“I’m not surprised, after all those oysters.” But she did look a bit pale, he noted, and a thin sheen of perspiration shimmered on her upper lip.
“Seriously. I need to go back to the Magnolia and lie down or something. We can get an early start in the morning.”
“Okay.” He was dead on his feet, too. Anyway, it was almost closing time, and most of the exhibitors were securing their spaces for the night.
Brenna headed for the exit. But she’d only taken a few steps when she skidded to a stop. “Oh, my God.”
“What? Are you going to be sick?” Heath asked, alarmed.
“Probably. But that’s not—” She made a beeline for a nearby exhibitor called French Quarter Chic.
Oh, hell. The lady from the chat room. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the sign himself.
MANNING THE BOOTH was a trashy-looking bleached blonde in her late forties with a seventies Farrah Fawcett hairdo. She was chatting with an older man in a cowboy hat, showing him various diamond engagement rings while the much-younger woman at his side squealed and simpered.
Heath cast around for Grif. Where was he?
Brenna rapidly scanned the showcases, then gasped and grabbed Heath’s arm. “That’s my necklace!” Then, before Heath could even react, she added, “I’m definitely going to be sick.” And she bolted for the exit.
Chapter Three
The bleached blonde, whose name tag identified her as Alice Smith, stopped midsentence. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’d like to see the opal necklace,” he said, indicating the piece Brenna had pointed to. It did resemble one of the sketched designs Brenna had provided when she’d first filed the theft complaint. But did it have Brenna’s jeweler’s mark? That would be the key to identifying the piece.
“The show is about to close for the night,” Alice said, “and I’ve really got to help this gentleman here. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?”
“I won’t be able to do that,” he said firmly, finding it highly odd that the woman wouldn’t do anything possible to close the sale tonight. He’d seen how eager these exhibitors were to part customers from their cash. “I’d just like to take a quick look at the necklace.”
“I can only wait on one customer at a time,” she said curtly. “For security reasons.” She picked up a can of cola from the table and took a quick gulp from it, then returned her attention to the man in the cowboy hat.
Something didn’t feel right here.
Mr. Cowboy Hat stepped aside. “You go ahead and help this gentleman,” he said to Alice. “Delia and I want to talk a bit in private.” He handed the ring he’d been looking at back to Alice and walked away.
Hesitating, Alice extracted the pendant from the case and displayed it against her manicured hand, tilting it this way and that to catch the light in a practiced gesture. “You probably just cost me a sale, you know. That guy was about to pull out his platinum American Express.”
“Sorry.”
He looked closely at the pendant, which featured a round, flat fire opal the size of a nickel, encased in a disc of gold and platinum. It had a sort of Art Deco feel to it, but modern, too. Very clean lines.
“Where did this come from?” he asked casually.
“An estate sale in Florida. I’ve had it for a few months, but it needed repairs. This is the first I’ve shown it. Several people have said they might come back for it, so if you’re interested…”
Heath held out his hand. “May I?”
The woman handed it across the table to him. He casually flipped over the pendant. He didn’t see Brenna’s mark. He examined the piece with his jeweler’s loupe. No sign of her name. No mark of any kind.
“Do you know who the designer is?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you have a receipt for it?”
Alice’s face hardened. “What’s this about?”
“The woman who was with me a moment ago thinks the necklace might be stolen. From her.”
Alice’s face melted into an expression of sympathy and her demeanor changed abruptly. “That’s awful. Oh, I hope it’s not true. I have the receipt in my office at home, I’m sure. I could get it for you. The outfit I bought it from is a respectable company that runs estate sales all over northern Florida. I can’t imagine they would deal in stolen merchandise. When did the theft occur?”
“Only a few weeks ago.”
Alice smiled. “Well then, it couldn’t be the same piece. If you want to give me your fax number, I can fax the receipt to you.” She handed Heath a card.
“Do you go by FrenchQuarterChic on the Internet?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, hard and swift. She held her hand out, obviously wanting her necklace back. “I really need to get going. I have to pick up my grandkid at the babysitter’s before it gets too late.”
Heath handed back the necklace. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe Brenna had been mistaken. Her mark wasn’t anywhere on the pendant. He decided the only way to sort this out was to bring Brenna herself back here to take a closer look at the piece.
Where the hell was Grif? When he really needed the guy, he was MIA.
He flashed his badge at Alice, whose eyes widened. “I don’t want you to leave this spot until I get back. I’m going to assume, for now, that it’s all a mistake. But if I have to come looking for you—and I will—I’ll have a whole new set of assumptions, and they won’t be pretty. Understood?”
“Well, you don’t have to get nasty,” she grumbled. “But I’m not waiting here all night.”
She didn’t intimidate easily, he thought as he took off after Brenna.
The security guard at the door had noticed Brenna, who didn’t exactly blend into the crowd. At Heath’s question, he pointed out the direction she’d taken—down a corridor that led to the ladies’ room. The corridor was empty. He cracked open the ladies’ room swinging door. “Brenna?”
“Leave me alone,” she called back on a moan.
“Are you okay?”
“What do you think?”
Hoping no one else was in there, he entered, holding his FBI shield just in case. But the room was deserted. Amazing, given how busy the trade show was.
He found Brenna leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She raised up, looking at him in the mirror, then blotted her face with a paper towel.
“Get out. This is a ladies’ bathroom, for gosh sake.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Go arrest somebody. That woman had my necklace.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t look at it very closely.”
“Of course I’m sure! You think I can’t recognize a piece of jewelry I worked over for days?”
“I looked it over. It doesn’t have your mark.”
That stopped her. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Marvin could have removed the mark.”
“The