Steamy Southern Nights Page 7

  She looked at Claude as she spoke. “Three strings of fat pearls in a choker with a very large square emerald in the center. Claude would know more about sizes and so on. All I know is that it was stunning.”

  “Worth a fortune, too,” Isabelle said. “It was stolen the night of the historical society’s gala. Seems like it might be the same thief as the one who took the Guillotine diamonds. It went missing between two, when Mrs. Gimmel returned it to the safe and four a.m. when their dog started barking and they found the safe open. Same MO. Nothing else taken.”

  There was absolute silence in the room. Outside, Lucy heard a car drive by. In the house somewhere a clock chimed off the hour.

  “Have you heard any rumblings Claude?”

  Another pause.

  “No.”

  “Can you check with your network?”

  He nodded.

  “If you hear of anything Claude, or if a fence gets in touch with you…”

  “I’ll call you right away.”

  Isabelle looked for a second as though she’d say more, then with a nod she and her partner got up and left.

  Lucy heard the door shut behind them, and then Claude’s soft tread returning to where she still sat stone still.

  He didn’t come all the way in the room but stood leaning on the doorway. “You didn’t turn me in.”

  She felt his gaze on her but couldn’t look at him. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Why not? Why hadn’t she told the police that she’d seen him with a fortune in jewels in his hand not ten minutes ago and that they were stashed right here in this room.

  Because in the moment she’d seen the police on the doorstep she’d known she was in love with her thieving cousin. “Because I’m an idiot,” she said savagely, kicking the leg of her chair so hard she bruised her heel.

  “Are you planning to tell them?”

  “I haven’t decid—“ She blew out a breath. “No. I’ve never done one single dishonest thing in my life until now. Not one. I don’t have an unpaid parking ticket, an overdue library fine. Nothing. And now I’m an accessory to jewel theft.”

  Claude came and squatted in front of her chair. The strained look was gone and she thought he looked smug. No, not smug, she realized. Happy.

  What the hell did he have to be happy about?

  “Lucy, I need your help.”

  “What you need is a good defense attorney.”

  “I want you to promise me you won’t tell my mother about this.”

  “Of course I’m not going to tell your mother. But Claude, what are you planning to do with that thing?”

  He gazed at her with a slight frown pulling his brows together. “Put it back.”

  “Oh.” Well, it was something at least. Maybe he was going to try and go straight. A sudden qualm assailed her.

  “Claude?”

  “Mmm?” He was rubbing her thighs but almost as though he were thinking about something else, so she didn’t stop him.

  “Is Isabelle involved in the thefts?”

  “Isabelle?” He looked at her like she was nuts. “Isabelle’s a cop. She’s trying to track down the missing jewels.”

  “Yeah? Well, cops can be on the take. I’ve seen The Big Easy.”

  He shook his head at her. “This one isn’t. It’s … complicated.”

  Complicated? Calling this complicated was like calling Lake Pontchartrain a small puddle. Oh, she’d found her family skeleton all right. And he was going to rattle her right out of her mind.

  She heard Beatrice come in the house and knowing there was no way she could see her hostess while the woman’s son’s criminal activities were so fresh in her mind, she excused herself quickly and ran upstairs to her room.

  What was she going to do?

  If only she hadn’t slept with him. She’d told herself she wouldn’t. Then she’d been swept away by totally inappropriate lust.

  Oh, she was in trouble now.

  She felt like slapping herself. Hard. The necklace had been stolen the night of the gala. The very night she’d first made love with Cousin Claude.

  How could he have slept with her and then calmly gone off and stolen a fortune in jewels? She wondered which act had given him more pleasure.

  She stared blindly out of the window at the garden he’d made for his mother. He was always encouraging Beatrice in her hobbies. She’d thought that was so sweet. And yet here he was living a double life. She imagined him sneaking out of his house right after she’d left it, racing out to go steal…wait a minute.

  Isabelle had said the robbery took place between the hours of two a.m. and four a.m. She remembered creeping home that morning serenaded by early birdsong. That had been after five. She was sure of it now, because she’d checked her clock when she got to her room. Five twenty. Claude had been far too busy making love to her between the hours of two and four to be breaking and entering.

  She sat down sharply on her bed. If Claude hadn’t taken the necklace then what was it doing in his mother’s house? And if he had taken it why would he have stashed it at his mom’s? Something was wrong with this picture.

  But, with a slight alteration, everything made sense.

  Lucy made her way back downstairs, hearing the rise and fall of Beatrice and Claude’s voices from the front room.

  She walked in and they both stopped talking. Beatrice wiped her eyes and said, “Oh, Lucy. You startled me, honey.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. For my research.”

  Claude was gazing at her with a warning expression but she sat beside him anyway on the couch and patted his knee. She’d promised him she wouldn’t tell his mother what she’d seen, and she wouldn’t.

  “What kind of question? Something about the genealogy? I think everything’s in the family bible I showed you.”

  “No. It’s not genealogy. It’s a little personal, but I’m curious where the family fortune came from. I understood it was inherited, but I can’t seem to find anyone in the family who ever made a fortune. And believe me, I’ve looked.”

