The Topaz Brooch Read online

  Her spine tingled, and it wasn’t from thoughts of a book club event. She backed up a couple of feet and discreetly scanned the room.

  There were three men on the opposite side, over fifty and overweight, and one with tiny blood vessels sprinkled over his cheeks. But nothing was threatening about their demeanor.

  She sniffed, wrinkling her nose as an unfamiliar scent wafted her way. “Pee-ew.” She ticked through several possibilities. It wasn’t rotting garbage or skunk or stinky feet. Nor was it a sweet perfume, or a wave-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face gas, beer breath, or armpits. It was just plain damp earth. Maybe a cellar door was open. If so, one of the agents should close it before the odor permeated the entire house.

  One of the overweight men straightened the knot of his necktie, shot his cuffs, and strolled toward them. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “China, silver, and glassware,” Billie said.

  The man pointed toward the table and, without opening the sale booklet, said, “There’s a set of eighteen antique Baccarat Crystal water glasses, a Limoges porcelain gold-rimmed dinner service for eight, and a Gorham sterling silver flatware set for twelve. We’ve reduced the sterling silver twenty percent. The price is firm at twelve thousand dollars.”

  Billie slid one of the knives out of the slot in the silver chest and examined it. It hardly looked used. “When was this made? Do you know?”

  “Eighteen-nineties,” the agent said.

  She picked up a plate, noted the color of the blue flowers in the pattern, then looked through the entire stack for chips and cracks. Satisfied with the condition of the set, she checked the stamp on the back.

  The agent commented, “That’s one of the most popular Limoges patterns. Hand-painted gilt decoration embellishes each piece.”

  “I’m familiar with the pattern. These plates will blend beautifully with other colors and patterns. What’s the price on this set?” Billie asked.

  “Forty-five hundred.”

  “Is it firm?”

  The agent plucked at his chin. “If you’re also interested in the silver service, I’m sure we can reach a deal. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  The agent moved away from the table, and Billie walked around to the other side and picked up a crystal glass to examine it.

  Morgan’s lips twitched, then twitched again, as if she wasn’t sure whether her jaw should drop in shock or she should burst out laughing. “You’d spend seventeen thousand dollars on china and silver to satisfy senior citizens? Are you nuts? How can you make a profit doing that?”

  “I can’t,” Billie said, shaking her head. “If I did, my accountant would scoff at me, and then she’d quit. I’d pay thirty-eight hundred for the china, but the silver flatware is too expensive.” Billie rubbed her nose. “Do you smell something earthy?”

  Morgan sniffed. “Reminds me of Scotland. We visited the Highlands on our honeymoon. We had a reservation at a B&B, but when I walked in and smelled that, we left. I couldn’t stay there.”

  “Did you find out what it was?”

  “Peat.”

  “As in decomposed vegetable matter?”

  “They use it for fuel in Scotland.”

  “Yeah, but we’re in New Orleans. This house has fireplaces in every room, but none of them look used.” She walked over to the window and looked out across the backyard. Maybe there was a compost heap, garden, fire pit, or something else that would explain the odor. The window allowed an expansive view of the backyard with a hedge defining the property lines on the sides and along the back. There was no garden or compost pit. “A cellar door must be open.”

  “According to this sales brochure for the house,” Morgan said, “there is a cellar accessible through an outside entrance.”

  Billie glanced over Morgan’s shoulder. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Over there on the table.”

  The brochure showed a floor plan for each level of the mansion. The cellar entrance was near the back door and extended beneath the dining room, which was where Billie was standing. “The odor has to be coming from the cellar, then.”

  The agent returned. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Yeah, what’s with the smell?”

  “It started yesterday,” the agent said. “We can’t figure it out. We called the fire department, but they couldn’t find anything. Then we called the NIH. They’re sending someone out later today.”

  “What’s the NIH?” Morgan asked.

  “National Institute of Health,” the agent said.

  “Oh, well. Let’s go upstairs,” Billie said. “Maybe the odor isn’t so bad upstairs.”

