Hearts in Vegas. Colleen Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ offered a name that couldn’t easily be spelled. She absently adjusted one of her earrings, drawing his gaze to it.

      “Exquisite,” he said approvingly. “Antique, yes?”

      “Georgian,” she said casually, dropping her hand. “My favorite style.”

      “Oh, yes,” he said, his face lighting up, “I just happen to have several Georgian pieces available.” With a flourish, he gestured toward the back of the room. “This way, madame.” He paused. “Or is it mademoiselle?”

      “Mademoiselle,” she murmured, letting her gaze lock with his for the briefest of moments, giving the illusion she just might be interested in him, too.

      Nothing was more powerful, or more real, in life than the illusions people put forth. She guessed people didn’t have the time, or inclination, to dig deeper, so they accepted whatever was presented on the surface.

      Maybe because she was a magician’s daughter, she understood that the best illusions were the result of weeks, often months, of practice, so she tried never to be overconfident in her own first impressions of others.

      Moments later, she sat on a cushioned bench, eyeing a sparkling earring set and the Lady Melbourne brooch in the glass display case. As far as she knew, only the brooch had been taken from the museum. Later, she’d describe the earrings to Charlie, see if they could dredge up information about whether those had been stolen, too.

      “What a lovely pin,” she said. “May I see it?”

      “Absolument.”

      As he retrieved the brooch from the case, she pretended to fix her hair while scanning the layout of the surveillance cameras. The closest one, in the ceiling almost directly overhead, captured a tight view of the two of them and this case. Another camera, positioned farther back in the ceiling to her left, recorded a long-range view of the back area of the store.

      Fortier gingerly laid the piece of jewelry on a black velvet tray.

      “Fourteen-karat yellow-gold pin stem,” he said. “The center diamond is two carats, and the petals are covered with...one hundred and twenty diamonds.”

      Actually, there were one hundred and fifty diamonds, which was probably why he hesitated. He either hadn’t done his homework or he’d forgotten whatever information the thief had provided.

      He also hadn’t mentioned that each stone had been mine-cut, one of the last hand-cut diamonds before the age of machinery took over. Although sometimes lumpy in shape, mine-cut diamonds reflected their natural shape, making each truly unique. A significant point to collectors.

      “May I see the backing of the brooch?” She slid off an earring. “I’d like to compare it to the backing on this....”

      As she handed him the earring, it dropped with a soft fomp onto the black velvet.

      “Oh, pardon!”

      He stood, his features pinched with worry. As he carefully lifted the earring, she leaned forward, angling her right shoulder toward the nearest camera. Her right hand slid into her left jacket pocket as the left plucked the Lady Melbourne brooch. The switch was complete within a few seconds.

      Enzo, still examining the earring, murmured, “I do not see any damage.”

      She had purposefully let it fall on the velvet tray so it would land safely. Nevertheless, she frowned with concern.

      “Thank goodness,” she murmured. “So clumsy of me.”

      “No, mademoiselle,” he said, returning it to her, “it is I who should have been more watchful. If you see a problem, you must bring it back and we shall repair it, at no cost, of course.”

      “Thank you.” She slipped it back onto her ear.

      “Even if you don’t find a problem,” he said, lowering his voice, “bring it back on your beautiful ear, and we shall take it out to a late lunch.”

      She smiled coyly. “How late?”

      The look in his eyes darkened. “As late as you’d like.”

      She glanced at the brooch, back at him. “Maybe we can take the brooch to this late lunch, too.”

      He laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t take my jewelry out to lunch or anywhere else.”

      “You think I’d steal it?”

      He stared at her for a moment. “No, of course not. But someone else might.”

      “I was joking about taking it out,” she said offhandedly, “but I am curious....” She inched her hand across the glass counter, her fingers almost touching his. “Where did you find this exquisite pin?”

      He glanced at her hand. “A collector.”

      “Did he give you those Georgian earrings, too?”

      “Yes.”

      So the “collector” was a man. Since the brooch had been stolen in Amsterdam, she asked, “A European collector, perhaps? Because I know a gentleman in Brussels who has an impressive Georgian collection.... Maybe we know the same person.”

      “No. Not Brussels.”

      One look at his wary expression and she knew he wouldn’t say more. Switching gears, she returned to a safer topic.

      “So, is the backing on my earring the same as—”

      Releasing a pent-up breath, Enzo picked up the flower brooch and turned it over. “This foil backing is similar to your earring, yes.”

      “How much for the pin?”

      “Thirty-seven thousand.”

      Ten years ago, it had been valued at fifty. Which made it easily worth seventy or more today. He also hadn’t referred to it as the Lady Melbourne brooch or mentioned its history. According to legend, it had been a gift from Queen Charlotte to Lady Melbourne, one of her ladies-in-waiting.

      He obviously wanted to sell it, fast. Maybe he had been promised a cut.

      “Let me think it over,” she said pleasantly.

      He gave her his card, and she left the store, smiling at the security guard on her way out.

      As she drove out of the lot, she lightly touched the Lady Melbourne brooch, safely tucked into her inside jacket pocket. The replica now lay in its place at Fortier’s, and unless his “collector” acquaintance checked it closely, no one would know about the switch. That was, until she, or maybe Charlie, returned to interview Enzo about his role in fencing the brooch. Depending on when, or if, she found the master thief, which could take days or weeks. Maybe months. Investigations always had their own timeline, based as much on the investigator’s skill as patience.

      Driving down the street, she saw the duplex ahead to her right. The young girl still sat on the porch steps, her eyes glued to the wedding chapel next door.

      Frances pulled over and parked. Opening her clutch, she СКАЧАТЬ