Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“It can’t be,” Noelle said. Her voice sounded hoarse, breathy, and Evan spun around to see her leaning over the jewelry case as she peered at something inside.
He walked to where she stood. “What is it?”
“It’s my mother’s wedding ring.”
“What?” Evan leaned over, looking below where her finger tapped on the glass. It was a platinum band featuring filigree detailing, a large stone in the center, and two stones flanking the sides. It was delicate and beautiful and looked very expensive and very old. “It belonged to my great-grandmother. I . . . is this why my father came here?”
Movement caught Evan’s eye, and he straightened, watching as an older man walked from the back of the shop, a pleasant smile on his face. “Mr. Baudelaire?” Evan asked.
“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Sinclair, Ms. Meyer.” He shook Evan’s hand and then Noelle’s. “My son tells me you’re investigating a cold case. May I ask what case it is?” He had a subtle French accent, as though he’d been in America for many years but still retained the bare hint of his mother tongue. Next to him, Evan noticed Noelle wrap her arms around herself as though chilled.
“Yes. A man named Dow Maginn was the murder victim of an apparent mugging gone wrong eight years ago. We have new information that he may have been specifically targeted.” A little bit of a stretch but true enough, and he didn’t want it to sound like they were questioning him over a few scrawled notes in an old calendar and a hunch. Which was basically the case but may not have inspired the man to offer any information he might have. “But first, Mr. Baudelaire, may I ask you about a ring in your case? My partner, Noelle, believes she recognizes it, and it may tie into the case I just mentioned and the reason we’re here.”
The older man glanced at the display case. “Of course,” he said, walking around it to the other side, where he could open the lock and the sliding portion of the glass that allowed access. “Which one?”
Noelle pointed down at the ring from the top, and André Baudelaire removed the ring carefully, placing it on the top of the case.
Noelle picked it up, eyes wide as she brought it closer to her face, lips parted as she turned the piece of jewelry this way and that. “It was my mother’s,” she confirmed. “Look, her grandmother’s initials are carved inside. They’re faded, but you can still see them.”
“Your mother’s grandmother?” Mr. Baudelaire asked. “How fascinating.”
She placed the ring down, her hand hovering over it for a moment as though it’d been hard to let it go. “Yes. Mr. Baudelaire, my father believed his friend Dow Maginn was murdered. He wrote the name of your shop down in his calendar the day before Dow was killed. We’re trying to figure out if there was any connection, as my father has since passed away.”
Mr. Baudelaire frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He picked up the ring, studying it in much the same way Noelle just had. “This lovely piece, yes. The interesting thing is I only took it out of the safe about a year ago. I’m surprised it hasn’t sold yet but expect that it will sooner than later. Some romantic young man sophisticated enough to recognize timeless beauty and understated class when he sees it. And one who has a fiancée who prefers the unique over the ordinary.” He smiled, a subtle tipping of his lips, before he placed it delicately back in the case and slid it shut. “Your father did not want to part with it. In fact, he asked if I might consider more of a pawn-like deal than an outright sale. I don’t do that, and I told him so. But . . . he seemed so desperate. So . . . distraught. It’s why I still remember him.” He rubbed his clean-shaven chin absently, as though trying to recall the specifics of the interaction from so many years ago. “He took the deal I offered. No promises. But . . . I put the ring away anyhow, believing he’d be back to buy it. It got lost in my safe, I suppose. I have quite a collection in there. But styles are cyclical. Platinum, gold, round cut, colored diamonds, you get the idea. I buy for beauty, and for a certain je ne sais quoi.” A smile floated over his lips. “But I display for the current trends and what will sell.”
“Then we got very lucky,” Evan said. What were the odds that her great-grandmother’s ring had sat in a safe, forgotten, until only a year before Noelle had walked through the door of this shop and recognized it? And that it hadn’t been purchased during that time?