The Goddaughter's Revenge (3 page)

I gave a sigh of relief. “Okay, you keep watch. I'll be upstairs in the master bedroom. Buzz my cell if you need to alert me.”

Nico sniffed. “This is a disaster. Look at those tacky coral pillows. That awful throw rug covering perfectly good hardwood. All this money, and the place looks like it was decorated out of an eighties catalog. I'm appalled, Gina. Absolutely appalled.”

“You just stay right there!” I commanded, taking the stairs two at a time. “I won't be a minute.”

I was more than a minute, of course. This was a big home, and the master bedroom was at the opposite end of the second floor. It took me about sixty steps to get to it. I looked in at least five bedrooms and two bathrooms along the way. There were two guest rooms, a computer room and a room totally done—make that overdone—in hot pink. You don't want to know what the boy's room was like. I hastily closed the door.

I opened the double doors that led to the master. It was about the size of a baseball field and just as nicely decorated as the living room. I didn't stop to admire the faded floral matching drapes and bedspread.

It took me a little time to find the ring. First I tried the jewelry boxes in plain sight. Nothing there but tacky costume jewelry. Of course, many people do that to fool burglars into thinking there's nothing of value in the place. But I knew different, so I dug deeper. The emerald ring was in the top middle drawer of the French provincial dresser, under a pile of lingerie. Calling it lingerie was generous. Mrs. Hewitt obviously kept her undies until they fell down.

The ring was in a Ricci Jewelers box, which made me feel good for some reason. I made the switch and pushed in the drawer. Then I listened.

Strange noises were coming from downstairs. Drat that Nico—he must have turned on the television.

I retraced my steps to the master bedroom doors and closed them gently behind me. The trick to a successful break and enter is to leave everything exactly as one found it.

Crreek
!

I hurried to the stairs.

Clunk
.

I ran down the stairs and stopped dead on the last one.

“Nico, what the hell?”

The brown sofa had been moved to the back of the room, against the expansive picture window. The carpet was gone, and at least two chairs were missing. The coffee table had been cleared of all but one art book. A turquoise pashmina was draped artfully across the cream loveseat.

“Isn't this better?” said Nico. “I moved the icky chairs to the dining room and removed those awful pillows. Couldn't do much about the paintings, of course. But now, with the sofa moved, the focus is on the great view out the back.”

I gulped. “You rearranged their furniture?”

“It was either that or kill myself. I couldn't spend another moment in this place, Gina.”

I hit my head with my hand. I was still searching for words when the telephone rang. Not my cell, but the telephone in the house.

“Let's get out of here,” he whispered. We rushed out the front door, and Nico discreetly turned the lock with his little tool. At the sidewalk, we parted as planned and took separate cars home. This was probably a good thing, because for the first time in my life I was truly speechless.

* * *

Saturday morning, Pete got up first. I like it when he does that. Coffee is already made by the time I amble into the kitchen. I discovered early on that Pete is a full-service boyfriend.

As expected, Pete was reading the paper. Usually he starts with the sports section. But today, he was staring at the front page.

I walked over to get myself coffee. Pete made a strange sound, so I turned before reaching the counter.

Pete's face changed. First it was a frown. Then it split to a grin. Then his mouth twisted and he handed the paper to me.

“Your family got anything to do with this?”

The headline screamed:
The Lone Rearranger—Who Was That Masked Man?

Under it was a photo of a white silk bandit mask, artfully arranged across the back of a brown sofa. I knew that sofa. I had seen it recently. It was the one in the Hewitt house.

“CRAP!” I yelled. I read more.

Hamilton residents were shocked to discover that someone had broken into their home Thursday night to rearrange the living room furniture.

“Nothing was taken,” said Mr. Hewitt, “so we have to assume that he just hated the way the place looked. So did I. This guy has talent.”

Mrs. Hewitt was delighted with the new arrangement. “It's so much more spacious-looking. I really like the editing he did. And that turquoise pashmina! I never thought of putting brown and cream and turquoise together, but it goes so well. Now I want to try some new colors.”

