The Necklace

Chapter 3

Rodney Semple was a tall, chiselled version of a young Rock Hudson . . . it was disgusting. I felt I had to keep straightening my jacket and checking my image in anything that held a reflection. His handshake was even dry, firm and confident.

"Richard Hart, Private Investigative Services?" He held my card with an amused but puzzled smile.

"Yes, I'm quietly asking around for Mr. Smythe-Frye--"

"Bennett? What about?"

First name basis with daddy! "Uh, it's a rather delicate matter--"

"Oh, the necklace, yes. Felicia told me about it. Terrible. Deborah was devastated."

Deborah was devastated? Did I miss something? "So you know . . ."

"Certainly."

"Certainly? I was under the impression Bennett was keeping this quiet."

"Well I am practically family, Mr. Hart."

"Really? Are you planning on that in the near future?"

"Felicia and I have an understanding." The first signs of the chiselled features shedding some crumbs.

"I see . . . I guess. Well, so with regard to the necklace, do you have any thoughts?"

"You mean who might have taken it?"

"Well, yes. Assuming that is it wasn't just misplaced."

The features were becoming a bit of a rock slide as Rod paced behind his office desk and I wondered if I had inadvertently grazed a nerve.

"I don't think I have anything that will help you in this matter, Mr. Hart. My association is really only through Mr. Smythe-Frye's daughter." The abrupt change of designations hung long enough to cause him to redden.

So, no more practically family all of a sudden. "Okay, thanks for your time and please, if you do think of anything, you have my card."

Rock Hudson reappeared, a little older, a little paler. "I will. Yes." He folded down into his ergonomic chair, wearing a bleak look.

********

Back at my office I gathered up the unsolicited flyer mail and filled my waste basket then cleared a space on my desk to spread out my notes and a greasy paper covered pastrami sandwich from the deli across the street.

The only new interesting item was Rodney's sudden change when I suggested the necklace might not be stolen but lost. Why would that bother anyone? Likely wouldn't affect the insurance. Surely having it public knowledge that you lost something so valuable wouldn't make one a social pariah . . . stolen might.

Some wet pastrami fell on the page and then juice from the sandwich dribbled down my fingers to drip on my pants. Perfect. I dabbed up the mess with paper towel and fetched a clean pair of pants from my emergency office closet, the very reason for its existence since I made a habit of slopping.

"What if," I said aloud, zipping up the fly, "the necklace had been taken out to use as collateral for something and then couldn't be retrieved?"

Such as? The voice in my head asked.

"Payment of a debt would be a such as."

A debt that would require a million plus necklace as collateral?

"If it was all you could provide." This made me think of Rodney's reaction again and as well Felicia, whose behaviour smacked loudly of drug use, and wouldn't that be a debt maker if you were heavily addicted.