by Lotta Smith
“In terms of the stone’s size, I think it’s large,” Jackie said, peering into the ring. “Wait. Are these little stones surrounding the blue one diamonds?”
“Perhaps he’d consult someone else if all he wanted to know was about the material,” Rick commented as I relayed Jackie’s words.
“You’re right, Agent Rowling.” Agent Woo nodded. “Actually, I thought it would be great if you could dig into the recent history of this ring.”
“You mean, like, by talking to it?” I furrowed my eyebrows. I might talk to dead people, but so far, I hadn’t heard teapots and spoons talking. “Hello?” I spoke to the ring.
After a brief pause, Rick asked me, “Is the ring talking?” even though he sounded seriously skeptical.
“No.” I shook my head. Still, I was quite happy that I didn’t hear anything. Perhaps inanimate objects, such as teacups and teapots, talking to you might sound lovely if you’re a character in an animated motion picture. However, I happen to be a real human in real life, and I’d require serious attention from mental health professionals if I started talking to cutlery and kitchen goods.
Agent Woo cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking about trying your skill in terms of psychometry.”
“As in making relevant associations from an object by making physical contact with the object?” Rick raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Agent Woo nodded. “Okay, let me tell you a little bit about this ring. Like Mandy said, it’s an antique blue sapphire with diamonds mounted on a gold ring. The quality of the stones and the base metal isn’t as good as the products selling at high-end jewelry stores nowadays, but it’s a semi-famous piece of jewelry called the Countess of Courillon, and its value is said to be over three million dollars.”
“I see,” Rick muttered. “I’m assuming this ring comes with some track record of inflicting tragedies to its owners. Still, some people have the hots for jewelry with notoriety and bloody history, and the price tag reflects its popularity.”
“Right. Actually, this ring is not about bloody history but a relatively recent history of robbery,” Agent Woo said. “Have you ever heard of the jewelry heist ring called Purple Panther?”
“I think I’ve heard about them on the evening news,” I said.
“They are an international heist ring.” Rick crossed his arms. “A collection of Balkan bad guys and a few women. They’ve stolen about $150 million in jewelry and luxury watches over the last decade from over a hundred high-end shops from all over the world, including boutiques in London, Paris, Tokyo, L.A., and here in New York City. They’re notorious for their rough M.O.—involving hammers, axes, semiautomatic weapons, and occasional grenades—and disappearing with gems in satchels lined with toilet paper to prevent scratching.”
“Toilet paper? Seriously?” I grimaced. “Can’t they at least use bubble wrap? Toilet paper kills off all the fanciness in fine jewelry.”
“Like I said, they’re notorious for the roughness.” Shrugging, Rick turned to Agent Woo. “So, what’s this multimillion-dollar ring doing in a plastic baggie here?”
“Actually, it had been missing since it was stolen in a large-scale heist that took place in the Upper East Side three years ago. Four days ago, this ring suddenly resurfaced. If we could chase its trail in the past years, we might be able to capture the bandits, and hopefully, crush the whole ring of criminals,” Agent Woo explained.
According to him, the ring resurfaced in a weird way. Last Friday, an old lady was roaming the streets of an uber-posh Upper East Side neighborhood clad only in pajamas, no shoes. She collapsed on the main road, and when she was rescued, she had the ring on her finger. Without ID and unresponsive due to high fever, she was dubbed Jane Doe. She was rushed to the hospital but remains unconscious.
“Indeed, in the beginning, local cops had no idea about the ring being a stolen object, so they thought it could be useful to ID her,” Agent Woo went on. “But the moment this ring was identified, it became the center of a hot heist case.”
“I see.” I nodded. “So this Jane Doe is the prime suspect, except she’s not talking, right?”
“Actually, the chances of Jane Doe being a member of Purple Panther are slim to none.” Agent Woo shook his head. “We’ve already run her fingerprints and facial recognition, but no criminal record came up. Besides, the location of where the ring was discovered with Jane Doe was just a ten-minute walk from the boutique the ring was stolen from five years ago.”
