Died With a Bow

by Grace Carroll

  Shocked, I leaned backward and almost fell over. “What was—”

  “What was she doing there?” Dolce said. “She says she was looking for a piece of silver to match her grandmother’s service.” She shrugged. We were both aware that some of our customers had fallen on hard times during this economic downturn and were reduced to selling off some of their excess belongings from time to time, but we pretended not to know. We pretended that all was well. After all, what is a neighborhood boutique for anyway if not to provide a safe haven for its customers? To make them feel appreciated and welcome whether they bought anything or not. Everyone was treated alike. At least that was our goal.

  “I was going to say, ‘What was the necklace doing there?’” I said.

  “That’s what we have to find out. Should we tell Vienna’s father or her mother or no one?” Dolce shook her head. “I just don’t know. What I want you to do is to go to the pawnshop and check it out. You’ll know if it’s really Vienna’s, won’t you?” she asked, clutching my arm.

  “Yes, I think so.” The image of the necklace hanging around Vienna’s neck was so clear in my mind. The way the diamonds sparkled, the depth of the beautiful pink stone. There couldn’t be another one in the world like it. There really couldn’t be another like it in this city.

  “What if it is hers?” I asked.

  “Find out who pawned it. Find out how much they want for it.”

  “Should I buy it?”

  “Yes—here, take my credit card,” she said, reaching into her purse. “I’ll pay for it. Unless…” She bit her lip. I wasn’t going to buy it without her explicit consent; the necklace looked like it cost millions. Despite what Athena had said. “I know Vienna’s family will want it. If they don’t…” She paused, then continued after catching her breath. “Go. Go now.”

  After a brief talk with Pam Jennings, I took the credit card Dolce offered and set off in a taxi. By now you’d think I’d be used to the seedy neighborhood where Jack’s former police station and my favorite Vietnamese restaurant was, but I still felt a little frisson go up my spine as I got out of the cab in front of Bayview Loan and Jewelry. I hoped no one I knew would see me there. After all, weren’t the people who frequented pawnshops most likely to be thieves or addicts, and the guys behind the counter were the ones who took advantage of them?

  No wonder Dolce sent me. She didn’t want to be seen in a place like this. Neither did I. But I wanted that necklace, and even more, I wanted to know who brought it in here and pawned it. Because then I’d know who killed Vienna. I pressed my nose up against the window with the words “CASH TO GET BY” scrolled on the glass, hoping to see the famous necklace lying on a swatch of black velvet. At least that’s how I would have displayed it in all its pink-and-diamond glory. But the window was full of high-end watches, necklaces, earrings and pins, but no stunning necklace. Was I too late?

  I walked in. A bell rang. The clerk looked up and gave me a quick scan, then since I must have looked harmless, he went back to his customer, a man leaning over the counter speaking in low tones.

  “Look,” he said, “I need some quick cash to pay off a debt before my knees get cracked.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A watch? A necklace? I couldn’t see, but I heard it clink against the glass counter. I was just glad I wasn’t in danger of having my knees cracked. But what if I was? What would I bring in to get some ready cash? All my money was tied up in clothes and accessories. I wondered what the pawnbroker would say if I offered him a pair of Louboutins or some Zanotti suede boots?

  I shifted from one foot to the other. I examined the guns in the locked glass case on the wall. I wanted to butt in. I wanted to ask about the necklace, but it was better to wait because I wanted more than just the necklace. I wanted information. Who brought it in? Who took it out? What if pawnbrokers were sworn to silence? I thought they might be, to protect their customers. That’s where Jack had the advantage over me. He could make them talk. I couldn’t.

  A minute later the bell over the door rang again. I turned around to see Barbie Washburn. We looked at each other for a long moment. She blushed. I just stood there, embarrassed for her. Maybe she was just as embarrassed for me. She probably thought I was there to hock something. Was she? So Pam wasn’t the only Dolce customer who was forced to pawn her treasures.

  “Hi,” I said as if we’d just met at Starbucks. “How are you?”

