Chapter 31

 

Ron and I arrived at the office at nearly the same moment. I found myself following his vehicle into the driveway and tracking his moves as we pulled into our respective parking spots. Sally’s minivan was already there and I caught the whiff of coffee as we approached the back door.

“Did you hear anything more from either of the Lorrentos last night?” I asked my brother.

He shook his head. “Thank goodness—no.”

“I spent the night on the internet,” I said. “The ring hasn’t shown up on any of the big auction sites.”

He stepped back and let me precede him into the kitchen. “Damn. I hoped he would try to turn it quickly. Otherwise, he’s likely to hold onto it for a long time. He’ll have to assume Bobby would report this to the police.”

“Why hasn’t he?” I set my purse on the table long enough to rinse my favorite mug and fill it from the carafe.

Ron shrugged. “He still might. If we get a call from the major crimes division today it’ll tell us what Bobby was doing last night.”

“So … maybe we should step back and let them take over?”

“Bobby left my house shouting ‘This is on you. Find my ring.’ I’m taking him seriously.”

“Okay, then what’s our next move?”

“I’ll go talk to the pawnshop guy where Marcie originally sold the rings. Livingston seems to have a finger on the pulse of the business. I mean, he knew right away when this ring came on the market.”

“Yeah, because he was sleeping with Marcie and she told him.”

“True. But this local guy is probably familiar with his competitors, maybe knows of a place in El Paso where Livingston might try to move the ring. He’s also heavily into the trade show circuit and watches auctions for certain items. I’m grasping for whatever leads we can get at this point.”

I felt the weight of the task as I walked upstairs and settled at my desk. In the forty-plus hours since I’d seen Livingston he could have done any number of things. With a buyer standing by, all he needed to do was stick the ring into a box and send it by registered mail anywhere in the country.

On the other hand, maybe Livingston was an avid collector and wanted nothing more than to keep the ring for himself. I thought of his upscale home and his casual demeanor with large amounts of cash. If I met with him again, face to face, maybe I could convince him to undo yesterday’s sale. If he cared a scrap for Marcie, he might do it if he thought she was in danger.

Across the hall, Ron was on the phone and the gist of the conversation was what he and I had just talked about. While he worked the local pawnshop angle, maybe I could follow my own instincts. I palmed the ring box and shut Freckles into her crate so she wouldn’t panic at my leaving her behind. At the front desk I showed Sally the ring box and told her I was taking it with me.

My cell phone began to chirp while I sat in the drive-up lane at McDonald’s. Drake. He went through his flight plan and said he would call again when he landed at the customer’s job site. I made a note of his ETA and told myself it was better I didn’t share my current plan. He needed to focus on his flight. I could handle this other business.

A frisson of worry coursed through me as I stopped to gas up. This was risky, heading on a probably foolish errand without telling anyone where I was going. But Drake had enough on his mind and Ron would stay happy doggedly tracking any leads the local pawn guy might give. This recent mess was my fault and I needed to be doing something.

The road felt very familiar as I hit I-25 southbound, holding my McMuffin one-handed and leaving Albuquerque traffic behind. Before I’d reached Socorro, Drake phoned again to close his flight plan and let me know he’d arrived safely at Bandelier.

“Your voice sounds shaky,” he said. “Or there’s a lot of noise in the background.”

“I’m in the car.” I told myself he didn’t need to know more than that. Not yet anyway.

He told me he estimated his job to take six hours or so, and he would call again before he left the site. Standard protocol. Nothing to worry about. I was a little south of Socorro when my phone rang again. The readout said it was Ron and I could only imagine the chewing-out I was about to get. I increased my speed and let the call go to voicemail.

For the next two hours, I rehearsed my approach to Livingston. “Hi, Jay, remember me? Well, there was a slight mistake with the ring you sold me yesterday and I’m going to need the real one.”

Geez, that sounded lame.

How about the emotional approach? “Jay, Marcie is devastated about this ring business.”

Uh … no.

