Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (27 page)

“Just curious. I wanted to know more about it, give it a story, ” Lia said.

The trio conferred over their ginger-ales as Dave went about his business.

“Alfonso said he'd never seen the necklace before,” Bailey said.

“But he said it was worthless,” Lia reminded her.

“He still might know where it came from,” Bailey said.

“He tried to buy it. Maybe he said it wasn't worth anything so I'd think fifty dollars was a good deal,” Lia said.

“Could Alfonso Vasari be our man?” Terry asked.

“If he is, he has help. The guys who attacked me were younger.”

“How do you know they were younger?” Bailey asked.

“The way they talked, like a couple of young idiots.”

“Were they familiar to you at all?” Bailey asked.

“Geezelpete! How was I supposed to tell with a pillowcase on my head?”

Terry looked at his watch. “It's five-thirty now. I imagine Vasari closes at six. I don't know if we'd make it.”

“We need to think about this. The sensible thing to do is tell Peter our theory and let him pass it on to Brent. They're the professionals,” Lia said.

“Peter and Brent have guns, too,” Bailey said.

“Bah,” Terry said. “Faint heart never won lady fair.”

Bailey looked at Lia. “You want to win lady fair? She's not exactly my type.”

Lia rolled her eyes.

“Of course,” Bailey said, “we could snoop around the back of the store after everyone's gone.”

“What good would that do?” Terry asked.

“Aren't the cops always going through garbage?”

“What would we be looking for?” Terry asked.

“I don't know . . . Lia, didn't you throw out that towel you used to wash up after you maced everyone last night?”

“Well, duh. It reeked.” Lia wrinkled her nose at the memory.

“Maybe your attacker did, too. When is garbage collection in Clifton?” Bailey asked.

“That would be Thursday. But even if it was Alfonso, he wouldn't have washed up at the shop, would he?” Terry said.

“You think he wants to go home to his wife smelling like pepper spray?” Bailey said.

“Good point. But I still think it makes more sense that he would wash up at home. So, are we going to skulk around sniffing trash?” Terry said.

“Well?” Bailey asked. “Are we? Or are we going to hand this brilliant idea over to Peter and Brent?”

“Depends. We've got to figure out where Alfonso lives, and when his garbage goes out,” Terry said.

Bailey looked up, noted that Dave was at the other end of the bar, then whispered. “We should check Dave's garbage, too.”

“Why would we do that? He said he never saw the necklace on Desiree,” Terry said.

“What else
would
he say if he was behind it? And why would Alfonso admit to knowing about it if he wanted to get it from Lia?” Bailey said.

“Excellent question,” Terry said. “Perhaps our friend behind the bar was not so smitten with the lovely Desiree as he claimed. Perhaps he set up the memorial service to give him a chance to take the necklace.”

“He did offer to help you search through her papers,” Bailey said to Lia.

“True.”
Because he needed to plant the designated agent form.

“Cheezit! Here he comes!” Bailey whispered.

“How are you folks doing down here?” Dave asked, eyeing their empty glasses. “Can I interest you in some nachos?”

“We were just leaving,” Lia said. “But thank you.”

“Sorry I couldn't be more help,” Dave said.

L
ia waited
until everyone was in Terry's truck. “Are you both nuts?” she exploded. “Crazy people are waving guns around and you want to go digging through their garbage?”

“While taking appropriate precautions, of course,” Terry said, affronted.

“Right. More guns,” Lia snarked. “I've been shot. Have either of you ever been shot? No? Well, it doesn't feel very good. I'm going to share what we think with Peter and Brent and let them take care of it. You two can do what you want, but leave me out of it.”

“Well, er . . ,” Terry mumbled.

“How about this?” Bailey offered. “Terry and I will put on our rattiest clothes and take my truck. We'll pretend we're trash-pickers. Dave might recognize us if we're not careful, but Terry's never met Vasari, and he only saw me one time. He won't recognize me if I tuck my hair up.”

“And what are you going to do if you find anything?” Lia asked. “Once you take it, how will you prove where it came from? DNA's not as easy to get as everyone thinks.”

“What if we just sniff the bags, and if we think we have something, we back off and call Peter. Would that work?”

“
Y
our necklace
? You think they were after your necklace?” Peter asked.

He and Brent were sitting in Lia's living room. Peter was off duty and wasn't even supposed to be in on this conversation. He had a beer. Brent eyed it enviously. Lia said she wouldn't tell, but Brent refused to drink on duty. Brent shrugged and took another bite of the vegetable and brown rice casserole Alma sent over so Lia wouldn't have to think about cooking. Viola sat alert at Brent's feet, waiting for something to fall off his fork. Brent cringed, knowing that Viola's hair was, at that very moment, gluing itself to his slacks.