  Morgan closed the brochure, slipped it into her bag, and as they walked out, she whispered, “Maybe if you walk away and act disinterested, they’ll be ready to negotiate when you come back.”

  “Possibly.” Billie followed Morgan upstairs and into the first bedroom off a long hallway, mirroring the first floor. An antique French Louis XVI double bed in oak with a carved plume dominated the room, along with a pair of marble-top painted wood commodes.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” a female agent asked.

  “I’d like to see the jewelry,” Morgan said.

  “It’s spread out in the dressing room.” The agent led the way into a large walk-in closet with dark floor-to-ceiling cinnamon cabinetry around the perimeter and a center storage island with a sandy-colored natural limestone countertop. Two velvet-lined jewelry drawers stood open, both with smaller jewelry boxes inside.

  Billie frowned when she got a whiff of the same foul odor she’d encountered on the first floor. But the earthy scent was even stronger in the closet.

  She opened one of the jewelry boxes. Velvet lined the inside with a tapestry strip across the center. The tapestry was of four brooches: a ruby, an amethyst, an amber, and a blue topaz that matched the color of the gemstone in her ring. Only the topaz brooch was inside the box.

  “This brooch is gorgeous.” Billie picked it up and studied it. The vivid blue topaz jewelry on the market today was produced by treatment and enhancement with irradiation and heat. To find this color in an antique piece was unusual.

  “Is that an aquamarine?” Morgan asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  “No, it’s topaz. The purest color of topaz is normally either colorless or pale blue. This shade of blue is very unusual.”

  Morgan’s bracelets clinked as she bumped shoulders with Billie and whispered, “It’s got your name on it. Get it.”

  Billie turned to the agent. “How much for the brooch and the box?”

  “Dozens of women have opened that jewelry box, but no one has shown any interest before.” The agent consulted a sheet of paper. “Twelve hundred for both.”

  If Billie could negotiate down the price of the dinner service, she’d be able to buy the china and the brooch. “I’m considering the gold-rimmed dinner service for eight on display in the dining room. The agent downstairs quoted forty-five hundred, which is overpriced by nine hundred dollars. I’ll take the dinner service, the brooch, and the jewelry box for forty-five hundred.”

  “You’ll have to negotiate with Mr. Thompson. Did you meet him when you came in?”

  “Yes, we did.” Billie closed the jewelry box and returned it to the drawer, lightly tapping the countertop. She would love to buy it, but twelve hundred was too much. If she walked out, the agent would probably text Clovis the offer, and he’d be ready to discuss a sale by the time Billie returned to the first floor.

  “Thank you,” Billie said and walked out of the closet.

  “Billie,” Morgan said. “Come look at this collection of cufflinks.”

  Billie returned and picked up a pair of turquoise cufflinks, put them down, and picked up a set of mother-of-pearl Art Deco snap cufflinks. “I’d buy the entire box. These are amazing. If you don’t buy them, I will. I’ll have them made into napkin rings.”

  “Sorry. Find some other napkin
rings. My dad will go bananas over this entire collection.” Morgan leaned in and whispered, “How much are they worth?”

  Billie turned toward the agent. “What do you want for this box of cufflinks?”

  The woman consulted her sheet of paper again. “Seven-fifty.”

  “That’s way too much,” Billie said. “I wouldn’t go over four-seventy-five.”

  The agent shook her head. “I can’t reduce the price that much.”

  “Thanks anyway.” Billie turned back to a disappointed Morgan. “I’m sure your dad would love the collection, but it’s not worth what they’re asking.” Billie led the way down the stairs, whispering, “I’d go as high as six-fifty on the cufflinks, and even that’s a steal, but you have to negotiate on the price. That’s what makes this fun.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  Instead of returning to the dining room, Billie headed toward the front door. If she was going to negotiate, she had to talk to the person with the authority to lower the price of the items she was interested in buying.

  “Let’s negotiate,” Billie said to Clovis. “Give me your best price on the dinner service for eight.”

