by L. A. Nisula
Stabbing Set with Sapphires
copyright (c) 2015 L. A. Nisula
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to actual places or persons is purely coincidental.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Cassie Pengear thought a job typing up inventory lists at a jewelry store would be fun. Until there was a kidnapping. And then a robbery. And then a murder.
Cassie Pengear Mysteries
Book 1 - Killing at the Carnival
Book 2 – Death at Dinner
Book 3 – Stabbing Set with Sapphires
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
I HAD ORIGINALLY TAKEN UP TYPING as a profession because a friend had given me a very nice typewriter shortly after I moved to London, and another friend, who happened to be Inspector Burrows of Scotland Yard, had offered to put my name forward for a few jobs. I had stayed with it because it meant I could sit in my little flat mostly undisturbed by clients, their gossip, office political factions, and a general need to be nice to people for long stretches at a time. Most clients dropped their work off and came to collect it, or summoned me to collect and expected delivery, with a 15 percent delivery fee, of course. So, in short―if that is still possible―I rarely took work that put me in contact with strangers for more than an afternoon. But there were exceptions, and I had decided the offer from Kleinman and Company was one of those.
It had all the hallmarks of a very interesting typing job. To begin with, it was a jewelry store, and they had asked me to come in and type up the paperwork for their new insurance policy, and since most of the paperwork involved descriptions of the pieces that were being insured, I was looking forward to a few days of looking at pretty jewelry that cost more than I made in a year.
The shop was located just off Piccadilly in a red brick building with a picture window out front, shuttered since the showroom wasn’t scheduled to open for another two hours. I made my way around back to the employee entrance. The door was locked so I tried the bell, but there was no response. After two more tries, I checked my watch-pin, but I was on time. 9:04am. And I was sure I had the date right. Unless I’d written it down wrong. I paced to the end of the small yard and back to the door.
I made the circuit a few more times, then got bored with it and stood by the employee entrance to wait for someone to arrive and let me in. The first person to come around the building was a young woman wearing a cheap but fashionable red coat over a neat navy-blue shirtwaist and skirt.
“Is it locked?"
I nodded.
“Oh dear, that means we have to wait. I lost my key two weeks ago and, well, they only let you have the one. I'm supposed to be up for a replacement next year, but you never know. But Mr. Morris usually comes in nice and early to let in anyone he can. Oh well.” She leaned against one of the crates from the tea seller next door. “You’re here for the insurance paperwork?”
So it was the right day. “Yes, that's right.”
“From the company or the typist?”
“Typist. Cassandra Pengear.” I held out my hand.
She shook my hand. “Clara Henderson. You’re American?”
“That’s right. I’ve been living here almost a year, though.”
“My cousin lives in Canada. I keep saying I should go visit her, see someplace new. The new airships say they can make the journey in two days.”
We chatted about international travel for a few minutes until a middle-aged man stuffed into a dark grey suit with a bright yellow waistcoat came striding around the side of the building.
“Sorry, ladies, sorry. I didn't realize the time."
“It's all right, Mr. Morris. Miss Pengear and I were getting acquainted."
I smiled and let him take that as my agreeing that it was all right if he wanted to.
“Well, let me get you inside, then.” He pulled out his key and stuck it in the lock; then he lifted what I had taken for a mail slot and slid his hand inside. I could see his fingers moving around, getting into the right position; then he turned the key and the door swung open.
“After you, ladies."
As we passed through the door, I glanced at Miss Henderson.
“Security,” she whispered. “Specially designed for us. You need the key and the matching hand to get in."
Now the strictness of the missing keys made sense. Surely replacing them was more complicated than simply having a new one cut or cast from a single master.
Mr. Morris was following us now. “You're the new typewriter girl, right?"
“That's right."
“I'll get you set up in one of the display rooms, and Miss Kleinman will explain what you're here for when she gets in. Hello, Miss Fairfield.”
“Hello, Mr. Morris.” The woman who came in was wearing a similar navy skirt and shirtwaist to Miss Henderson’s. She didn’t follow us into the salesroom but turned towards the staircase leading up to the second floor―first floor I reminded myself.
“That’s Miss Fairfield. I design the jewelry; she repairs it. Now, the display room. Follow me."
I followed him into the salesroom. He took a clipboard from under the counter and consulted what looked like a schedule attached to it.
“According to this, you'll be working in display room one. It's right through there.” He pointed to a door on the other side of the sales counter. “I'll let you in and you can get set up. Good morning, Mr. Garver, Miss Peters.” He turned to me. “Miss Peters and Mr. Garver are two of our sales associates. Miss Pengear is the typist.”
Mr. Garver and Miss Peters were both wearing the same navy I was getting used to seeing: his a suit that had been cut to emphasize his height, which seemed to be lacking, and hide his waist, which was ample, hers the same shirtwaist and skirt that the others had worn.
“Pleased to meet you.” Mr. Garver nodded then started sorting through his receipt book.
