THE COLD FIRE-

by Unknown

  “What about my note?”

  John frowned. “I’ve never known him to do something like that before.”

  “You don’t think he wrote it?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But why would someone pretend to be the Ghost?” she asked, puzzled.

  John shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, whoever the real Ghost is, he must be pretty smart.” Veronica had a hint of approval in her voice.

  “He’s more than smart, he’s a genius.” John sat wrapped in thought for a moment. “There is a guy…Dornal Zagen. He was doing thirty years to life until he busted out of Sing Sing two nights ago. He might have somehow written the note.”

  Veronica was silent for a moment and then asked, “Are you the man who originally put him behind bars?”

  “I was.”

  “Are you afraid he’s going to come after you now?”

  John hadn’t thought of that. He sighed. “One more thing to worry about, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You didn’t,” said John. “I’m sure the Feds’ll catch up with him soon enough.”

  “How did you catch him?”

  “Well, it was about three years ago in Chicago. I had tracked him that far on a lead from one of our favorite stool pigeons who’d heard there was a lot of ice floating around town. Even though it was the middle of winter, he wasn’t talking about frozen water, I can tell you that.”

  Veronica smiled at John indulgently.

  “Anyway, it was a little after one in the morning,” John continued. “I had just flown in, when the local police called about an ongoing theft at a fancy Gold Coast jewelry store. It was about a week before Christmas, so the owner had put all his most expensive trinkets on display hoping to sell them to people looking for some eye-popping holiday gifts. When I arrived on the scene, the alarm was going off like crazy, but there was no sign of a breakin and nothing was missing. Everyone figured the system had just freaked out. They got another call about a homicide a few blocks away, so the police took off. I had a strange feeling about the whole thing and decided to hang out and wait.”

  He winced as Veronica suddenly swerved to avoid a biker who darted dangerously in front of them, before continuing his story. “I turned off all the lights and pretended to leave the shop, but instead I slipped into the bathroom and just sat there for a while. I waited for about twenty minutes. I was just beginning to think I was wasting my time when I heard something in the main room. I cracked the door open and saw one of the decorative ceiling panels slip aside. A pair of legs soon appeared from a cavity where the thief had been hiding. I held my breath and didn’t move until he was standing in the middle of the room with a diamond necklace dripping through his fingers. Then I hit the lights, and before he knew it, I had my gun against his back, catching him red-handed.”

  “Very impressive,” said Veronica.

  He couldn’t tell if she was actually impressed or just making fun of him.

  “And he got thirty years to life for that one robbery?” she asked.

  “Oh no,” said John. “Dornal Zagen must have stolen about fifty million dollars worth of stuff over the years. There were also rumors that he worked as a hit man for hire, though I was never able to dig up any real evidence on that one.”

  “Sounds like a charming person.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not someone you’d be likely to run into at one of your garden parties.”

  She just gave him a cool smile.

  “So tell me about this Diamond Ball. What’s it for?” John asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, it’s something Mrs. Spencer and her daughter, Cynthia, are doing. It’s a charity event to raise money for a library,” she said, all the excitement gone from her voice.

  “What’s the price of admission?”

  “Twenty-five thousand a plate.” She said it like that was no big deal.

  John whistled. “For that price, people should get to take the Hope Diamond home with them!”

  “Personally, I wouldn’t want the Hope.” A little shudder ran through Veronica’s slim frame.

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “Afraid of the curse?” he asked, studying her more closely. He hadn’t pegged her for superstitious. She seemed too calm and controlled, too in charge of herself for nonsense like that.

  “I sure am,” she admitted.

  “Huh, I’m surprised.” It was nice to find she had some vulnerable chink in her armor.

  “I’m the daughter of an archeologist,” she reminded him. “I’ve been with my father when he’s dug up Egyptian mummies, raided tombs in Ecuador. There are certain things you shouldn’t touch because they have a life of their own. Jewels, in particular, have their own life, their own energy. You can feel it when you wear them. Some of them are lucky. In ancient India, it was said that diamonds gave a person virtue and purity and would protect them from evil. I think that’s generally true, but not all diamonds and especially not the Hope.”