  His wide-set eyes narrowed. “The best I can do on the china is forty-three-fifty.”

  Billie tugged on her chin. “Still too high. I can go thirty-eight-hundred, and even that price will have my accountant threatening to wring my neck. Thanks anyway.” She had a price of thirty-nine-fifty in mind and would go up from her initial offer, but the seller had to come down.

  “There’s a box of cufflinks upstairs,” Morgan said. “The agent quoted seven-fifty. That’s too much. I can’t go over five-seventy-five.”

  Clovis looked at his sheet again. “Six-ninety-nine.”

  Morgan shook her head with a sigh. “Can’t do it. Thanks anyway.”

  Clovis’s jaw worked his facial muscles, alternately clenching and relaxing. “My final offer is six-seventy-five. And you can have the box they’re in.”

  “I don’t need the box,” Morgan said. “Six-twenty-five.”

  “And I’ll take the china and a brooch I saw upstairs for forty-two-hundred.” Billie and Morgan were tag-teaming the agent, and it might just work.

  Something gleamed in Clovis’s eyes. “Forty-five hundred for the china dishes, the brooch, the box, and the shipping. That’s assuming you don’t want to take the china with you.”

  “I’ll pay forty-three-seventy-five for the brooch, box, and china. Six-fifty-five for the cufflinks, and I’ll pay all shipping costs.” She had a special rate with UPS and could ship the china to Napa for less than Clovis could. And if Morgan didn’t want the cufflinks at that price, Billie would take them too. She was pretty sure one pair had diamonds, and another had sapphires. Those two pairs alone would sell for six-fifty-five.

  He rocked back on his heels, his eyes glued to her. “You’re a tough negotiator.” He consulted his list again. “Let me make a phone call. Excuse me.” He disappeared into a small room off the entry and closed the door.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Morgan asked.

  “I think he doesn’t want to lose this sale and will come close to what we want.” While they waited, Billie logged into her business credit card account to make sure she had enough available credit. She’d recently charged another large purchase to the card, along with her travel expenses, but she had enough…barely. She wasn’t wealthy, but she had a good business, a comfortable lifestyle, and she lived frugally. Spending four thousand dollars on china dishes probably didn’t seem frugal, but it would come out of her marketing budget. It just meant she couldn’t place any ads in the newspaper for a couple of months, but heck, a girl had to have priorities.

  The door opened, and Clovis rejoined them in the foyer. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Marvelous,” Billie said.

  “My associate is bringing down the jewelry. Shall we step over to my desk and settle up?”

  The woman they’d seen in the upstairs bedroom came down the stairs with the jewelry and handed the box with the brooch to Billie and the cufflinks to Morgan. “I hope you enjoy your purchases.” She smiled, then went back upstairs.

  Billie jerked back after another whiff of the peat smell. She raised the box to her nose and sniffed. “Even this box has that smell.” She lifted it close to Morgan’s nose. “Do you smell it?”

  “Is it in the lining?”

  “It seems like it’s in the wood. I’ll put it in plastic when I get to the hotel so it won’t stink up my room.”

  “Are you talking about the earthy smell in the house?” Clovis asked. “We can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”

  “We thought the cellar?” Morgan said.

  “We’ve been down there, but you can’t smell it underground. We got an environmental engineer in here to check it out, but even he couldn’t find the source. He’s bringing in some equipment to try again,” Clovis said.

  Billie and Morgan followed Clovis into the small room where he had taken the call. Compared to the other rooms, this was the size of a coat closet. But to Billie, it was as cozy as the den in her townhouse in Napa.

  “If you don’t want the cufflinks at that price, I’ll buy them,” Billie said to Morgan.

  “Heck, no. If you thought it was a good price, who am I to argue? This just means no more shopping in New Orleans for me.”