  She gave me a nervous smile. “Good,” she said. “Just looking for a necklace for my aunt’s birthday. She’s crazy about diamonds.” She looked around.

  “Who isn’t?” I said. Especially when they surround a huge pink tourmaline. I bit my lip, stumped for how to explain my presence there.

  “What about you?” she asked, eyeing me with curiosity. “Shopping for Dolce?”

  I was sure Dolce wouldn’t want her to think this was where she got her merchandise.

  “Oh, no, I’m on my break. On my own. Just looking for a bargain.” I wouldn’t want her or anyone to think I was so desperate for funds I would pawn anything I owned.

  The bell over the door rang again, and a guy in a wool hat pulled over his ears came in and fixed his gaze on the clerk.

  “Show me what guns you got,” he said, one hand in his pocket. I froze. This was exactly what I thought went on in pawnshops. Robberies, intimidation, and weapons.

  “Now, Al,” the clerk said, leaving his customer to come out from behind the counter. “I told you, no guns. You haven’t got a permit.”

  “Don’t need one,” he said, then he took a gun out of his pocket. I looked anxiously at the door, sorry I’d ever come here. Barbie looked just as sorry as I was. The customer whirled around. “See this? It’s no good. He sold it to me, but it don’t work good. Gotta get a new one.” He waved his gun at the glass case. “One of those.”

  “Okay, Al,” the pawnbroker said calmly. How could he be so calm when confronted with a weapon? Maybe he was used to it. Maybe it happened every day. Maybe he knew the gun was no good and that’s why he wasn’t afraid.

  He reached into his pocket for a ring of keys, and then he unlocked the glass cabinet and told Al to pick out the gun he wanted.

  “What do you want it for?” the broker asked. Still sounding as calm as if they were discussing a Swarovski crystal bowl.

  “Protection,” Al said. “They’re coming to get me.”

  “You still need a permit.”

  “No, I don’t. I told you that. You sold me this one and it don’t work.” He waved the gun around again. I hoped he was right when he said it didn’t work. But it looked like it worked, and I was praying he wouldn’t test it in front of us.

  Whenever there’s a robbery in the movies, the clerk presses a button behind the counter, which is connected to the police station. Maybe the pawnbroker didn’t have one of those buttons. Or maybe this didn’t qualify. Maybe it was just a normal sale at a pawnshop. What did I know?

  A glance at Barbie’s white face told me she didn’t know either and she was as worried as I was. I started to back toward the door. Nothing was worth getting shot over, not even finding the famous necklace or a clue to Vienna’s murder.

  The man in the wool cap caught my eye. “Don’t be thinking of leaving,” he cautioned, pointing the gun at me.

  I managed a shaky smile. “Of course not,” I said. “I was just going to put another coin in the meter.” Surely that was a good excuse for walking out of a store. “Be right back.”

  “Don’t you go,” he said, more forcefully this time. I assured him I wouldn’t dream of it. What, and miss all the excitement?

  “So you give me the gun, Ray,” the man called Al said. “And that other one up there and no one gets hurt.”

  “Here you go,” Ray said, handing him two very nice, shiny-looking guns, one small, one larger. I had no idea if they were really nice or not. Maybe they were for collectors, or maybe they were for shooting up pawnshops.

  Al put one in each pocket and then t
urned toward the door. At that moment a police car pulled up in front of the shop, lights flashing. The cops who got out rushed the store. I dropped to the floor the way they do in the movies, hoping to hit the deck before actual gunshots rang out and the glass shattered. When I looked up a few moments later, I saw poor Barbie was sitting up, straightening her jacket. She appeared unharmed except for her hair, which was standing on end. Maybe mine was too, even with my braid.

  The cops were putting handcuffs on Al, who was complaining about police brutality.

  Before they left, the policemen took our names and addresses, and I just hoped they wouldn’t have to report back to Jack that I was a witness, but since I hadn’t seen anything much or done anything wrong, why should I worry?

