The Goddaughter's Revenge (2 page)

“Thought we better meet here,” he said. “Nobody to overhear. You won't want even the family to know about this.”

I pulled the plastic lid off the coffee cup and took a swig. Good brew…hot and strong. Just the way I like my men. Which is not exactly how I would describe Sammy.

A single center light fixture was turned on, and the shades were drawn on all the windows. I stared at Sammy through the gloom and was reminded of Woody Allen. There was a lot going on behind those beady eyes.

I nodded to the left. “What's with the wall of cigarette cartons?”

They were stacked about six feet high and three feet deep against the side wall of the room.

“Had some trouble with a truck,” Sammy said. He shifted his feet and slurped from the cup.

“Trouble being…the truck wasn't ours?”

Sammy shrugged. “They'll be gone by next week.”

I let it go at that. My uncle Vince has a lot of businesses. Sammy is his right-hand man. I've found it's best to know as little as possible about businesses in the family. Except my own, of course.

I'm a certified gemologist and run a sweet little jewelry store that's been in the family for decades. It's all legit. I work hard to keep it that way. With my family, that's a feat.

I looked back at Sammy and waited. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“Take a good look at this.” He held it between two fingers and handed it to me.

I put my coffee down on a stack of cartons and took it from him. It was a rose tourmaline ring, about four karats, heart-shaped and surrounded by diamonds. Aunt Miriam's ring, which Sammy had purchased for her from my shop a few years ago. I pulled it closer and reached for the loupe in my pocket. I took a look.

“Shit!” I yelled. “What the fuck?”

“Hey, watch the language. Miriam don't like it when you talk like that.”

“But—” I felt like hitting something. “It's a fake. Another one. Not even a good one. I did
not
sell you a fake. How the hell did this happen?”

But even as I said it, I knew the answer.

“Carmine.” I felt like I'd been socked in the face. “That dweeb Carmine! He was minding the store for me a few weeks back, and he switched the stone. SONOVABITCH!” I was going to kill the bastard.

Carmine was a cousin from the New York branch of the family. He was a certified gemologist like I was, and Vince had brought him in to run the store while I was away.

Carmine would not have been my choice, in that he was about as weasely as a basket of weasels. We did not get on well as kids. Suffice it to say I used to call him Ratface and he called me Fat Bum.

So he wouldn't have been my choice, but Vince wanted to mend a few fences by accepting the offer of help that Big Sally had made. Recently there had been friction between certain factions of the extended family. I tried not to follow it too closely.

“You said
another one
. You mean there're more?” Sammy may look insignificant, but he's sharp as a hornet's stinger.

I placed the ring carefully into the little padded velvet bag I keep in my purse.

“One at least. I need to check.”

Sammy swore. Good thing Aunt Miriam wasn't there to hear him.

“The little bastard has no brains at all. Stealing from us? He's gotta have a screw loose.”

“He hates me. But even I didn't think he could be this low.” Or stupid.

“You want I should tell Vinnie about this?” he said.

“No! No telling Vince. I can handle Carmine myself.” Okay, that was a lie. What was I going to do? Tell his mother on him?

“We can't take him out, Sugar. He's Big Sally's son-in-law. It would start a war.”

“No taking anyone out!” I hit my hand to my forehead. “That's the last thing I want. Especially after the recent trouble between Big Sally and Vince. No, let's keep this between just a few of us.”

Not to mention that, if word got out, I would look like a complete loser to the rest of the family. Duped by that weasel Carmine. Yeah, maybe this was a stupid thing to worry about under the circumstances. But it mattered to me. I had a rep to maintain inside the family
and
out.

“But maybe…” A bright glint came into Sammy's eyes. Now I was reminded of a leprechaun. “Let me see what we can dig up on him. Something you can use on him. Persuasion, if you get my drift. So you can get the real stones back.”

I calmed down immediately. Blackmail. I liked it. It was crafty. “You got someone in New York who could maybe do a little research?”

Sammy smiled. “I got a hundred people in New York.”

