Rollover by Susan Slater Page A

the piece—it’s the one we’ve used for insurance purposes but really doesn’t do it justice.”
    Dan studied the eight by ten glossy. The necklace was spectacular—sapphire and diamond “drops,” some ten in number with a two-inch drop in the center. The sapphire in this drop was at least five carats and heart-shaped—looking like a faceted, fluffy, deep blue pillow. All drops were anchored to a platinum chain with alternating bezel-set sapphires and diamonds—not one stone less than three-quarters of a carat. The earrings were two and half-inch drops on posts, each with two-carat center stones to match.
    â€œBeautiful.” He handed the picture to Elaine and gave his attention to the other photo. Here, the necklace adorned a stunning young woman in her wedding dress. Even with the sepia tint to the photo, he could see the grandness of the necklace.
    â€œAnd here’s Mother on the deck of the Titanic .” Gertie slipped another eight by ten from the pile. “You know, she kept that necklace under her clothes all the time—pinned to her corset. She was so afraid of losing it…and to think that now…”
    A stifled sob caused Penelope to lean forward with a hand lightly placed on her mother’s arm. “Mother, we need to have faith and trust that Mr. Mahoney will be able to find it.”
    Dan didn’t correct her, couldn’t quite bring himself to tell them that an investigator only concerned himself with the “how.” How something was lost and how remuneration would be paid—not much more. He had reason to believe that every jewel in the necklace had been popped out, bagged, graded, and dispersed—most of the larger stones probably weren’t even in the country. And the platinum, a melted mass already sold.
    â€œThe necklace was made in 1900 by Tiffany. My grandfather helped to design it. My father inherited it when my grandmother died, and in 1912, gave it to my mother—his wedding gift along with the fateful honeymoon. Mother was twenty-two—Father’s second wife—he was ten years older. But they both survived the Titanic . Both among the seven hundred survivors. Father, of course, because he had a clubfoot. Any man with a disability was placed in the boats with women and children. I thought for years that my father felt guilty that he’d survived. Hastened his death, I know it did.”
    â€œMother, you can’t know that, but it would seem natural for grandfather to grieve with so many lost—over twenty-two hundred, wasn’t it?” Penelope pushed back from the table. “What depressing thoughts—time to liven this party up. Would everyone like a cup of tea? It’s ready to go.”
    Elaine got up, too. “Let me help.” She followed Penelope to the kitchen.
    Tea turned out to be quite the ceremony with brownish lumps of natural sugar and a plate of assorted sweets—all diminutive and looking like tooth-rattlers, Dan thought. Napkins were small with frilly edges and initials stitched in one corner, white embroidery against the slight yellowing of old linen. Dan’s body was beginning to suffer sitting on hard, unrelenting wood. He shifted his weight to his left side and balanced the eggshell-thin china in his left hand. So far, so good. No spills, nothing to apologize for. But there was a lot to be said for a good cold bottle of Bud. A lot easier to grab hold of, for one thing.
    â€œAnd I didn’t come along for another thirteen years…” Gertie seemed to be on a roll or just enjoying an audience for what must be oft-told stories. Dan tuned back in, then shifted again, but never lost eye-contact as she continued. “In those days I was considered a late-in-life baby. My mother was thirty-five and my father forty-five. I wouldn’t be late-in-life today. Did you read about that woman in her sixties giving birth? Sixties. Why, I can’t