Lost and Found (8 page)

I close the door gently in his face and go straight to bed-couch, proud of myself that I didn’t yell at him or burst into tears. I fall asleep with my clothes on and the ring still in my bra.

Chapter Fourteen

I WAKE UP ON FRIDAY morning with renewed energy. I think the new essential oils Belinda gave me are helping. She was wrong when she said they were crap and probably wouldn’t work.

Wearing my nicest outfit that has pockets, the gypsy skirt I wore the other day with a hidden compartment in the waistband, I leave the apartment. I have the ring in my bra and my key in my skirt. Since I’m working later in the afternoon today, I have the morning to play detective.

Cartier is several stops from my apartment, and it takes me almost an hour to get there with the morning commuter traffic jamming the subway and the streets. I look at every punk in the subway car around me with a critical eye, wondering if he’s the one who jumped me and took my stuff. I’m totally ready to karate chop him in the nuts.

I’m not too worried that the thief will come for me at my apartment, since Larry promised me he’d check out every person who walks in the front door of our building, but still … I’ve heard stories about bad guys becoming stalkers and continuing to steal from the same person over and over again after learning their addresses from their driver’s licenses. I set a few traps in my apartment, just in case.

As I approach Cartier, the hives come again. The worst itch is in my armpit and I want to resist, but I can’t. I indulge in a few good scratches before going inside, hoping that’ll be enough to stem the tide I can feel coming.

I’m allergic to nothing other than panic, and when I find myself in a situation like this, both the hives and the lies start coming out. It’s obviously an evolutionary defense mechanism, designed to make me want to create a smokescreen and then run the hell away from whatever’s freaking me out. But I can’t run from this. I have to be strong and get rid of this damn ring.

Itch — scratch — itch — scraaaaatch.

I glance to the side and notice a gutter in the street covered in papers. It’s tempting to just throw the ring into it, but then I think about the person who bought it or who received it as a gift and I can’t
not
make sure that they get the ring back. Something this beautiful should never end up in a gutter. Or a fountain for that matter.

A security guard comes out the front door and frowns at me. “Can I help you with something?”

I smile weakly. “I’m not casing the place, I promise.” I give my armpit one last scratch and let my hand drop to my side.

“I sincerely hope not,” he says, resting a hand on the taser in his belt.

“I was just … getting ready to come in.”

He looks me up and down. “You in the market for some jewelry?”

His critical expression pisses me off. “As a matter of fact, I own some jewelry that’s worth quite a bit of money, and I want to talk to someone inside about it.”

He pulls the door open and nods once. “After you,” he says.

Now I have no choice. I can run and look suspicious as hell, making it pretty much impossible to return, or I can go in and do this thing.

Do this thing it is.

“Thank you,” I say, once again sounding like I graduated from the Ivy League or something.

He follows me all the way to one of the counters off to the right of the store. The golden cases gleam with glittery things. I glare at him over my shoulder as he addresses the man in a suit behind a case full of diamond rings.

“This young lady says she has some jewelry to be appraised.”

“Actually, that’s not what I said.” I give him the stink-eye and then immediately change my expression to one of pure sweetness and look at the salesman. “I said that I have a ring worth quite a bit of money, and I wanted to talk to someone here about it.”

“Do you have the ring with you?” the man-boy asks me politely. His hair is parted exactly on the side with a bright-white part and slicked down with liberal amounts of gel. It could be dyed black, it’s so dark. He smells like the cologne counter at Macy’s, and there’s not a single fleck of lint on him anywhere. I suspect he’s either gay or a seriously dedicated metrosexual. Not that it matters what he is, but for some reason, it makes him more approachable to me than the man with the taser.

“Thank you, David,” the suited salesman says, looking behind me. “I’ll look after her.”

I give the security guard my best poo-eating grin. “Yes, David, thank you. You can go away now.”

He nods at the guy, completely ignores me, and leaves us alone.

I roll my eyes and turn back to my helper. “Thanks. That guy was so rude.”

“He’s my brother.”

