Page 20

My stomach roiled with nausea as I pulled up in the agency’s parking lot. Lily had offered to accompany me when I confessed falling for Cass Temple’s double-cross, but the idea of injecting my best friend into this mess didn’t feel like the smartest one I could come up with, even if I were married to the boss.

No, I had to admit I’d been outsmarted.

Perhaps it was vaguely comforting that I’d been outmaneuvered by a professional thief who remained steps ahead of everyone on her tail. I hadn’t even felt her fingers in my pocket, nor the ring when she deftly slipped it out. Cass had been fast and confident in her suspiciously friendly hug, ensuring I wouldn’t realize a thing until she was long gone.

She’d probably planned to pickpocket me the moment she saw me slide the ring into the pouch before I put it inside my pocket, readily going along with my brilliant plan until her escape was assured.

She didn’t trust me and I’d been a fool to trust her.

Not only had I helped her slip away from the FBI unnoticed, I’d allowed her to steal from me. Then, after showing her the door myself, I’d blocked Maddox and Farid from finding her as she made her escape.

Even worse, Maddox already suspected I’d aided her and would eventually most likely find out the whole extent. I was cooked.

As I jogged up the stairs to the PI’s office, hoping a hole might open up and swallow me, I thought about Cass and her quest for justice. The paperwork she’d suggested we take seemed to back up her story but what if it were just another clever ruse like her decoy rooms, designed to distract and waste our time while she made her next move?

As for the locker information to transfer the ring to her clients? It wasn’t in the packet; something we should have known before we’d even left the motel room.

If I hadn’t been so pleased with myself for finding the ring, and coming up with a plan to satisfy everyone, I might have taken a moment to check.

I’d been totally bamboozled.

Even worse, I was impressed by Cass’s quick thinking under pressure.

No wonder Maddox was furious.

Now I had some serious legwork to do to make up for being conned so easily. And then I needed to think about why that had happened. Was I off my game?

Before I approached Solomon, I stopped by my desk and pulled out my laptop. A few searches later, I had confirmation that the people in Cass’s report were legitimate and that she hadn’t created a wild ruse in case her motel room was searched.

The Abrams and Mendelson family had been on record talking about their experiences of tracing their ancestors’ lives and property with several missing items from artwork to jewelry mentioned. But that didn’t mean Cass Temple actually knew them, nor did it mean they’d commissioned her to recover the ring. Without a direct connection between commission and payment, her role couldn’t be proven.

Of course, I could go digging for evidence. I could narrow down exactly who the Abrams and Mendelsons were. Then I could scour the family’s bank accounts and their finances for loans, secret accountants, or suspicious transactions that could connect them to our thief. I could even comb their social media for calls for help, but I didn’t want to…

For once, I didn’t want the glaring, finger-pointing evidence.

But I did want the ring.

With it in my possession, and the story verified, I could broker a legal deal between the two parties, leaving no one looking over their shoulder, in exactly the way I’d suggested to Cass back in that dimly lit motel room, right before she plucked the ring from my pocket.

All I had was the packet and once again, I tipped it out, spreading the contents across my desk, searching for information that would further assist me in tracking down the family. A photo in an article, a few years old now, from an antiques magazine gave me pause. Ellie Abrams posed on the steps of her house, a house I’d walked past many times. It was only a few streets away from where I lived. The caption read: Ellie Abrams continues her search for her grandparents’ property .

I sat back, the photo in my hands. What were the odds on Cass’s clients and the ring both finding their way to our east coast town?

Perhaps it was a case of serendipity that the two had ended up in the same small city, and employing Cass to retrieve it neatly closed the circle that had opened when the ring was first stolen.

“You seem worried,” said Solomon. I looked up, surprised to see him standing at my desk, looking down at me. I’d been so engrossed in reading that I hadn’t noticed him leaving his office. “What happened to your face?”

“Minor incident,” I said, touching my cheek.

“Do I need to kill someone?”

I contemplated that. “Not yet.”

“Huh.” He paused, his face unreadable. “What’s going on?

“I screwed up,” I said, placing the magazine article on top of the evidence.

He studied me for a moment. “What did you screw up?” he asked. “Yesterday there were clues… the bruise on your face, and a Lily’s Bar t-shirt, but you were sleeping soundly. What happened today?” He paused, probably questioning his life choices when he hired me, then said, “Start with the first question.”

“The case. I found the thief. I had the ring.”

A smile lit up his face. “That’s great! When do you plan to tell the Reynoldses?”

I winced. “It was great until Cass Temple stole it right back again and now she’s gone,” I admitted. Wisely, I thought, I left out the part where I’d been the one to help her escape.

“Ah.” Then, “You’re sure it’s Cass Temple?”

“One hundred percent. She’s back.”

“I can fill in some of the blanks. You can tell me the rest later.”

“I don’t know what to say to the Reynoldses. I had it all worked out. I was going to tell them about the ring’s real history—” I said, pointing to the paperwork spread across my desk, “—and suggest it would be great PR to repatriate it to the original owners, who, by the way, might live in town. Everyone would be happy. The ring is returned to its rightful owner’s descendants and the Reynoldses get the kind of publicity they can’t buy.”

“Except they’re out the money spent on purchasing the ring and paying our fee,” said Solomon who rounded my desk to sift through the contents as he listened.

“I think we should write off their fee.”

“Damage control?”

“That, and I don’t want to profit on this kind of case. It should be pro bono under the circumstances. Plus, I don’t have the ring, which is what we were paid to recover.”

“We were paid to identify the thief and patch the hole in their security. You’ve done the former. I’ve done the latter. That’s two thirds of the case.”