“Uh-huh, you have a point.” Rick snapped his fingers. “According to accepted opinion, the items stolen by Purple Panther don’t stay long near the crime scene. Considering the robbery ring is from eastern Europe, the stolen objects should be traveling to somewhere in Europe immediately.”
“Right. Anyway, we’re kind of stuck with the investigation.” Agent Woo shrugged.
“So, is this ring haunted or something?” Rick asked, then turned to me. “Mandy, look at it more carefully. Perhaps the ghost of the ring is hiding somewhere.”
I picked up the ring—still in a Ziploc—to scrutinize it, but I didn’t see or feel anything supernatural. “I don’t feel anything. I’m so sorry that I’m not much help.” I furrowed my eyebrows.
“Don’t be,” Agent Woo said. “I don’t know if this ring is haunted, but the guy who found Jane Doe made a weird statement.”
“Weird statement?” Rick and I said in unison.
“Right. It was around 1:00 a.m., and this guy, a hedge-fund manager, was speeding his way back home. It was dark and the traffic was rather quiet. He could have kept on driving without noticing Jane Doe and just run over her, perhaps killing her, but he was able to stop, barely missing the woman with the stolen ring. When asked about the circumstances of finding her, the guy said he saw a young girl standing in the middle of the road. According to this guy, the girl was in a white dress with a balloon-like skirt and frills, as if she’d just popped out of the studio from shooting Downton Abbey episodes.”
My eyes widened and Rick whistled.
“Downton Abbey? I loved that show! Oh, I wish I could score even a totally minor role in the series,” Jackie said, prompting me to giggle. Agent Woo glanced at me, so I relayed Jackie’s words.
“Anyway, the TV series is just a minor bit of the driver’s statement.” Clearing his throat, Agent Woo continued. “Jane Doe survived because this girl in a Downton Abbey frock was looking down at the ground. He swore the girl looked up and saw him and their eyes met. He also swore that he’d never seen such an icy stare and that the girl had icy blue eyes. Of course, he had to take a sobriety test, but he wasn’t drinking or under the influence of drugs. NYPD didn’t take his statement seriously, but I had to check with you.”
“Hmm… sounds like a grumpy ghost, I guess,” Rick said, looking at the ring. “Hey, why don’t we take the ring out of the bag and let it breathe some fresh air? Perhaps the ghost is suffocating inside the baggie.”
“A suffocating ghost?” I muttered, “If that’s the case, she might be already dead.”
“Could it be possible for a ghost to die when she’s already dead?” Agent Woo raised an eyebrow and Rick cracked up laughing.
“That’s not funny.” Jackie made tsk-tsk sounds. “When I was detained by men in black from the world of the dead, they said they executed some dead people, though the executed dead happened to be really bad people.”
“Oh.” As I grimaced, I caught something sparkling in the corner of my eyes. When I looked in that direction, I gasped.
The zippered plastic bag was already open thanks to Rick. The ring was out on the coffee table, and—
For a moment, I thought my heart stopped beating. My mouth opened, then closed, and then repeated the process several times, as if I was channeling a goldfish low on oxygen.
“Hey, Mandy. Who’s there?” Rick asked, touching my arm. “You’re looking at the ghost of the haunted ring, right?”
“What? I… I… I haven’t said anything about the ghost,”
I stuttered. “Can you see her?”
“No. Of course not.” He shook his head. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he said, “It’s just that I guessed it from your reaction.”
“Of course, he can read you like an open book, Mandy,” Jackie said, fanning herself with a pink boa, which materialized out of nowhere. “He’s gonna be your husband, remember?”
“If you see the ghost, can you please try communicating with… her?” Agent Woo said, sounding slightly skeptical.
“Yes.” I nodded at both Jackie and Agent Woo, then looked at the ghost who’d just popped out of the antique sapphire ring.
Whoever witnessed this ghost was sooo right… except she looks more like Marie Antoinette rather than someone from Downton Abbey, I thought, staring at the ghost.