  “Now you sound like those New Age crystal freaks,” John laughed.

  “Laugh all you like, but look at what happened to Tavernier,” she said.

  “Tavernier?” he asked, baffled.

  She turned to him and smiled. “I thought you knew about jewels.”

  “I know who makes what and how to recognize it. I can tell if a rock is real and if it’s good quality. That’s my job, or was my job,” he corrected himself. “But all the airy, fairy stuff, the legends and hearsay, I never bothered with it.”

  “Well then,” she was enjoying telling him something he didn’t know. “Tavernier was the original jewel thief. In 1661, he went to India and stole the Hope Diamond, which at that time was not known as the Hope. He called it the French Blue Stone because he sold it to King Louis XIV. But get this, he stole it from a very sacred temple. He plucked the diamond right out of the Goddess Sita’s third eye—or at least a statue of her. She’s very revered in India, even to this day. Anyway, he brought the diamond back to France. Then he tried to go back to India to plunder more jewels, but he never made it past Russia. He was torn to bits by wild dogs in the streets of Moscow.” She raised her brows triumphantly now that she’d proven the curse.

  “That’s it?” asked John, just to wipe that smug look off her face.

  Veronica was enjoying herself too much to get mad. She turned an eager, conspiratorial face toward him as if she were sharing a dark secret. “That’s not it. There’s much more.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked, trying not to sound interested.

  She got a funny little Mona Lisa smile on her face and turned her attention back to the road. “I don’t think I’ll tell you.”

  “We still have a good hour left.”

  “Why don’t you pull out another CD,” she motioned toward the glove compartment, her diamond bracelet catching the light and his eye.

  He fished through her CDs. There were several of classical music which he didn’t know at all and one Dean Martin album. Bingo. He slid the CD in and turned up the volume. The catchy opening riff of “That’s Amore” started up.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re a big cornball, aren’t you?”

  He smiled. “Maybe I am.” John wasn’t afraid to like Dino.

  For the rest of the trip they didn’t speak. They just listened to CDs and the radio. A cozy feeling continued to grow between them and John couldn’t help wondering if they’d have adjoining hotel rooms.

  Chapter Five

  The Puck Diamond burned like electric ice in Delores Pigeon’s wrinkled hand. How she wished she could go out into the living room and show her nephew Larry the lovely ring, but of course she didn’t want to get him into any trouble.

  She would never have dared to come to his Chestnut Hill home, but she had traveled under the false passport her antique dealer friend in Amsterdam had acquired for her and she felt quite certain about not being followed. That Ant
oine was such a useful fellow, always able to make the right connections when she needed them, finding the perfect buyer for her wares, and he was always so polite and respectful, too.

  They know how to treat their elders in Europe, she thought, remembering the shocking treatment she had received at the Academy Awards four days ago when a teenage girl had tried to push her out of her place near the red carpet.

  But that nice Antoine, she must remember to knit him an afghan before flying back to the continent. Delores frowned. She didn’t have much more time. Her flight to Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport was in only—she counted on her wrinkled but still quite dexterous fingers—one, two, three, four days away.

  Goodness!

  And of course, she’d be busy all day Friday preparing for the Diamond Ball the following evening. After all, making off with the Puck Diamond, magnificent as it was, had just been a warm-up. Use it or lose it, she always said.

  She certainly had to admit, though, it was exciting to see Katherine Park in person. Why, she had even gotten to shake hands with the star! She couldn’t wait to have a nice pot of that lovely bittersweet Belgian cocoa with Antoine and tell him all about it.

  She’d have to make that stop in Washington first, but after that, with the Puck and the Hope in her possession, she could cash in her bingo chips and retire to that lovely little cottage in Wales she’d always dreamed of. Yes, she’d just do that little bit of business in Washington and then wouldn’t everything be just lovely!

