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We climbed into the car. Before driving away, I glanced at Tansy’s house but if she were watching us, I couldn’t tell. It was more likely that she’d returned to her baking, thoughtful about the investigation but not filled with worry. She didn’t appear to think she was under any suspicion and hadn’t acted defensively, both of which I felt were good signs.

“What do you think?” asked Dad. “I liked her. She was pleasant and open.”

“Is that your professional detective opinion?”

“Sure is.”

“Then I second it. I don’t think Tansy had anything to do with the theft and she did raise an interesting point. Why that ring out of all the other rings in there?” I waited for a car to pass us, then pulled out after it.

“And why didn’t Laura mention she bought other items?” asked Dad. “If they were from the same seller, she should have said something.”

“Perhaps they’re not and she didn’t think it was relevant. All the same, we should find out.”

“I like the ‘we’. It’s nice to feel part of a team again.”

“I thought you were enjoying retired life.” I glanced at Dad before returning my attention to the road. I never got the impression he was anything but happy with life, which was exactly how he appeared now.

“I am, and I do, but there’s a certain thrill of the chase that golf doesn’t elicit, unless you count that time your mother and I went to Florida and I whacked the ball into a lake before an alligator climbed out.”

I gaped at him. “Why have you never told me that story before?”

“We didn’t want you kids to worry.”

I hardly dared ask but I did. “What did Mom do?”

“She got on top of the golf cart and refused to get down.”

“That seems sensible.” I didn’t add, for Mom . It was more likely Mom would have given the alligator a piece of her mind until it regurgitated the golf ball and apologized. That she’d decided to steer clear of the reptile was nothing short of a miracle. Which just goes to show miracles do happen when you least expect them to.

“I drove us out of there with her on the roof. It was like that eighties werewolf film, with Michael J. Fox surfing on the van roof, except when I said that, she took offense at the comparison so I should probably be grateful I’m still married.”

“Dad,” was all I could say.

“I know,” he chuckled. “I’m actually lucky I’m alive.” He reached for his phone, pulling up the information we’d been sent about the cleaner. “We need to go to Bartholomew Drive. I’m not sure if that’s the home or the business.”

“That’s a nice street. It’s just around the corner from where I used to live.”

“Bonneville? Where you had that pretty bungalow?”

“That’s exactly the one.”

“How’s the tenant?”

“Great! I keep expecting her to give notice any day that she’s moving out to get married but so far, no. If she does, the neighbor has someone who’s interested in renting it though.”

“That’s good news. You’ve made a lot of smart decisions in your life. I’m really proud of you, Lexi.”

Warmth filled me. “Thanks, Dad!”

“When you were a teenager, we feared you might end up in a juvenile facility so it’s nice to be proven wrong.”

I frowned. “You’re welcome?”

“This profile says Monika Balint has worked for the Reynoldses for almost ten years and she’s a trusted employee. I can’t see someone working around jewelry like theirs for ten years and only now deciding to steal something,” said Dad, moving on obliviously.

“Perhaps she ran into financial trouble and figured one ring wouldn’t hurt. Or that she was owed it.”

“That’s some financial trouble.”

“She might not have known exactly how much it was worth. The sales tags are tiny. Plus, its value isn’t in the price tag, it’s in how much someone can sell it for.”

Dad spared me a glance. “That’s wisdom,” he said. “You must get it from me. She probably knows all about the Reynolds’ security. I imagine cleaning involves polishing fingerprints off the glass and the locks. I wonder if she could figure out keypad combinations?”

“I’d guess that they’ve probably gotten used to her presence over the years and been lax on occasions with their pin codes. I doubt they’ll admit that but I’d put money on it. Not that it matters since the ring’s case is unlocked with a key, not a number code.”

“Tansy does have her own pin code and she’s a trusted employee too. She can easily make copies of keys. On paper, the possibility of her being the thief seems higher than their cleaner.”

“Except neither of us think it’s her,” I reminded him. “She wasn’t anywhere near the case when it was open and she’s not showing any obvious signs of new wealth. She doesn’t seem on edge or scared of being found out either.”

