17.

Winslow Monroe’s shop was called The Pearl Diver, which at least was attention-getting. So was the stuff he had on display in his window—the usual rings and bracelets and necklaces, but also a golden sword with rubies and emeralds embedded in the handle, and a beautifully carved cuckoo clock that was perpetually open at three o’clock, showing an onyx bird with diamond eyes and a sapphire beak poised to squawk out the hour.

I walked in, pretended to browse while a young guy argued about the price of a ring, and watched while he stormed out of the place.

Winslow Monroe, a middle-aged man with a neat little mustache and goatee, looked at me and shrugged apologetically.

“I’m sorry for that gentleman’s behavior,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“You can start by not calling him a gentleman so I’ll know I can trust your judgment on other things,” I said.

He chuckled. “I stand corrected.”

“My name is Eli Paxton,” I began.

“Ah, yes!” he said. “My friend Phineas told me to expect you. Would you like some coffee? I have some brewing in the workshop.”

“I would love some coffee,” I assured him.

He put a “Closed—Back in 20 Minutes” sign on the front door, locked it, and led me through to what I would have called a cross between a back office and a storage room, but there was a table filled with a number of delicate instruments I’d never seen before.

“Have a seat, Mr. Paxton,” he said, indicating a stool.

“Thanks,” I replied, taking off my coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall, then sitting down next to a work table.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Whatever makes you happy,” I replied.

“I prefer mine black.”

“Then black’s fine by me,” I said. “What I care about is the caffeine.”

He smiled. “Yes, I imagine you must keep some rather strange hours in your profession.”

“And I imagine you must handle some interesting objects in yours,” I replied as he carried two cups to the bench, set one down in front of me, and sat down opposite me.

“Probably less than you would think or I had feared when I got into this profession and opened this store,” he replied. “Cincinnati is not exactly a haven for master criminals.”

“It’s got its share,” I replied, taking a sip of the coffee. “Which is what I’m here to talk about.”

He nodded. “Yes, Phineas faxed me the policy. He wanted to scan and e-mail it, but I’m not very comfortable around computers.”

“Welcome to the club,” I said.

“Anyway, based on the excellent description of the diamonds—size, weight, cut, color, coding—I am convinced that I saw one of the stones you’re looking for.”

“Mr. Kaiser said it was in a ring?”

He nodded. “A young woman—very pretty, looked to be in her midtwenties, brought it in and asked me what it was worth. I told her that in my professional opinion it would bring perhaps ninety thousand dollars at a legitimate auction, but that very few jewelers would give her anywhere near that much unless they had a customer waiting for just such an item, and I, alas, did not.”

“And that was it?” I asked. “She didn’t say who gave it to her, how she came by it?”

“May I be blunt, and perhaps a tad vulgar?” he replied.

“Yeah, I think I can stand it,” I said with a smile.

“Her clothes looked like they were from off the rack at Walmart, her shoes were much the same quality, and I couldn’t help but notice that she drove up in a car that was”—he paused, considering his next words carefully—“almost as old as yours.” He took a long sip of his coffee. “It is my considered opinion that women like that do not buy or inherit such jewelry.”

“I’m not inclined to argue with you,” I answered.

“Now, Phineas said there were ten stones. I have not seen the other nine.”

“At least now I know one’s still in the area,” I said. “That’s more than I knew yesterday.” Then came the money question. “Do you have her name and any contact information?”

He nodded. “She left it with me, in case a buyer materialized in the next few days, though I gather she planned to keep trying to sell it elsewhere.”

“She’s still got it,” I said with conviction.

“What makes you think so?”

“It hasn’t turned up with any of the bigger fences, and I would assume every jeweler who can afford it has your reluctance to buy it without a customer in the offering.”

“True,” he said, nodding his agreement. “And there’s one more thing as well.”

“Let me guess,” I said, finishing my coffee.

“Go ahead.”