  Delores Pigeon took one last look at the glittering 33-carat diamond in her pruny, blue-veined hand before firmly sticking a piece of tape to the end of the pale pink yarn she’d been using to knit booties for her niece’s baby girl. She attached the yarn to the diamond and began wrapping it around and around, until the stone was hidden under a soft cloud of angora.

  ****

  Veronica drove through the historic cobblestone streets of Capitol Hill until she reached the circular driveway of the Monticello Hotel. As the platinum convertible slid to a stop in front of the Greek revival building with its white marble columns and gracious veranda, a team of porters in spotless gray uniforms and caps swarmed to help Veronica out and attend to their luggage. John had to stop himself from snatching his bag away from a fresh-faced bellhop. Instead, with the ghost of Simon haunting him from the dark reaches of his brain, he said, “Thank you, but I can get that myself,” as he picked up his shabby suitcase and gave the kid five bucks.

  Veronica pranced ahead, giving him a nice view of her shapely derrière. Waltzing through the gleaming brass revolving door into the airy lobby with its sparkling chandeliers and antique Persian carpets was as natural to her as it was for him to slip into the bleachers at Shea Stadium. Though he tried to act natural, he couldn’t help but watch her red alligator jewel case as she swung it back and forth with her graceful gait.

  After they had checked in, a team of porters led them to room 147 and opened the door. As they were about to head in, John suddenly envisioned Veronica plopping her jewelry case on the bed and opening it up for all to see. He knew already, just from the few hours he’d spent with her, it was the kind of thing she would do.

  He jumped in front of the entourage before they could enter the suite. “Thanks, guys, I’ll take it from here.” After he peeled bills out of his wallet and handed them out like candy at a playground, the porters wasted no time in disappearing.

  Inside the room, Veronica stood with her arms crossed. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because this is not a secure situation for your jewelry,” John said quietly. He tried to step into the room. But before he had a chance, she shoved her hand hard against his chest, blocking him.

  He tried to reason with her. “Listen, why don’t you let me take your stuff down to the hotel safe?”

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” she snapped and closed the door in his face.

  He stood there for a moment with his Irish rising hot and fast. Then he closed his eyes and prayed silently. He took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell.

  She didn’t answer.

  This time he put his finger on the bell and didn’t take it off. He could hear the melodious little chimes repeating themselves over and over and over again.

  The door sprang open. She had taken her scarf off and her hair fell lose around her shoulders. She had removed her sunglasses, too, and her eyes crackled like the blue flames at the hottest part of a fire. “Well?’’

  “I was going to say, your father is not paying me to mind my own business.”

  Their eyes locked in a battle of wills until she took a breath and said, “What if I double his rate and you leave me alone?”

  John raised his eyebrows in surprise. Forty-thousand dollars for doing nothing? Of course, that would be wrong, and he didn’t do wrong things anymore. Sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous did not do wrong things if they wanted to stay sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous. He closed his mind to the temptation before he did something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry, Veronica, we both know I can’t do that.”

  “Well, I’m not handing my jewelry over to anyone else,” she said stubbornly.

  “It’s a hotel vault where it will be safe,” he reminded her.

  “You don’t get it,” she snapped. “This is my mother’s jewelry. It belonged to her and I’m not giving it to you, or a hotel vault, or anyone else. It’s nonnegotiable.”

  Annoyed, John paced up and down the hall, his steps muffled by the expensive carpet. He finally turned back to her. “All right…but if those rocks get stolen…”

  “They won’t,” she said, firmly.

  “But if they do…” he jabbed an index finger her way accusingly.

  “They won’t,” she said, gritting her teeth and once again the door was closed in his face.

  When he reached his own room, John was still mad. He opened the minibar and it was lined with little jewel-colored bottles of poison—Russian vodka, Kentucky bourbon, French cognac. He marched over to the phone and dialed the operator. He told them his room number and asked them to clean out the minibar.

