He shrugged. “Not really. Look, I was there because I had to be there. It’s business. You think I wanted to spend my Saturday night socializing with a group of spoiled rich girls and their ‘home business’ clothing line? Spoiler, I didn’t, but I had to show up with a smile.”

“You mean you don’t actually like the clothes in their Allure Apparel line?” Claire asked. “Then why are you hosting their show here?”

“Because it brings people into the store, and in this day and age, brick-and-mortar boutiques can use all the publicity we can get. Any more questions about my business model, Detective?”

Claire bit her lip. “Did you have any interaction with Chris? The artist who was there last night?”

Burlap’s eyes lit up, and a smile crossed his face. “Oh, Chris. Yes, we got to chat a bit. Did she get home okay?”

“That’s the question,” Claire said. “We haven’t been able to reach her, since Emma didn’t have her last name or contact information.”

Burlap frowned. “Well, that’s odd, isn’t it?” When Claire didn’t respond, he shrugged. “I don’t have much else to give you. She was nervous, but everyone else probably already told you that.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, definitely. She was nervous from the moment she walked in. She was trying to pretend not to be, I could tell, but I’m a pretty good reader of people. The way she talked, the way she ate, the way she moved around—I could tell she was uncomfortable. That is, until she got a bit of drink in her.”

Claire made a mental note and then thanked him for his time.

“One more question,” she said. “When you left the apartment, where did you go?”

“I came back to oversee the night crew who were cleaning and stocking up for the morning. You can ask any of them.”

Claire assured him she would, left the store, and headed straight to the station. When she got there, she sat down in front of her computer.

She didn’t have much to go on, but it was worth a try.

She started by searching for Chris, portraits, School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Nothing.

Christine, SAIC.

Nothing.

And then, out of pure desperation:

Chris, red shoes, School of Art Institute of Chicago, SAIC, painter.

Of course not.

Sighing, she sat back in her chair. It just wasn’t enough.

They needed help.

It was time to go public.

• • •