A chill ran down my back. I put down the loupe.
“That’s a brilliant deduction, Watson. I have an idea. Get me a list of items that were in for service during the time The Weasel was in charge of the store.”
My head was spinning. I leaned forward in my chair, put both elbows on the desk and held my head in my hands.
“I never should have left the store,” I mumbled to myself. “Never should have let Vince talk me into bringing the dweeb in to cover for me.”
The thing is, I had to meet Pete’s parents. We were engaged, for crissake. And you can’t go to Florida from Hamilton for just a day—at least, not the first time, when they want to get to know you. Not to mention figure out what kind of nutcase their son has hooked up with. It wouldn’t have been fair.
Pete’s parents were delightful and obviously thrilled that Pete is settling down. His mother was a real sweetheart to me. Luckily, they have yet to figure out that I am a nutcase. Or that I come from a certain family.
Tiff returned with the list. We both pored over it.
Then I groaned and looked up.
“You know what this means?” I said.
Tiffany nodded. “Half The Hammer might be walking around with fake gems on their fingers.”
I gulped. “And we have to get them back here and check each one before anyone finds out, or my rep is cooked.”
“How are we going to do that?”
I stared into space. “Let me think.”
CHAPTER FOUR
That evening, I assembled the vigilantes.
“We need a plan,” I said to the group.
Tiff nodded. “A cunning plan.”
I rolled my eyes.
The “group” was me, Tiff and her brother Nico, who was not gay but just liked the color pink. We were in Nico’s teeny condo on Caroline Street. It was a short walk to Hess Village, the swank bar and bistro center of Hamilton. And yes, the condo was black and white with pink accents.
“Why isn’t Sammy here?” said Nico. He was leaning against the black-granite countertop, nursing an espresso.
“I thought we’d just keep this between the three of us for now,” I said cautiously. “Sammy has enough problems.” And if Sammy became a part of this, then his wife—Aunt Miriam—would know about what we were doing, and Miriam would tell Aunt Vera, and then Vince—well, you get the picture.
Besides, Sammy was working another angle. I wanted him to concentrate on that.
First I had to solve the immediate problem. Which was to get the freaking fakes back from my clients. Then I could plan revenge.
“So we’re all agreed,” I said. “We have to get all the fake stones back and replace them with real ones before anyone finds out.”
“Otherwise your reputation is toast,” said Tiff.
I looked at her sideways.
“OUR reputation is toast. We lose our clientele, and you lose your job, sweetface.”
I didn’t want to think about that. I had worked hard to keep this business clean. So hard! And one rumor of fake stones would kill my rep for good. Crap, I was pissed!
I love my little store. It is just so me. Most jewelry stores are dark, rather dreary places with a lot of oak paneling. They look like old banks. Either that or they go the other way, with sleek black cabinets and annoying fluorescent lights. My store is bright-white and blue. Beautiful cyan-blue walls with sapphire accents. Glass shelves feature Murano glass sculptures shipped direct from Venice. Nico helped me with the makeover a year ago. One customer told me it’s like walking into a gemstone. Gorgeous.
I didn’t want to lose my store.
“How many invoices did you count again, Tiff?”
“Eight. Here’s that list of items that came in during that week.” She handed me the piece of paper we’d looked at before.
Aunt Miriam—check. Mrs. Harris—check. Then six more clients I knew well enough. They were regulars—and, unfortunately, some of Steeltown’s elite. Definitely friends of my aunt Pinky.
“What did they bring them in for?”
“Cleaning and appraisal. Remember we ran that special for good clients last month?” Tiff said.
“Rats,” I said. “So we can’t entice them in here by offering the same deal. Too soon. Double rats.”
I had two rings. That meant I had to get the other six and exchange the fake gems for real ones.
Sigh. This was going to cost me a fortune.
“Are you telling Pete?” Nico asked.
“Pete is that last one I’m going to tell!” I was firm about that. “He already thinks we’re all wacko.” Not to mention rather lacking in specific morals.
“Better we keep mum.” I drummed my fingers on the desk. “After all, what I’m proposing is not exactly on the straight and narrow.”
Silence. We’d all been thinking it. They’d been waiting for me to put it on the table and say out it out loud.
“So,” I said slowly, “you’re both with me?”
Nico nodded. He swished one hand airily through space. “Piece of cake. All those B and Es when I was a kid—I never got caught.”
I held back a shiver. “Tiff?”
“I’m good. Whatever you need.” Her dark brown eyes were glowing.
“Good.” I took a breath. “So we’re going to break into these houses and steal back the fakes.”
CHAPTER FIVE
One day I am going to write a book.
It’s going to be entitled Burglary for Dummies and will have all sorts of helpful tips. Things like “Make sure your accomplices know the rules.”
Nico arrived at the first target residence wearing all black. Black Gap T-shirt, black tight-fitting jeans, which were extra long because Nico is lanky, black shoes. I don’t know where he managed to get black shoes like that. Maybe at a dance studio?
Of course, his hair is bleached bright blond, so the effort might have been wasted.
“Here I am!” he announced, all eager like a kid at Christmas. “Parked around the corner. Brought my tools.” His small satchel was, of course, black, as were his gloves.
