conclusion.”
“Oh, that’s really great, Dad. Push me right before a final. Thanks a heap!”
Decker exhaled forcefully. “You’re right. My timing stinks. I’m sorry.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“I’m sorry, too, Daddy. I know I’ve been difficult, lately. I’m not without insight.”
“You’ve been fine.”
“No, I haven’t, but thanks for saying it anyway. Can I call you back in a few days? I’m really nervous.”
“Princess, you can call me anytime you want, twenty-four hours a day. I’ll be waiting.”
Her voice became small. “Thank you.”
“You sure you’re okay, Cindy?”
“I’m fine.”
Then she burst into tears.
“Is there anything I can do for you, honey?”
“No.” She sniffed. “I should get going. I really should.”
“Love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy. Bye.”
The line went dead, the only thing to show for his effort, a knot in his gut. He looked at his watch. The conversation had lasted forty-eight seconds. Business as usual.
11
Decker was about to reach for the door when it swung open, almost clipping him in the ribs. He took a quick shuffle backward, then a seductive voice beckoned him to enter. He slid into the backseat of the limo and closed the door. Davida had removed her veil. Guess the mourning period had passed.
“May I call you Peter?” Davida asked. “Isn’t that what Lilah calls you?”
Straining to keep his eyeballs from rolling back, Decker answered yes.
“Peter.” Davida placed her hand on his knee. “I see you more as a Pete.”
Whatever she called him, he was sorely tempted to drop her hand back in her lap. But at her age, she was harmless. Why ruin the rapport before the interview even began?
“A Pete?”
“Yes, definitely a Pete,” she said. “Not in those clothes of course. What exactly are you wearing? Standard detective garb? I’d never cast you as a policeman. Yes, you’re big and all that crap, but your coloring is all wrong. Redheads do not connote ‘tough guy.’ And your skin—too smooth and too fair. You’re not sinister enough for a cop … except in the eyes. You have very piercing eyes.”
Decker thought: That’s ’cause you’re looking in the mirror, lady. Talk about hard eyes. Hers could scratch diamonds. She’d been lifted by an excellent cosmetic surgeon. Tightened in all the right spots, yet the skin didn’t look as though it would crack if she smiled. The knife work emphasized her strongest points—the great bone structure, the angular chin, the wide mouth. Her lips were still full and sensual, probably been helped along by collagen injections. Up close, she was still a nice-looking woman—discounting the eyes. There wasn’t a scalpel sharp enough to excise the titanium lodged inside those irises.
“Now if I were to cast you,” she went on, “I’d put you in some blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ten-gallon hat.” She cocked her face. “Your face isn’t weatherbeaten, but makeup would take care of that.” She squeezed his knee. “What do you think?”
Decker laughed. “I think it’s a good idea I never went into pictures. Can I ask you a few questions? I know your time is limited.”
Davida patted his leg and withdrew her hand. “I like a man who can cut to the chase. I want my jewels back, Peter.”
“And I want you to get them back. Want to tell me about them?”
“You bet your derriere, I do. The first is an emerald brooch—five-carat table-cut Colombian emerald surrounded by round-cut diamonds—twenty points each—maybe four carats’ worth. Three pairs of mabe-pearl earrings—one teardrop-shaped surrounded by emeralds, the other two pairs round, one surrounded by diamonds, the other surrounded by rubies—in case I was in my red mood.”
“What are mabe pearls?”
“The big round ones that are flat on one side.”
“I always thought they were costume jewelry.”
“No, dear man, they are indeed pearls.”
“Total value per pair?”
“Perhaps five to six thousand per. I also had a ruby choker—alternating rubies and diamonds, actually. A sapphire and yellow-diamond necklace—that one’s worth about fifty thousand. Five strands of rose-colored pearls of varying lengths with matching pearl studs surrounded by diamond jackets. A diamond bowknot clip—antique Tiffany.”
She sighed.
“God, this makes me sick! You’re probably thinking the old bitch is insured anyway. What’s her problem? It’s not the money, it’s the pieces. Each one told a different story in my life. My history … just ripped away. I’m furious!”
Decker nodded. Davida waved her hand in the air. “What do you care?”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Eversong, I understand what you’re saying.”
She studied him. “Maybe you do. You seem … sensitive.”
“What else was taken from you, Ms. Eversong?”
“I also had cluster-pearl earrings woven with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. My Christmas earrings. It makes me nauseated to think of my precious babies in the hands of some snotbucket who wouldn’t know a diamond from quartz crystal.”
Suddenly, the old lady’s eyes moistened. She pulled out a lacy black handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I’m simply devastated.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Decker said. “I’m sure Lilah is devastated as well.”
“Why? She didn’t lose any jewelry.” There was a momentary pause. “Oh … yes, that was terrible. Poor dear. But she’s young, Peter. Youth is resilient. She’ll get over it. It’s so much harder for people like me.”
“I think it would have been very difficult if you had been beaten,” Decker said. “But you weren’t, Ms. Eversong. Lilah was. And I’m going to find the perpetrator.”
Davida looked up and caught his eyes. “Tell me something, Peter. Are you going to look for my jewels with as much zest as you have for Lilah’s attacker?”
“We’ll get to the bottom of all of it.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Let’s