CHAPTER THREE

On my way to the store I called Pete.

“Do you own a gun?” I said.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I'm from Buffalo.”

“Good. Because I may have to shoot someone.”

* * *

A short time later, I was sitting in the office at Ricci Jewelers, considering ways to torture people. One person in particular. My cousin Carmine the Weasel.

Tiffany was focused on murder options. Tiff, my super-efficient, wardrobe-challenged, eighteen-year-old shop assistant also happens to be my uncle Manny's daughter. She dropped out of school this year because it was “pathetic.” I am employing her because apparently I am a “good influence.” Which only goes to show how “pathetic” things are in my family.

“We could boil him in oil.”

“Too cliché,” I said. I was checking our stock of precious stones for fakes. “Hand me that other tray.”

“We could shove a cactus up his butt and make him sit on it.” Her black-rimmed eyes sparkled at the thought.

Jesus, the young are bloodthirsty. At the moment, Tiff looks like a younger version of Winona Rider in
Beetlejuice
. By tomorrow she could be blond and dressed like Madonna. With Tiff, you never can tell.

I am told I look like Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra on a really bad day—minus the blue eye shadow. For some reason, people think we look like sisters. I really don't know how to take that.

“I can't find any fakes here. What the hell was Carm up to?” I was baffled. The dweeb was behind this—I was sure of it.

Tiff shrugged. Her many piercings shrugged with her.

“Probably he just substituted a few fake stones in rings that he knew were leaving the store. He wouldn't have left anything fake here because he knows you would catch them when you came back.”

A chill ran down my back. I put down the loupe.

“That's a brilliant deduction, Watson. I have an idea. Get me a list of items that were in for service during the time The Weasel was in charge of the store.”

My head was spinning. I leaned forward in my chair, put both elbows on the desk and held my head in my hands.

“I never should have left the store,” I mumbled to myself. “Never should have let Vince talk me into bringing the dweeb in to cover for me.”

The thing is, I had to meet Pete's parents. We were engaged, for crissake. And you can't go to Florida from Hamilton for just a day—at least, not the first time, when they want to get to know you. Not to mention figure out what kind of nutcase their son has hooked up with. It wouldn't have been fair.

Pete's parents were delightful and obviously thrilled that Pete is settling down. His mother was a real sweetheart to me. Luckily, they have yet to figure out that I am a nutcase. Or that I come from a certain family.

Tiff returned with the list. We both pored over it.

Then I groaned and looked up.

“You know what this means?” I said.

Tiffany nodded. “Half The Hammer might be walking around with fake gems on their fingers.”

I gulped. “And we have to get them back here and check each one before anyone finds out, or my rep is cooked.”

“How are we going to do that?”

I stared into space. “Let me think.”

CHAPTER FOUR

That evening, I assembled the vigilantes.

“We need a plan,” I said to the group.

Tiff nodded. “A cunning plan.”

I rolled my eyes.

The “group” was me, Tiff and her brother Nico, who was not gay but just liked the color pink. We were in Nico's teeny condo on Caroline Street. It was a short walk to Hess Village, the swank bar and bistro center of Hamilton. And yes, the condo was black and white with pink accents.

“Why isn't Sammy here?” said Nico. He was leaning against the black-granite countertop, nursing an espresso.

“I thought we'd just keep this between the three of us for now,” I said cautiously. “Sammy has enough problems.” And if Sammy became a part of this, then his wife—Aunt Miriam—would know about what we were doing, and Miriam would tell Aunt Vera, and then Vince—well, you get the picture.

Besides, Sammy was working another angle. I wanted him to concentrate on that.

First I had to solve the immediate problem. Which was to get the freaking fakes back from my clients. Then I could plan revenge.

“So we're all agreed,” I said. “We have to get all the fake stones back and replace them with real ones before anyone finds out.”

“Otherwise your reputation is toast,” said Tiff.

I looked at her sideways.

“OUR reputation is toast. We lose our clientele, and you lose your job, sweetface.”

