Dancing with Detective Danger by Lynn Crandall

front of her; the odd-looking key confiscated from his desk lay beside it. It struck her as slightly peculiar that the man relied on such a low-tech tool as the planner. But she couldn’t question it too much. Unlike many of their contemporaries, she and Lacey had little patience with computers, much less the many gadgets available to their profession. Of course she used technology, she’d be foolish not to. But give her something solid she could put her fingers on and fill her senses with any day.
    She’d been pondering the two objects for hours, but their secrets wouldn’t budge.
    Jerry’s life seemed on the surface to be pretty predictable. Work, meetings, lunches, more work, and more meetings. Sterling had first hoped the planner would reveal names and addresses or the whereabouts of a safety deposit box to fit the key. Of course, in her fantasy, this safety deposit box would somehow lead her directly to Jerry.
    No such luck.
    How did the pieces of this case fit together? Why would Jerry have killed his mistress? To where had he disappeared? Short of the earth swallowing him up, the man had to be somewhere. She just had to think.
    Then she knew. To solve this case, she must go back to the beginning. To Pamela Witt’s condo.
    • • •
    Sterling parked her car a few blocks away from the condo and slipped into the backyard. Sure, the cops wouldn’t be too pleased to know what she had in mind but she had to look around.
    Getting inside was no problem. She jimmied the lock on the patio door and slid in. This time only the stale air of the closed-up condo met her, rather than the huge dog.
    The place had already been searched by the LPD, Sterling knew. They’d collected evidence and scoured the condo for information. Nothing had come of it yet. Of course, the cops already thought they had their killer; they just needed to identify a motive. Her gut told her to look for herself. To look beyond the obvious.
    Sterling headed straight down the white-carpeted hallway to the pale pink bedroom. The brass bed lay unmade, its rose-colored comforter tossed carelessly at the foot, no doubt the way it had been left the morning Pamela died.
    Sterling pulled open the door to the expansive walk-in closet, flipped on the light switch, and walked inside. Designer shoes of every color sat neatly in little stacked cubicles on one end. She thumbed through the many clothes hanging along the walls and noted their expensive labels.
    Outside the closet stood a mahogany dresser. Riffling through the dresser drawers, Sterling didn’t know exactly what she hoped to find, but she did uncover more information about Pamela.
Cashmere sweaters and designer underwear. This woman sure had expensive taste.
    Sterling pursed her lips and scanned the room and its contents in a long, deliberate sweep
. Hmm. Something’s missing. There’s no jewelry box.
    Now Sterling knew what she’d come for. A woman like Pamela would unquestionably own jewelry. And it would be lovely, extravagantly priced jewelry. Beautiful gold chains, pearls, and gemstones, she imagined. The kind of stuff kept in a safe. Sterling didn’t even bother to look behind any of the pictures hanging on the walls.
    She went to the closet and shoved aside the clothes. Nothing. No, she thought, that would be too obvious. Deftly, she felt along the edges of the wooden shoe cubicles.
    Bingo.
Her efforts were rewarded with finding a lever discreetly hidden in the beveled edge of one of the cubbyholes. Sterling pulled out the red leather pumps sitting there and pressed the lever. A door at the back of the cubbyhole popped open, revealing the contents of the safe. Boxes. She opened one, then another, and found what she’d expected. Costly jewelry.
    A large envelope lying along the wall of the safe caught Sterling’s attention and she reached for it.
    Suddenly, Sterling felt a cold chill sweep over her body. She stopped and listened. Was someone in the condo? Slowly, she peeked out of the