“I knew that,” I say without thinking. My face starts to heat up.

The guy lifts an eyebrow. “You did?”

I wave my hand between us. “Oh, yeah.” I snort, like it’s so obvious you’d have to be an idiot not to notice they’re practically identical twins, when actually they couldn’t be more different. “He has the same facial structure. High cheekbones, arched brows.”

“I’m adopted.” The guy’s expression does not change. Not one bit.

He caught me in a lie, so now I’m pissed. That almost never happens. “Fine. I didn’t know you were brothers. Are you happy?” I’m completely deflated.

“Actually, I was just joking.” The guy smiles for one second and then stops. “Can I help you with something? A ring you said?”

My jaw drops open but I can’t think of what to say, and this might be a first for me, but what the hell? This guy is completely crazy, right? It’s not just me, I know this. How did he get a job here?

He blinks a few times, maybe waiting for my brain to come online again.

“You’re seriously twisted,” I finally say, a smile creeping up to appear on my face. I can appreciate a twisted personality if nothing else.

“So I’ve been told.” He grins back, but only for a second before going back to being stoic.

He’s so pristine and neat, I swear he could be a mannequin, and his ridiculous nano-second smiles and weird delivery only heighten that impression. I lean in closer and stare into his eyes, searching for a circuit board buried deep inside. “Does Cartier have seriously lifelike robots waiting on customers right now? Because that would explain everything that just happened here.”

He blinks once. “Not that I’m aware of.”

I lean back and shake my head. This is just too weird. It’s got to be the ring thing; that bad juju is coming out again. I decide to switch to all-business mode so I can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Okay, here’s the deal … I have this very valuable ring, which I got from … someplace … someone … but I don’t want it anymore and I want to return it to the person who bought it. I was told to ask for Wendy.”

The salesman tilts his head. “I don’t follow.”

I put both hands on the counter and take a deep breath in and let it out before trying again. My previous story of having a recently-divorced mother isn’t going to work here. I have to get the identity of the owner from this guy so I can track him or her down and give this ring back.

“I have this ring that was purchased here. I want to get in touch with the person who bought the ring so I can give him or her the ring back.”

The salesman looks up and makes a slight gesture with his chin at someone behind me.

Before I can figure out what’s going on, the security guard is back.

Now I’m pissed. “What the hell, man?” I feel completely double-crossed or something, which I know makes no sense.

“You were saying?” the salesman asks me. Both men are staring at me, and neither of them look very friendly.

I look from one to the other, and then at the other people in the room who are now staring at us. I feel like a criminal when all I’m trying to do is be a good person.

“You know what? Screw it. Never mind.” I push away from the counter and turn around. “If you don’t want to help me, then I’ll just … give it to charity or something.”

I leave the store in a huff, furious that I’ve been made to feel like a lowlife when I’m doing nothing wrong. Okay, so maybe I’m being a little sneaky or something, but whatever. I’m no thief.

I’m ten feet down the sidewalk when I sense someone at my side. The danger alarm in my brain starts chiming and adrenaline shoots into my bloodstream.
Evasion tactics! Engage!

I send out a quick judo chop to my left and then dance to the right, protecting myself from the would-be mugger. I’m convinced the purse-thief is back, looking for more loot.

“Ow!” says a voice, as the man in the suit bends sideways and covers his ribs. It’s the salesman from Cartier.

“What the hell?!” I shout at him. “What is your problem?!”

People make wide circles around us to avoid the situation.

He holds out a stiff arm, still bent over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. Wow. You do karate? That kind of hurt, actually.” He stands up straighter. His hair hasn’t moved, not a single strand.

I can’t stop staring at his head. Is it plastic? “What kind of gel are you using on that ‘do of yours, anyway? It’s like space age polymer or something.”

He smiles and pats his hair. “Nice, ‘eh?”

We stand there and stare at each other.

He lowers his hands and tugs at the bottom of his suit coat, pulling it straight.

I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “What’s the deal? Why are you following me?”

