Page 7

“Come in, dear, come in,” she said, and as Aviva stepped over her threshold, Colette snuck a look at the newspaper in her hands. Indeed, it was the same offending piece of garbage that she had thrown out once already.

Colette accepted the bottle of wine but turned her back on the paper, striding down the hall toward her kitchen with Aviva trailing behind her.

Aviva’s mother had died more than twenty years earlier, when Aviva was just eighteen, and for a time, Colette had taken Aviva in.

They’d been close since then, and Aviva knew nearly everything about her—except for her hobby of jewel theft.

“My favorite wine,” Colette said over her shoulder. “Thank you for remembering.”

“Of course. I brought the Globe , too.”

“I told you I’d already seen it.” Colette didn’t meet Aviva’s gaze as she reached into her cabinet for two wineglasses.

She made quick work of the bottle’s cork with her wine key and poured them each a healthy splash.

Finally, as they toasted, Colette could avoid Aviva’s gaze no longer; to refuse to look at the other person while clinking glasses was an invitation for bad luck, and she couldn’t afford that.

“I know,” Aviva said, taking a small sip of her wine. “But you were so cagey earlier that I wanted to see your reaction for myself.”

“Is that right?”

“It is,” Aviva continued, though Colette couldn’t tell whether the girl was amused or annoyed. “And now I can see that you’re acting even weirder than you sounded on the phone today.”

Colette took a long sip of wine and then hazarded a glance at the newspaper, which very clearly featured a photo of her. “Is there a reason you’re treating me like a criminal?”

Finally, Aviva softened. “Colette, I’m just trying to understand what happened. Why would you lie to me about being at the benefit?”

“I don’t have to keep you apprised of all my comings and goings.”

“Of course not. But you also don’t need to be untruthful about them. This is you.” She jabbed her finger at the newspaper. “Also, sidenote, I like that dress on you. But what’s with the wig?”

Colette decided to be at least partially honest. “The truth is, I did go to the benefit. As I mentioned, Linda Clyborn is a neo-Nazi. I personally don’t think they should be allowed to run around Boston unchecked, do you?”

Aviva blinked at her. “So what was your plan, exactly? To confront her?”

“No.” Colette took another sip of wine. “Just to observe.”

“And while you were busy observing, did you happen to see anyone steal her hundred-twenty-five-thousand-dollar ring?”

“Ninety thousand, tops,” Colette mumbled into her wineglass.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” She turned and reached for the large wooden bowl on the kitchen island. “Would you mind tossing the salad, dear? I’ve already made the champagne vinaigrette, just as you like it. It’s in the cruet over there.”

Aviva nodded and went to work with the pair of wooden tongs Colette handed over.

For a moment, she was distracted by the bowl of greens while Colette pulled the Dijon chicken breasts from a skillet and plated them alongside rice pilaf.

She drizzled a lemon-tinged cream sauce over everything and picked up the dishes.

“Shall we?” Colette asked, gesturing to the kitchen table, which she had already set.

“You’re not getting out of this just because you’re feeding me,” Aviva grumbled, but as they ate their salads in silence, Colette began to think that the trick of plying the girl with her favorite foods had worked after all. She had just begun to relax when Aviva spoke again.

“Does this have to do with Marty?” she asked abruptly. “Were you at the gala with him? Is he involved in stealing jewels?”

Colette choked out a laugh. “Darling, Marty is the most unsubtle man I’ve ever met. I don’t think he could steal a piece of jewelry if he tried. He would be too busy trying to flirt with the item’s owner.”

Aviva smiled at this. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I just thought since he’s in the jewelry business…”

“That he must be a thief?”

“No. I’m just trying to understand why you were inches away from the victim of a crime right before that crime occurred.”

“In court, I believe that would be considered circumstantial evidence,” Colette said.

“Who said anything about court?” Aviva shot back.

Colette had just opened her mouth to reply when the doorbell rang.

Colette excused herself to answer, grateful for the moment away from Aviva to collect her thoughts.

Aviva had always been like a dog with a bone, which had served her well in her professional life; she never rested until she got to the bottom of things.

But Colette had never been on the receiving end of one of her interrogations before, and she realized she didn’t particularly like it, though she couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of Aviva for her persistence.

