Rachel pushed past me into the foyer. “I need to talk with you, Josh. I thought about calling you today, but I thought we should have this discussion in person.” She paused to catch her breath, but continued before I could break in. “I think that we—”

I followed her gaze over my shoulder into the doorway of the living room, where Cyndi stood. Her ever-present smile had taken on a different sheen, and she licked her lips as she studied Rachel.

Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said to me, then spoke to my guest. “I’m Rachel. And you are?”

Cyndi introduced herself, but didn’t give any more information besides her name. I guess “Cyndi, the Very Friendly Neighborhood Banker Who Makes House Calls” would sound weird.

I had two drop-dead gorgeous women in my house, both expressing a definite interest in me. Why did I have the sour feeling this would end poorly? “Come on in. Visit for a while,” I said to Rachel, while I consciously avoided looking at Cyndi.

Rachel bounced from me to Cyndi, then back to me. “No. I’m interrupting. I’d better go,” she said, but she stood firmly in place.

Cyndi stayed silent, with one eyebrow arched. I guess it was up to me. “Um, well, why don’t …” I paused, fifty feet up without a net.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed at me, demanding some sort of face-saving comment. Stay a while, you’re not interrupting a thing. Or Please, don’t go, Cyndi was just leaving.

I graced her with more stammering. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cyndi. Beaming.

Rachel turned on her heels and bolted. I remained stuck in place, frozen with confusion, as the seconds ticked by. Cyndi said something from behind, but I wasn’t listening. I unglued my feet from the floor and dashed after Rachel.

I raced out the door and down the steps, just in time to see her car peel away from the curb and zip up the street.

When I got back inside, Cyndi had her coat on, briefcase in hand. “Well, Josh. I’m glad we got our business taken care of. If there’s anything else you need at Virginia Central Bank, please do not hesitate to ask.” She flashed me one more goodbye smile and left. I watched in futility as her boot heels click-clacked down the walkway to her car. She started it up and drove off in the opposite direction from Rachel.

When you’re hot, you’re hot.

And when you’re not, you’re Josh Handleman, stud to dud in sixty seconds.

___

The next morning, Yakov Sapperstein hunched over the kitchen table, examining the diamonds spread out on a black cloth before him. He’d knocked on the door at precisely ten a.m. toting two bags, a large brown leather case and a smaller one that looked like an old-time doctor’s bag. What did it say about society when doctors no longer made house calls but diamond merchants and bank managers did?

Yakov was a slight man, with thin dark hair and jug-handle ears. A bobby pin held a knitted blue yarmulke in place on his head. He set the diamond he was looking at in one of five piles he’d created, picked up a pencil, and jotted some numbers down on his pad.

For the past three hours, he’d been poring over the gems, making notes and sorting them into piles with the deftness of a concert pianist. He polished each one with a chamois and examined it under the microscope he’d brought. Most of the time he smiled, but sometimes he’d see something that set him frowning. There was a lot of head nodding.

“These are some fine-looking stones, Josh.” Yakov put the loupe down next to the microscope and smiled. “Your father amassed a nice collection.”

“Thanks.”

He unscrewed the top off a bottle of water and gulped some of it. Wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glanced at his watch. “Let’s take a break. I need to stretch.” He pushed his chair out and stepped away from the table. Then he extended both arms to his sides and began slowly rotating them in widening circles. “I get stiff sitting in one place. And the ride down on the train last night didn’t help.”

I got up too, careful to avoid his windmilling arms, leaning back against the wall as a safety precaution. “What more can you tell me about my father’s hobby?”

A short laugh burst forth from Yakov’s mouth. “Hardly a hobby, Josh. I like to think of it as an investment. A very wise investment.”

Up until now, Yakov had kept his salesman-shtick in check. Thankfully. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Do you know where he got them from?”