She was floating over the coffee table, looking like an antique French doll. She was clad in a pale pink dress with a balloon skirt and a ton of frills. Her long blonde corkscrew curls were shining as they swirled their ways down her shoulders. I assumed her age to be somewhere in the low teens. The way she looked around the office reminded me of a curious kid on field day.
“She’s right here,” I muttered, using the palm of my hand to show the area where the ghost was floating. I described her appearance to Rick and Agent Woo.
“Go ahead. Talk to her,” Rick said.
“But… she looks French, and my French is very limited. What if she doesn’t understand me?” I protested, but Rick brushed it off.
“Try talking to her first. If things don’t work out, we’ll think about the next step.”
“Okay. Fine.” I took a deep breath and raised my hand at the girl ghost. “Um… hello?”
“Oh, can you see me?” The girl ghost tilted her head to the side and looked back at me.
“Yes. It seems so,” I said.
For a few seconds, we were in a staring match, both of us observing the counterpart, undecided about our next move… until Jackie broke the silence.
“Hi there!” she said perkily with a wide grin. “I’m Jackie, and this here is Mandy. What can we call you? Jeannie from the ring instead of the bottle?”
“My name is Marion d’Ardieres. Nice to meet you,” the ghost of the ring said curtly. Then she gave Jackie a head-to-toe once-over. “Are you a clown?”
“What did you just say?” The grin faded from Jackie’s face.
“You remind me of the clown I saw at a garden party in Nice.” The girl ghost’s English was fluent, albeit with a slight French accent. She was smiling, but her tone sounded rather mean.
I cleared my throat. “So, Ms. d’Ardi…,” I mumbled, mostly because I didn’t fully catch her surname.
“You can call me Marion.” She shrugged.
“Okay, Marion. My name is Mandy, and I’m a special assistant with the FBI.” I caught a glance of Jackie, pouting with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Jackie here is my guardian angel and I’d appreciate it if the two of you would get along nicely.”
I caught Rick and Agent Woo whispering, “Hmm, it looks like the ghost can speak English.”
“Right. Good thing we don’t need an interpreter. It’d be easy to translate Mandy’s words into French, but I didn’t know how to get the ghost’s words.”
Feeling like a kid on Parents’ Day, I kept talking to the ghost. “So, are you the ghost haunting this ring?”
“Who? Me?” She raised her chin defiantly. “I’m not haunting the ring. It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. This ring is haunting me, trapping me in its prison.”
“Excuse me?” I said, not quite grasping what she meant.
“What I’m saying is that I’m being cursed by this ring. It has a track record of causing fear and misery to its owners. Please don’t blame me for the tragedies,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, really,” I mumbled. I’d heard about haunted objects like dolls, paintings, and chairs, but it was my first time seeing a cursed item.
“What did she say?” Rick chimed in.
“She says the ring is haunting her, and it has a track record of causing fear and misery to its owners,” I said.
“I have a hunch she’s bluffing.” Jackie snorted, but she looked somewhat pale, prompting Marion to shrug.
“Seriously?” Rick perked up. “What a coincidence! I’ve always wanted to encounter some haunted jewelry.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, biting my lip.
“Sort of.” He shrugged.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. Very interesting.” Agent Woo rubbed his chin. “Mandy, can you please ask Marion to describe the type of curse the ring specializes in?”
“Yes.” I nodded and turned to Marion. “Can you describe your—”
“For your information, I was listening to that gentleman. I might be dead but that doesn’t make me deaf,” Marion interrupted me midsentence. “Basically, this ring brings tragedies to its owners—and I mean tragedies leading to death.”
The tone of her voice was breezy. Playful, even. Her crimson lips parted into a smile.
I wasn’t sure how to react to her words, so I was silent with my mouth half open like a total moron.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she went on. “The first owner was executed by guillotine. She was such a beautiful countess, but the sight of people mounting her head on top of a wooden stick was so horrific. That’s what the ring says to me. Following her death, the ring changed hands so many times.”
