13.

“You did what?” demanded Sorrentino as we were sitting across a table from each other, waiting for our beef sandwiches in a Texas Roadhouse toward the center of town.

“I found out where they were staying and I paid them a little visit,” I repeated.

“Those guys are shooters, Eli! They could have killed you!”

I shook my head. “I walked in with my hands up, I didn’t have a gun, and shooting me eliminates the only guy who knows Cincinnati from looking for the diamonds.”

“Even so.”

“They were never going to shoot me last night.” I paused and then smiled. “Today, maybe . . .”

“What the hell did you do?”

I told him.

“And?” he said.

“I heard from Simmons this morning. They got a print off the glass. They should have a name to go with it by tomorrow at the latest. And once they do, he’s out of here. And poor old Sam Smith has probably already been given a ticket back to Bolivia.”

“Even if you’re right, which I doubt, that still leaves one . . . and one is all it takes.”

“Fine,” I said. “Bolivia has a shooter, I’ve got one.”

He frowned. “I won’t risk my life for you, Eli.”

“I won’t risk mine for you either, if push comes to shove,” I told him. “But will you risk it for ten million in diamonds?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t cash ’em in where I’m headed.”

“Maybe you won’t wind up there,” I said. “Save a detective’s life and even the scorecard.”

Suddenly he grinned. “You make that deal with a lot of enforcers, do you? No wonder you’re still alive.”

The waitress arrived with our sandwiches.

“Thanks, honey,” said Sorrentino. “Can you get me some mustard, please?”

“What kind?” she asked.

“The yellow stuff.”

She nodded, walked to another table, picked up a jar, and brought it back to him.

“Thanks,” said Sorrentino. Then: “Anyone ever tell you you have beautiful eyes?”

“Not since breakfast,” she said in bored tones, heading off to the kitchen.

“I got to work on my timing,” he said with a smile.

“And your line, and your manner, and—”

“It works in Chicago,” he said defensively.

“They know who you are and who you work for in Chicago,” I pointed out.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Now where were we?”

“We were about to figure out our next move,” I said. “I think I’ve gotten our friends from Bolivia off our backs, at least for a while, but we still have to find the diamonds.”

“Your fences still haven’t heard a thing?”

I shook my head. “When you think about it, it’s not exactly surprising. If you stole ten diamonds worth a million apiece, would you try to dump them less than a week later?”

“Not in the same town, that’s for sure,” he said.

“Well, there’s your work for the next week,” I said. “Check with every fence who’s big enough to handle them in every city where your family has connections.”

“We’ve been checking on it. We’ll keep on checking.” He paused. “What about you?”

“Diamonds that valuable, it stands to reason Palanto had them insured,” I said. “If I can get a look at the policy, maybe there’s something in the description that can help us, or at least alert the fences we’re in touch with.”

“You think Velma’ll give it to you?” he said dubiously.

“Who knows?” I said. “It’s worth a try.” Suddenly I smiled. “She sure as hell won’t give it to you.”

“That’s for goddamned sure,” he said, smiling back.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s finish our sandwiches and get to work.”

“When do we meet next?” he asked.

“Tomorrow for lunch. What do you have a taste for?”

“I know it ain’t fancy, but I’ve kinda developed a taste for this Cincinnati chili,” he said. “It’s strange, because it isn’t really chili at all.”

“It’s the best junk food ever made. If they’d just called it something else, it’d be in every town in America.”

“And it’s just here?”

“Here, and a couple of Florida towns where a bunch of Cincinnatians retired to.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve probably driven past thirty Skyline and Gold Star chili joints. Which one do we meet at?”

“Where are you staying?”

“A Holiday Inn a couple of miles north of here.”

He gave me the address.

“There’s a Skyline about half a mile up the road from you. Noon?”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

We finished, he grabbed the check again (not that I reached for it), and then we were on our way, him to keep checking on major out-of-state fences, me to the Grandin Road area.

I almost didn’t recognize the Pepperidge Tudor, because for the first time there weren’t any cop cars in the driveway. I pulled into the drive, parked, walked up to the door, and rang the buzzer. There was no answer, so I waited a minute and rang again.

Finally the door opened. I half-expected a butler or a maid, but it was Velma herself, wearing a bright-red satin pantsuit.

“You!” she hissed.

“Hi, Velma,” I said, stepping inside before she could slam the door in my face. “I hope Fluffy’s doing well?”

“You don’t care about the fucking cat any more than I do.”

“Just being polite,” I said. “Nice set of widow’s weeds.”

“We buried the bastard yesterday. How long do you think I have to wear that shit?”

“Do you talk like this to your bridge club, Velma?”

“Just say what you have to say and get the hell out of my house,” said Velma. “And it’s Mrs. Pepperidge to you.”

“All right,” I said. “I’m here because we’re both after the same thing—the cat’s collar.”

She stared at me coldly. “It’s just a collar. It has a great sentimental value to me.”

“It’s got great value to just about anyone,” I said. “That’s what we have to talk about.”

She glared at me. “What do you think makes it worth anything to anyone but me?”

“A bunch of twenty-carat diamonds,” I said. “How does that stack up against sentimental value?”

She stared at me for another moment, then sighed deeply.

“All right,” she said. “Come on in. But wipe your feet first.”

