“Eric.” My throat tightened. I couldn’t hear this. “It’s just—”
“No. Hear me out. I need to say this.” Eric grabbed my hands between his and squeezed them. “This case, it hasn’t been my best work. I’ve made mistakes, lots of them. I’ve been preoccupied. Hell, Carol, I’ve been thinking about you. What you were doing. What trouble you might be getting yourself into. It’s killing me and it’s not good. I’m a take-care-of kind of guy, and you’re a take-charge kind of woman. But dammit, Carol, I love you. Marry me.”
I felt my heart stop. I knew we had both been dancing around the issue of something more for some time. An exclusive relationship has to grow, but this couldn’t. I loved Eric, but the timing just wasn’t right.
“I wish I could, but I can’t, Eric. It’s not right. We both know that. We’re always going be on the opposite side of things. I can’t give up my work, and you can’t either. It’d never work. It’s like Tyler said, cops and reporters, we’re strange bedfellows. And much as I love you, I can’t marry you. Even for a ring like this.”
I let go of Eric’s hand and felt the warmth of his touch slip from beneath my fingers. Eric put the box back in his pocket.
“I didn’t think you’d say yes. I could wish it might be different, but you’re right. We both know we can’t change. And I could never ask you to give up who you are so I could go on being who I am. You’re too good of a reporter. Better than even you know. And you should never give up on who you want to be.”
I sat back in the chair feeling strangely whole. I knew we’d done the right thing. Ten, fifteen years ago it might have been different, but not now.
I thought about the show Tyler had offered me and the excitement I felt growing in the pit of my stomach about a new venture. And I thought about Bunny and how she’d wanted to start over. Maybe if she’d never left her career and married Morganstern, or if things had been different between them, she’d have gone on to be the woman she wanted to become, instead of dead from trying to be someone new.
I looked back at Eric. I thought I could see a bit of relief in his face. I smiled. “But you and me, we’re still good, right? Even if we don’t tie the knot?”
“We’ll always have a connection, Carol.”
“But not like it’s been, right?” I was smiling, but tears formed in my eyes. I couldn’t let them fall.
“We both know it can’t continue. Not like it’s been. But I do have something for you.” He reached back into his coat and took out another small square velvet jewelry box.
I wiped the corner of my eye. “What’s this?”
“Think of it as a Christmas present. The people at Annabelle’s wanted you to have it. Without you, Carol, we wouldn’t have found the jewels. It’s a thank you for all the work you did.”
I opened the box. Inside was the Phoenix brooch.
A month later I got a call while I was in the studio. I had just wrapped my first Sunday night show when Matt, now my producer, said the caller insisted on talking with me. I told him to put the call into the studio on speaker. I’d take it while I packed up my reporter’s bag.
“Carol, my love.” I stopped what I was doing instantly. “You know who this is?”
I sat down behind the console. I felt as though the floor were about to fall out from beneath me.
“Tomas?”
“I’ve missed you, love. I’m afraid I had to cut my trip short. Complications with travel. You know how difficult it is these days. And to top it off, I had to leave without my bags. Dreadful timing.”
“Where are you?”
“Oh, now, you know I can’t say. That would ruin all the fun.”
“You can’t keep running. The police, the FBI, they’ll find you.”
“Well now, much as I’d like to chat on, I called for a purpose. You have something of mine. The jeweler’s loupe? You were wearing it at the airport last I saw you. I was hoping you’d do me a favor and hold on to it for me.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I don’t kid, Carol. Least of all about business. I’d like to have it back. It’s not worth a lot, just sentimental value. I’ll pick it up next time I’m in town.”
“But—”
“Until then, love, I’ll be listening. Or should I say, I’ll stay tuned. Ciao.”
An empty dial tone droned into the studio and I pulled the plug, silencing the earsplitting echo in my head. He wasn’t going to get away with this. Not with me.
“Yeah, Tomas, stay tuned.”
Author’s Note
Huguette Clark, pronounced oo-GET, has always fascinated me. For years, I’d drive up the California Coast Highway through Santa Barbara and catch glimpses of her summer home, or rather the tree-lined walls that surrounded Bellosguardo. The white mansion with lush green lawns that rolled to cliffs with panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean was never quite visible, and I was intrigued. Who was this woman who had left this mansion in pristine condition sixty years ago, as though she might return at any moment, and never did?
My research revealed she was the wealthy daughter of a former U.S. Senator and industrialist, who had remained largely a mystery. She was from an era I only knew about from black and white photo albums and stories the locals would tell. Rumors of an elaborate doll collection she preferred to people; a paranoid, reclusive heiress who spoke only French to those closest to her for fear of being overheard, and a rare collector of art and jewelry that might rival some of the richest estates in Europe.
It wasn’t until she died in 2011 that any of the media was allowed their first look inside the estate, and while I was not lucky enough to be one of them, I understand it was like stepping back in time. Visitors who saw inside her home for the first time after her death report it was a time capsule, the perfect preservation of a life from a bygone era. Ms. Clark’s perfume bottles remained on her dressing table, and rings and jewelry were as though she just left them and planned to return and place them upon her hands and fingers and join a party in the lavish great room that overlooked the ocean. Game tables with cards and a chess set sat at the ready. My imagination ran wild. I would have loved to have known Huguette Clark. Records indicate she was married once and then divorced quickly after that. She never had children and her older sister died when she was just seventeen. Ms. Clark lived most of her life alone and when she died, much of her estate was auctioned off by Annabelle’s in New York with the proceeds going to various charities and the support of the newly founded Santa Barbara Foundation for the Arts.
While none of Ms. Clark’s jewels were ever auctioned in Beverly Hills, as they were in my book, it was the mystery of her being and her jewels that stuck with me as I wrote Without a Doubt. I couldn’t resist the urge to include something about this fascinating woman and her fabulous estate as the mystery unfolded. I tip my writing quill to her and thank her for her generous donation to the Southern California art community.
In addition to Huguette Clark, I must also salute the wonderful people who allowed me to tour the Diamond District in Holland. Most of the world’s cut diamonds come from Amsterdam and while there, I must confess this mystery writer’s mind went to the dark side. I became very curious about the crimes and business of jewelry theft. And of course, I wasn’t disappointed. Our tour guide shared story after story of thefts and attempted thefts and I was fascinated. Jewel thieves are a breed of their own, creative and extremely competitive. The bigger the heist, the riskier the stakes, the more unusual the stories become. This was a writer’s dream. And if there’s one thing I learned about jewelry theft, it was that while the crooks may be caught, the jewels are almost never found. It didn’t take much for me to see how a group of thieves who had perfected their skills in Europe might follow the money and resurface in Hollywood in time for an awards show season.
Thank you,
Nancy Cole Silverman
About the
Author
Nancy Cole Silverman credits her twenty-five years in news and talk radio for helping her to develop an ear for storytelling. But it wasn’t until 2001 after she retired from news and copywriting that she was able to sit down and write fiction fulltime. Much of what Silverman writes about today she admits is pulled from events that were reported on from inside some of Los Angeles’ busiest newsrooms where she spent the bulk of her career. In the last ten years she has written numerous short stories and novelettes. Today Silverman lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Bruce and two standard poodles.
The Carol Childs Mystery Series
by Nancy Cole Silverman
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)
BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)
WITHOUT A DOUBT (#3)
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