“Back to the cleaner,” said Dad. “Take a left down here. It’s quicker.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I investigated a double homicide down here once and found a great shortcut through.”

“I’m so pleased you found a benefit.”

“Always have to look on the bright side,” said Dad. “Or I’d never have coped with that kind of work. We didn’t have therapy back then. We just turned to drink.”

“Did you turn to drink?” I asked, worried now.

“No. I turned to your mother.”

I smiled. “I’m glad she was there for you.”

“She always is. Her to-do list always kept me too busy to go entirely mad. Take this right, go to the end, and that’s Bartholomew Drive.” Dad pointed the way, which was useful in case I’d forgotten how to follow his simple instructions.

“What number?” I asked as we turned onto Bartholomew Drive.

“1339. I think it’s the next block. Keep going. Mind that cat,” he yelled as a black cat hurtled from between two parked cars and ran across the street.

I slowed down with a hundred yards to spare. “I wasn’t going to run it over!”

“Glad to hear it. There it is, just over there. Pull over here. No, not here. Here.” Dad jabbed his finger towards a red sedan parked on the side.

“Dad!” I squeaked in exasperation.

“What?”

I pulled around the sedan and parked. The house to our left had iron numbers over the door so I rolled the car forward until we reached the right house. Number 1339 was a broad ranch style with a long veranda just wide enough for a swing chair, and a gabled roof. A curved stone path meandered through the lawn. A small hatchback and a new SUV were parked on the driveway in front of a double garage.

“How much do cleaners earn?” I asked.

“Must be profitable,” said Dad, peering at the house. “Or maybe her husband earns more.”

“I don’t think she’s married.”

“Boyfriend then,” said Dad.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s find out.”

As we reached the door, it opened and a small woman with short, black hair stepped out, carrying a Dior purse in one hand and a bucket full of cleaning products in the other. She stopped when she saw us approach and asked, “Are you lost?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, producing my license and introducing us, adding, “Monika Balint? We’ve been hired by Laura and Alan Reynolds.”

“That’s me. What for?” she snipped, her accent evident.

“There’s been a theft,” I said.

“And they think I did it! Ugh!” she squeaked, her face instantly turning to annoyance.

“No, not at all,” I said quickly. “We’re just talking to all the employees to find out if anyone saw anything. They told us you weren’t scheduled to work today.”

“That’s right. I clean for them two times a week.”

“This is a lovely house,” said Dad, looking over it admiringly.

“Thank you,” she said, clearly suspicious. “It’s mine. I don’t clean it. I pay someone else to do that. Why would I want to clean all day, then clean my house too? What was stolen? Why didn’t they call the police?” Her questions came quickly.

“A small piece of jewelry and…”

“All jewelry pieces are small,” she snorted. “What was it?”

“A vintage sapphire and diamond ring.”

“Oh. Yes, there are some nice, old things in that tray. Not my style, but different.” She held up her wrist where a delicate silver chain was wrapped. A thick silver ring embedded with a piece of jet was on her middle finger, modern and stylish. “Why haven’t the police been called?”

“The Reynoldses wanted to handle the theft discreetly.”

“Pfft”, Monika snorted. “They should call the real police, not the pretend police.” She waggled her forefinger at us.

“I used to be a detective with the Montgomery Police Department,” said Dad.

“Used to be,” repeated Monika. “What’s a PI? A mall cop without a mall.” She snorted again.

“Anyway,” I said, before my dad began to bristle, “the Reynoldses would appreciate it if you could answer our questions.”

“Why didn’t they ask me?” she asked. “Why they ask you to ask me?”

“They’re very busy reviewing their security procedures.”

“Oh.” Monika set down the bucket and crossed her arms. “What do you want to know?”

“Have you seen anyone hanging around the shop or taking extra interest in the jewelry?” I asked.

“No, but I only go in before or after the shop closes. Alan or Jonathan lets me in usually. I clean for one or two hours. Shop, bathroom, kitchenette. Vacuum floors, clean surfaces, take out trash, make it nice. I leave. That it!”

“So you don’t spend any time with the customers?”

“No. I’m not a shop lady. I clean. I leave. I never in shop alone. Alan or Jonathan always there, maybe Tansy.” She glanced at her bucket. “What else you want to know?”

