Chapter 70

 

About forty acres of jewelry filled the massive exhibit hall—or so it seemed to Sandy. Despite the restrictive black frame around her view, she had to admit she was in awe of the show. Glamorous women in the latest fashions browsed, and the men with them insisted they try on anything their little hearts desired. Hard to imagine there was this much wealth in one city at one time.

Watching the crowd also made Sandy glad for the cover of the chador. Actual, wealthy Arab women would be dressed to the nines under their black, but at least Sandy and the rest of the team didn’t have to keep up that pretense.

Pen edged closer and spoke quietly. “Remember to browse thoroughly but don’t spend too much time or we’ll never get through the whole place.”

All four women had spent time studying photographs of Pen’s missing necklace, memorizing details—not that there would be many pieces in the world to compare with it.

“We can’t split up too greatly or it will look suspicious. We only have the one male escort,” she told her team.

They devised a sort of system where the four would approach one of the glittering glass cases, keeping to the section featuring emeralds. No point in spending time over sapphires or rubies or mere diamonds, Pen reminded them. The search became easier as they automatically weeded out rings and bracelets, focusing only on necklaces.

Pen took a bit more time, scanning any piece with a single stone to rival any of hers. Although she knew the necklace had been intact three days ago in Zurich, there was always the chance Frank Morrell had moved it quickly and the stones were now dispersed.

With each seller, Marcel the actor put on his best accent and inquired whether the vendor carried other things that were not on display, especially any antique pieces?

Twice, they were shown tiaras purported to have belonged to European royalty but nothing compared to the necklace they sought. They had covered no more than a third of the offerings when Pen caught Sandy’s attention.

“This outfit is making me claustrophobic, I’m afraid. I must get some air.” Pen walked toward a sign indicating the women’s toilets.

Inside a stall, she latched the door and removed the cumbersome black fabric from her head. The cooler air on her face felt good but a restroom wasn’t the best place to breathe deeply of fresh air. Removing the garment entirely, she folded it to resemble a cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

An exit door at the end of the short corridor seemed unattended. It would surely lock behind her and not allow her back inside but if she didn’t get away from the hot lights and stifling crowd for at least a few minutes, she felt she would scream. Not for the first time, she yearned for the wide-open spaces of her home in Arizona, wished this entire adventure was behind her.

She pushed the door open, praying no alarm would sound, and stepped out into the cool evening air. The scent of flowers overlaid the sea air which was always noticeable in this city. She breathed deeply of it and let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness, pathways lit only by small lights and decorative strands on the trees. Almost at once a figure appeared, a man striding toward her.

Oh, dear, she thought. Am I in trouble already?

But as the man came closer she recognized him. Detective Caplin.

“Still looking for the missing property, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” he said. His voice was not unkind and she accepted the question for what it was.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Trying to cover all the bases, I suppose you would say.”

“Me too. I’ve been tracking Morrell all day. He’s made contact with those thieves and spent some time with them. Frankly, I think he’s probably already sold the necklace. The only discrepancy in that theory is that I trailed him here. He tried walking up to the front door but was turned away. In the half-second I looked away he disappeared. I’m not sure what he’s up to.”

The detective cleared his throat softly, his eyes scanning the area constantly. “You’re better off to stay in disguise, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Go back inside and when it’s time, leave with your escort. I’ll contact you when I have anything new to report.”

“Are you certain? You will tell me where my necklace is, not hand over this Morrell character to the police?”

“I’ll contact you,” he repeated. He vanished into a shadow.

Pen felt the weight of discouragement once again. Caplin thought Morrell had sold the necklace already. She turned toward the door where she’d left the building but it had no outside handle. She would have to reenter through the front. She slid the black cloak over her clothes and walked back, showing the gold-toned identification bracelet she’d been issued when they arrived the first time.