The handbag Rachel had shown her trembled on its stand.
Keller said:
“You think a nice coat makes you important?”
Ava's voice dropped.
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
She looked through the mirror.
Several customers filming.
Good.
Rachel crying quietly.
Not good.
The male associate who had called police stood near the perfume shelves, face pale now.
He had not expected this either.
Keller continued:
“You're going to wait while we call the owner.”
Ava nearly laughed.
Actually had to stop herself.
“Please do.”
Keller mistook the response for sarcasm.
“Good.”
He leaned closer.
“I'd love to watch her throw you out herself.”
Ava looked toward the private office doors at the rear of the boutique.
They opened.
Claire Monroe came through.
Fifty-one.
White.
Elegant cream suit.
Short blonde hair.
Normally composed.
Not now.
She took three steps.
Stopped.
Saw Ava.
Saw the cuffs.
Saw Keller.
Her face lost color.
“Oh my God.”
Keller turned.
“Ma'am, stay back.”
Claire ignored him.
She ran.
Actually ran across the marble floor.
“Take those cuffs off her.”
Keller stepped between them.
“Are you the manager?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He pointed toward Ava.
“We have a suspected theft—”
Claire's expression turned from horror to fury.
“Take them off.”
“Ma'am, I need you to calm down.”
Claire looked past him.
“Ava?”
Ava exhaled.
“Hello, Claire.”
That one greeting changed the room.
Keller looked between them.
“You know her?”
Claire stared at him.
“Know her?”
She almost laughed from disbelief.
Then turned toward Rachel.
“What happened?”
Rachel spoke quickly.
“She was trying on the Bellini bag and Officer Keller said someone reported—”
The male associate stepped forward.
“I called.”
Claire turned.
His voice collapsed.
“I thought she was—”
“What?”
He stopped.
Claire looked at Ava's wrists.
Then at Keller.
“Remove the cuffs.”
Keller still did not.
Pride again.
Ava recognized it.
He said:
“I need identification first.”
Claire's eyes widened.
“You need what?”
“Proof.”
“Of?”
“That she is who you say she is.”
Claire took one slow breath.
Then spoke loudly enough for the entire boutique to hear.
“This is Ava Cole.”
Keller frowned.
The name almost connected.
Not quite.
Claire continued:
“She owns Bellamy House.”
Silence.
A customer whispered:
“What?”
Keller looked toward Ava.
Then toward the shelves.
Then Claire.
“She what?”
Claire stepped closer.
“Her company owns this boutique.”
The male associate sat down without meaning to.
His knees simply bent toward a stool.
Keller's face began changing.