I sighed. He was really getting into this project, just as I feared.
“Now the idea is we get in and out quickly,” I said. “According to Aunt Pinky, these people will be back tomorrow. I’m just going to switch the ring and vamoose. Got it?” I looked him square in the eyes. When had he started wearing black eyeliner?
“Roger,” he said, and we walked up the path to the front door. “This is great, Gina! Been so long since I’ve done this. I feel just like Johnny Depp.”
Now I was really having second thoughts. Make that third thoughts.
“You know this isn’t a real burglary, right? We’re not stealing anything. I’m actually replacing a fake with a real one.”
Niko stopped at the door. He placed the satchel on the flagstone step and pulled out something small and made of steel. “That’s what makes it so much fun,” he said, working the lock. “No need to find a fence, and I get to see how the rich decorate their houses.”
“How is that interior-design course going, by the way?” I asked.
There was a click and a ting. Nico turned the weathered brass knob and the door swung open.
“Oh dear,” he said as he walked in.
“What?” I was right behind him and immediately on the alert.
“Don’t turn on a light. I don’t think I can stand it.” He waved a slim hand at the living room in front of us.
I followed the gesture. Nothing there but a whole lot of furniture. Not very nice furniture—rather heavy—and the room was far too crowded. But no dogs or feral cats around that I could see.
I gave a sigh of relief. “Okay, you keep watch. I’ll be upstairs in the master bedroom. Buzz my cell if you need to alert me.”
Nico sniffed. “This is a disaster. Look at those tacky coral pillows. That awful throw rug covering perfectly good hardwood. All this money, and the place looks like it was decorated out of an eighties catalog. I’m
appalled, Gina. Absolutely appalled.”
“You just stay right there!” I commanded, taking the stairs two at a time. “I won’t be a minute.”
I was more than a minute, of course. This was a big home, and the master bedroom was at the opposite end of the second floor. It took me about sixty steps to get to it. I looked in at least five bedrooms and two bathrooms along the way. There were two guest rooms, a computer room and a room totally done—make that overdone—in hot pink. You don’t want to know what the boy’s room was like. I hastily closed the door.
I opened the double doors that led to the master. It was about the size of a baseball field and just as nicely decorated as the living room. I didn’t stop to admire the faded floral matching drapes and bedspread.
It took me a little time to find the ring. First I tried the jewelry boxes in plain sight. Nothing there but tacky costume jewelry. Of course, many people do that to fool burglars into thinking there’s nothing of value in the place. But I knew different, so I dug deeper. The emerald ring was in the top middle drawer of the French provincial dresser, under a pile of lingerie. Calling it lingerie was generous. Mrs. Hewitt obviously kept her undies until they fell down.
The ring was in a Ricci Jewelers box, which made me feel good for some reason. I made the switch and pushed in the drawer. Then I listened.
Strange noises were coming from downstairs. Drat that Nico—he must have turned on the television.
I retraced my steps to the master bedroom doors and closed them gently behind me. The trick to a successful break and enter is to leave everything exactly as one found it.
Crreek!
I hurried to the stairs.
Clunk.
I ran down the stairs and stopped dead on the last one.
“Nico, what the hell?”
The brown sofa had been moved to the back of the room, against the expansive picture window. The carpet was gone, and at least two chairs were missing. The coffee table had been cleared of all but one art book. A turquoise pashmina was draped artfully across the cream loveseat.
“Isn’t this better?” said Nico. “I moved the icky chairs to the dining room and removed those awful pillows. Couldn’t do much about the paintings, of course. But now, with the sofa moved, the focus is on the great view out the back.”
I gulped. “You rearranged their furniture?”
“It was either that or kill myself. I couldn’t spend another moment in this place, Gina.”
I hit my head with my hand. I was still searching for words when the telephone rang. Not my cell, but the telephone in the house.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. We rushed out the front door, and Nico discreetly turned the lock with his little tool. At the sidewalk, we parted as planned and took separate cars home. This was probably a good thing, because for the first time in my life I was truly speechless.
* * *
Saturday morning, Pete got up first. I like it when he does that. Coffee is already made by the time I amble into the kitchen. I discovered early on that Pete is a full-service boyfriend.
As expected, Pete was reading the paper. Usually he starts with the sports section. But today, he was staring at the front page.
I walked over to get myself coffee. Pete made a strange sound, so I turned before reaching the counter.
Pete’s face changed. First it was a frown. Then it split to a grin. Then his mouth twisted and he handed the paper to me.
“Your family got anything to do with this?”
The headline screamed: The Lone Rearranger—Who Was That Masked Man?
Under it was a photo of a white silk bandit mask, artfully arranged across the back of a brown sofa. I knew that sofa. I had seen it recently. It was the one in the Hewitt house.
“CRAP!” I yelled. I read more.
Hamilton residents were shocked to discover that someone had broken into their home Thursday night to rearrange the living room furniture.
“Nothing was taken,” said Mr. Hewitt, “so we have to assume that he just hated the way the place looked. So did I. This guy has talent.”