  “Lucy, you’re being nosy,” Claude snapped. “Stop it.”

  “I am being nosy,” she said, keeping her gaze on Beatrice, “But I’d really like an answer. It’s … important.”

  Beatrice heaved a huge sigh then turned to her son. “I think it’s time we told Lucy the truth, don’t you?”

  “No. Keep your mouth shut, mother.”

  “I think I’ve figured out most of it, anyway,” Lucy said.

  “I told you she was smart as a whip,” Beatrice said to Claude, sounding proud.

  “Mama, you can’t—“

  “Lucy’s family. Besides, it’s my business and I’ll tell her if I want. I’m an international jewel thief, Lucy,” she said with an unmistakable note of pride. “My husband, rest his soul, was the true talent, but I wasn’t half bad either. We were a great team for more then twenty years. Never caught you know. Came close a couple of times.” She chuckled, the way another mother would, reminiscing over a particularly enjoyable family holiday. “Claude disappointed his father a little when he went straight, but you have to admit, he’s made a fine success of his business and he learned everything about jewels and antiques from us, of course.”

  “That’s nice,” said Lucy, feeling something was required.

  “It’s very inconvenient that he’s working with the police, though, very inconvenient.” She turned to Lucy. “Of course, I mostly only dabble these days as a hobby. I don’t keep the money. Not anymore. It’s a kind of philanthropy. I only steal from people who can afford it, and I use the money I raise for good causes.”

  “Like Robin Hood,” Lucy found herself saying.

  “You need a new hobby, mama,” Claude said with a bite.

  “Then why don’t you hurry up and give me grandchildren?” She beamed at Lucy. “I’ll be a wonderful grandmother.”

  “Back to the problem at hand,” Lucy said
with determination, not liking the way the fanatical grandmothering gleam was being directed at her, “What are we going to do with this necklace?”

  “You aren’t going to do anything,” Claude said. “Either of you. I’m putting the necklace back.”

  “But the police know it’s missing.”

  “I’ll figure out something.”

  “How will you get into the safe?” Lucy asked.

  Beatrice laughed. “Claude’s inherited his father’s gift. We used to put his allowance in different safes every week. He had to open the safe to get the money.” She chuckled. “By the time he was in high school there wasn’t a lock he couldn’t pick or a safe he couldn’t crack. That’s why his father was a little disappointed he spurned the family business.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. But the second generation often does, you know. Veronica Mills was telling me the other day that they can’t get a single one of their four children interested in the Mills chain of hardware stores. Not one.”

  Lucy blinked. “How disappointing.” She turned to the man next to her. “So, you’re going to sneak into those people’s home and put the necklace back?”

  “No.” Beatrice said. “You’re not. I’m going to sell it and donate the proceeds to the save the swamp fund, as I was planning all along. You keep your nose out of my business and everything will be fine.”

  “Mama, times have changed. Law enforcement’s more sophisticated now.” He rose and went to stand in front of her. “I don’t want my mama in jail.”

  “But—“

  “And I’m not bringing the grandchildren on prison visiting day.”

  “Oh.” She sniffed. “Oh. Well, that makes a difference.”

  Lucy was getting a funny feeling in her belly, part excitement and part fear but this wasn’t the moment to think about herself. Someone in her family was in trouble.

  “The Guillotine Diamonds,” Lucy suddenly said. “Isabelle said it was the same M.O.”

  Beatrice beamed with pride. “That Isabelle is another smart cookie.”

  “What did you do with the diamonds?” Lucy asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

  “I returned them to their rightful owner, of course. It wasn’t right they should leave the family. Those dot.com people didn’t need or appreciate those diamonds. It was all for show. I merely rearranged ownership in a more satisfactory way.”

  “I don’t want to know this,” Claude said, sounding totally frustrated.

  “At least she didn’t try and sell them,” Lucy reminded him. She wrinkled her brow. “I would think so long as the original family never tries to sell the diamonds again, no one would ever know.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “I think it’s more important that we have to figure out how to put the Gimmel necklace back,” Lucy said again.

  “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Well, I think I’ll put supper on. I can’t stand to think of those awful people killing all those frogs when I could have helped prevent it.”

  “She has a point,” Lucy said, when she was alone with Claude.

  “Don’t you start.”

  She looked at him, feeling suddenly shy and fluttery. “You’ve never stolen anything, have you?”

  He stared at her for a moment and then shook his head slowly. “I’m the black sheep. How did you figure it out?”

  “Isabelle said the necklace was stolen between two and four and I knew you’d been…um…busy during those hours.”

  He grinned. “Very busy. And when can we—“

  One kiss she allowed him, it seemed only fair after wrongly believing he was a jewel thief. Then she said, “It’s too dangerous for you to return that necklace alone. Luckily, I have a plan.”

  Her expectations were not met when, instead of looking at her eagerly to hear her plan, he groaned and dropped his head in his hand.

  8

  Claude decided that the women in his life were going to be the death of him. Too bad he was so crazy about them both.

  His mother, the international and supposedly retired jewel thief, had been as enamored of Lucy’s plan as he’d feared.

  “I hope this works,” said Lucy, her voice sounding strained.