“Do you work for many other clients?” I asked.

Monika laughed. “I see now! You look at my house, my car, my purse and you think ‘how she get money for this? She just cleaner!’ That what you think, yes?”

“Not ex…”

“I own cleaning business,” she said, pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. “I work hard. I learn English and Spanish! I take on more jobs. I take on staff. I clean for two old client: Reynolds’ and another shop to keep me humblepie! But I have my staff for other jobs. I have assistant. I have accountant. I have good revenue! I buy nice house, nice car and keep little car for cleaning job because no client like to see cleaner in fancier car than theirs. That enough?” Her jaw wobbled and I wondered how many times she had explained herself, and how many times she’d fought off stereotypes to succeed.

“I don’t mean to imply anything else. I’m really impressed,” I said, feeling terrible for the miscommunication. “You must have worked incredibly hard to build such a successful business.”

Monika softened, her shoulders relaxing a little. “Yes, I have. So you see, I don’t need to steal. I have everything I want.”

“It really is impressive,” said Dad. “I wish I could learn languages too.”

“Just try,” she said. “Not easy, but try works. No try, no works.”

Dad nodded and glanced to me.

“There’s just one more thing. Have you ever noticed the employees taking out the jewelry from the cases?” I asked.

“Yes, always at end of day. They put in safe.”

“But never to try anything on? Or to look at anything?”

“No, not that I see. They take cases from window and from cabinet and put in safe. No playing with sparkly things. Jonathan very nice. Tansy very nice. Alan and Laura very nice. Someone steal something, it is not them. Nice people. Like me,” she added, pointing to herself with a decisive nod.

We thanked her and headed back to the car. As I buckled my seatbelt, I watched Monika cross to the hatchback, open the trunk, and put her bucket inside. Then she shut it and walked over to the SUV, climbed into the driver’s seat and dropped her purse on the passenger seat.

“She’s impressive,” said Dad. “She saw an opportunity and worked her way up. Three languages, at least! And look what she’s made for herself. Great house, great neighborhood, her own business.”

“Do you feel bad about thinking she had a husband bankrolling her now?”

“I feel sexist. I think the kids call it unconscious bias. I have things to relearn.”

“This is new, Dad. I like it.”

“Thanks. I read that in a book at Serena’s house. She said I could take it with me but I forgot so I don’t know what the rest of it says but I’m sure she’ll tell me.”

I nodded. Serena would probably buy him his own copy and highlight all the passages she found relevant, then spring a pop quiz on him later when he was most likely to have forgotten just so she could lecture him.

Monika’s SUV pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street, away from us. “We should get going too,” I said. “I don’t think she did it. She doesn’t seem to have anything to gain financially and she wasn’t in the shop when it looks like the ring was stolen.”

“I agree. Can you drop me back at Reynolds’? Alan said to meet him there and go over the schedules before I go undercover. I haven’t been undercover in years,” said Dad, his excitement hanging in the air, which probably just went to show exactly how long it had been. Undercover work wasn’t usually any more exciting than sitting in a car for hours on end, conducting surveillance, and wishing for a restroom break.

“Are you excited?”

“Sort of. The idea of it is always more exciting than the actual job. I pretty much stopped when we started having you kids. I didn’t want to be away from you all.”

“Awww.”

“I was scared of the chaos that would greet me on my return. It was better to stay put and get eased into the chaos day-by-day until it became my normalized existence.”

“Dad.”

Dad glanced at me. “What?”

“Never mind,” I sighed and turned on the engine.

I dropped Dad outside Reynolds’ and headed for the agency. As soon as I parked in the underground lot, my phone rang.

“Hi, Maddox,” I said, surprised to hear from him again so soon.

“Sorry for disappearing last time. Work’s so busy. You know how it is. I’ve been thinking about your case,” he started, his voice too smooth to be casual, “and I’d love to know more. It sounds super interesting. Do you need any help? I’ve got time.”

I pulled a face at the phone, both confused and suspicious. This was so unlike Maddox that I immediately sniffed a rat. “Aren’t you on your way to Germany?” I asked.