Okay, I could always threaten. “Jay, this is big-time fraud and you know it. The money or the real ring, or else I take this to the authorities.”

And exactly how did I think I would back up such a statement? He would laugh in my face and lock the door and, of course, I’d not planned very well or brought a weapon or any way to enforce my tough statement. By the time I reached the outskirts of El Paso my stomach was in a knot.

The directions to Livingston’s house were still on my phone and I retraced my previous movements, pulling to a stop in front of the grand house. I took a deep breath and walked to the front door, pressing the doorbell button firmly, as if decisive action would grant me a measure of courage I certainly wasn’t feeling. A minute went by and I pushed the button again, twice. No response, and I noticed there was no car in the driveway today. Well, rats.

I glanced at the houses across the street and took in the scene a little more fully. Funny, I hadn’t noticed a For Sale sign in Livingston’s front yard last time I was here. In fact, I was virtually certain it had not been there. Had he made a quick decision to sell?

I went back to the Jeep. I could sit out here awhile and see if he came home. Meanwhile, maybe there was a way to get his cell phone number without calling my brother. I dialed the number for the agent listed on the real estate sign.

“I’m at 4910 Desert Vista Drive,” I said. “I was here two days ago and—”

“Oh, yes. You must have come for the open house.”

“Uh, no … I’m just trying to reach the owner and hoped you would have a number for him.”

“Normally, there’s no contact between buyer and seller. It’s why they have an agent, so we can handle all the negotiations.”

“Oh, sorry. You’ve misunderstood. I’m not interested in buying the house. I just need to reach Mr. Livingston on another matter entirely.”

“Livingston?”

“The homeowner.” How dense could this lady be?

“You’re at my listing on Desert Vista? I’m sorry but the owner’s name is Cruikshank. I don’t think there’s anyone named Livingston associated …”

I looked again at my directions, then at the house, to be sure the address was right, took a breath. “I was here the day before yesterday. Jay Livingston answered the door and invited me inside. We sat in the living room, talked and conducted a little business. That’s what I need to talk to him about today.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

My thoughts swam. I began to think I had no idea what I was talking about. I forced myself to get on track while I had her on the phone.

“Sorry. Tell me more about the open house. Were you the agent on site?”

“Yes, from ten to four.”

“And you never left?”

“Oh. I did take a short lunch break. One of my colleagues was supposed to take my place during the noon hour but she had a family emergency and couldn’t make it. Her husband stopped by to tell me. He offered to watch the place and hand out cards while I ran out to pick up food. Really, I wasn’t gone very long.”

Just long enough. I thanked her and hung up, sitting in my vehicle with a zillion thoughts running through my head.

The only scenario that made any sense was that, somehow, Jay Livingston had staked out a house for sale and given that address. I had to wonder why, but there must be a reason and the reason surely had to do with keeping himself out of our reach. Unless he’d known in advance about the upcoming open house, he must have planned to break in somehow. The logistics of timing and coordination boggled my mind, but the fact was he’d done it. I marveled at how smooth he’d been, how perfectly at ease in convincing me this was his house. I was beginning to see more con man than collector in the man.

I’d passed a Denny’s restaurant near one of the freeway exits and decided a decent meal would help my flagging energy and give me the time to plan my next steps. I took a table near the windows and ordered a chef’s salad. My phone chimed with a little reminder I’d set a few days ago. Ignoring that, I remembered Ron’s earlier call while I was on the road so I checked my voice mail instead. The chewing-out was fairly predictable. What was I doing, taking off on my own and where did I think I was taking the diamond ring? Yada, yada …

I laid the phone on the table when my salad arrived and resolved to forget about Ron, at least until I’d eaten. I’d been right about the food—eating did perk up my energy. It also became clear I wasn’t going to have much luck stumbling around the city on my own looking for Livingston. The man could be anywhere in the world. I paid my bill and went out to the Jeep.

Might as well call Ron back now. He may have become more furious with the passing hours, but I figured facing the music with some miles between us was better than in the office tomorrow morning. I dialed his number and leaned back in my seat to await my fate.