  “Would you like to replace that with anything else?” asked the obsequious desk clerk.

  “Sure, how ’bout seltzer and pretzels—lots of them?”

  There was a slight pause on the line and then, “We’ll take care of it, sir.”

  After they hung up, John stood there for a moment before he picked up the receiver again. He dialed a number ingrained in his memory.

  Quinn answered. He sounded stressed out without even knowing who was on the line. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said John. “What’s wrong?”

  Quinn exhaled. “You don’t even want to know.”

  “Well, I took the Rossmore gig. I’m in DC staying at the Monticello.”

  “Nice.” Quinn sounded impressed. “I’m in DC, too. Did Miss Rossmore tell you about the rehearsal tomorrow at the Smithsonian?”

  “What is this, a wedding?” asked John, annoyed that Veronica had not informed him about it.

  “They’re doing a fashion show for jewels. It’s an excuse for every rich dame in town to show off her rocks and have everyone applaud.”

  “Must be nice,” said John.

  “Anyway, I’ll try and make it over there. I’ve already got your security clearance and all that malarkey, but listen—no gun.”

  “What!” exclaimed John, outraged.

  “They don’t want you carrying a gun. I’m sorry, you’re not officially back yet and you’ve had your drug problems…”

  “Alcohol—I had an alcohol problem and let’s not pretend that half the force isn’t hopped up on something.”

  “Listen,” said Quinn, trying to calm his friend. “This isn’t me, okay? It’s not even about you. I shouldn’t have said that. They don’t want anyone carrying guns, except a few of the secret service guys watching the First Lady and her daughter.”

  There was a pause.

  “John, are you there?”
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  “Yeah, okay,” muttered John.

  “Listen,” his old partner reassured him, “I’m really glad you’re going to be there. We’ve already gotten word that Nicholas Bezuhov is in town, we lost sight of the Granny last week, and still no word on Dornal Zagen.”

  “He’ll surface one of these days.”

  “No kidding. I just don’t want it to be at the freakin’ Diamond Ball. It’s going to be like a jewel thief convention, so anything you can do to help us out…”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Okay, well, I gotta go.” The exhaustion in Quinn’s voice fed through the phone line.

  “Don’t let the bastards get you.” It was the old line they always fed each other when things got tough. He could picture his ex-partner’s smile.

  “I won’t, buddy.”

  ****

  Veronica slumped in the corner of her hotel room’s damask loveseat staring moodily at the jewel case which had caused so much drama between her and John this afternoon. He had only been doing his job. Her father was paying him to watch her jewels and she had not been very helpful. She must have appeared completely irrational. Of course, he didn’t understand. How could anyone really know what these diamonds meant to her?

  She went to the jewel case, unlocking it and pulling out a finely crafted diamond bracelet. She held it tenderly as she struggled to retrieve memories that were harder and harder to recall, like dog-eared photographs which had begun to disintegrate from being handled too much.

  An image of her mother came, dressed in cool, white linen against the Egyptian heat, as she held out a cup of mint tea sweetened with honey. Her mother helped little Veronica hold the cup with both hands and take a sip, her diamond bracelet, brilliant in the bright sunlight, dancing before Veronica’s eyes.

  Her mother smiled warmly. “Taste good, baby?”

  The sunlight, and shimmering diamonds, and her mother’s perfect love all fused and glowed around her like a magic spell.

  The bracelet now in her hand became a blur as her eyes welled up. Gently, she returned the treasure to its case. She brushed the tears from her lashes and quickly snapped the case shut. When a person died what was left of them? The love she felt for her mother would never fade, but she couldn’t physically hold onto that love with her own two hands when she needed so much to hold onto something. She couldn’t wear that love like an amulet against her heart for courage when she was afraid the way she could a shimmering jeweled pendant. Diamonds were the only indestructible thing she could count on to always be beautiful, always perfect, always survive…