Chapter Thirty-Five

No

By the time Nora made it home later that evening, darkness had already fallen. She opened the door to her apartment and saw Mozzie at the table. The room was dimly lit, and Mozzie sat focusing intently on what he was doing with a large pair of tweezers. He didn't seem to noticed she'd entered.

She shut the door silently behind her and walked over to him, heels not making a sound on the wooden flooring. She glanced over his shoulder. "How's it coming?"

Mozzie spun around, screaming, a wild look in his eyes as he brandished the tweezers like weapon. She jumped back, holding her hands up in front of her. "Moz," she huffed. He calmed down, realizing it wasn't someone there to murder him. "Overreact much? What are you gonna do with tweezers?"

He didn't lower them. "The shinobi ninja can fashion a weapon out of anything."

"You're not a ninja," she said dryly, moving to get a better look at his work.

"That's exactly what I want you to believe."

She rolled her eyes, but let it go. "How's the bottle coming?"

"Oh, uh, I paid off a guard at that maritime exhibit for French cork made before the Industrial Revolution."

She bent over to study his materials. "You got our newspaper," she noted. "This is a 'New York Gazette' from 1785." She smiled, impressed.

"They use it for insulation in the walls at the Colonial Ale House," he explained.

"That's perfect," she admired, taking a seat next to him.

"There's only one egg missing from our basket."

She eyed his materials. "Wax," she realized.

"Preferably 18th century beeswax from the Chateau Du Munn vineyard." That was definitely a bit of a tall order.

But not impossible. "Grace, Keller's broker, has a few Chateau Du Munn in her vault. How much wax do we need?"

"Not much," he decided. "I can make it work with just a few shavings." He thought for a moment. "How's the security there?"

"Good," she admitted. "Keypad with a rotating code, biometric scanner plate."

"Oh, we can just-"

She already knew what he was going to say. "With pulse monitor."

"Oh," he sighed. "That makes it trickier. So how do you get in?"

A plan began to bloom. "Have her open the door," she muttered.

Mozzie raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting her to elaborate. "For you?" he prompted.

"No." She grinned. "For my client, Carlton Leed."

"Who's that?"

"Well, nobody yet. But I think Peter might do the trick."

Mozzie considered this for a moment. "You think the suit is going to go along with your plan to break into a secure vault to steal beeswax?"

She shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

Peter already had a sinking suspicion about who was on the other side of the door when he heard the knock. Sure enough, Nora stood there as he opened it. It was never a good sign when Nora felt the need to intrude late at night with no notice. It meant she wanted something that she realized Peter wasn't going to go along with easily. Otherwise, she would have called.

He let her in with a sigh and offered her a beer as she sat down at the dining room table. She sipped on it as she explained the problem she and the little guy had encountered, the need for a very specific type of wax to make the forgery convincing. And her plan to remedy that problem.

"No," Peter huffed, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"That's your favorite word, isn't it?" she accused, drumming her perfectly manicured fingers idly on the table.

He shrugged. "It's a classic. Nope, never, forget about it." She was out of her mind if she thought he would ever actually agree. "What makes you think I would break into any place with you and steal anything?"

She shook her head quickly, holding up a hand to stop him. "We are not breaking in," she insisted. "You'll be shown around. And we're not stealing anything…" He shot her a pointed look, wondering if she really heard herself when she spoke. "Of value." She sighed, leaning closer when she realized that tactic wasn't working. "All I need are some wax shavings. It's like taking a lock of hair from the floor of a barber shop."

"Theft is theft," he reminded her. Not for the first time, he wondered at her ability to do mental gymnastics to reach the conclusions she did.

"I'm a CI," she protested, "not an agent. I don't have the same restrictions. We can call this one a gray area."

Only Nora would think it's acceptable to call theft a gray area. "Nada," he said firmly.

"Come on," she sighed. "You can get all dressed up, hobnob with pretty people, drink a fine glass of port."

Peter crinkled his nose. "From everything you know about me, what makes you think I'd enjoy any of what you just said."

Her face was serious and she met his eyes evenly. "Because this is about catching a killer." Peter sighed, the logic – while flawed – starting to crumble his reluctance. "A wax shaving for a murderer."

He thought for a long moment. "This won't affect the value of anything in Grace's collection?" He could hardly believe the words were coming out of his mouth as he said them. But she was right. A wax shaving seemed like a small price to pay to make sure a murderer was brought to justice.

"Nope," she assured him, "no, nada."

Peter sighed, meeting her eyes again. "You know, for the record, I hate port. It's syrupy."

She shrugged. "There will be other options." She took a sip of her beer.

Peter studied her for a moment. There was something different in her eyes than he was used to seeing. Sure, she had a history with the guy, but from where Peter was sitting, it seemed like she was sitting somewhere between anger and sadness. Those were two emotions she usually hid under a calm and confidant facade. "Why are you so determined on this one?" He asked suddenly. Her eyes grew wide. "And don't tell me it's just because Keller killed a man. We've dealt with murders before."

"I don't-"

"Come on," he huffed. "Is it some kind of rivalry thing?"

She sighed, looking down at the table, spinning the beer bottle around in her hand. Peter waited, eyeing her expectantly. "I told you, I ripped him off a few years ago."

"Yeah."

She shrugged, still not looking up. "I don't just go around stealing from the people I work with for no reason. Honor among thieves, you know?" Peter scoffed, but she ignored him. "Keller's a bad guy. He hurts people." Her voice was small. Peter was very suddenly reminded that she was a small, slight woman armed with just her wit and her smile. She didn't use guns or violence. She didn't have any training. She's scared of him, he realized.

"Are you worried he's going to try to hurt you because you stole from him?" Peter guessed. "Because you know I won't-"

"It's not that," she insisted. "If he wanted to get back at me for that, he's had plenty of time." Her eyes snapped up, and there was a resolve in them that Peter hadn't seen there before. "If anyone deserves to go down for everything he's done, it's Keller."

Peter didn't know how to respond. He got the feeling there was still something she was holding back, but the look in her eyes stopped him from asking. If she wanted to tell him, she would in her own time. They finished their beer and she headed home.