  The pawnbroker acted like it was no big deal, having a customer hauled away. At least he got his guns back. He apologized to us and went back to waiting on the original customer, who appeared to be in a state of shock. Barbie left the shop, and I couldn’t wait another minute. This time I interrupted.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the clerk, trying to sound like I wasn’t upset to have witnessed a near robbery. “But do you have a necklace with a big pink stone and some diamonds?”

  “Had one,” he said.

  “What happened to it?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “I see. Can you tell me who brought it in?”

  “Same lady who bought it. That’s what a pawnshop is for, in case you didn’t know.”

  No, I didn’t know. Not exactly. What I wanted to know was who she was. Maybe I’d found out as much as I could. Maybe I had to involve Jack even though I didn’t want to. It turned out I got a call from him before I could do anything else.

  “Hear you witnessed a robbery,” he said. “How did that happen?”

  “Why don’t you ask the perpetrator?” I replied. “I was just an innocent bystander. But now that I’ve got your attention, I need some help in locating the necklace Vienna was wearing the night she was murdered. Which is why I’m in a pawnshop.”

  “Stay there, I’m sending someone to get you. I’ll need your statement.”

  I wanted to say, “What will you give me in return?” but I knew better; he’d just say, “Nothing.”

  A short time later I was back in his station. I called Dolce while riding in the patrol car. “I’ve had a little delay,” I told her.

  “What do you mean? Did you get the necklace?”

  “It wasn’t there, and the pawnbroker said the woman who pawned it returned to buy it back.”

  “But who was she?” she said. “Was it the murderer? Or just someone who fell in love with it?”

  “It belonged to her grandmother—that’s what Athena said.”

  “Then maybe she claimed it.”

  “Maybe,” I said dubiously, recalling Athena’s description of her grandmother and trying to envision the addled old woman leaving her retirement home and descending on the pawnshop to retrieve her necklace. I’d like to think the woman had gotten her necklace back, but how were we going to find out who killed Vienna if we didn’t find out who pawned her necklace? “But I don’t think so.”

  “Where are you? I’m going to close early. I’m too upset to continue.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I’m on my way downtown. And I’ll go home from there. See you tomorrow.” Why was Dolce upset with my story of the robbery? There was nothing she could do about it.

  “Come here on your way home. I’ll order some food for us. I want to hear all the details.”

  What could I say? She wanted to see me, and the offer of food was too good to turn down. I agreed to stop by on my way home. Good thing. I’d almost forgotten about the yearbooks, which I wanted to continue looking over tonight.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” I said to Jack when he waved me into his office. “What was I doing in a pawnshop? As far as I know, it’s not illegal. I could have been buying or selling something.”

  “I don’t care what you were doing, I’m interested in your description of what happened, and by the way, why do you think this kind of event—and I use the term loosely—seems to follow you wherever you go?” he asked, leaning against his desk while I sat in a chair facing him.

  “I have no idea. Okay, I’m in the shop waiting my turn. A guy comes in with something in his pocket, turns out it was a gun. His name is Al—at least that’s what Ray, the guy behind the counter, calls him. He knows him. I guess because he’s been in before, a regular customer, it seems. Ray doesn’t want to sell him a gun because he doesn’t have a permit or he doesn’t think he should have one, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Ray?”

  “Don’t worry, I am asking Ray,” Jack said.

  “Then why are you asking me to tell you what happened?” I couldn’t help being irritated. “I’m sorry, but I’m tired, upset, hungry, and I want to go home.”

  “Did you antagonize him? Threaten him in some way?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “You really think I would threaten a man with a gun or stand in his way? If I was in the way, I didn’t mean to be. He wanted a gun. God forbid I should stand in his way. Since when is the victim penalized for being in the middle of a robbery?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Just sign your statement and you’re free to go. I’ll have Winston drive you home.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I didn’t think he noticed. He was flipping pages on his desk and his phone was ringing. “Good luck,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out of his office.

  Dolce threw open the door when I reached the boutique. It was after five and she was alone.