I didn't want to think about that. I had worked hard to keep this business clean. So hard! And one rumor of fake stones would kill my rep for good. Crap, I was pissed!

I love my little store. It is just so
me
. Most jewelry stores are dark, rather dreary places with a lot of oak paneling. They look like old banks. Either that or they go the other way, with sleek black cabinets and annoying fluorescent lights. My store is bright-white and blue. Beautiful cyan-blue walls with sapphire accents. Glass shelves feature Murano glass sculptures shipped direct from Venice. Nico helped me with the makeover a year ago. One customer told me it's like walking into a gemstone. Gorgeous.

I didn't want to lose my store.

“How many invoices did you count again, Tiff?”

“Eight. Here's that list of items that came in during that week.” She handed me the piece of paper we'd looked at before.

Aunt Miriam—check. Mrs. Harris—check. Then six more clients I knew well enough. They were regulars—and, unfortunately, some of Steeltown's elite. Definitely friends of my aunt Pinky.

“What did they bring them in for?”

“Cleaning and appraisal. Remember we ran that special for good clients last month?” Tiff said.

“Rats,” I said. “So we can't entice them in here by offering the same deal. Too soon. Double rats.”

I had two rings. That meant I had to get the other six and exchange the fake gems for real ones.

Sigh. This was going to cost me a fortune.

“Are you telling Pete?” Nico asked.

“Pete is that last one I'm going to tell!” I was firm about that. “He already thinks we're all wacko.” Not to mention rather lacking in specific morals.

“Better we keep mum.” I drummed my fingers on the desk. “After all, what I'm proposing is not exactly on the straight and narrow.”

Silence. We'd all been thinking it. They'd been waiting for me to put it on the table and say out it out loud.

“So,” I said slowly, “you're both with me?”

Nico nodded. He swished one hand airily through space. “Piece of cake. All those B and Es when I was a kid—I never got caught.”

I held back a shiver. “Tiff?”

“I'm good. Whatever you need.” Her dark brown eyes were glowing.

“Good.” I took a breath. “So we're going to break into these houses and steal back the fakes.”

CHAPTER FIVE

One day I am going to write a book.

It's going to be entitled
Burglary for Dummies
and will have all sorts of helpful tips. Things like “Make sure your accomplices know the rules.”

Nico arrived at the first target residence wearing all black. Black Gap T-shirt, black tight-fitting jeans, which were extra long because Nico is lanky, black shoes. I don't know where he managed to get black shoes like that. Maybe at a dance studio?

Of course, his hair is bleached bright blond, so the effort might have been wasted.

“Here I am!” he announced, all eager like a kid at Christmas. “Parked around the corner. Brought my tools.” His small satchel was, of course, black, as were his gloves.

I sighed. He was really getting into this project, just as I feared.

“Now the idea is we get in and out quickly,” I said. “According to Aunt Pinky, these people will be back tomorrow. I'm just going to switch the ring and vamoose. Got it?” I looked him square in the eyes. When had he started wearing black eyeliner?

“Roger,” he said, and we walked up the path to the front door. “This is great, Gina! Been so long since I've done this. I feel just like Johnny Depp.”

Now I was really having second thoughts. Make that third thoughts.

“You know this isn't a real burglary, right? We're not stealing anything. I'm actually replacing a fake with a real one.”

Niko stopped at the door. He placed the satchel on the flagstone step and pulled out something small and made of steel. “That's what makes it so much fun,” he said, working the lock. “No need to find a fence, and I get to see how the rich decorate their houses.”

“How is that interior-design course going, by the way?” I asked.

There was a
click
and a
ting.
Nico turned the weathered brass knob and the door swung open.

“Oh dear,” he said as he walked in.

“What?” I was right behind him and immediately on the alert.

“Don't turn on a light. I don't think I can stand it.” He waved a slim hand at the living room in front of us.

I followed the gesture. Nothing there but a whole lot of furniture. Not very nice furniture—rather heavy—and the room was far too crowded. But no dogs or feral cats around that I could see.