e9c12ac8d703d9a536f23183edf8b22c

“What are they saying?” asked Chase with a smile.

“They want me to sell the diamond,” she said with a shrug.

“We can’t sell it,” Chase pointed out. “It doesn’t belong to us.”

“So what if you sell it back to the owners?” Harriet suggested. “How much do you think they’ll pay? Millions? A billion?”

She now recognized the look in her cats’ eyes. It was the same kind of look gold diggers get when they’re on a riverbank sifting through the mud. Or the kind of feverish fervor some of those bitcoin miners experienced when the value of their bitcoin suddenly hit the roof.

“Look, the stone isn’t mine to sell,” she repeated. “And besides, you can’t put a value on a stone like the Pink Lady. Its value is an emotional one. It was a gift from Sheikh Bab El Ehr to his wife, a symbol of their love. How do you put a price on something like that? You can’t.”

“So how about a finder’s fee? How much do you think these people will pay for the privilege of getting their treasured diamond back?”

She took a seat next to Chase on the bedroom bench and regarded her cats sternly.“I have to confess I’m a little disappointed in you right now, Harriet. You, too, Brutus. For you even to suggest such a thing is just… I mean, really?”

Harriet looked surprised by this.“What do you mean?”

“We don’t go around trying to make a fast buck, Harriet. That’s not who we are. We try to do the right thing, not get rich off other people’s misery.”

Harriet had the decency to look embarrassed, and so did Brutus.

She rubbed the Persian’s head. “Look, I know the notion of possessing a fabulously precious stone like the Pink Lady can make your head spin. But we can’t let it affect us. There’s more to life than money, you guys. We can’t let this diamond change who we are: decent human beings… and cats,” she added witha smile.

“I’m sorry,” said Harriet, and Odelia noticed how that dangerous gleam had disappeared from her eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. I just…” she shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of a pesky flea. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Odelia. “I think you caught a bug, honey, and so did you, Brutus.”

“A bug?” asked the pretty Persian, looking horrified. “What bug?”

“The diamond bug. And now scram, will you? Chase and I have some stuff to discuss.”

She watched as Harriet and Brutus disappeared through the door, then closed it.

“So why didn’t you want the cats to know about Johnny and Jerry gunning for that stone?” asked Chase.

“Because I don’t want to get them involved any more than they already are. Petty crime is one thing, but this diamond…” She darted a glance at the portrait of a gnome, which Dad had hung in front of the safe, and which swung on a set of hinges to obscure its presence. “It scares me, you know. You saw what happened with Harriet and Brutus just now. Somehow the presence of the Pink Lady brings out the worst in people, and I don’t want my cats to get hurt.”

“They’ll be fine,” said Chase as he placed an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in and her husband’s embrace felt good, as did the kiss he placed on her temple. “We’ll find out who this gem belongs to, give it back to them, and that’s it.”

She sighed deeply. Somehow she had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite so simple. She just hoped she was wrong.

11

Marge was frowning before herself as she locked up the library and started on her way home. She’d googled the author of the book she’d been reading but had unfortunately drawn a blank. It seemed as if there wasn’t much of an internet presence for Loretta Gray, which was unusual in this day and age. The woman didn’t even have a website, which was even more surprising, or even a Facebook page.

And she’d just reached the sidewalk and took a left to head in the direction of home and hearth, when suddenly the door of a car that stood parked at the curb opened and that very same Loretta Gray stepped out!

Marge immediately recognized the author from her author picture, in spite of the sunglasses the writer was wearing. Her blond hair shone like spun gold, and she was dressed in an expensive green suit, her feet clad in equally expensive high heels. All in all, she looked like a million bucks. Exactly like what Marge would have expected the authoress of The Sheikh’s Passion to look.

“Marge Poole?” asked the woman as she took off her sunglasses.

“Yes?” said Marge, highly surprised by this sudden turn of events. “You’re Loretta Gray, aren’t you?”

The author smiled.“Have we met?”

“No, but I’ve just been reading… Wait, here it is.” She reached into her canvas bag and took out the book. “I’ve been reading your book,” she said, holding up her library copy.

The woman’s smile vanished. “Oh,” she said. “I see.”

“I love it,” said Marge. “I think it’s an amazing story, and it so vividly describes what happened it’s almost as if…”

“Yes,” said the woman, glancing down at the book with a strange look in her eyes.