Miss Peters smiled and said, “Good morning” and began arranging a display in the front of the store without waiting for my answer.
I followed Mr. Morris through the door with a hand-lettered sign saying “Private” and into a small hallway that had been set up as a waiting area with what I was fairly certain were real antique chairs. I waited as he unlocked the first door of the three along the wall. I glanced at the locks after the interesting one for the shop, but all three were conventional locks with normal-looking keys.
“Do you know what you're supposed to do?"
“Miss Kleinman briefed me when she hired me. Type up the descriptions that the insurance representative approves.”
“That's right. It should be easy work for you. I happen to know they hired you because you were the only applicant with letters of reference from three Scotland Yard men. I'll let you get set up. You can use that table there.” He pointed to a small oak end-table by the wall. “Just move the candles to the floor if you need to
. The gas lamps should be on in a minute. You can drag a chair over from that table.” He pointed to the large, mahogany table in the center of the room, which was empty except for a tray with a jeweler's loupe, a few monocles with different-colored lenses, and a small notebook. “The door there leads to the vault room. Miss Kleinman will open it when she gets here. Do you need anything?”
“I'm fine.”
“Then I'll let Miss Kleinman know you're here when she arrives.”
When Mr. Morris was out of the room, I brought my typewriter to the table he'd indicated and got it out of its case. As I was getting the case stowed under the table, the gas lights flickered then brightened enough to illuminate the whole windowless room nicely. The only chairs in the room were 18th-century dining chairs arranged around the mahogany table. I took the one closest to me and carried it to my typewriter. If the chairs were part of a set with the table, and I suspected they were, I could see why they wouldn't want the weight of my typewriter marring the surface. This was clearly a room used for showing pieces from the vault to their more important clients in privacy. I took out my stack of paper and typed a few test lines to make certain nothing had gotten out of place while everything had been jostled around on the Underground, and then there was nothing more for me to do.
I had been studying the quite boring blank wall in front of me for about fifteen minutes when I heard the door open and a woman in a navy velvet dress with lace at the collar and cuffs and a chatelaine with an order book and pencil hanging from her waist came in. I had met Miss Kleinman once before when we had discussed the terms of my employment and found her to be very efficient and organized. Mr. Kleinman, her brother, was supposed to be in charge of hiring me, but it had been Miss Kleinman who had handled the details of things like letters of reference and experience.
Miss Kleinman nodded in my direction as she pulled her keys from the chain at her waist. “Miss Pengear, you managed to find us. I'm very sorry I wasn't here to let you in, but my brother and I were―discussing matters. I will be here tomorrow in plenty of time.” She didn't pause long enough for me to answer. “Now on to the details of the job. Quite simple, really. The gentleman from the insurance company will be here for two hours before the showroom opens. My brother and I will be in here, along with another representative of the store. We will be bringing out the pieces we wish to insure. The appraiser will describe what he sees and give a valuation, we will approve it, and then you will type it up. We will all sign the form and move on to the next piece. Once the appraiser leaves, we will need you to type up a second, identical copy for our records. When you've finished, you will be free to leave for the day. We'll leave the small safe under the table there open. You can lock the papers inside for my brother to drop off at the insurance company's offices on his way home. Are there any questions?”
“No, that’s very clear."
“Good, then I suppose you would like to see the vault. Oh, don't pretend you don't. Everyone wants to see the vault. Best to get it over with. Come along."
Miss Kleinman led me through the door in the back of the viewing room and into a small hallway. There were two other doors along the wall, which I assumed led to other viewing rooms. Miss Kleinman led me to the fourth door at the end of the hall. When she unlocked it, I could see that it led to a small foyer with another table and chair against the outside wall and another door I assumed led to the hallway in the back of the store. The door to the vault took up the wall opposite. It was iron with two large keyholes: one large and one the size of a standard door lock, and another of the mail slots on the front. Miss Kleinman pulled a large brass key out of her pocket and fit it in the lock in the center of the door and turned it. Then she took her keyring from the chain at her waist and found a second smaller key, which fit in the lock near the handle. She slid her hand into the slot above the handle and turned the key.
She noticed me watching the locks. “If you’re curious, my brother and I have the only copies of the large key. We leave that lock undone while the shop is receiving customers. Each floor person has a copy of the second key. Follow me.”
She led me inside the vault itself. It was the size of a small dressing room, with a table in the middle and two floor-to-ceiling safes along each wall. Miss Kleinman went to the safe to the right of the door and opened it with her key. She examined the contents, which I could see were laid out in shallow drawers and seemed to consist mainly of bracelets and rings, then shut the safe and moved to the next one.
“Here’s something you might like to see.” She pulled a velvet box out of one of the drawers and brought it to the table. I joined her there.