“Your father and I talked on a few occasions. He was a warm man with a very genuine sense of humor. But he was somewhat evasive when I asked him about his collection. I gathered that he purchased his stones from a variety of places over the years.” He shrugged. “I never sold him any.”

“Then why did he call you to appraise them?”

“Some people like to keep the ‘selling’ separate from the ‘appraising.’ They’re afraid of the process getting tainted. I do not blame them. It’s like asking a car salesman how much your trade-in is worth.” Yakov had stopped spinning his arms and was now working his neck back and forth. “You know, he did talk a lot about Israeli diamonds. So—if I had to guess—I’d say he got the majority of his gems from there.”

Figures. “Are Israeli diamonds any better than other diamonds?”

Yakov laughed. “No. Just more kosher.” He laughed again. I wondered how many times he’d dredged up that joke in the past.

“Do many people ‘collect’ diamonds like my father?”

Yakov braced himself with his arms against the wall and extended his right leg behind him. Stretched out his calf. “A lot of people collect precious gems, and I’d have to say that diamonds are indeed the most popular. But few collect so many, and very, very few are so secretive. Most have certificates and documentation.” He stopped stretching and stared, trying to read me. “In fact, I was led to believe that these had such documentation.”

I held my hands out. “They probably do. I just haven’t found it yet.”

Yakov searched my face some more. “In other circumstances, I might think these stones were hot.”

“Believe me, they’re not.” After Detective Morris’ identical comment, the thought had crossed my mind, but I’d dismissed it. I knew my father. Demanding, stubborn, unforgiving perhaps. But never a thief. He’d been the kind of guy to correct a grocery cashier for undercharging him a nickel on a tube of toothpaste.

“Well, most people have insurance on such valuable things. Did you try calling his insurance man?”

“Yeah. No luck.” I’d called the guy who handled the homeowners and auto insurance, and he knew nothing about any diamonds. And I’d been through my dad’s papers twice without success. “Do you think he might have gotten someone else to insure them? Someone who specializes in valuables like diamonds?”

Yakov smiled, patronizing. “I guess it’s possible. Who knows? Like I said before, diamonds make some people act a little … abnormal. The important thing is you got them back. Once I appraise them, you can go out and get your own insurance.” His face became stern. “Which I highly recommend, by the way.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” I pulled up a chair while Yakov did a few lunges. “How did my father get your name, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“My uncle’s friend recommended me. That’s how I get most of my business. Referrals. That’s why treating my clients right—best service, best deal, best quality stones—is so important to me.”

More salesman patter. Could he turn it off when he got home to his wife? “Who recommended you?”

Yakov straightened and picked his pad off the table. Flipped to the front and read the name. “Lady named Carol Wolfe. Know her?”

I swallowed. “Yes. I know her.” On the surface, it smelled fishy, but who else would my father get advice from about diamonds, if not his girlfriend?

Yakov said, “My uncle met her through a friend of a friend. I think I sold her son an engagement ring a couple years back. Nice guy as I recall.” He shook out his arms a final time and sat back in his chair. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

I put ideas of Carol’s gold digging behind me and smiled at him.

He smiled back at me. “I’m ready,” he said.

“Okay. Don’t let me stop you. Do what you need to.”

Yakov’s brow furrowed. “I’m finished with these diamonds.”

“Oh. Sure.” I was new to the diamond game. I guess it was up to me to ask the value. “How much is the collection worth?” My heart sped up.

“I do not know yet.”

“Oh.” I relaxed. “Right. You need to do some calculations. So, what? You’ll call me in a few days?”

“I think there must be a misunderstanding,” Yakov said. His puzzled face set off warning bells in my head.

“Oh?”

“Over the phone, your father described his collection in vague terms, as I’ve mentioned. But he did give me some indication of the size. And … Is this all?” Yakov held up his hands, palms up.

I nodded, afraid of what was coming next.

“I was led to believe he had more than two hundred and fifty diamonds to be appraised.” Yakov raised one eyebrow, hands still open. “Where are the rest of them?”