Chapter 42

 

An icy clear sky greeted Pen and Gracie when they landed in Zurich. The first class flight attendant had been a cordial young woman who told them a storm had passed through during the night, dropping temperatures to unseasonable lows. They’d already discussed the fact their wardrobes for the Caribbean would need to be augmented in Switzerland. Back in London, while waiting for the connecting flight, they’d each picked up a jacket and pair of warm pants—jeans for Gracie and wool for Pen.

Standing at the baggage carousel, Gracie heard her phone chime with an incoming text message.

“From Amber,” she said.

She held out the phone for Pen to see: Your hotel is Swisshotel Parade. Call me once you’ve checked in.

“Thank goodness for her,” Gracie said.

Pen nodded. They retrieved their bags, left the customs area and slipped their coats on before walking out to the sidewalk. A blustery wind told them the storm had not completely passed through. Pen stepped up to the first cab in the taxi line and gave the driver their hotel information.

As they entered District 1 in the heart of old Zurich, Gracie ogled the view.

“I can’t believe I’m here. Europe! My god, it’s just like all those historical romances I used to read—except for the cars. The buildings are so old. Oh, look at that church, how cute!”

Pen smiled. As they crossed the blue-green River Limmat, she remembered her first trip to Europe since her childhood, the sense of history and her own awe at everything. The ancient buildings were reminders of America’s youth as a country. They passed a couple of museums and soon she spotted the more modern aspects—shops under all the major designer names, upscale cafés and coffee houses. They would certainly have no problem finding anything they needed in this neighborhood of gray stone buildings and cobblestone streets.

“Scott would love this,” Gracie said. “Did I ever mention he’s a history buff?”

Her dark hair swung in an arc as she switched views from the right to the left side of the taxi. “Hard to imagine the only thing I ever used my passport for was a couple trips to the beaches in Mexico. I have to talk him into a trip here together sometime.”

The taxi slowed and Pen noticed a discreet gold-lettered sign showing they had arrived at the Swisshotel Parade. Heavy glass doors opened to a mid-sized lobby of gleaming marble floors, modern groupings of furniture and a dark wood registration desk. Abstract art decorated the walls and Gracie looked a bit disappointed, no doubt expecting something a bit more ancient-looking.

Their room reflected the same modern décor.

“Don’t worry,” said Pen, “once we’ve caught our breath we’ll surely find time to take in a cathedral or two. Maybe we can find a castle. There are loads of historic places nearby.”

She had her phone out and was adding the international dialing code for the U.S. to Amber’s number.

“How was your flight?” Amber asked over a connection as clear as if she were in the next room.

“It’s all going well,” Pen said. “We’re in our hotel. Nice choice, by the way, although Gracie was hoping for something old enough to have a few ghosts.”

“Only the décor is new. The building dates way back so maybe she’ll see some medieval knight roaming the halls.”

“Where do we go from here?” Pen asked. She put the phone on speaker so Gracie could get the information first hand.

“You’re gonna love me for this. Our Frank Morrell should be staying nearby. He gave his name as Richard Frank and his hotel as the Alpen Haus. I looked it up and it’s not far from where you are. It might only be a tram stop away … or maybe walking distance. I can’t tell exactly from my online map, but I can send you a picture of the building.”

Seriously? Pen and Gracie exchanged a glance.

“Where did you get this information?” Pen asked. “Or is it better if I don’t ask?”

Amber laughed. Her voice changed pitch slightly. “Hello, this is Sara Jones with American Airlines. A passenger from our flight 42 left a valuable item aboard his Cayman to London flight and we need to have it delivered to him …” In her normal voice she added, “He had to list a hotel on his disembarkation form for Immigration.”

“So, assuming he was truthful with them?”

“Yeah, could be a big assumption,” Amber agreed. “But it was a late night flight. Hopefully, he was too tired to think up a lie. He would have to know Zurich very well to have made up this place. It’s a small, boutique hotel near the Paradeplatz.”

“We shall check it out.”

“Be careful. That gem cutter, Anton van der Went? A little further background check on him shows an arrest in New York a few years ago. He beat up a guy who stiffed him on a fee, got sentenced to thirty days.”

“So, if possible, we want to get to Mr. Morrell or Mr. Frank before this diamond cutter shows up,” Gracie suggested.

If it’s not already too late, thought Pen.