“I feel better when you put it like that but I still think I should tell them they aren’t getting their ring back and the reason why.”

“Let’s go together.” Solomon beckoned for me to stand and even though I knew he was right, and that I should get it over with, there was a big part of me that wanted to slink away to a mall and shop away my feelings instead. He wrapped me in a hug and I melted, laying my head on his chest. “You can fill me in on the particulars on the way,” he said, his words muffled in my hair. “Are you certain the ring is irretrievable?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Solomon loosened his hold and I stuffed the documents into the envelope and followed him from the office, catching him up on what I’d learned.

As we got into his SUV, I tapped the file in my lap. “The family in the articles have to be the clients. Maybe we should go see them first and listen to what they have to say,” I said. “They’re involved in this as much as anyone.”

“Do you know where they live?”

“The file doesn’t list an address but I recognized the house from the photos,” I said, pulling out the photocopy I’d placed on top of the other documents. “It makes sense that it’s probably their home. I think I’ll recognize it if we drive around.” I tapped the file again with my forefinger, thinking out loud. “If I can convince them we’re not going to call the cops on them, and that we want what’s best for them and the Reynoldses, I think I can get them to agree to work with the Reynoldses. I proposed that to Cass Temple… and, well, never mind. At some point, the Abrams-Mendelsons have to receive the ring. It’s better for them if they work with us. No one wants to get wrapped up in a lengthy court case.”

“It’s risky,” said Solomon. “They’re unlikely to voluntarily implicate themselves in a theft for hire. It’s a felony.”

“Does a felony depend on whether or not they have the ring?” I asked.

“A mediocre lawyer could argue that it’s all fantasy if they don’t have it,” said Solomon. “There’s nothing to say this Ellie Abrams acted unless money changed hands. If they have the ring, a good lawyer will sensationalize the story and they’ll win on public sympathy pressure. The DA won’t want to touch it. Any reasonable person would want to see a wrong like that righted, and the method to take the ring from the Reynoldses was theft not violence.”

“Then the faster we get to them, the better,” I decided. “Head to Chilton. I don’t remember the street name but if you drive us home, I can direct us from there.”

Solomon navigated us home and as we rolled past our house, I called out directions as I remembered them, sending us turning onto several streets before the houses started to look like the same kind of architecture as in the picture. “That’s it,” I said, pointing to the house as we drove past. “Let’s park up here.”

“We should observe before we approach,” said Solomon. “I’d like to know if they’re alone.”

“You mean, you want to know if the thief is there or will approach them imminently,” I said thinking about Cass’s on-the-spot story about anonymous names and locker transfers. I figured since she had the family’s background info, the rest of her story was trash… but maybe it wasn’t. She was careful to say there were no links between them. An anonymous transfer would ensure that. I gritted my teeth, frustrated at the possibilities.

“Precisely that.”

We hunkered down, watching the smart brick townhouse with its neat steps leading up to the stoop and navy blue-painted door for close to an hour but there was no movement outside the house that screamed Cass Temple. Inside, I saw a woman walk past the living room window a couple of times, then retreat further into the house where she vanished from view.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” I decided. “If they don’t know anything or don’t have the ring, we can conduct more surveillance but I think Cass Temple will be wise to that. I can’t imagine someone as careful as her, with all her disguises and decoys, just waltzing up to her clients’ home when she knows we know who they are.”

“I agree. She would set up a meeting elsewhere, or arrange a drop for the money in exchange for the ring’s location.”

“Maybe she wasn’t lying,” I said, “but I’m not taking that risk. Also, I don’t know where the drop was set up, if it even was.”

We hopped out and crossed the road.

The house was a pretty Victorian and in good shape. White gingerbread trim framed the well-maintained brick. The neat front yard featured a mass of pink hydrangeas behind an iron railing, and the driveway off to the right held a mid-priced SUV, hockey sticks and tennis rackets in the back. A couple of Lego pieces were scattered on the porch and a mezuzah was fixed to the door frame. I pressed the doorbell and waited.

The woman who answered was the kind of woman who had the uncanny capacity to neither look old nor young. She was well groomed with ash blond hair, and a good sense of style with her high-waisted, lavender, linen pants and cream, sleeveless blouse, her bare feet in slippers. Lines crinkled the corners of her eyes. Although years had passed, she was definitely the woman in the picture outside this house and the younger woman in the other photos.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Ms. Abrams?” I asked in return.

“That’s me. That is, I was. Abrams is my maiden name. I’m Feldman now.”

“Mrs. Feldman,” I corrected. “We’re here to discuss this.” I handed her the file, since I could think of no better way to say “we think you commissioned a thief to get your ring back”.

She opened the file and her face paled as she leafed through the documents.

Solomon produced a business card and handed it to her. She took it, hardly seeming to register it, as she flipped the pages of the dossier. “What is this?” she asked, passing it to me, pushing her shoulders back as she regained her composure. “Why do you have all these documents?”

“I thought you could tell us,” I said.

“I’m the owner of the Solomon Detective Agency,” said Solomon, pointing to the card in Mrs. Feldman’s hand. “This is my investigator, Lexi Graves-Solomon. My investigator came across this file while researching a case and we’d like to discuss its contents with you.”

“May we come in or shall we discuss it here?” I asked when a couple from the neighboring house exited and paused to glance over, taking their time as the woman locked the door.

Mrs. Feldman glanced over.

“Everything okay there, Ellie?” called the neighbor.

“Just thinking of getting some work done,” Mrs. Feldman called back, forcing a smile. Then she stepped back while widening the door. “You’d better come in.”