“No legitimate jeweler’s going to shell out even half what it’s worth without proof of ownership, and if she got it the way we both think she got it, that’s one thing I’m pretty sure she can’t supply.”

He smiled. “Phineas said you were good at your job.”

I grimaced. “If I was good at my job, I’d know who stole the damned collar, and then I’d know who the killer was.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, startled.

“Just detective talk,” I said. “Pay no attention.”

“There was a murder?”

“There was a murder.”

“Let me guess,” he said. “Malcolm Pepperidge?”

I nodded. “Was he a customer?”

He shook his head. “No. I heard about his murder on the radio a few days ago.” He paused. “A fine, upstanding citizen from everything I’ve heard about him.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” I responded.

“And you’ve been hired to catch the killer?”

“No, that’s the cops’ job.”

“Then shouldn’t they be looking for the diamonds too?” he asked.

“They will eventually,” I said.

He frowned. “Why not now?”

“There’s some possibility that they weren’t stolen,” I answered.

“Then you think Pepperidge gave the ring to . . . ?” He let the sentence hang there.

“It’s a possibility,” I said.

And it was. In fact, every time I encountered her it was more and more difficult to believe a man with Palanto’s money and background didn’t have a girl on the side, maybe two or three.

“That’s a mighty big diamond to give to a girlfriend, but I suppose when you’re as wealthy as Malcolm Pepperidge . . .” He finished his coffee. “Did you know there was a rumor that he was considering bringing the Royals—or at least some NBA team—back to Cincinnati?”

“They’re before my time,” I said. “I’m not a native, though of course I’ve heard about them.”

“They were really something,” he said, his face lighting up. “I was just a kid, but I remember the Big O.”

“Oscar Robertson?” I asked.

He nodded. “They traded him, and two years later they were gone. The city never forgave them. I had real hopes for Mr. Pepperidge.”

I decided not to disillusion him. But if Palanto was sitting on eighty million dollars and they gave him the stadium for free, that money might buy a two-year contract with a LeBron James or Kobe Bryant, but he’d still have to find a way to pay the other eleven players and the coach. As rich as he was, he was no billionaire, and owning a pro sports franchise was a billionaire’s game.

I looked at my wristwatch. “You’ve been closed for fifteen minutes,” I said. “I don’t want to cost you any business, so if you’ll just give me the girl’s name and contact info, I’ll be on my way.”

“Right,” he agreed.

He got up and walked over to a small desk, fumbled through a pile of papers, pulled one out, copied it down on a fresh sheet, and handed it to me.

I took it from him and read it aloud: “Mitzi Cramer.” I looked up. “Mitzi? There hasn’t been a Mitzi since Mitzi Gaynor.”

“Who was she?” he asked.

“See what I mean?” I continued reading. “Hell, she lives a couple of miles west of me. Pepperidge could have gotten her for a much smaller diamond.”

“I wonder what she was doing in this area?” he mused.

“Looking for a better price.”

He considered my answer, then nodded his agreement. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Well,” I said, standing up, “I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

“Actually, I’ve enjoyed our conversation immensely,” he said, getting up and walking me to the door, where he took down the “Closed” sign. “I love my work. There’s nothing I’d rather do. But excitement doesn’t exactly go with the job.”

“Unless you’re robbed,” I said.

“Please!” he responded. “Don’t even joke about it!”

“I apologize.”

“Happily accepted,” he said. “If any more of the diamonds turn up, I’ll contact you. Phineas gave me your number.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, shaking his hand and heading out into the street.

I wondered if I had time to get across town and hunt up Mitzi Cramer before I had to meet Sorrentino for lunch. I decided since I didn’t plan to share anything I learned with him until we turned in the diamonds, I figured I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know. So I stopped by the apartment, took Marlowe for a walk, and waved to Mrs. Garabaldi, who looked like she was about to blow me a kiss but exercised remarkable self-restraint. Then I headed off to Bob Evans to lie to my partner.