“Not yet,” Wynn barreled on, “Mom brings home odd tidbits, but it’s the necklace that’s driving her crazy. It torments her that the necklace she gave Tiffany was ripped away like that. She’s convinced the necklace is somewhere on Pebble Beach, or at least some of the stones from it.”
“Where is your mother today?” Cindy asked. She knew how easy it could be to fall into delusion after the sudden death of a loved one.
“I’m not sure where she is,” said Wynn. “Probably back on Pebble Beach, rummaging around.”
“I want to meet up with her as soon as possible,” said Cindy.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate it,” said Wynn. “She likes you very much.”
Wynn gave her a private cell phone number her mother would pick up. It was only for the family and closest friends.
“I’m sure it’s okay if I give it to you,” Wynn whispered, nervously.
“Of course it’s okay,” Cindy said. “I’m working for the family. Your mother was the one who called me down.”
“What’s happening with the investigation,” Wynn breathed, “are you getting anywhere?”
“Yes, of course we are,” said Cindy, boldly. “Piece by piece things come up. Then suddenly, in a flash, they all come together.”
“Like lightning?” said Wynn.
“Exactly,” said Cindy. “It just takes a second for everything to fall into place. Just one extra piece of information, something a person says off handedly, the way two people exchange a glance.”
“And lightning flashes,” said Wynn, excited.
“That’s right. The truth becomes undeniable! You wonder how it was possible that it hid from you all this time.”
“Fantastic,” said Wynn.
“It is fantastic,” said Cindy. “It’s beautiful, and inevitable, too. There is justice in this universe, Wynn.”
Wynn was quiet for a moment. “I can now see why you do this work,” she said quietly.
And, at that moment, Cindy understood herself better as well.
*
After she spoke to Wynn, Cindy called her mother, Myrtle, who picked up the phone immediately.
“I want to see you instantly,” Myrtle said, her voice thick and hoarse.
“Where shall we meet?” Cindy responded on a dime.
Myrtle gave her the address of a different hotel on the island, Place de Jour.
“Get here as soon as you can,” said Myrtle.
“I’m on my way,” Cindy said.
One hour later, Cindy arrived. The hotel was on the edge of a cliff, in a fishing village. The village was off to the edge of the island, out of the way, less crowded than the main sections. It was a relief to be here, out of the rush and noise. The hotel was smaller than the one Cindy was saying in, made of white clapboard and looked like an old, whaling inn.
Cindy dressed casually, in slacks and a loose shirt, her hair tied back. The lobby of the hotel had upholstered sofas to sit on and after entering Cindy immediately scanned the place looking for Myrtle. She wasn’t there. Cindy checked her watch. She was right on time and wondered where Myrtle was? She’d seemed so eager to see Cindy right away.
Cindy waited in the lobby for about ten minutes. Myrtle did not appear. Uneasy, Cindy went to the desk, described her and asked if they’d seen her around.
“You mean that older woman with the big, green bag?” the young woman at the desk looked at Cindy oddly.
Cindy had no idea if Myrtle carried a big, green bag, but decided to say yes.
“She’s waiting for you in the back restaurant,” the young woman continued.
Cindy was startled. They’d agreed to meet in the lobby.
“Where is it?” she asked.
The young woman showed her where the restaurant was and Cindy immediately went. The moment she walked in, she saw Myrtle sitting alone at a large table, looking distressed. She was a sorry sight, looking as if she were coming undone. Her hair was uncombed, curly and frizzy. Her nails were unpolished. Her eyes shot back and forth furtively, as if she were trying to spot someone hiding nearby.
Cindy walked right over to her.
“You’re very late,” Myrtle said, displeased as Cindy approached her table.
“I’ve been waiting in the lobby,” said Cindy. “I thought we said we’d meet there.”
“Well, you were wrong,” said Myrtle, motioning for Cindy to sit down.
Cindy sat down quickly, her heart pounding. She was positive that they’d arranged to meet in the lobby.
“I’d never arrange to meet in such a public place,” Myrtle said, her voice raspy. “Where’s Mattheus?”
“He’s doing research for the party we’re going to tonight,” Cindy said.
“The Russian Moguls?” Myrtle quipped.
“Yes.”
“He’s following my husband’s directions, naturally. My husband’s obsessed with the Moguls. If you ask me, he’s jealous of them - wants their money and clout.”
Cindy was surprised to hear that.
“We’re checking out the background situation thoroughly, before we go to the party tonight,” Cindy filled her in.
“There’s no situation to check out,” Myrtle spoke between gritted teeth. “There’s only lots of bucks, glitz and slinky women that any man can have for the asking. Each one tries to outdo the other and they all end the night drunk or buzzed.”