  “What happened? Did you find the necklace? What took you so long?”

  “Pawnshops are dangerous places,” I said, sinking into the chaise longue in the great room. “I was caught in the middle of an armed robbery.”

  Dolce covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were huge. “Oh no.”

  “Oh, yes. But I’m fine. Nothing happened except I had to go give a statement at the police station.”

  “Stay there. You look awful. I just made a pot of tea. Maybe that will help.”

  I wasn’t sure tea had ever made anyone look better, but Dolce’s pot of strong Earl Grey did help me feel better, especially when she sent out for dinner from the Mandarin Express.

  She found a pair of Norwegian elkskin slippers for me, and when the food came, we pulled up an end table and ate crab Rangoon, spring rolls, bourbon chicken, Chinese string beans and rice, of course.

  After what I’d been through, I didn’t think I could eat much, but between the two of us we polished off every bite of the food.

  “The question is,” Dolce said, sipping her tea after she’d cleared the plates. “Who wanted that necklace?” She ticked off the names on her fingers. “Her father, her stepmother, her grandmother, her sister…Who am I forgetting?”

  Instead of answering, I asked another question. “Who brought the necklace in? That’s what I want to know. Because whoever did was probably her killer, don’t you think?”

  Dolce nodded.

  “Won’t Jack have the pawnshop owner come down to the station where he will be forced to violate his confidentiality rules and tell Jack who the seller was and who the buyer was, which, according to the pawnbroker, was the same person, and presto, the case is solved?” I asked Dolce.

  Again, she nodded, but she didn’t look reassured. “I’ll be glad when it’s over,” she said.

  I agreed. We both had very personal reasons for wanting it to be over. I didn’t want to be a suspect anymore. and Dolce didn’t want to be caught lying about the night of the murder. It must occasionally weigh on her mind, though as far as I knew, Jack hadn’t yet caught her.

  I picked up the yearbooks from the office, and I took a taxi home. I couldn’t possibly face the prospect of a bus tonight. Not after what I’d been through. Everyone I passed on the street looked like a possible gunman. I heard a car horn and I jumped. That’s how nervo
us I was. I locked and bolted my front door and changed into a pair of funky striped Egyptian cotton pajamas. Then I got into bed with the yearbooks, but I couldn’t concentrate. My head was full of the sights and sounds I’d experienced today, and every neuron in my brain was shot.

  When the phone rang, I practically fell out of bed. It was Jack.

  “You work long hours,” I said, “or is this a personal call?”

  “Did you tell that vampire to call me?” he asked.

  I choked on a laugh. “You are referring to Meera, I suppose. I suggested she might be able to help you, since she claims to have special powers, but if not, I am confident you’ll know how to discourage her. Maybe you were too nice, too genial at my house the other night when you met her. That’s the kind of social behavior that encourages others to confide in you.”

  “But not you,” he said.

  “What do you mean? I tell you everything and you tell me nothing, which means I have to figure things out on my own. I don’t mind. I enjoy a good murder mystery as much as the next person, maybe even more since I knew the victim and I am thinking I might know the killer too.”

  “Really.”

  “Don’t deny it. Everyone knows who the killer is likely to be. A friend or a relative. It’s hardly ever random. Am I right?”

  I knew better than to wait for an answer. He wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction. So I followed up with another question he wouldn’t answer.

  “How did it go with the pawnshop operator? I assume you now know who brought the necklace in. Maybe you’ve already brought him or her in. Maybe you’ve already pressed charges. So why are we having this conversation?” I asked.

  “We’re having it because I am asking you once more to stop interfering. How much clearer can I be? Don’t tell people to call me with their off-the-wall suggestions. Don’t go to pawnshops. Don’t interview suspects. You’re getting a name for yourself and that’s not good. Not when there’s a murderer out there.”

  “So you haven’t found him.” I tried not to sound gleeful, but I was. Jack had as good as admitted that he was at a dead end or that I was getting close and he wasn’t. Instead of discouraging me, he was having the opposite effect.