“It's the only thing that makes any sense.” She showed them the calendar and took them through the sequence of events.

“But why?” Peter asked. “Amethyst was a big deal a hundred years ago, but now it's common, and even antique pieces aren't worth much.” When Lia and Brent looked at him, he shrugged. “I'm getting an education from these old robberies. Want to know what a Pre-Revolution spittoon goes for?”

“What does the necklace look like?” Brent asked.

“I never saw it,” Peter said. “She always wears stuff like that under her shirt, except on special occasions.” He looked pointedly at Lia.

Lia bit her lip, thinking. “It was an oval . . . about two inches long, set in a whitish gold prong setting . . . not white and not yellow. Pale blonde. The stone was faceted, but the cut was unusual. It was flat on the bottom, like a cabochon. The face of the stone wasn't flat. It rose to a shallow peak, and had facets. It was sort of the the reverse of the usual cut, except the point on the face of the stone is barely noticeable.”

Lia was on her second portion of Alma's casserole by the time Peter found a website with diagrams of lesser known gem cuts on his laptop.

“That one,” Lia said, pointing. “The rose cut.” She leaned in close to Peter to read the page, ignoring the frisson this gave her.

“It says it was first used in the Middle Ages, and it's only used now to repair antique jewelry. That means my necklace could be a thousand years old, from the crusades. Wouldn't that be amazing? That would make it valuable, wouldn't it?”

Peter frowned. “Somewhere in that pile of cold cases, they mention a rose cut something or other, but I don't think it was an amethyst.”

“Do you think there might be a connection?” Lia asked.

“I don't know, but it's all I can come up with right now,” Peter said.

“What's the next step?” Lia asked.

“The next step is, you go back to working on your murals and try to forget about this for now,” Peter said. I'll review my case files and see if there's a connection.”

“I'm heading up to The Comet to talk to Mr. Cunningham,” Brent said.

“Why would you want to do that? He already said he knew nothing about it.” Lia asked.

“Sugar, not being a professional interrogator, you might not notice obvious signs of duplicity. I just want to make sure Mr. Cunningham is on the up and up.”

“I'm coming with you,” Peter said.

“As long as you remember I'm in charge,” Brent said as they walked out the door.

“Men,” Lia said to Honey, “First they can't get enough of you. Then they're off, chasing after some dusty old rock.”

“
L
ike I told Lia earlier
, I don't know anything about the necklace. She's the one who told me it belonged to Desiree.” Dave shrugged and went back to polishing a beer glass. The set of his shoulders told Peter that the bar owner was unhappy about the necklace. He wondered why.

“Is there anyone else you can think of who is likely to know where she got it?” Brent asked. Peter stood beside Brent, observing the interview.

“Desiree wasn't the sort to get close to another woman, and I doubt she would tell a date where she got her jewelry.” Dave said.

“Why is that, do you suppose?” Brent asked.

“She wouldn't advertise that she bought her own jewelry. At the same time, she wouldn't say some other guy had given it to her. She'd want the guy she was with to feel like he had all of her attention, even if he knew it wasn't true. Her habit was to be mysterious.”

“So the jewelry becomes the elephant in the bedroom, so to speak?” Brent asked.

“Something like that.”

“You think a man gave it to her?” Peter asked.

“Unless she found it in a thrift store or on eBay. Desiree made a hobby of finding vintage dish-ware and funky clothes. That necklace looked like it was outside her budget, so I don't think that's likely. If someone in her family had given it to her, she'd have shown it off.”

“She seeing anyone in particular, lately?” Peter asked.

Dave grunted. “She saw lots of people. I didn't keep track.”

“If you could come up with some names, that would be very helpful,” Brent said.

“You can ask the other detectives, they have a list.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Peter said, “you encouraged Lia to keep the necklace instead of putting it in the auction. Any reason why?”

Dave shrugged again. “Why not? Lia saved Julia. She did a lot of work, rescuing Desiree's things and making it possible for me to give Desiree a send off. Besides, have you seen her? Lia's hot.”

Brent stepped hard on Peter's foot. “I see your point,” he said to Dave.

Peter gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“I'd say the lady's love life was a sore spot with her former boss,” Brent said as they sat in Brent's Audi A4, comparing notes.

Peter grunted, too familiar with the feeling.

“Do you get the sense our investigation is coming uncomfortably close to Heckle and Jeckle's turf?” Brent asked.

“Screw them. They've had weeks to pursue this. They latched onto the simplest solution and stuck with it, then shuffled the file to the bottom of the pile when it didn't pan out. You have a perfectly legitimate reason for looking into Desiree.”

“Could get noisy later on,” Brent warned.

“So we'll share. We'll just wait a bit before we do.”