“Oh, sure. Soon. Can’t wait. So where did you find these prosthetics?” he asked, suspiciously jovial and like he was asking for nothing more interesting than the weather report. Definitely shady.

“In a trash can,” I replied as unhelpfully as I could.

“Uh huh. And that would be where ?”

I could imagine him waiting, a pen poised above his notepad. “Near a parking lot,” I said, purposefully vague.

“What did she steal? Big ticket item, was it?”

“Just a vintage ring,” I said. “I told you that already.”

“Right, right. And were there any inquiries about it before the theft?”

I paused, choosing my next words carefully. I had a puzzle piece that didn’t fit and the connection seemed to be on the other end of my line. Regardless of what information Maddox was trying to ascertain, perhaps I could fact-find too. “Funnily enough, the only inquiry came from a German hotel phone,” I said. “And you’re the only person I know with a recent connection to Germany.”

A pause then, “Where in Germany?”

“Berlin. Hotel Ingrid.”

“Huh. Fascinating. What a great case. Did you track down the caller?”

“Not yet. Lucas is working on it.”

“Terrific. Great. Yeah, sorry can’t help you there. So a vintage ring? Where did it come from?”

“France. I’m working on that too, but it looks like my client did their due diligence before the purchase.”

“France? Well, isn’t that interesting? And it was just the one ring?” Maddox continued.

“Why are you being so nosy?” I asked, narrowing my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “Why the twenty questions?”

“Professional curiosity from one law-abiding professional to another,” he said, far too upbeat.

“That’s not what you usually call me.”

Maddox ignored that. “I thought you might appreciate some help? Do you have any names you want me to run? Any photos? Possibly a vehicle?”

“Why are you so keen to help me?”

“I thought you’d appreciate the resources at my disposal that I am literally offering to you on a plate. On. A. Plate, Lexi.”

“I have to go,” I said. If he wasn’t going to tell me, I wasn’t playing the game. “Have a nice time overseas! Auf Wiedersehen! ” I disconnected before he had a chance to ask anything else or find out that I only knew three words in German, two of which I’d just used. I couldn’t quite work out his interest. Was he actively trying to be helpful? Or was he trying to ferret information out of me? Either way, I felt bamboozled.

I jogged up to the office, glad I’d chosen my rainbow-striped sneakers for all this running around, and relieved to flop down at my desk. Solomon was on the phone in his office, Delgado was long gone, and someone had brought in a free-standing fan, sending a deliciously cool breeze across the room.

I opened my laptop and made a start on my searches. The dupe ring was easy: it was widely sold through a women’s accessories chain store. In other words, a dead end. Laura Reynolds had forwarded the link for the real ring’s page and I clicked on it, skimming through the photos. It really was a lovely ring; beautifully designed and still highly wearable. Laura had included the contact information for the seller, adding that Madame Michel spoke perfect English and that she hadn’t been informed of the theft. Laura also inserted a note that she would prefer it if our investigations were as discreet as could be as she was unsure whether it might affect future deals if word of the theft got out. I was pretty sure few sellers would care once they got their payment, but I appreciated her concern for business matters.

I shot her a message asking if she’d brought any other items from the same seller and almost immediately a reply appeared: no, she’d only purchased the ring.

Next, I checked online for the time in France and now, convinced I wouldn’t be waking anyone in the middle of the night, I placed the call.

“ Bonjour! ” chirped a female voice.

“ Bonjour… er, je cherche … Do you speak English? I’m looking for Madame Daphne Michel.”

“Yes, I do. I am Madame Michel. What is the call concerning please?”

I introduced myself, adding, “I’m an associate with Reynolds’ Fine Jewelry and I’m calling to ask some questions regarding a ring you sold to Laura Reynolds.”

“Oh? I ‘ave sold several pieces zis year. I’m not sure I recall which ring I sold to Madame Reynolds.”

“It’s a sapphire and diamond cluster on a gold band.”

“Ah, oui,” she said, drawing out the little word in her charming accent. “I remember. It was a family heirloom but I did not like it so much. Best to sell it and let someone else enjoy it, non ? Much prettier on a finger than collecting dust in a box.”

“I agree.”