Mrs. Hewitt was delighted with the new arrangement. “It’s so much more spacious-looking. I really like the editing he did. And that turquoise pashmina! I never thought of putting brown and cream and turquoise together, but it goes so well. Now I want to try some new colors.”
Police are calling the suspect The Lone Rearranger because of the Lone Ranger-type mask the intruder left behind.
“Crappity CRAP!” I dropped the newspaper on the kitchen island. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Care to explain?”
My eyes moved to Pete. He had one eyebrow raised and a whole lot more going on with his face.
“Sonovabitch,” I muttered and reached for the phone.
Nico answered on the first ring.
“Isn’t it exciting?” he said. “Front page, even! I can’t wait to tell Jordy.”
“No! No telling anyone!” I was pacing now. Pacing and fuming. “That pashmina was yours? And you left it there?”
He clicked his tongue. “It just came to me. A hit of saturated color is so modern, and turquoise is the new gray. It goes with almost everything. I always carry a couple in my satchel. But don’t worry. I wore gloves, remember?”
Pete was looking at me strangely. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.
Nico continued talking. “Wasn’t the mask a nice touch? I wanted to surprise you. At first, I couldn’t make up my mind between black or white, but then white seemed more original, you know?”
I was hyperventilating now. “Nico, you are NOT the Pink Panther! This was supposed to be a covert operation.”
“Do you think maybe next time I could leave a bill behind?”
CHAPTER SIX
Saturday afternoon was good. Tiff was busy with a customer when I got to the store. I waved a hand at her and went directly to the back room.
This was going to be a great day. This was the day I was setting my own engagement ring. And it was a doozie. Never in my life had I expected to wear such a diamond. Can’t explain it exactly, but it does something to a girl.
When Tiff was done with the customer, she joined me in the back room. I was poring over settings.
“I think this one.” The band I picked up was narrow yellow gold with three prongs. One prong would cover the point end of the pear-shaped diamond, to protect it.
“Yeah,” said Tiff. “Simple. Will really show it off.”
“I like white gold,” I said, hesitating. “But somehow yellow gold seems more wedding-like, if you know what I mean.”
“Yellow gold blends in with flesh color,” she said. “White gold stands out against it. So if you want the band to stand out, you pick white gold. If you want the stone to be prominent, use yellow.”
I lifted my head and stared at her. “Well done, little cuz. I’m impressed. How did you pick that up so fast?”
She looked really pleased. “I’ve been watching. And experimenting. For instance, I can see just by looking that this is a beaut.” She pointed to my diamond, sitting on the velvet mat. “What are the specs?”
“Vvs1. Color grade, D. Cut, excellent. Check it out yourself.” I handed her the loupe.
After a few moments, she whistled low. “That’s impressive. I really like this business.”
“You should go for your certification,” I suggested.
She nodded slowly. “I’m thinking about it.”
The front-door bell jingled, announcing another customer. Tiff rose to greet her. I set about my main task, humming to myself all the while.
* * *
That night at dinner, Pete popped a question.
“What do you think about the Saturday before Christmas?”
We were sitting in La Paloma on James, my uncle Vito’s restaurant. It was sort of our place. By that I mean Pete’s and mine. Luckily, he loves Italian food. Luckily, my uncle Vito likes Pete. Vito likes his food, too, and has the belly to prove it.
/> La Paloma is “uptown cool” for Hamilton. Not your little Ma and Pa place. It has the best wine cellar in the city. Many high-priced business deals are signed here, and not just those in the family.
But Pete was asking about the Saturday before Christmas, so I decided to stop munching bruschetta for just a moment to answer.
I looked up and met his hazel eyes. “Prime shopping time, but I’m usually done by then. I like it fine. What are you talking about?”
“My parents come home for two weeks around Christmas. I thought it would be a nice time to get married.”
My jaw dropped. “So soon?”
Both his eyebrows rose in alarm. “Don’t you want to?”
I swallowed hard. “Of course I do. I meant, how are we going to get a hall that soon? They’re booked a year in advance.”
Pete relaxed. “Got that all worked out. I called Sammy and explained the situation. He knows the manager at the Forum. They’ve got a cancelation. I told him to reserve it on spec.”
“Sure he knows the manager,” I said. I wiped my mouth with the linen napkin. “We own the place. Didn’t you know that?”
He just smiled.
I just hoped the people who had originally booked the place weren’t “canceled.”
Then another thought hit me.
“But,” I wailed, “I don’t have a wedding dress yet!”
Now he laughed. “It’s still two months away. You can find something in that time.”
“Are you kidding? Haven’t you ever seen that TV show Say Yes to the Dress? It takes at least three months to order a dress. And for crissake, Pete, everyone will think I have to get married if we do it that soon!”
Yikes! Aunt Miriam thinking I had to get married. I shivered.
Pete sighed. He pushed back from the table. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
He looked so disappointed—just like a little boy. I think it was the most surprised I’d ever been in my life.
I couldn’t stand it. I relented immediately. I guess that’s how you know you really love someone.
“Okay,” I said. My voice was deliberately light and happy. “The Saturday before Christmas. Let’s do it. You book the hall. I’ll find a dress somehow.”
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