Lady Rample and the Parisian Affair by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod [MacLeod, Shéa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: british mystery, international mystery, private investigator, whodunnit, murder mystery, art deco mystery, 1930s mystery
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2020-04-16T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

By the time Chaz and I returned home, Hale had already left for the club. Calling Mr. Bartholomew would have to wait. It was most annoying, but it couldn’t be helped. The best chance to get what we needed out of Bartholomew was for him to believe the person he was speaking to was Victor Smith. And the person who knew Smith the best out of all of us was, of course, Hale. Not only that, but Hale was the only American among us. There was no way either Chaz or Mr. Singh could pull off an American accent. Chaz had tried with hilarious, and shockingly terrible, results.

Unfortunately, by the time Hale got home, it would be far too late for a phone call to Texas, and our morning would be the middle of the night there. Which meant it would have to wait until afternoon. My frustration knew no bounds.

By the time we were ready to put in the call, I was a bundle of nerves. So many “what ifs” swirled through my brain. What if Hale couldn’t pull it off? What if Bartholomew wouldn’t or couldn’t give us the information we needed? What if no one answered? What if...

I was going to drive myself bonkers if I wasn’t careful.

At last Hale took his place in the study behind the desk, while Chaz lounged in one of the club chairs. As for me, I was too nervous to do anything but pace, my mules clacking against the floor so loudly I finally threw them off.

Hale dialed. It took forever to get put through. Finally, he calmly said, “May I speak with Mr. Bartholomew? —Of course. This is Victor Smith. He’ll know why I’m calling. —Yes, I’ll wait.” He winked at me and leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking slightly beneath him.

Questions half exploded out of my mouth, but I kept mum. I didn’t want Bartholomew to hear my voice when he came on the line.

Hale sat up, straightened his shoulders, and spoke in a slightly lower voice than usual. “Hello, Mr. Bartholomew. Victor Smith here. —Yes, I received your letter. —Of course, I understand. I’ve been following a few leads, but so far, I’ve had no luck. Don’t worry, though, I’ll keep on it. What? —Of course, I won’t stop until I find it. I thought perhaps you might have more information.—Well, sir, I realize that, but sometimes in the heat of the moment, you don’t realize you’ve got a clue until later, know what I mean? Like maybe somebody said something to you that struck you as funny. Or there was a stranger hanging around the house right before the item went missing. Or—Yes, that’s right. —Uh huh. —Really? That’s very interesting. —Yes, of course, but I wanted to double check. —Thanks for your time, Mr. Bartholomew. —Sure thing. You have a good day.” And he hung up.

“Well?” I prompted.

Hale leaned back again, smug as you please, lacing his hands behind his head. “It seems that the necklace was made from a diamond that originally belonged to the Hapsburgs.

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