Just as she was rolling her eyes at the instinct to replace her annoyance with pride when it came to the girl she considered family, she looked through the peephole and registered with a start that the stranger there in an ill-fitting suit was holding up a badge.

She hesitated, and then pulled the door open.

“Boston Police Department, ma’am,” the man said as she stared at him, wordless.

In all her years of jewel theft, this was only the second time the police had shown up at her door—and the first time, during the war so many years ago, had ended in tragedy.

“I’m Detective Aldo Damien. Do you have a moment? ”

“Um” was all Colette could manage, and she and the detective stared at each other for a moment in what Colette imagined was a face-off, though the detective likely only registered that he was staring down a confused old lady.

“Ma’am?” the detective asked with some concern when Colette still hadn’t unfrozen.

“Can I help you?” Aviva’s voice came from behind Colette, and Colette turned to see Aviva approaching, her gaze steely as she regarded the detective. She put a hand on Colette’s shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Detective Damien with the Boston PD.” He held up his badge again, and Aviva studied it for a second, then nodded. “I’m looking for Colette Marceau.”

“For what purpose?” Aviva asked.

The detective raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“I’m her friend,” she said, “ And her attorney.”

“I see.” The detective’s expression hardened slightly. “I just have a few questions for Ms. Marceau.”

“Pertaining to?” Aviva asked. Colette hid a smile.

“Pertaining to a theft that occurred last night at a benefit Ms. Marceau attended.” The detective stared at Aviva for a moment before dropping his gaze.

“Look, ma’am, we’re just trying to talk to anyone who might have seen something.

A very expensive piece of jewelry went missing.

” He turned to Colette. “I just need a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Colette said, recovering herself. “Come in, won’t you?”

“Colette, you don’t need to—” Aviva began, but Colette waved a hand to cut her off.

“I have nothing to hide, dear. I’m happy to answer the detective’s questions.”

Aviva grumbled her disapproval, but she followed Colette and a triumphant-looking Detective Damien down the hall to the formal living room anyhow.

Colette gestured to the armchair as she took a seat on the couch, and she was relieved when Aviva settled next to her and reached for her hand.

From the concerned glance Aviva cut her way a moment later, Colette realized she was shaking, and she quickly withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.

“Let’s get to it, young man,” she said to the detective. “Aviva and I were just in the middle of dinner.”

“It smells good,” the detective said, smiling at her.

“It is good. And now it’s getting cold,” Colette said. “Now what can we do for you?”

The detective looked flustered. “You see, a very expensive ring was stolen from a woman at the gala you attended last night.”

“And what makes you think Colette was at this gala?” Aviva cut in.

The detective scratched his head. “We showed some photographs to a handful of witnesses, and one of them mentioned that they knew her from the Boston Center for Holocaust Education.” He turned back to Colette. “You volunteer there, right, ma’am?”

“I do.” Colette silently cursed her lousy luck; what were the odds that someone associated with the center would be in attendance at the gala?

“And you’re a retired librarian?”

“I am.” She had always loved books, and she had needed to make a living somehow, given that her family’s code of honor expressly forbade her from profiting from theft.

“Though I’m not sure what bearing my former job has on your investigation.

” It made her uneasy that the detective had looked into her past enough to know about a job she’d left two decades ago.

“Ma’am,” the detective said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “In case I wasn’t clear, you’re merely being questioned as a potential witness. This should take only a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, then,” Aviva answered for her, and they both looked at Colette.

“Yes, I was there,” Colette said slowly. “I do love the orchestra.”

Aviva nodded heartily and said, “Yes, she does,” which Colette felt sure was overdoing it, but the detective didn’t seem to notice.

“And, ma’am, did you see anyone suspicious in the vicinity of Linda Clyborn? She was the woman who spoke from the podium last night.” Obviously he thought that Colette was a dolt. Oh, well—she could use that to her advantage.

“A speech,” she said slowly, pretending to think about it. “Hmm, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

Aviva shrugged and gave the detective a look of faux sympathy.

“Would you mind if I show you a few photos?” He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out three mug shots, all of men who appeared to be in their forties or fifties, from a manila folder. “Did you see any of these people at the gala last night?”

She looked down at the unfamiliar faces. “Who are they?”