Police are calling the suspect The Lone Rearranger because of the Lone Ranger-type mask the intruder left behind
.

“Crappity CRAP!” I dropped the newspaper on the kitchen island. “I'm gonna kill him.”

“Care to explain?”

My eyes moved to Pete. He had one eyebrow raised and a whole lot more going on with his face.

“Sonovabitch,” I muttered and reached for the phone.

Nico answered on the first ring.

“Isn't it exciting?” he said. “Front page, even! I can't wait to tell Jordy.”

“No! No telling anyone!” I was pacing now. Pacing and fuming. “That pashmina was yours? And you left it there?”

He clicked his tongue. “It just came to me. A hit of saturated color is so modern, and turquoise is the new gray. It goes with almost everything. I always carry a couple in my satchel. But don't worry. I wore gloves, remember?”

Pete was looking at me strangely. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.

Nico continued talking. “Wasn't the mask a nice touch? I wanted to surprise you. At first, I couldn't make up my mind between black or white, but then white seemed more original, you know?”

I was hyperventilating now. “Nico, you are NOT the Pink Panther! This was supposed to be a covert operation.”

“Do you think maybe next time I could leave a bill behind?”

CHAPTER SIX

Saturday afternoon was good. Tiff was busy with a customer when I got to the store. I waved a hand at her and went directly to the back room.

This was going to be a great day. This was the day I was setting my own engagement ring. And it was a doozie. Never in my life had I expected to wear such a diamond. Can't explain it exactly, but it does something to a girl.

When Tiff was done with the customer, she joined me in the back room. I was poring over settings.

“I think this one.” The band I picked up was narrow yellow gold with three prongs. One prong would cover the point end of the pear-shaped diamond, to protect it.

“Yeah,” said Tiff. “Simple. Will really show it off.”

“I like white gold,” I said, hesitating. “But somehow yellow gold seems more wedding-like, if you know what I mean.”

“Yellow gold blends in with flesh color,” she said. “White gold stands out against it. So if you want the band to stand out, you pick white gold. If you want the stone to be prominent, use yellow.”

I lifted my head and stared at her. “Well done, little cuz. I'm impressed. How did you pick that up so fast?”

She looked really pleased. “I've been watching. And experimenting. For instance, I can see just by looking that this is a beaut.” She pointed to my diamond, sitting on the velvet mat. “What are the specs?”

“Vvs1. Color grade, D. Cut, excellent. Check it out yourself.” I handed her the loupe.

After a few moments, she whistled low. “That's impressive. I really like this business.”

“You should go for your certification,” I suggested.

She nodded slowly. “I'm thinking about it.”

The front-door bell jingled, announcing another customer. Tiff rose to greet her. I set about my main task, humming to myself all the while.

* * *

That night at dinner, Pete popped a question.

“What do you think about the Saturday before Christmas?”

We were sitting in La Paloma on James, my uncle Vito's restaurant. It was sort of our place. By that I mean Pete's and mine. Luckily, he loves Italian food. Luckily, my uncle Vito likes Pete. Vito likes his food, too, and has the belly to prove it.

La Paloma is “uptown cool” for Hamilton. Not your little Ma and Pa place. It has the best wine cellar in the city. Many high-priced business deals are signed here, and not just those in the family.

But Pete was asking about the Saturday before Christmas, so I decided to stop munching bruschetta for just a moment to answer.

I looked up and met his hazel eyes. “Prime shopping time, but I'm usually done by then. I like it fine. What are you talking about?”

“My parents come home for two weeks around Christmas. I thought it would be a nice time to get married.”

My jaw dropped. “So soon?”

Both his eyebrows rose in alarm. “Don't you want to?”

I swallowed hard. “Of course I do. I meant, how are we going to get a hall that soon? They're booked a year in advance.”

Pete relaxed. “Got that all worked out. I called Sammy and explained the situation. He knows the manager at the Forum. They've got a cancelation. I told him to reserve it on spec.”

“Sure he knows the manager,” I said. I wiped my mouth with the linen napkin. “We own the place. Didn't you know that?”