I wiped my feet on the rug that was just inside the door.

“This way,” she said, leading me to a huge living room, where every piece of furniture and artwork looked like it cost more than a replacement to the Ford would run. “Sit down,” she said.

I was about to sit on a beautifully carved chair.

“Not there!” she snapped. “On the couch.”

I sat on the couch, sank in a few inches, and waited for her to sit down on a chair that was the littermate to the one I’d been forbidden to touch.

“All right, Piston,” she said. “What have you got to say?”

“The first thing I’ve got to say is that it’s Paxton,” I replied. “Eli Paxton.”

“Get to the point!” she snapped. “I’m a grieving widow.”

“The point is that we both want those diamonds recovered,” I said. “And with all due respect, I’m probably in a better position to find them than you are.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“There are three parties looking for them,” I said. “One party consists of three killers from Bolivia. The second is an enforcer from your late husband’s Chicago employers. I’m the third.” I smiled at her. “Who would you rather trust?”

“None of you,” she said.

“So you’re going to find them yourself?”

“I might.”

“You’re the number-one murder suspect, Velma,” I said. “You start looking too hard and they’re going to conclude that’s why you killed him.”

“It wasn’t me,” she half-snapped and half-bellowed. “I loved the bastard!”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“And even if I didn’t, he was a source of money. I don’t know where he kept it, except for the collar, but whenever I wanted some he gave it to me. Why would I kill him?”

“I don’t care if you killed him,” I said. “I’m not the police. Try to remember that. I’m just a private eye, trying to focus that eye on some missing diamonds.”

“If you think I’ll ever let you keep them . . .” she began harshly.

I shook my head. “This isn’t a game of finders keepers, Velma,” I said. “If I keep them, you or the insurance company will charge me with theft, and I won’t be able to talk my way out of it.”

“With that kind of money you’ll hire the kind of lawyers Jim hired and get off scot-free.”

“Even Jim’s lawyer couldn’t prove I had a right to the diamonds,” I said. “I just want to find them before the other parties do, and turn them in for a reward.”

“Fine,” she said. “Go. I’m sick of the sight of you.”

“I thought you’d like to make my job easier,” I said.

“Fuck you.”

“Or at least faster,” I continued as Fluffy walked into the room and began rubbing herself against my left leg.

“Oh?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“I know they’re valuable diamonds,” I began. “But they aren’t the only ones in the world, or even in the Grandin Road area. There’s a lot of money within a mile or a mile and a half of here, and probably a lot of diamonds as well.”

“So?”

“So if I find them, I need to know if they’re the ones that were on the collar,” I continued.

She frowned. “How do you do that?”

“Did he buy them after you’d left the mob and moved to Cincinnati?”

“Yes.”

“Then they weren’t hot,” I said. “And if he bought them legitimately, he probably insured them.”

“So?”

“So every valuable diamond has an identifying mark, something you need a jeweler’s loupe to see. The insurance will describe the marks, so if I come across what looks like the right batch I can make sure of it.”

“So you want . . . ?”

“The policy or a copy of it.”

“I don’t know if he had one.”

“Makes sense that he would,” I said. “Money was his business.”

“But the cat never went out. Well, until . . .”

“But she could have darted out,” I said. “Or some maid or handyman or anyone else who could spot that the diamonds were real could have taken it off her and left with it. You don’t just let ten million dollars go riding around on a cat’s neck without some protection—and the most logical protection is an insurance policy.”

“Like I said, I don’t know if he insured it.”

“Has he got an office, a desk, something?” I said. “I can check.”

“Bullshit!” she snapped, getting to her feet. “You stay right where you are. I’ll check.”

She got up, walked to the staircase, and began climbing up to the second floor, while I spent the next ten minutes petting Fluffy, which I had a feeling was the only thing in the house I was allowed to touch.

She began purring like a buzz saw and didn’t climb onto the couch and try to push me off the softest part, which put her one up on Marlowe.

Finally Velma came back down the stairs with a manila envelope in her hand.

“You found it,” I said.

“Of course I found it.”

I got up, walked over, and reached for it.

“Not so fast!” she snapped.

I looked at her curiously but didn’t speak.

“You can make a copy of it. I want the original returned.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“If it’s not back in ninety minutes, I’m calling the police and telling them that you stole it.”

“Have you always been a trusting soul, Velma, or has it just come with . . . ah . . . maturity?”

“Get the fuck out of my sight!” she yelled.

I walked to the door, and Fluffy decided she’d had enough of Velma too. I stooped down, gently pushed her back into the house, and closed the door before she could follow me out.

I got in the car, drove to an office supply shop a couple of miles away, just past Hyde Park Square, made a copy of the policy, and was back at Velma’s place twenty minutes later. I rang the bell, and same as last time I waited a minute and then rang it again. Clearly she’d either fired the help or given them the week off to celebrate Big Jim Palanto’s unfortunate demise.

The door cracked open.

“Don’t come in,” she said. “Just hand me the policy.”

I passed the envelope over to her.

“I’ll be in touch,” I said.

“Not until you get the fucking diamonds,” she said and slammed the door shut.

I decided, driving home, that I envied Big Jim. Not the money, not the lifestyle, but the fact that he’d never have to see his Velma again.