“I do not ‘ave any more pieces like it, if zat is why you are calling. It is a… let me find the words… a one zing. No! A one-off! Yes, zat is it!”

“We have a potential purchaser who is interested in a more complete history,” I lied. “She would like to know if the jeweler who made the ring is known, or if there is a sales receipt?”

“Ah, non , I am sorry to say there is not. I gave everything I ‘ad to Madame Reynolds. Just pictures. My father bought the ring for my mother during ze war, you understand? Many papers were lost during zis time. I am thankful to ‘ave the photographs. My mother was very fashionable. A great example of the era, despite ze ‘ard times in Paris.”

“Did your father ever mention who he bought it from?”

“ Non , but he ‘ad magnificent taste. He liked to buy Maman many items on his travels.”

“His travels? Did he buy it in France or elsewhere?”

There was a long pause, then her voice came a little cooler. “I don’t know. He was a businessman. He went ‘ere, he went zere. I was a bebe . I would not know zese zings! I am afraid I cannot ‘elp you anymore.”

“Our client loves that your mother was so fashionable,” I said, seizing on something I thought Madame Michel would be interested in talking about as soon as it seemed like she wanted to end the call. “Is there any possibility she wore it anywhere where there might have been celebrities? Our client loves glamorous histories.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Zey entertained many people. Minor royalty, the popular people… what do you call zem, ah! I remember. Socialites! Even film stars but I could only find two photos with Maman wearing ze ring and I gave zem to Madame Reynolds. I can give you some names, per’aps? But I don’t know if an American would know zese people.”

“That would be wonderful. What was your mother’s name?”

“ Maman ? ‘Er name was Cosette Durand. Maybe if you find old magazines, Vogue France or Paris Match maybe, although zat magazine was much later, you will see ‘er photographed. She was very pretty. Everyone said so. A society beauty and intelligent too. She spoke English and German as well as French. Per’aps zat is enough for your client? ‘E or she likes the chic connection to the French aussi ?”

“Very much,” I lied. “Was there a lot of interest in the sale?”

“Of ze ring? I zink zere would be if I sent it to auction at Sotherby’s or Christie’s but it is a…. ‘Ow do you say? A bother? Madame Reynolds ‘as a good reputation and she is discreet. She offered me a good price. I could not say non .”

I made a note, another question occurring to me. “So no one else knew about the sale?” I asked. “The ring wasn’t advertised anywhere?”

“Just my friend who suggested Madame Reynolds. She needed a new roof for ‘er chateau a few years ago and Madame Reynolds’ purchase enabled it wizout gossip.”

“I see,” I said.

“I am sure you do not! We are not poor! We ‘ave too much and do not need zese trinkets. I must go. I am dressing for lunch and I do not like to keep my ‘usband waiting.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you for your—”

“ Au revoir !” She cut me off and hung up.

Wincing at the abruptness, I scribbled my notes in the file, disappointed with the lack of information, although I thought I’d gleaned something. Madame Michel wasn’t as well off as I imagined she might have presented herself to Laura Reynolds. Like her chateau-owning friend, she seemed to want to keep up appearances, and selling jewelry quietly to an overseas buyer was a way of guaranteeing discretion.

I plugged Cosette Durand into a search engine and found several women of the same name but all too recent to be Madame Michel’s mother. It took several more pages of scrolling to stumble upon an article that seemed to present the correct woman and a dapper older man. She wore a beautiful formal dress with cap sleeves, a gathered bodice, and frothy skirt. One hand in front of her skirt displayed a ring, her other hand on the arm of the man flashed an engagement ring. I looked closer. Was that the ring I searched for now? They stood with two other stunningly dressed young women on a beautifully curved staircase, smiling and looking like they were having a wonderful time. It was written in French beyond my comprehension but I had the page translate, reading aloud, “Mademoiselle Cosette Durand at a winter ball with her fiancé, Jean Dupuis, and friends, Mademoiselle Sidonie Martin and Frau Ilse Bauer, 1942.”

“Holy crap,” I said, sitting back, the backdrop of the staircase now grabbing my attention as a cold shiver ran down my spine. There was only one explanation for the images on the flags. Cosette Durand was at a Nazi ball!