“I wasn’t really following you, I was trying to get you to come back to the store.”

I snort. “Not likely. You treated me like a scumbag in there.”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You mentioned Wendy.”

My chin goes up. “I did.”

“She’s retired now.”

My chin goes back down. “Oh. I didn’t know.” So much for having contacts. I knew that guy was a hundred years old.

“But she was my mentor, and if you knew her then I’d like to help you.”

“Your mentor? In the jewelry sales business?” I don’t know why this sounds funny to me, but it does. Maybe because all I see those people doing is standing around looking like robo-salesmen. How much mentoring is needed for that? Five minutes? A quick download to the motherboard chip or whatever?

“Yes. She taught me everything from the ground up.” He steps closer. “Do you have the ring? I know all of our stock. I could probably tell you with one look who we sold it to, if it was our store that sold it.”

I look around us and realize that we’re on a very busy street corner. “Not here,” I say, deciding I might as well trust this guy.

“No, of course not. Come back to the store. I’ll bring you into my office.”

“You have an office?” I begin walking next to him, back in the direction of the store.

“Of course.” He smiles and looks at the ground. “I’m not a robot.”

“You could be, though, the way you look so perfect.”

“Perfect? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“Joshua Livingston the third.”

“My name’s Leah.”

He nods. “Nice to meet you.” We’re back at the doors to the store and he opens one for me. “After you.”

This time when I go in, I keep my head up. No one here is allowed to make me feel like less of a person just because my hair isn’t gelled into a hard candy shell around my skull.

“Follow me,” he says, nodding to David the security guard who leaves us alone. I really want to give him the finger, but I resist. He might taze me. I’m pretty sure I won’t like being tazed.

We walk through a black door and down a hallway I wouldn’t have imagined existed. Joshua opens a door, and after allowing me to enter, sits at a desk. There’s a small black safe on the floor in the corner behind him. I take the seat across from him.

“So. You have a ring.” He laces his fingers together and places them on the desktop. His shoulder pads inside his jacket rise up around his ears.

“Yes.” I reach into my bra and bring out the wad of tissues. It takes a little work to get the ring uncovered since everything is kind of sweaty. When it’s finally free, I hold it out between us. There are several bits of paper-lint hanging from it. I try to act like it’s not ridiculous.

Joshua blinks a few times. He’s back to being a robot for a few seconds before reaching over and grabbing a velvet tray and sliding it over to stop in front of me.

I put the ring on top of it.

He pulls the velvet tray over to himself and then pulls a loupe out of a desk drawer. He uses a set of tweezers to pick up the ring and turn it around as he examines it.

“I could be wrong about this … but I believe I recognize it from something that was sold about four days ago.” He looks up at me. “Does that sound about right?”

I nod. “Sure.” He could have said eight years ago and I would have agreed. “I know it was sold here. I had someone look up the laser code or whatever.”

Joshua is back to looking at it again. “Every diamond has a unique pattern of inclusions and color that make it identifiable, but the etching makes it easier, for sure.” He puts the ring and the loupe down, detaching the tweezers last. “If you hold on a moment, I’ll jump on the computer and see what I can find out.”

I shrug. “Sure.”

He gets up and leaves the room. I’m left sitting there, staring at the walls. There are framed prints of jewels tastefully selected and hung, one on each wall.

It takes him so long to get back, I start to get nervous. After several minutes, I pick up the ring, wrap it up in my tissues, and shove it back in my bra. After another five minutes, I stand and try and work up the nerve to open the door.

When I finally do, I find David standing in the hallway next to me.

He looks down at me and frowns.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Are you trying to keep me in here against my will?” My nerves start to frazzle. Time to plan my prison break-out.

His hands never leave the crossed position at his waist. “No, I’m here to protect you. You have a valuable piece of jewelry on you and we’re liable for its safety while you’re in the building.”

“Oh.” I feel kind of stupid thinking that someone at Cartier would try to keep me prisoner. “Well, I have to go. Maybe you can tell your friend thanks for me.”