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off the goods."
    "This is ridiculous!" Kat exclaimed, spreading her arms wide. She turned to her boss. "Guy, we've had our differences, but you know I'd never do something like this."
    Guy looked her up and down with contempt. "All I have to say, Katherine McKray, is 'like father, like daughter.'"
    She blanched and James wondered what the man was referring to. She'd mentioned her father had worked for the museum—had he been connected to some wrongdoing?
    James stepped in and raised his hands. "Before we clamp on the handcuffs, gentlemen, let's consider another possibility."
    Guy Trent crossed his arms. "Which is?"
    "Perhaps someone dressed up as Ms. McKray to pull off the heist." He turned to Kat. "Where do you keep your security badge?"
    "In my bedroom," she said slowly.
    "Do you remember putting your badge in its usual place last night when you arrived home from work?"
    "Wait a minute," Detective Tenner said, waving his arms. "I'm supposed to be asking the questions here."
    James frowned. "Sorry—you may proceed."
    Tenner harrumphed, turned to Kat and pulled out a small pad of paper, then clicked a cheap ballpoint pen, poised to write. "Now then, do you remember putting your badge in its usual place last night when you arrived home from work?"
    She bit on her lower lip. "I-I think so—yes, but I left so quickly when Mr. Donovan called a few minutes ago, I didn't even think to bring it with me."
    "Kat," James said calmly, "was anything disturbed in your apartment last night when you went inside?"
    Her eyes widened. "I didn't turn on any lights—I went straight to bed."
    "What time was that?" Tenner asked.
    Kat and James answered at the same time. "Around ten-thirty."
    The detective's eyebrows shot up. "You were with her, Mr. Donovan?"
    James bristled at the man's accusatory glance. "We had dinner and I walked her to her door."
    "Was anyone else in your apartment last night?" the man pressed. "Or more specifically, your bedroom?"
    Kat looked cross. "No! Wait—there's my friend Denise. She was at my apartment doing her laundry when I left with James—er, Mr. Donovan."
    "Short hair or long?" Tenner asked.
    "Short and red," Kat said. "But Denise doesn't have anything to do with this."
    "We'll be the judge of that," the detective said, then wrote down Denise's name and address. "What about the getup the thief was wearing?" he asked Kat. "If we searched your apartment, Ms. McKray, would we find a hat and coat?"
    Kat glanced at James, worry in her eyes, then looked back to Tenner. "Yes, I have a coat like that, and lots of hats, but so does nearly every woman in this city."
    "And," James noted, "if someone stole Ms. McKray's badge, it would have been quite simple to steal a few articles of her clothing as well."
    Tenner looked unconvinced. "And grow hair, too, I suppose?"
    "They could have worn a wig," James pointed out.
    The detective sighed dramatically. "Ms. McKray, give me one good reason why I shouldn't place you under arrest right now."
    "Because," she said, crossing her arms, "I didn't do it."
    Tenner pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay, let's see if I've got this straight: We need to be on the lookout for someone who looks like you, dresses like you, has knowledge of this letter, and has the same access to the museum." He popped his gum. "Do I look like a fool, Ms. McKray?"
    James bit his tongue to keep from answering for her.
    Kat rolled her eyes. "Do I look like a thief, Mr. Tenner?"
    "I just call it like I see it, ma'am." He nodded to one of the policemen. "Read her her rights."
    Kat looked at James, fear brimming in her blue eyes.
    James gave her a reassuring smile and murmured, "Don't worry, Pussy-Kat, everything will be all right."
    But worry boiled in his stomach. Either Kat McKray was a very good actress, or someone was out to frame her. Regardless, the fetching woman was in a great deal of trouble.

Chapter Four

    JAMES FISTED HIS HANDS at his sides as the younger policeman, Officer Raines, withdrew handcuffs.