Midnight in Ruby Bayou by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

wasn’t the first client to use a sentimental occasion such as a wedding anniversary or a birthday in an attempt to shift the bargaining in his favor. At least Ivanovitch hadn’t claimed a dying fiancée, as one would-be client had, hoping to get a special price and earnestly swearing to sell it all back to Faith as soon as his poor fiancée died.
    Sometimes people really did believe that blond hair had a negative effect on a woman’s IQ.
    With a subtle flourish, Faith removed the lid of the box.
    A glance told Ivanovitch that his search wasn’t over. The ruby resting on bronze velvet was perhaps six carats. The gem was much longer than it was thick, and rudely faceted around the edges. The carving was on the back and had to be viewed from the top to make sense, always assuming the viewer understood Arabic.
    â€œThis is a quote from the Koran that—” Faith began.
    â€œNo,” Ivanovitch interrupted bluntly. “It will not do. It is too small. Too pale. You comprehend? I must have a very fine stone.”
    Without a word she put the lid on the box and set it aside. Some anonymous, long-dead artisan had labored for weeks or months over a hard stone to inscribe a sacred verse that could be read only with a magnifying glass, but that didn’t seem to impress the impatient Mr. Ivanovitch.
    She reached for the second box. If six carats was too small, she doubted that seven and a quarter would do, but you never could tell. The color of the second ruby was certainly better. Not up to the Montegeau stones, but then, few rubies were.
    â€œThis stone—”
    â€œToo small,” he said curtly. “I told you. Very, very fine. Please, let us not waste time.”
    She slipped the lid back over the box. As she put the rejected stone aside, she hoped Ivanovitch had the money to back up his taste. The next stone was nine carats, had good color, light flaws, and would cost him $75,000. The inscription on the back was another verse from the Koran, this one wishing paradise to the holy and eternal misery to the infidel.
    Ivanovitch saw the flowing Arabic script and dismissed the stone without a word.
    â€œThis ruby is nine point one carats,” Faith said, but the client’s face had already told her he didn’t want it.
    â€œNo. Still too small. What else do you have?”
    Faith covered the box, put it with the others, and looked at the very fussy Mr. Ivanovitch. “I’m sorry. That’s my inventory of carved rubies. If you would like to look at other types of gems, I have several—”
    â€œI was told you had exceptionally fine stones,” he cut in harshly.
    â€œI do.” Faith was used to being interrupted. It came with having big brothers. Even so, she was getting tired of not being able to finish a sentence around this abrupt man.
    â€œI was assured that you had a stone such as I want. Have you sold one recently?”
    â€œA carved ruby?”
    He gestured curtly and nodded. “But of course. That is what I seek. A fine, large, carved ruby. Have I not told you?”
    Ray shifted slightly. He really wished he had frisked this guy. It might have improved his manners.
    â€œI haven’t sold a carved ruby for more than a year,” Faith said. “There isn’t much call for carved rubies except as curiosities or centerpieces for unique jewelry.”
    Ivanovitch looked at the safe for the first time. “You are certain this is all you have?”
    â€œYes.”
    He didn’t bother to look convinced. “Please understand me. I can pay you well, very well. I need—want this stone very much.”
    â€œThat’s always good to hear. If you could tell me exactly what kind of stone would suit you, perhaps I could find one for you. I have extensive connections among collectors and buyers of unusual jewelry.”
    â€œVery fine color,” he said. “What is known as blood of the pigeon.”
    Faith