“Most of the rest of this you’ll see when we show it to the insurance inspector, but not this.” She opened the box. “And there is the source of friction between me and my brother. The Heart of Night.” Miss Kleinman held up a necklace with a large sapphire in the middle and a heavy filigree chain. “That is a 160-carat star sapphire. We're holding it in our vaults for the owner, Lady Suffolk, while she is in London."
“It's beautiful. I didn't know you stored jewelry as well."
“We don't as a rule, but my brother thinks she would be an excellent client if we could get her custom, and her former lady’s maid is one of our shop girls. But it's also the source of the trouble. Yes, I knew I couldn't mention that without telling you about it. Remember, I spoke to Inspector Hamilton and Inspector Burrows about you. Because the Heart of Night is only here for the month, Daniel doesn't think we should take out the insurance on it, which is why I said you wouldn’t be seeing it. The insurance is rather expensive for such a short time, but I say we can't afford not to.” She shrugged. “We'll probably be arguing over it until Lady Suffolk takes it back.” Miss Kleinman put the necklace back in its box and returned it to the safe. As she checked the rest of the drawers, she pulled out three bracelets. “The floor staff never seem to understand the importance of order in here. It’s the whole reason I can go through my morning check in fifteen minutes instead of hours with a list and pencil.” She locked the safe and went on to the next. “This is another interesting one. The tiaras are kept on these top two shelves.”
I went to look. The top two shelves were filled with glittering rows of tiaras, everything from small crescents of diamonds that attached with a hair-comb to one full crown meant for a debutante.
“These drawers are the matched sets.” She put the bracelets away with their corresponding necklaces. “And then we go on to rings and smaller pieces. Ah, here’s one of my favorites. Frivolous, but quite clever.” She held up a collar necklace made up of interlocking brass and silver gears, all different sizes, all fitted together perfectly. As I took it to examine it more closely, I spotted the catch and gently released it with my fingernail. The gears turned slowly until they made the center rotate instead of turn and revealed an empty locket frame.
“That is clever.” I handed it back.
Miss Kleinman reset the necklace. “Do you tinker?”
“No, but I have friends who do.”
“That’s how you noticed the catch, then. It’s supposed to be hidden.”
“Are you interested in tinkering?”
“Not as much as I’d like. Running the shop takes most of our time. If I’d had my way–” She didn’t finish the thought as she checked the rest of the safe then went on to the next, which contained more rings and what appeared to be semi-precious stones.
Miss Kleinman was at the last of the safes when Miss Henderson poked her head around the edge of the vault door. “The insurance man is here, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Miss Henderson. I’ll be there directly.” She gestured for me to follow her out of the vault then locked up. We passed through the foyer and back down the hall to the display room. “If you’d wait here, I'll go and meet him, and we can begin directly.”
I nodded and went to set up the correct forms in my typewriter.
The man who returned with Miss Kleinman was tall and thin with a small pa
ir of glasses perched on the end of his nose and a jeweler’s loupe on a chain around his neck. Miss Kleinman nodded in my direction. “Mr. Tolland, this is Miss Pengear. She will be assisting us with the typing.”
He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Yes, yes. I saw her references. Most suitable. Most suitable indeed.”
Another man entered, this one slightly taller than Miss Kleinman with the same dark hair and blue eyes as her, followed by a blonde woman wearing the same navy skirt as Miss Henderson and Miss Fairfield but with a white shirtwaist and a ridiculous pair of blue heeled shoes.
“Daniel, have you met Miss Pengear yet?”
“Not yet, a great pleasure, I’m sure. And this is Miss Crawford, our book-keeper. She’ll be our third witness today.”
Mr. Tolland sat at the table and pulled out his notebook. “Then if we’re all here, shall we begin?”
While Miss Kleinman went back to the vault, Miss Crawford sat beside Mr. Kleinman, and Mr. Tolland took his loupe from around his neck and began unfolding a series of lenses and dials then attached the apparatus to the spectacles on the end of his nose. I adjusted the copy of the insurance form in the typewriter and waited.
Miss Kleinman returned with the first tray and set it down in front of Mr. Tolland before taking the chair across from him. Mr. Tolland picked up the bracelet nearest to him and studied it first through the loupe, then through a red lens he folded down, then through a thick clear lens, and finally tipped his spectacles up and studied it with his naked eye, all the while scribbling on his notepad without looking at the page. “A pearl bracelet. Thirty-six ivory pearls, good luster, approximately quarter inch each. Clasp containing twelve quarter-carat diamonds around a one-carat diamond. Does this look accurate?” He slid the paper over to Miss Kleinman, who read it and nodded. “Very good. Miss Pengear, if you would?”
I took the paper he held out and began typing the description into the form. It was meant to be written as a list, so I didn’t have to worry that they were waiting for me to compose it into something readable as I typed it up. I handed the completed form back to Mr. Tolland with his notes. He read it, signed it, and passed it on to Miss Kleinman. It made its way around the table, and then Miss Kleinman handed him the next piece, another bracelet, this time black jet with a gold clasp, and the same process began.