CHAPTER 4
“Oh gosh! A ring owned and worn by a countess executed during the French Revolution? Talk about haunted jewelry! We should call that TV show about the people who collect haunted stuff,” Nana said eagerly, scooping a spoonful of buttermilk panna cotta topped with strawberry compote. “Mandy, Rick, you guys have to tell me all the juicy details.”
“Juicy details? That sounds more like a horror story.” Mom grimaced.
“I agree with you!” Jackie said, bouncing around Mom, who couldn’t see her. “That ghost is evil, and I have a hunch she’s lying.”
“At least she says she’ll try to help us with the case,” I reminded Jackie. Following the disagreement in the office, the ghost of a drag queen started campaigning against the girl ghost in the French doll getup. I didn’t know which was more bizarre—having a drag queen guardian angel, or said guardian angel catfighting with a ghost in haunted jewelry.
Jackie snorted. “Anyway, she’s bad news.”
Then Mom changed the topic. “By the way, Mandy, Rick. How’s your wedding planning going? Did you settle on the important details, such as the date and which venue the two of you want to use?”
“Well, we’re in the process of evaluating each option.” I fumbled with my words and looked at Rick. After all, he was better at smooth-talking and convincing my mother.
“So far, we’ve reached a mutual understanding that we’re not exchanging tattoos during the ceremony, and no entry of llamas is allowed,” Rick said, taking the last spoonful of dessert. “This is delicious. Can I have some more, please, Martha?”
“Of course, you can.” Mom smiled cheerfully, putting a hearty serving of dessert onto Rick’s plate.
“Thank you very much.” Rick flashed a dazzling smile.
That evening, we were visiting my parents’ home in Queens for dinner. I’d been away from home since I moved to Rick’s lavish condo on Fifth Avenue, and I was a little bit surprised to realize how long it had been. When I moved into Rick’s place the previous summer when he broke his ankle, I thought it was just a temporary living arrangement until his leg healed. I’d never expected myself to keep on living with him, much less get engaged to him. It’s so true that life is filled with surprises.
“How many guests are you guys having?” Alicia, my younger sister, said abruptly. Her two daughters were busy watching Looney Tunes in the living room that was connected to the dining room, so she had plenty of time to relax and nose around my wedding.
“That needs to be settled, and I mean very
soon. But we’ll keep everything small and intimate,” I said. When my sister got married, she was pregnant with Emma, her oldest daughter, and her husband, Tony, was just beginning law school. Basically, she had a family-only wedding, but it was relaxing and intimate, and I loved it. She was still happily married to Tony, who turned out to be quite a successful attorney, which only fortified my belief in small weddings.
“Except, considering the number of people expecting to attend our wedding, a small wedding might not do,” Rick said. “Practically all the agents, NYPD officers, and detectives we’ve worked with are talking about our wedding, and I’m feeling a little bit skeptical about a small wedding. After all, law enforcement in New York will be our clients.”
I thought for a while. “Perhaps we can do a small ceremony followed by a large reception?”
“No, you can’t,” Nana, Mom, and Alicia said in unison.
“Unless you’re going with an immediate-family-only wedding,” Mom added.
“I’m good with an immediate-family-only wedding,” I said eagerly.
“So, Brian will marry us, so he doesn’t count as a guest—but I can’t exclude Meredith, so Ben and Julie will be there as well.” Rick frowned, counting three of his BFFs and Meredith and Ben’s daughter.
“So, an immediate-family-only wedding isn’t an option. Having a big reception after a small wedding ceremony is almost a synonym for telling the rest of the guests ‘Y’all are good enough to party with us, but not important enough to see us actually get married. So, why don’t y’all wait outside while we tie the knot with our VIP guests?’ Just like that, you know,” Alicia said.
“Why did you suddenly develop a Southern accent?” I pointed out.
“Just out of the blue?” she said, sounding more like a question than a statement. “Anyway, if you can go with a big wedding, you don’t wanna eliminate that option.”
“Mandy, don’t worry about money,” Rick said. “Alice is paying for everything. Don’t feel bad about it. It’s the least she can do for her only child after she’s been practically nonexistent in my life.”