  “Me either. I’ll be spending the rest of my downtime by the pool.” Billie handed Clovis her credit card and wrote out shipping instructions, including her UPS account number. “It’s been nice doing business with you. If you’re ever in Napa, I’ll be glad to treat you to dinner.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Clovis said. “My wife and I took a winery tour about five years ago, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Hope to get back someday. I’ll certainly give you a call.” He shook hands and saw them to the door.

  Billie lowered her sunglasses as she strolled out onto the porch. While Morgan opened an app on her phone to schedule a ride, Billie sat down on a wicker settee and opened the jewelry box.

  “What’s the address again?” Morgan asked.

  “Thirty-seven-eleven St. Charles Avenue.”

  Morgan sat next to her and typed in the pickup and drop-off locations.

  Billie held the brooch up to the sunlight. “I just love this.”

  “You should give a seminar on negotiating.”

  Billie howled out a laugh. “I prefer haggling. It sounds more physical. Like I had to work hard for it.”

  “Trust me. You did. But it was your attitude that convinced Clovis to deal with you. He knew you’d walk away. I knew it too, and I really wanted those cufflinks.”

  Billie ran her finger along the outside edge of the brooch. “Look how the edge is worn. It’s like it was once part of a bigger piece of jewelry.” She held it up to the light. “I think a jeweler can buff out the rough spots, and you’d never see the imperfections.”

  “I didn’t notice them before. I think they add character,” Morgan looked closely at Billie’s brooch. “You should wear it. It’ll look awesome with your brick-red jacket.”

  Billie turned the brooch over and studied the clasp. “Heck, no. Look at this thick pin stem. I don’t want to punch a huge hole in the leather.” The pin had a slight dent, looking like it had been bent and straightened again. Had someone tried to rip the brooch off whoever wore it? In a battle long ago, maybe. What an exciting story that would be. The dent added to the character of the brooch. If only it could talk, what would it say?

  Morgan looked at the stem. “Simple C closure without a safety mechanism. This kind of stem was made to penetrate several layers of fabric, like a kilt. But look at how it’s attached. It doesn’t look like it was original to the brooch. What good is a brooch without a clasp?”

  “Somebody must have thought the same thing and had one added,” Billie said.

  Morgan dug into her bottomless-pit bag again, whipped out two scarves, and held them up against Bil
lie’s jacket. “Wear this one with red and gold flowers. No. Wear this cornflower blue and gold one. It intensifies your eye color and looks gorgeous with the brooch.”

  “Okay, but do you by chance have an extra bottle of water in that kangaroo pouch of yours? I need a drink.”

  Morgan pulled out two eight-ounce bottles of water and handed one over. “You’ve been around me too long.”

  Billie took a swig, then dropped the bottle into her purse. “If I went down a random list of items, I bet you’d have ninety percent of them in your purse.”

  Morgan hugged her bag. “What can I say? I hate not having something I need. You’re more of a smaller-than-a-grocery sack with a strap, not a handle. Big enough to carry necessities: Kleenex, sanitizer, Chapstick, mints, gum, phone, a wallet for cash and credit cards, and a few incidentals that change from day to day, like an emergency pair of shoes or makeup when you have a dinner date. And of course, your switchblade and Glock.”

  Billie’s jaw dropped. “How in the world did you know that? I never talk about either of them.”

  “I figured, based on your history, that you’d carry them. But I knew for sure one night when we walked through a parking lot, and four guys came out of nowhere. You reached into your purse and left your hand there until they passed us. As soon as the threat was gone, you removed your hand.”

  “You’re observant. I remember that night. If one of them had made a threatening move, I would have pulled out the Glock. I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

  Billie unfolded the striped scarf and smoothed out the wrinkles. “The brooch will punch a big hole. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “It already has several,” Morgan said. “One more won’t hurt. Is the brooch pewter or silver?”

  “Silver, I think. It’s slightly tarnished but will look beautiful once it’s polished. It’s old, though.”

  “Like, how old?” Morgan asked. “Eighteenth-century?”

  “A lot older than that. It feels old.”

  Morgan laughed a short bark. “What makes a piece of jewelry feel old? Feel heavy, yes, but feel old?”