Crunch Time

Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of Kris Nielsen’s Maserati in my rearview mirror. He was driving very slowly up Main Street. I debated whether to stay in my parking space or take off. Had he been watching me all along? I put on my blinker and pulled out. I drove slowly so as to make out what Kris was doing. He maneuvered the Maserati into my empty space. Had he seen me? I still wasn’t sure.

Lovely, tall Harriet-the-model-with-odd-jobs got out of Kris’s car. She said a few words to Kris, then walked into Frank’s Fix-It. Hmm.

Ahead of me, the streetlight turned. If I didn’t move the van forward, it would attract attention. Still, I strained to observe Kris in the rearview mirror. Was he waiting for her, dropping her off, or what? I really wanted to know, but had no way to find out just then. At the moment, I did not think a return trip to Frank’s Fix-It was advisable.

I skipped the dry cleaner and the printer, because I was sure I had found what I was looking for. But as I drove home, I wondered why Humberto would leave the diamond- laden chandelier at Frank’s Fix-It, even covered with mud, even for a short time. Okay, the place was a jumbled-up mess, like one of those garages full of what the owner thinks is junk. So the owner has a big garage sale, and a lucky customer pays a dollar for a painting worth two million.

As far as I knew, Frank’s Fix-It Shop was not planning on selling off its dusty merchandise any time soon.

Not only that, but if Humberto knew, or suspected, that Ernest was on his trail, maybe even that Ernest was behind the theft of Norman Juarez’s necklace, the last place he’d want to put something valuable was in a safety deposit box or other obvious storage place. He’d want to get rid of Ernest first and then wait for the heat of the murder investigation to cool.

The other reason he’d decided on Frank’s Fix-It was that he’d needed to stash the diamonds somewhere unlikely, while waiting for the big Fort Knox–worthy metal safe to be delivered.

And what if Osgoode had been Humberto’s partner? Maybe Humberto had wanted to hide the diamonds, just in case, and then get rid of Osgoode, in the event he knew anything about the Juarez fortune.

I called Boyd to ask for lookout duty as I returned. Unfortunately, this meant he would see me bringing in a large, unwieldy bag full of clanking stuff, which would mean questions. So when he answered, I asked if he could meet me in the driveway to help me carry in groceries.

“That’s what you have?” he asked when I pulled in, opened the sliding door, and gestured to the dusty giant-size trash bag. “Somehow, it doesn’t look like food shopping.”

“It isn’t. If you’ll take it inside, we can both have a look.”

He mumbled something about keeping his job as he humped the bag up the ramp. I thanked him pleasantly and said how much I appreciated his being a houseguest.

“Oh!” said Ferdinanda when we came through the front door. “What have you got there?” Yolanda, who was reading a cookbook, gave us a curious glance.

“I don’t know yet!” I said more loudly than I intended. “Maybe I can tell you later.” Like when the police come to get it, I added mentally. Even if Humberto and Ferdinanda had seemed to be at each other’s throats the previous night, I didn’t want our houseguests to glimpse the contents of this sack, just in case it contained what I hoped and feared it did.

“Let’s go upstairs, Boyd.” I scurried upstairs and stopped in Arch’s room for a pair of wire cutters he’d used for one of his projects. Then I led Boyd into Arch’s bathroom and stopped up the bathtub. “All right, lower it in there, as slowly as you can.”

Boyd did as I asked, then untied the top of the bag and gently pulled out the light fixture by its chain. It was a gigantic chandelier that looked as if it had been sprayed with mud. Well, I thought, it probably had been. I wondered what kind of cock-and-bull story Humberto had used when he left it off at Frank’s Fix-It. Probably something along the lines of, “We need to order parts for this from France, and we’ll bring them in when they arrive, so you can do the repairs.”

“Should I rinse this off?” Boyd asked patiently.

“Carefully.” Once the warm water was running, I reached for a pair of cotton towels.

“Goldy?” said Boyd. “This thing is huge. Is it an antique or something? I don’t want to know if you stole it, because I know you probably did. Is it worth a lot of money?”

By way of answer, I reached in and gently cut the wire holding one of the pendants in place. Interestingly, these teardrop-shaped pieces were not drilled through at their tops, but were in tiny individual nylon nets. Once I’d freed the stone from the wire and the net holding it, I held it up to the light.

The fire and brilliance of the gem hurt my eyes. I tried not to contemplate the magnitude of Humberto’s theft.

“No, Sergeant Boyd, the chandelier is not an antique. But each of these sparkling pieces is a diamond. The whole chandelier is worth many millions of dollars. Humberto Captain stole these gems from the family of Norman Juarez.”

“Oh, Jesus,” said Boyd. “Time to call Tom, eh?” He punched in the numbers and was poised to talk but at the last moment pushed his cell toward me. “You tell him.”

“Boyd?” my husband’s disembodied voice said. “You there?”

“It’s me,” I said once I’d taken Boyd’s cell. “I found Norman Juarez’s gems.”

23

“Miss G., what in God’s name are you talking about?”

Ferdinanda’s wheelchair was rolling along the hallway downstairs. “I can’t stand it any longer!” she yelled up the steps. I motioned to Boyd. “Please don’t tell her what’s going on. No matter what,” I added.

“No matter what what?” Tom said impatiently. “Can you tell me what is going on?”

So I did. I knew he would not be pleased when I informed him of Lolly’s job for me, which I called “borrowing” Humberto’s wallet. I told him about my manufacture of the fake receipts, my hunch about the photos that would be at the library, and finally, of retrieving the chandelier under false pretenses.

“And they didn’t give you any trouble at Frank’s Fix-It,” Tom said disbelievingly.

“The guy was so trashed, he had no idea what I was doing,” I said. “I could have gone in there and pulled the Hope Diamond out from under him, and he wouldn’t have known.”

“We’ve known about the pot for a long time,” Tom said. “But we’ve never actually searched the place. I guess we could now.”

“And you could find—oops!—a chandelier made of diamonds. Then you could charge him with receiving stolen goods—”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Miss Detective. You’ve already broken enough laws for one day. I’m coming up there now, to get the chandelier from Boyd. Do not let our guests know what you are up to. I’ll tell one of the guys here to get a judge to issue a search warrant for suspicion of drug dealing.” He paused. “You better hope this works.”

“It’ll work,” I said confidently. “Uh,” I said painfully, “I have to meet somebody in a little bit and will probably miss you. Boyd can pack up the chandelier and help you with it.”

“This is when I ask you who you’re meeting.”

“And this is when I tell you it’s none of your beeswax.”

“I’m so glad we have an open, honest, committed relationship,” said Tom, “full of mutual trust.”

“I won’t steal anything valuable,” I promised.

“That does not make me feel better,” he said, and signed off.

Kris Nielsen’s Maserati was parked in the driveway opposite our house when Boyd escorted me to my van. I shuddered and concentrated on getting behind my own wheel. Still, if Kris was at the house on our street, then he wouldn’t be at his home in Flicker Ridge, which was my next stop.

I set off just before noon. I wished for another of Ferdinanda’s pork sandwiches, but satisfied myself with a quick stop at the Aspen Meadow cafe for an iced latte, which I combined with a slice of one of my leftover coffee cakes. I polished both off as I drove through the entrance to Flicker Ridge.

The sky began to boil with dark clouds rolling in from the mountains to our west. A stiff breeze rocked the