  “If it doesn’t, we’ll all end up in jail,” Claude said, wishing he’d been able to convince the two sweet but misguided women in his life to stay home. “Maybe they’ll send us somewhere that has family cells.”

  When they’d announced they were going alone if he didn’t feel like coming along – well, what could he do?

  “We’ll be brilliant.” Beatrice sighed. “It’s so nice to work with partners again.”

  “Last time, mama. You promised.”

  “I know. But let’s go out in style.” She beamed at them, looking a good ten years younger with the glow of excitement mantling her cheeks. “You remember your part, Lucy.”

  “Yes. I keep the horrible husband occupied.”

  “Right. I’m going on the pretext of inviting that awful woman to join the garden committee. Everyone will think I’ve lost my mind when I announce I’m sponsoring her,” his mother said bitterly.

  “And I will need to use the washroom,” Claude said, thinking as plans went it was about the lamest he’d ever heard. Not that he’d come up with anything better. The one good thing was that no one in their right mind would think he’d come to return a stolen item to the safe, so they at least had surprise on their sides.

  The Gimmels were predictably happy to see his mother and fawned all over her. Her reputation as a society woman made her the object of a lot of fawning from people like the Gimmels. They seemed surprised to see him and Lucy in tow, but his mother made their unexpected appearance sound like a treat.

  “I brought my son Claude along, and our Canadian cousin Lucy. They drove me, you see, and after I’d finished telling them how lovely your home is, they were anxious to have a peek.”

  “Of course,” the razor-thin woman said, showing teeth that were awfully big for how little a workout they must get eating. “Edward,” she ordered the husband. “Fetch the drinks cart.”

  Oh, good. They were going to pretend they were in a Noel Coward play. Drinks cart. Shit.

  Still, better a mild drawing room farce than say, Tennessee Williams, who might be a local, but the fate of families in his plays was a little too dismal for Claude’s taste right now.

  Soon they were all settled in an ostentatious living room, overstuffed with very expensive and very tasteless furniture. Priceless antiques were shoved next to ultra-modern pieces from the Milan furniture fair. The look was probably supposed to be eclectic, but to his eye was an unsightly mess. He almost wondered whether his mother was right and they should hock the jewels currently tucked in his pocket and give the proceeds to charity.

  Lucy would never forgive him though, and Lucy’s opinion had become altogether too important.

  So, he made small talk over a scotch, let his mother charm the pants off their hosts, and watched Lucy try and pretend she wasn’t a bag of nerves.

  After he felt they’d all had long enough to get comfortable, he said, “Excuse me, can I use your washroom?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Edward Gimmel. “Right through there.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slid through ornate double doors and headed in the direction of the washroom, then slipped upstairs, pulling cotton gloves on as he went. He figured he had at least seven or eight minutes before anyone wondered where he was. He ought to be done in four.

  His mother had told him where to find the safe, so he wasted no time but headed directly for the master bedroom and an enormous walk-in closet that reeked of some cloying perfume. Did these people not have restraint in anything?

  Closing the door and flicking on the pencil flashlight, he pushed aside a shoe rack and uncovered the safe.

  Three minutes later, he had the safe open and was lifting some papers, ready to slide the necklace in
to place.

  That was when he noticed the flaw in Lucy’s plan.

  A barking, growling, teeth baring flaw.

  9

  Lucy was doing her best, but she knew – if she’d ever been curious – that she wasn’t cut out for crime. Her armpits felt damp, her palms downright slippery and the questions she posed to Edward Gimmel about the resort he’d invested in somewhere in the Bahamas couldn’t have been more brainless.

  A couple more minutes, she thought, and they’d be out of here.

  Then the barking started. The kind of barking that comes from a hysterical, hyper little dog.

  “Princess?” Mrs. Gimmel shrieked. “We shut her upstairs when guests are coming. She can be annoying, but she’s a very good watch dog.”

  “Where’s your son?” Mr. Gimmel asked, leaping to his feet.

  “He’ll be back,” Beatrice said so serenely that Lucy had to give her credit. “Little dogs get excited about nothing don’t they? We used to have a cocker spaniel–.”

  Gimmel wasn’t buying the diversion. With an ugly look he jumped to his feet and ran out. He went first to the guest bathroom, but of course it was empty, then he charged for the stairs where the shrill, endless barking reminded Lucy of a car alarm that won’t shut off.

  Lucy had no idea what she was going to do, but she followed her host with the bad toupee. He went straight for the sound of the hysterical barking, which was coming from behind a closed door that had to be the bedroom where Claude was no doubt standing in front of an open safe.

  Damn and damn. Bloody dog.

  “Mr. Gimmel. I was so hoping you’d give me a tour of the house. This is wonderful,” she said in a loud voice. If Claude could get out of the window or something, they could still salvage this. Gimmel ignored her and threw open the bedroom door. Still acting as imbecilic as she knew how – and it was amazing how much imbecility had lain dormant all this time – she pushed her way in front of him into the room. “Oh, is this your bedroom? What a lovely room. Oh, and this is your sweet dog.”

  An over-coiffed Pekingese was jumping up at a door that presumably led to the walk in closet and yapping its fool head off.