by Tim Myers
As Alex walked in, he heard Reston saying, “This is all my fault. I never should have taken the Carolina Rhapsody out of the vault. It’s cursed.”
One of the guards said, “Cliff knew the risks of the job. I’m disappointed in him, though,” he added as he looked down on the body.
“Why is that?” Alex couldn’t help himself from asking.
“The blade went into his chest. He let his guard down with the wrong person. It was obviously someone he knew.”
Alex agreed with the logic of it. “Are you an off-duty cop or something? You don’t look familiar.”
The big man shrugged. “My name’s Skip Foreman. I was a deputy sheriff in Mecklenburg County before I retired up here for the peace and quiet.”
The other guard said, “Skip, come take a look at this.”
“Excuse me,” the big man said as he joined his partner.
Reston was standing by, staring at the stone with a grim expression on his face.
Alex patted him on the shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
“That’s not it. Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Alex asked.
Instead of answering, Reston stepped over the rope and plucked the stone off its pedestal. Reston examined the gem a moment, then said, “Somebody stole the Carolina Rhapsody.”
“It’s right there in your hand,” Alex said.
“This is a fake,” Reston said, his voice shaking. “The real emerald is gone.”