Chapter 4

 

Pen carried the velveteen bag she’d removed from her bank box, experiencing an otherworldly feeling as she stepped through the open door Sandy Werner held for her.

“Are you sure you’re all right to drive?” the banker asked.

The older woman blinked, shaking off the feeling. “Yes, fine, thanks. The glass of water did help.”

“Good.” Werner met Pen’s gaze with her own steady blue eyes. “And I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I really do hope your friend says I’m wrong about the necklace.”

Penelope nodded, unable to think of a good response. Surely, Sandy Werner had to be wrong. Certainly. After all, she was a banker, not a jewelry expert. Penelope zipped the velveteen pouch inside her leather handbag and walked to her car. She could think of only one place to go—to the jeweler with whom she had worked for two decades, the certified gemologist who had appraised her collection for insurance purposes, the man who’d made several of Pen’s favorite pieces. His shop sat on North Street in the heart of Scottsdale’s most exclusive shopping district. She took it as a positive sign when she was able to get a parking spot a short walk from the front door.

Regis Potts came from the back room immediately when Penelope identified herself to the young woman at the counter. His perfectly capped teeth and neat, receding gray hair went well with the thousand-dollar business suit and five-carat diamond pinky ring, the dazzler all of his clients wanted to emulate in their own collections.

“Pen, how lovely to see you again!” Regis was nothing if not a consummate host.

He started to ask how he might help her, but it took a fraction of a second for him to notice how distraught she was.

“Come, come. Let’s sit in my office and visit a moment.” He raised his eyes to his clerk. “Juliane, a pot of tea please.”

The young woman nodded and scurried away while Regis steered Penelope gently toward the room where they’d transacted most of their business. Furnished more like a living room than a business office, the lighting nonetheless was aimed toward the antique coffee table and designed to give gold, silver and gemstones the best possible effect to please the customer and ensure a tidy sale.

Regis indicated the grouping of sofa and two comfortable armchairs, and Penelope chose one of the striped brocade chairs.

“Pen, we’ve known each other a very long time. I would ask if you’re doing well, but at a glance I can tell something has greatly upset you.”

She reached into her purse and brought out the cloth bag, starting to undo the drawstring top, when Juliane arrived with a fully laden tea tray. Pen dropped the jewelry bag into her lap until Regis had taken the tray, centered it in the middle of the table and indicated he would pour. Both waited until Juliane had closed the door behind her. Wisely, Regis continued to hold back and let Penelope make the next move.

She thrust the bag into his hands. “Please tell me what this is.”

“What do you think it is?” he said after lifting the exquisite necklace and holding it up in the light. The diamonds and emeralds sparkled with such intensity Pen felt somewhat reassured. Sandy Werner had been wrong. But he was holding it overly long.

“You’re familiar with my collection,” she said nervously. “You know these pieces intimately and have appraised them for insurance companies who are extremely particular about such things.”

Something in his face closed ever so slightly.

“Are you …?”

“Oh, Regis, I’m not doubting you at all. I’m doubting the necklace. Please tell me it’s mine, that it’s real.”

In a flash, he pulled a loupe from his jacket pocket and concentrated upon the individual stones. Each place he focused his attention caused his head to shake a bit more firmly.

“It’s not. I’m so sorry but this isn’t the same piece I’ve seen before. I can tell you that without even consulting my measurements and diagrams. The stones are decent copies but they are of the variety created in the laboratory. Cubic zirconia, lab emeralds. The platinum may be real but, if so, it’s a very thin veneer of plating over something far more base. More likely, it’s not even that.”

“Someone said it’s the workmanship that gives it away.”

He nodded. Did she detect moisture in his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s not even close to your grandfather’s work. To put it crudely, if his work competed in the World Series, this is high school softball.” He dropped the necklace with a thump on the black velvet display board he always kept on hand. “My dear, how did this happen?”