He just smiled.

I just hoped the people who had originally booked the place weren't “canceled.”

Then another thought hit me.

“But,” I wailed, “I don't have a wedding dress yet!”

Now he laughed. “It's still two months away. You can find something in that time.”

“Are you kidding? Haven't you ever seen that TV show
Say Yes to the Dress
? It takes at least three months to order a dress. And for crissake, Pete, everyone will think I have to get married if we do it that soon!”

Yikes! Aunt Miriam thinking I
had
to get married. I shivered.

Pete sighed. He pushed back from the table. “I thought you'd be pleased.”

He looked so disappointed—just like a little boy. I think it was the most surprised I'd ever been in my life.

I couldn't stand it. I relented immediately. I guess that's how you know you really love someone.

“Okay,” I said. My voice was deliberately light and happy. “The Saturday before Christmas. Let's do it. You book the hall. I'll find a dress somehow.”

A big smile split his face. “Great! Now will you please give me the ring so I can put it on your finger?”

I smiled back. I reached into my purse and pulled out a blue velvet Ricci Jewelers box. I snapped it open and passed it to him. Pete lifted the ring out of its case and whistled.

“Knock-out stone for my gorgeous gal. This is for keeps, babe.” He reached across the table for my left hand.

Of course, that was the very minute Uncle Vito decided to pop out from the kitchen to bring the pasta verde in person.

“Vera!” He yelled across the crowded restaurant. “He's giving her the ring! Get out here!”

Vera came running from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She was followed by several of the cooking staff.

“Stella! Call Miriam and Pinky, and Maria in Florida! She's got the ring!” Vera hollered to the hostess at the front, another cousin of mine.

And that's when the circus started.

* * *

We didn't get home until after midnight. Everyone in the resto came over to congratulate us. Vito got out the Prosecco—bottles of it.

Many toasts were made. The smart phones came out and photos were up on Facebook within minutes. Then our cell phones started ringing.

Pete got louder with every slap on the back, and I got tipsy. I inadvertently spilled the news about the date, and Vera started phoning the family to mobilize. Pinky would hold the shower. Stella would arrange the invitations. Vera would be in charge of food, of course. Luca would do the music. And Miriam would handle the guest list (God help anyone who was invited but didn't come).

My job was to find a dress.

Pete's job was to show up on the day.

“If I don't show up, you'll know I'm dead,” he assured me.

“If you don't show up, you
will
be dead,” I said knowingly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

In my book
Burglary for Dummies
, there is going to be a chapter called “The Art of Blackmail.” Personally, I don't hold with blackmail as a career choice. But there are times when mutual blackmail can be mutually beneficial.

It was Sunday afternoon. Pete was glued to the television, watching football. I waved a hand and told him I was going to the store. That was a lie.

I really didn't need Nico for this burglary, because I already had the front-door key. How? Well, you see my uncle Vince happens to own this housecleaning company called Maids-a-Go-Go. Yup, it is darn handy having a cleaning company in the family.

But it's always good to have a wingman in case things go wrong. So I called Nico and told him to meet me at this address in Aldershot.

I'd done my research. Mrs. Wilson had canceled their cleaning for Wednesday. That meant they weren't going to be around. People often do that to save money if they're going away. Why pay for a house to be cleaned if you aren't going to be there for a while?

And no security alarm. I knew that because the Maids were able to use the key to get in while Mrs. Wilson was out shopping and didn't have to worry about setting off alarms. She went shopping a lot.

To be honest, the Wilson house probably didn't merit an alarm. It was in a nice area of Aldershot, but it wasn't a showstopper.

Nico stood gazing at it, then gave a long sigh. “I'm not looking forward to this one, Gina. I mean, really. Look at that exterior.”

Long, low brick bungalow in an unappealing baby-poop brown. Not a lot of money had been spent on the thing in, say, thirty years. The current Mrs. Wilson was the second Mrs. Wilson, and a lot younger than her husband. It was rumored that all his money got spent on her upkeep.