Cat Burglar in Training by Shelley Munro

orange tree. Five steps led down to a floodlit garden where a fountain danced, the tinkle of the water musical and relaxing.
    The exact thing I needed to soothe my fractured nerves after my latest meeting with Kahu “The Hawk” Williams. The man certainly took after his name. Saw everything. Noted it all. I’d have to remember to take extra care at our next meeting. The blonde-bimbo image needed to stick like elephant-strength superglue.
    We wandered aimlessly until we came to a secluded seat amongst the hedges. The low drone of traffic was the only discordant note in the garden.
    “I saw you on the dance floor.” Selena sank onto the stone seat.
    “That wasn’t me,” I said promptly.
    “I know. That’s why I’m so intrigued. Who is that cowboy?”
    “No one important.” People were used to seeing me with Seth since I’d arrived back in England. “Let’s talk about something juicy instead. Did you know the Monings?”
    The humor bleached from Selena’s face. “Terrible, isn’t it? They’re saying it was a burglary gone wrong. I’d hand over my jewels to thieves plus the key to the safety-deposit box with instructions to take the lot. Life’s too important to risk for material possessions.”
    I opened my mouth to say the murder had nothing to do with theft, then snapped it shut. The report of the gunshot echoed in my head, reinforcing my decision. If I tripped over clues while I searched for the child, I’d ring the cops with an anonymous tip. Until then, I intended to keep the info to myself.
    “I suppose they had children,” I said.
    “I didn’t know them well. The funeral should be soon now that the police have finally released her body to the family. I guess if they had kids they’ll be there.”
    Good point. I made a mental note to check online for the time of the funeral. So far my searches in the social media had yielded zilch—only gossip instead of useful info. Most frustrating.
    “Oh, hell. I should’ve worn my glasses.” Selena clutched my forearm. “Eve, is that Henry the Eighth heading this way?”
    I checked the direction she indicated. “Yep, I’d recognize that stomach anywhere.”
    “No way do I want another of his oily propositions. I’m outta here.” She jumped to her feet. “Detain him for me, will you? Give me time to escape.” She flew down the gravel path in the opposite direction, leaving behind nothing but a whiff of Chanel No. 5.
    Darn, I didn’t want to see the man either. I darted in the same direction as Selena but turned left where she’d turned right. I brushed past a pot of roses and ducked down another path, entering the hedge maze with the intention of lingering until Beauchamp disappeared.
    It was much darker in the maze. I slowed, letting my night vision adjust. A series of high giggles alerted me to proceed with caution. I caught a glimpse of a couple groping each other. The man had his hand up the skirt of his partner’s maid costume. A lot of heavy breathing punctuated the giggles. Averting my eyes, I tiptoed past.
    The sound of gravel crunching underfoot alerted me to a presence ahead. I stepped off the path onto a section of grass, cursing softly when my heels sank halfway to China. I yanked free of the grass while debating which direction to head. A man’s voice made me hesitate. Damn and blast! Not another clandestine tryst.
    A second man replied, and I froze. I knew that voice.
    “What are you doing out here?”
    Bloody hell. I knew that voice too. What were Kahu Williams and Richard Beauchamp doing out here together? Curious, I edged closer and settled in to listen.
    “I needed a breath of fresh air.” Kahu’s tone was mocking, and I sensed he wanted to provoke Beauchamp.
    “I’m meeting someone,” Beauchamp snarled.
    “I won’t take up much of your time.”
    Beauchamp must have registered the determination underlying the antipodean accent. “What do you want?”
    “Do you know Ihaka Morrison?”
    A beat of silence played out.