Chapter 45

 

Gracie paced the hotel room, clearly antsy after their call to Amber. “How are we going to get the necklace back from this Frank Morrell or Richard Frank or whatever name he’s using, before he meets with the gem cutter?”

“My dear, that is the big question, isn’t it?” Pen had insisted upon having a moment to unpack.

“Okay, we know Morrell’s hotel. I think we should get over there and just stake out the place. We’ll surely catch him coming or going, right?”

“Better yet,” Pen said, straightening her spine, appearing taller all at once. “I shall walk in there and knock on his door. I’ll demand my necklace back.”

“Uh … are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, what better? Spotting him on the street might be difficult.”

“I worry about your safety if you do this alone. At the very least I should be with you.”

Pen considered. That much was true. “The hotel will surely have a security guard or burly bellman we can call upon to join us.”

Gracie obviously wasn’t keen on the plan, but the idea they might have the necklace in their possession within the hour was definitely appealing.

“Let’s do it.”

They grabbed their coats, stopping at their hotel’s concierge desk for directions, then headed toward Paradeplatz. Their friend’s hotel would be just two blocks farther, according to the very polite gentleman. Crisp air greeted them on the street and they started out at a brisk clip.

“I’m nervous about this,” Pen admitted as they walked along. “What if he’s already met with the gem dealer? My precious treasure could be gone forever.”

“Amber got the other man’s name, Pen. If she can track his movements we’ll have that to fall back on.” As long as he hasn’t already been here, taken the necklace and left the country again. She didn’t voice that thought to Pen.

The Alpen Haus proved to be a quaint little hotel, three stories on a semi-residential street with a pastry shop next door. The small lobby was filled with heavy furniture, a bit oversized for the space, and carved cuckoo clocks in a display on one wall. A young man in his twenties stood behind the desk; Pen swore she saw him tuck a smartphone out of sight as she glanced in his direction. She made a show of rummaging in her purse.

“Oh dear,” she muttered.

Gracie merely stood by while Pen approached the desk clerk.

“My nephew is staying here,” she said. “Nice looking American with dark hair. I’m afraid I’ve lost the note telling me his room number. His name is Richard Frank. Please look it up for me.”

There was probably some rule against giving out a guest’s number but Pen pretended she didn’t know of it, hoping the young clerk cared more for getting back to his messages from a girlfriend or someone. He checked the computer and wrote a number on a small slip of paper. Without a word, he pointed toward an elevator in a recessed niche to his left.

Pen and Gracie rode to the third floor, each wondering a little nervously what they would encounter.

“Three fourteen,” said Pen, leading the way.

At the door, she stood a little straighter. Gracie held off to one side. A gentle knock brought no response. A slightly firmer knock. No sign of motion, no flicker of light beyond. Pen felt the hope drain out of her. How simple it would have been if she could have talked to him, let him know she would stand no nonsense—she wanted her family heirloom back. Let him understand how important this was to her. Anyone with a shred of empathy would surely not keep it.

But this. No response whatsoever.

“He’s not here,” Gracie finally said. “Let’s go.”

“Do you suppose my necklace is in the room? Maybe we can get in somehow?” But in her heart she knew it was too much to hope. An item valued at more than a million dollars wasn’t something one left in a hotel room.

“Okay, there have to be other ways to tackle this,” Gracie said as they rode the elevator down. “We’ll get back in touch with Amber. Maybe she’s learned more about the gem dealer and we can do something with that.”

“Perhaps we can run a fake-out on them, a way to keep the two men apart so that other man doesn’t have the chance to get my gems. Sort of a divide-and-conquer maneuver, although I don’t know exactly how we would manage it.”

At the street, Gracie looked around for somewhere they might eat lunch. It was a little late, probably the reason they weren’t thinking very creatively. They turned toward the Paradeplatz, which seemed a likely place for food at any hour. They’d gone no more than a few yards when, suddenly, Pen stopped.

“It’s him!” She whispered urgently. “Richard Stone—I mean, whatever he’s called now.”

Stone/Morrell had walked right past them, preoccupied with a device in his hand. Pen saw him reach for the hotel’s front door, a moment before he looked up and spotted her.

“Hello, Mr. Stone. Or is it Morrell?”

His face registered shock, then recognition dawned. His thoughts were clear as a book—how had this woman found him?

The hand with the phone dropped into his pocket and a smile curved his mouth. Then he spun away from the women and ran.

“Quick! After him!” Gracie shouted, looping her purse strap across her body and taking off after the fleeing thief.

Pen gave chase but her flimsy shoes were no match for the cobbled street. In under two blocks she’d fallen far behind. She shouted encouragement to Gracie as Morrell dashed in front of an oncoming car, crossed the street and ducked into another arm of the labyrinth.