Read Online Do You Promise Not to Tell? by Mary Jane Clark - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
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Nadine Paradise was a very good customer. Not only had she bought often over the years, the legendary prima ballerina also had name recognition. Churchill’s liked having a star-studded salesroom.
“What does she want to know?” he sighed, reluctantly folding up the newspaper.
Meryl had been observing Clifford closely over the last months and wondered if her boss would be happier working on Wall Street than he was managing a major auction house. Clifford was constantly reading the
Times
’ business section,
Baron
’
s
, and the
Wall Street Journal
, and watching CNBC on the small television set in his office. She’d never seen Clifford excited until the day a CNBC reporter came to interview him for a piece on the competition among Sotheby’s, Christie’s, and Churchill’s.
“She wants to know who consigned the brooch.”
“Pat Devereaux brought that piece in to us, didn’t she?”
Again Meryl marveled at Clifford’s sharp memory. Wanting to be prepared, Meryl had looked up the sales record on the crescent pin before meeting with Clifford.
“Yes,” she answered. “But apparently Ms. Devereaux was acting as an agent for someone else who wished to remain anonymous.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Paradise that?”
Meryl shook her head. “I thought you’d want to explain it to her yourself, especially with her own auction coming up in three weeks.”
“You’re absolutely right, Meryl. Mrs. Paradise should feel that she is of utmost importance to us. I will call her myself.”
Chapter 27
Misha was gone. And just like in the best crimeland movies, it wasn’t pretty. Blood covered almost every surface of the small apartment. Special Agent Jack McCord surveyed the mess.
Now it was too late. The crime-lab guys could dust all they wanted, but Jack knew they weren’t going to come up with anything. Now he could show that idiot Quick exactly why he should have okayed the round-the-clock surveillance team. It would be fun to rub it in.
Jack studied the workbench. Like surgeon’s instruments, the jeweler’s tools were carefully arranged above the worktable. With his rubber-gloved hand, Jack examined a piece that looked like a scalpel. As he turned it over, the tool slipped from his grasp, hit the linoleum floor, and slid beneath the workbench. As Jack went to retrieve it, he bumped his head on the bottom of the bench as he pulled himself to his feet. That should have hurt more, he thought to himself.
Sliding his hand along the undersurface of the table, he found taped to it a package wrapped in plastic. Jack carefully and quickly unfastened it and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Chapter 28
Pat was surprised when Farrell called to say she wanted to come for a visit. Until that day at Churchill’s they’d completely lost touch with one another.
Pat replaced the receiver in the cradle.
The last time she’d seen Farrell, Peter had been a baby. It was Christmastime. Farrell, then a college sophomore, had brought over a tiny Santa Claus sleeper for Peter, complete with a little red pointed cap.
They’d dressed Peter up in it, and they’d had a good laugh and agreed that he was probably the cutest baby in the whole world.
But after that, it had been awkward, as their lives went off in different directions. Pat felt that Farrell thought she was stupid to be married and a mother at such a young age. Farrell’s talk about what was going on at school was as alien to Pat as chatter about baby teeth was to her friend. By the end of the afternoon visit, both young women were edgy and uncomfortable.
Neither one had followed up after that.
How stupid we were
! Pat thought to herself. But her life had been so busy. And the years had just passed.
After Allan’s death, Pat heard that Mr. and Mrs. Slater had sold their house on O’Toole Street andmoved to a condominium in Sarasota, Florida. She’d assumed that there wasn’t much reason for Farrell to come back to Westwood anymore.
From time to time, Pat had
“What does she want to know?” he sighed, reluctantly folding up the newspaper.
Meryl had been observing Clifford closely over the last months and wondered if her boss would be happier working on Wall Street than he was managing a major auction house. Clifford was constantly reading the
Times
’ business section,
Baron
’
s
, and the
Wall Street Journal
, and watching CNBC on the small television set in his office. She’d never seen Clifford excited until the day a CNBC reporter came to interview him for a piece on the competition among Sotheby’s, Christie’s, and Churchill’s.
“She wants to know who consigned the brooch.”
“Pat Devereaux brought that piece in to us, didn’t she?”
Again Meryl marveled at Clifford’s sharp memory. Wanting to be prepared, Meryl had looked up the sales record on the crescent pin before meeting with Clifford.
“Yes,” she answered. “But apparently Ms. Devereaux was acting as an agent for someone else who wished to remain anonymous.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Paradise that?”
Meryl shook her head. “I thought you’d want to explain it to her yourself, especially with her own auction coming up in three weeks.”
“You’re absolutely right, Meryl. Mrs. Paradise should feel that she is of utmost importance to us. I will call her myself.”
Chapter 27
Misha was gone. And just like in the best crimeland movies, it wasn’t pretty. Blood covered almost every surface of the small apartment. Special Agent Jack McCord surveyed the mess.
Now it was too late. The crime-lab guys could dust all they wanted, but Jack knew they weren’t going to come up with anything. Now he could show that idiot Quick exactly why he should have okayed the round-the-clock surveillance team. It would be fun to rub it in.
Jack studied the workbench. Like surgeon’s instruments, the jeweler’s tools were carefully arranged above the worktable. With his rubber-gloved hand, Jack examined a piece that looked like a scalpel. As he turned it over, the tool slipped from his grasp, hit the linoleum floor, and slid beneath the workbench. As Jack went to retrieve it, he bumped his head on the bottom of the bench as he pulled himself to his feet. That should have hurt more, he thought to himself.
Sliding his hand along the undersurface of the table, he found taped to it a package wrapped in plastic. Jack carefully and quickly unfastened it and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Chapter 28
Pat was surprised when Farrell called to say she wanted to come for a visit. Until that day at Churchill’s they’d completely lost touch with one another.
Pat replaced the receiver in the cradle.
The last time she’d seen Farrell, Peter had been a baby. It was Christmastime. Farrell, then a college sophomore, had brought over a tiny Santa Claus sleeper for Peter, complete with a little red pointed cap.
They’d dressed Peter up in it, and they’d had a good laugh and agreed that he was probably the cutest baby in the whole world.
But after that, it had been awkward, as their lives went off in different directions. Pat felt that Farrell thought she was stupid to be married and a mother at such a young age. Farrell’s talk about what was going on at school was as alien to Pat as chatter about baby teeth was to her friend. By the end of the afternoon visit, both young women were edgy and uncomfortable.
Neither one had followed up after that.
How stupid we were
! Pat thought to herself. But her life had been so busy. And the years had just passed.
After Allan’s death, Pat heard that Mr. and Mrs. Slater had sold their house on O’Toole Street andmoved to a condominium in Sarasota, Florida. She’d assumed that there wasn’t much reason for Farrell to come back to Westwood anymore.
From time to time, Pat had
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