When the intercom phone rang, Barbara was standing barefoot in the kitchen, cutting up ingredients for a stir-fry dinner. She groaned and pulled the pan off the burner, wiped her fingers on her pyjama bottoms and answered the speakerphone. Panic immediately set in at the sound of Detective Railton's voice asking to come in for a few questions.

"Oh! I'm not really presentable for receiving visitors and I'm in the middle of making dinner-"

"I promise I'll only take a few minutes. It's important, Ms Spence."

She groaned again and agreed, pushing the latch release number and running madly to shut off the stove then to her bedroom, stripping off the sweatshirt and hopping out of her pyjama pants. The knock came at her door and she hollered, just a minute, then hurried back down the hall, straitening the blouse over an old skirt and poking her hair into place.

Railton gave a teasing smile when she opened the door, announcing silently he knew what she had tried to do, and Barbara covered her embarrassment by making a production of closing the door and asking him to sit.

"You said this was important . . . I guess it must be – on a Saturday night." She fiddled awkwardly with her appearance, dying inside. Railton was in a light-weight jacket, golf shirt, chinos and casual shoes and his whole demeanour screamed sexy. Barbara felt sick.

"Homicide doesn't give us much time off I'm afraid." He sat forward, and she poked self-consciously at her clothes again. "You had never met Mr. Tremblay previously?"

"No, I hadn't."

"Did he introduce himself to you at the airport?"

"No, I had a small sign and he came right to me when he saw it. I greeted him and took him out to where the limo was parked."

Railton took a photograph from his pocket and showed it to her. "Ever seen him before?"

Barbara made a face and shook her head. "Who is he?"

"Pierre Tremblay."

"But-!"

"The man you picked up at the airport was not Pierre Tremblay. He signed in as such at the hotel desk, but he is definitely not who he claimed to be."

"I don't understand, who is he then?"

"He was Roger Aubert, a small-time crook with a bit of a criminal history in France."

Barbara held out her hands, confused, wordless, then she jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" Railton called, starting to follow.

"Yes . . . I thought I left the stove on." She leaned on the door frame, her mind bouncing aimlessly between the detective's news and the schoolgirl effect he was having on her.

"I'm sorry to have barged in like this, but it was important."

"It's fine . . . do you have more questions?"

He sat back down and laced his fingers. "You went straight back to work after leaving the hotel?"

"Yes." Barbara sat again as well.

"But then you left and came home . . . here? Your boss said you left about ten to five or so."

"I guess that's about right. I just went back to tell him I'd dropped Tremblay – that other man . . ."

"You could have called."

"Arthur likes face to face reports, and I had other work that needed attention."

"What time did you get home?"

"I don't really recall. It's about a fifteen or thirty-minute trip, so say – five-thirty."

"Can that be corroborated?"

Barbara stood again and moved behind the sofa. "Am I a suspect in this? Is that why you're asking these questions?"

"It's nothing personal, Ms Spence. Everyone's a suspect until we can eliminate them. So . . . can anyone corroborate your arrival time here?"

"Perhaps, Detective, you could time the trip from here to the hotel then subtract that from when you know I arrived there, and see if what you are implying is possible."

He sat back, surprised. Her suggestion was something he had already done in the event she wasn't forthcoming. His estimation of Ms Spence went up a notch or two.

"Thank you, it's always nice to have . . . other input." He stood and slapped his thighs, smiling. "I guess that's all then. Sorry again about your dinner."

She waved a hand. "It's fine. I'm sorry I got a little snippy. I know you are just-"

"Doing my job?"

She thought back to her, don't leave town comment, and it brought a smile to her face. "Exactly." She walked around the sofa to the door and turned, waiting for him to follow.

"There is one more thing, if I may."

She canted her head, questioningly.

"These missing papers, why do you think someone might want to steal them?"

"My personal opinion?"

He nodded.

"Simply put, it is the authentication of the history of an item."

"Proof of where it came from?"

She smiled. "The provenance of an item is a crucial aid in determining authenticity and value, but it is not the only means. Specialists in the field have many methods for determining authenticity."

Railton smiled and moved toward the door. "Like police work."

"Very much so, I imagine. Finding clues and fitting them into a frame that forms a final picture." Barbara reached for the door knob.

"Listen, it is Saturday night and I'm sure I've spoiled your dinner-" He fumbled with his car keys. "Can I make it up somehow . . . buy you a dinner?"

Her mouth opened involuntarily as she received the shock of his request.

"I- I know that doesn't come off as being very professional, considering . . ."

Barbara leaned against the door, massaging her fingers. "No, it doesn't and I think perhaps, if you have no further questions pertaining to your case, you should leave."

"You're right and I apologize. It was just that- I'm sorry, Ms Spence." When she stepped away from the door he said good night and let himself out.

What was that! She locked the door and leaned against it, the sudden shiver of a thrill confusing her thoughts.

***

"He came to your place Saturday night! What's going on, Ms Spence?" Janet pulled up a chair, eager to hear all the news.

"There's nothing going on – although . . ."

"What did he want?"

"He was questioning me about my whereabouts at different times, when I picked-" Barbara suddenly realized that they might not know yet about Aubert, and she hastily made an excuse to speak to Arthur.

"I still want to know, Barbara," Janet called after her.

Arthur saw her enter and he signalled to shut the door, held up one finger then said goodbye to whomever he was speaking to, and hung up his phone.

"I had a visit Saturday afternoon from Railton," he said. "The victim wasn't Tremblay, it was some petty crook named Aubert."

Barbara bit her cheek. She didn't want Arthur to know she had been visited at night; she didn't need any suspicious rumours circulating. Janet would be tough enough to muzzle.

"That's what I came to tell you. He spoke to me as well. Wanted to know all about where I was and when."

"He did ask me when you left work that day."

"Yes. He said he was eliminating suspects."

"He suspected you!"

"He said we're all suspects until we're accounted for."

"Phttt! Nuts to think we'd be knocking off someone we needed – or thought we did anyway."

"Well I just wanted to let you know what he said. Did he say anything about speaking to our client or the seller?"

"Only that he had to leave messages, and because of the time zone, I imagine it will take a bit to get a response from France. I'm going to call our client and see what he is planning on doing."

"Right. Well back to work then. I'll have the files for the Zimmerman account later today."

"Good. I'd like to get that billed."

***

"You had a call while you were gone." Janet rendered a broad leering wink.

Barbara sucked her lips in. "Any message, Miss Pantomime?"

"Detective Railton will try again later." The wink grew and was accompanied by a giggle.

"Honestly." Barbara sat at her desk, a shivery thrill crossed her shoulders. What now? she wondered, making certain her face stayed straight. When the phone rang again, twenty minutes later, she swung around in her chair so Janet couldn't see her face.

Detective Railton was calling to apologize again.