how . . ." she stammered and I interrupted before she hurt herself.

"I'm sorry," I said. I meant it. She looked again as if she was going to cry and that hadn't been my intention. "You seemed quite distraught at the bonfire when his body was found."

She wilted against the wall of the elevator as the floors whooshed by, and I felt sorry for poking at her pain. Sometimes I can be a truly hideous person.

"Don't be," she said. "I made a spectacle of myself, which I'm sure Win would have found very entertaining and equally unseemly."

I said nothing but wished the elevator would go faster so I could leave the stench of my bad manners behind and not be stuck in here, where it lingered like a bad smell.

"I cared for him," she said in a small voice. "He knew and he toyed with me. We were never involved, not my choice, but as it turns out, it is better for me that we weren't. The police would no doubt have found the pathetic older woman in love with a younger man angle impossible to resist."

Oh, this just got worse and worse, didn't it?

"It was seeing him strangled in my tie that did me in," she said.

My head snapped in her direction right as the doors opened on the thirty-third floor. "What did you say?"

"It was my necktie that he was killed with," she said. Her voice was small and sad. I had no patience for it.

"Yes, I got that, but what do you mean your tie? It belonged to you?" I asked.

She stepped out in the sw.a.n.k lobby, which was furnished very modern in hues of black and gray with brushed steel accents. The black floor shone to such a high gloss it looked like water and for a moment I thought I would plunge into its bottomless depths, but no. It wasn't even slippery.

"Good morning, Amanda," Reese said as she walked past the front desk, where a middle-aged brunette sat.

"Good morning, Mrs. Evers," Amanda said. She glanced at me but didn't acknowledge my presence. I blamed the jeans.

Reese kept going and I hurried after her. The elevator had opened at one end of the large circular floor and I could see staircases, which led to the offices below. It was a very open design. Breathtaking views of the city of London were visible through the floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s windows, and I wanted to press my face up against them and soak it in, but Reese had a destination in mind and I had to follow.

It occurred to me that when Harrison had said he had a corner office, he meant that he had a rounded office. Still it must have been better real estate than Win's for Win to be so mean about it.

"This is Harrison's office," Reese said. She stopped beside a closed gla.s.s door. It was a large s.p.a.ce filled with bookshelves on the wall behind the desk, which was situated so that the view of the city was to his right.

"It looks like he isn't in yet," Reese said.

I was struck by this side of Harrison I had never seen. There was something intimate about seeing his work s.p.a.ce without him here and the desire to snoop just about killed me. Not that I was looking for anything in particular, just a glimpse into his working life without him underfoot to distract me.

"You can wait in my office," Reese said. She did not sound very welcoming. Still, I needed an explanation about the tie.

"You were talking about the tie," I said. I took a sip of my now cold coffee, trying for a nonchalant look that I do not think I pulled off.

"They're all my ties," she said.

She took off her coat and hung it up in a narrow closet built into the same set of wood bookshelves that I'd seen in Harrison's office. She gestured for me to have a seat as she took the seat across from me.

"I don't understand."

"They're mine because I designed them, you see."

"Oh, I didn't know," I said.

"When an a.s.sociate reaches their fifth anniversary with the company, they are given one of the Carson and Evers ties," she said. I must have looked confused because she continued, "I was an art major before I went into finance." She paused to give me a small smile. "I hadn't realized that being an art major required a vow of poverty, so I decided to get an advanced degree in business. Designing the neckties let me blow the dust off of my old art skills, which my husband encouraged."

I saw a portrait of a white-haired man in a suit on the shelf behind her desk. I had no doubt this was Mr. Evers.

"I saw Harrison's tie on the night of the bonfire," I said. She was mellowing while talking about her neckties, so I thought a little praise might not be out of order. "The intricately woven initials C and E make a fabulous pattern in the silk."

She tipped her head to the side and considered me. "Thank you. I designed the pattern that the initials make, and then I hired a designer from Robert Talbott to commission the silk and then to create a sevenfold tie out of the fabric."

"Sevenfold?"

"Cheap ties have a lining sewn into them, but a sevenfold tie is created by folding one piece of fabric seven times to give it heft and an incomparable drape," she said.

I felt like I should be taking notes to share this with Viv. I'd had no idea the world of tie making was so complex.

"Have you given out many five-year ties?" I asked.

"Less than a dozen," Reese said. Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Just curious," I lied. "One more question, is each tie designed specifically for the wearer?"

"No," she said. "They are identical, well, except for the numbering. My husband, G.o.d rest his soul, felt that if a person left our employ to go to another firm, they had to turn in their tie, sort of like turning in their keys to the office. He even wrote it into their contract, so when each tie is made, it has a tiny number st.i.tched on the underside. When a person leaves, we take their office keys, their parking pa.s.s, and their tie."

"Have many people left?" I asked.

"No one so far," she said.

My heart started to hammer in my chest. This could be a clue. Where, oh where, was Inspector Franks?

"My husband was buried with his tie," Reese said. She looked a little weepy, but I had no time for that. Harsh but true.

"Is there any way you can tell me the number of Win's necktie?" I asked.

Reese pulled a tissue from the box on the shelf behind her. She dabbed her eyes and then slowly lifted her head to look at me.

"I'm sure it's in his personnel file," she said. "But why? The police must have his tie in their evidence room, marked as exhibit A."

I stared at her. Did I trust this woman? She had admitted that she had unrequited feelings for Win. She could very well be his killer. I glanced at her. Maybe it was just a gut instinct or a desperate hope, but I didn't think she had anything to do with Win's death.

"When did you see Win at the bonfire?" I asked.

"I didn't," she said. "Not until . . . his body was found."

"When I saw him earlier that evening . . ." I paused. There wasn't much point in bringing up the scuffle, so I didn't mention it. I cleared my throat and continued, "He wasn't wearing a tie."

Her eyes went wide. "But they're required at company functions."

"Win didn't strike me as someone who was hampered by the rules," I said.

"Harrison-" she began but I interrupted her.

"Was wearing his tie all night," I said.

"I know," she said. "He's always very good about the business. You know I tried to suspend him?"

I nodded.

"I was wrong," she said. "He's a good man. Despite the issues between him and Win, I know Harrison would never have harmed Win."

"But someone did," I said. "And they used one of your ties to do it."

She nodded. She looked pale and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on her skin.

"Are you all right, Reese?" I asked.

"No," she said. "You know what this means, don't you? One of our own killed him."

Chapter 27.

"That's sort of what I figured," I said. "How can I get a list of the ties issued with their numbers?"