do, honey. What’s the birthstone for April, Peri?”
“I’m not sure you want to know. It’s a diamond.”
Maggie squealed. Obviously, she knew diamonds were special.
I grinned, still processing the revelation of our connection to Miss Margaret, when my phone chimed.
Shelly shook her head in a motherly fashion.
I pulled my phone out and switched the mode to vibrate. With an apologetic smile, I slipped the device back into my purse. The phone shimmied, again…and then again. Somebody was insistent. “Excuse me. I just need to know if it’s Uncle Marty.” I wandered into the kitchen. The phone was barely out of my purse when it went off again. “Miralee? What’s going on?”
“Peri. Thank goodness, I found you. I was watching Chris’s station and could hardly believe it when I saw it.”
“Saw what, Miralee?”
A couple of slow, uneven breaths carried across the line. “OK. Let me start again. Channel Five just ran a piece about a robbery earlier tonight. A man held up a convenience store. He had a mask on so they couldn’t see his face on the surveillance camera but a bystander videoed the getaway car. The woman in the front seat was wearing a necklace I’m almost positive was stolen from Keaton’s.”
11
Shelly boxed up a large to-go portion of the lasagna before we left.
As Chris and I slipped out the door, I peeped in the bag. A cannoli had found its way into the package. Now that was something to anticipate.
Chris planned to stop by the TV station to pick up a copy of the tape and take it to Locksley.
I’d coaxed a few more facts out of Miralee. She had been watching the news—something she rarely did—at just the right moment. Thank you, God. The necklace was definitely Miss Margaret’s. Only someone who worked at Keaton’s would recognize the platinum chain with rare pearls and flashy spectacle-set diamonds. It was one of a kind.
We hurried into the building. Jennifer waited with a copy of the dubbed recording, but Chris wanted to see it in its entirety. Chris queued the uncut version and we settled down to watch. The person taking the video had been standing at the corner of the building and started filming as soon as the masked thief had walked toward the store.
The camera operator swung his phone back around and included the getaway car. The girl in the passenger seat was clear as day—young, maybe late teens, and she wore a pink sweater, with Mrs. Margaret Vaughan’s necklace bought in Europe fifty years earlier.
A necklace I wanted returned in good condition.
Chris enhanced each frame as much as he was able. The result was crisp and clear. When the would-be robber entered the store, the suggestion of fear hitched his steps. Two minutes later, when he waved his gun around the parking lot, he was preening.
Toward the end of the tape, Chris zoomed in close. Long red scratches stood out on the guy’s neck. Proof that the man on the tape—just a boy, really—was the same one who’d robbed my house.
Until that moment, I’d harbored a shred of compassion for him, thinking he’d somehow been coerced into helping with the jewel heist. But no more. The boy had learned well from his “mentor,” and he was apparently out to perfect his craft.
On the second pass, Chris zeroed in on the girlfriend’s wide, glistening eyes. She was in hip-deep as a full-fledged accomplice.
~*~
Chris and I left the police station in the wee hours.
Locksley had picked my brain clean after berating me for forgetting to mention that the younger man had a girlfriend. I never wanted to see that station again. Coffee as thick as molasses, chairs as hard as flint, and Locksley’s office decorated by a hoarder-in-training. He assured me the police were on the job and had hopes of bringing our young thief to justice. But where was Mean-Eyes?
Not having a car was tiresome, and it was my own fault. I put a reminder on my phone to get my locks changed. In the meantime, I needed a rental, unless Uncle
“I’m not sure you want to know. It’s a diamond.”
Maggie squealed. Obviously, she knew diamonds were special.
I grinned, still processing the revelation of our connection to Miss Margaret, when my phone chimed.
Shelly shook her head in a motherly fashion.
I pulled my phone out and switched the mode to vibrate. With an apologetic smile, I slipped the device back into my purse. The phone shimmied, again…and then again. Somebody was insistent. “Excuse me. I just need to know if it’s Uncle Marty.” I wandered into the kitchen. The phone was barely out of my purse when it went off again. “Miralee? What’s going on?”
“Peri. Thank goodness, I found you. I was watching Chris’s station and could hardly believe it when I saw it.”
“Saw what, Miralee?”
A couple of slow, uneven breaths carried across the line. “OK. Let me start again. Channel Five just ran a piece about a robbery earlier tonight. A man held up a convenience store. He had a mask on so they couldn’t see his face on the surveillance camera but a bystander videoed the getaway car. The woman in the front seat was wearing a necklace I’m almost positive was stolen from Keaton’s.”
11
Shelly boxed up a large to-go portion of the lasagna before we left.
As Chris and I slipped out the door, I peeped in the bag. A cannoli had found its way into the package. Now that was something to anticipate.
Chris planned to stop by the TV station to pick up a copy of the tape and take it to Locksley.
I’d coaxed a few more facts out of Miralee. She had been watching the news—something she rarely did—at just the right moment. Thank you, God. The necklace was definitely Miss Margaret’s. Only someone who worked at Keaton’s would recognize the platinum chain with rare pearls and flashy spectacle-set diamonds. It was one of a kind.
We hurried into the building. Jennifer waited with a copy of the dubbed recording, but Chris wanted to see it in its entirety. Chris queued the uncut version and we settled down to watch. The person taking the video had been standing at the corner of the building and started filming as soon as the masked thief had walked toward the store.
The camera operator swung his phone back around and included the getaway car. The girl in the passenger seat was clear as day—young, maybe late teens, and she wore a pink sweater, with Mrs. Margaret Vaughan’s necklace bought in Europe fifty years earlier.
A necklace I wanted returned in good condition.
Chris enhanced each frame as much as he was able. The result was crisp and clear. When the would-be robber entered the store, the suggestion of fear hitched his steps. Two minutes later, when he waved his gun around the parking lot, he was preening.
Toward the end of the tape, Chris zoomed in close. Long red scratches stood out on the guy’s neck. Proof that the man on the tape—just a boy, really—was the same one who’d robbed my house.
Until that moment, I’d harbored a shred of compassion for him, thinking he’d somehow been coerced into helping with the jewel heist. But no more. The boy had learned well from his “mentor,” and he was apparently out to perfect his craft.
On the second pass, Chris zeroed in on the girlfriend’s wide, glistening eyes. She was in hip-deep as a full-fledged accomplice.
~*~
Chris and I left the police station in the wee hours.
Locksley had picked my brain clean after berating me for forgetting to mention that the younger man had a girlfriend. I never wanted to see that station again. Coffee as thick as molasses, chairs as hard as flint, and Locksley’s office decorated by a hoarder-in-training. He assured me the police were on the job and had hopes of bringing our young thief to justice. But where was Mean-Eyes?
Not having a car was tiresome, and it was my own fault. I put a reminder on my phone to get my locks changed. In the meantime, I needed a rental, unless Uncle
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