Kimberly looked at November, perplexed.

November took a deep breath. “I never told you where I hid the shoes, did I, Kim?”

"No, why?"

"Well, let's just say there's a reason I wouldn't let you do the dishes."

“Novie!“

“We have to trust someone,” November said, listening to Detective Spencer rinse his mug. “Even if we put the shoes in a safety deposit box, we would still be in danger. The police are our best option.”

Kimberly swallowed and nodded.

An exclamation came from the kitchen. Detective Spencer walked back in the room carrying the Mortier shoebox.

“I’m assuming you wanted me to find this?”

“Yes,” November said. “You’d better have a look.”

Detective Spencer sat down, opened the box, and pulled out red platform heels. His face remained expressionless, but the silence that followed was uncomfortable.

Finally, Kimberly spoke. “Are you mad?”

The detective’s face lightened. “Mad?”

“That we didn’t tell you before. We were so afraid that we would be killed if anyone found out we had them.”

“You think these shoes make you a target?” Detective Spencer looked at November, who didn't speak. “You had better start talking, or I’m going to start guessing.”

“These are a pair of Jean Mortier shoes,” November said. “We think whoever killed Elizabeth Gordon wanted this pair.”

Detective Spencer’s eyes widened.

“If you’re right, these shoes are the missing piece of this crazy puzzle. How do you two happen to have them?”

“I gave them to Kim for her birthday.”

“Was this before or after Mrs. Holister’s death?”

“After,” November said. “But I didn’t believe she had been killed for her shoes, or I would have been more careful.”

“I know the feeling,” the detective said, shaking his head. “Go on. When did you suspect something was wrong?”

“A man came to the store later that day looking for these exact shoes. He was angry and rude when he found out they were gone.”

“Was he?” Kimberly asked. “I hate customers like that, but I guess it was my fault. Sorry.”

“I was no such thing!" November argued. "I gave you the shoes, so it was my responsibility. Anyway, the next day the Mortier rep called and cancelled their business with me. But I still didn’t think anything of it until I heard about Mrs. Gordon’s death.”

“Then you put two and two together,” Detective Spencer said. “Why didn’t you come forward then?"

“Would you have?” November asked. “I knew I was a suspect and I thought the red shoes would only make things worse. Besides, at that point Kim still had them.”

Detective Spencer jumped up and began to pace.

“That’s why her house was robbed!” he said. “I suppose they took every pair because Flint told his thug to find red shoes without any details.”

“That’s our theory too,” November nodded. “Now we are just waiting for the villains to discover we have the shoes so they can come after us.”

“I wish you had come to me sooner,” Detective Spencer frowned. “I could have helped you. And I could have used the information. Sara Fuller might be alive today if we had known about these shoes!”

“You mean it’s my fault she’s dead?” Kimberly began to cry. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“I didn’t mean that,” the detective said, backtracking. “In fact, I doubt we could have known they were going to rob your home.”

“There’s no way to know what might have happened,” November said, putting an arm around Kimberly. “What we need is decide what to do next.”

“I agree,” Detective Spencer sat down again. “I’ll take them into custody, so you don’t have to worry, and I’ll send a car to protect you."

“We don’t need—“ November began.

“Yes, we do!” Kimberly said.

Detective Spencer laughed. “You do need them. Believe me. The only thing left is to find out why people are willing to kill for these shoes.”

He pulled them out of the box and examined them closely. "Of course, the forensics team will have to get a look first. Fingerprints aren't going to help at this point, but there's got to be something--these threads are loose."

“Sorry about that,” Kimberly said. “I wore them for my birthday party and danced all night. I tried to be careful, but there were a lot of people there and...”

“I don’t think this was your doing, Kim,” Detective Spencer said. "I'll take these in to the lab tonight and see what Matthew thinks of them. Odd how the shoes are red, but this thread is black."

He tugged lightly at the threads and they slipped right out. The platform sole loosened and fell apart.

"Oops," Detective Spencer said.

From the five-inch heel a shimmering fall of large, clear diamonds poured into the detective’s lap like faceted water.