A Beeline to Murder

“What do you remember, Lidia?” Abby asked.

“This isn’t an item we carry, dear, but I’m certain it came in for repair—a broken piece of filigree in the scroll-work around the square cushion. It also had a loose mounting prong.” Lidia put down the loupe.

“And you remember this because . . . ?” Abby asked.

“Because it’s an antique, Oliver showed it to me right away. He said no one does this kind of work anymore.” Lidia picked up the loupe and put it over the side of the mount. “My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I couldn’t forget this one.”

Abby felt her stomach flutter. “Please tell me, Lidia, that you remember the name of the person who brought this earring in.”

“Well, let me think.” Lidia put down the earring. She placed both hands on the edge of the counter, long fingers splayed across the top. Thus steadied, she closed her eyes.

Abby looked at Philippe and put a finger to her lips. If Lidia needed to shut out the visual world to conjure up a clearer memory, Abby figured some silence couldn’t hurt, either. What she didn’t want was to break the spell.

A moment later, Lidia opened her eyes. “It was last September,” she said. “Students from the high school had started coming in with their backpacks. That’s always a problem. You’ve got to keep such a close eye on those young ones. They tend to pilfer, you know.”

“Yes . . . and so, last September, as you were saying?” Abby asked.

“A man came in. I’d wager he might have been in his early forties. Our cleaning lady’s husband is about that age. I remember the man’s clothing seemed too nice for a sweaty hike up to the reservoir. Said he went up there with a friend. But what I remember most about him is that he wore a Yacht-Master II. Who wears a Rolex on a rugged hike into the foothills?” She smiled at Philippe. “Oh, you might see a yachtsman wearing such a piece in the Old Port of Marseille, but not at the reservoir in Las Flores! Of course, that was the day our air-conditioning broke down. It was hot as blazes out, even hotter here in the shop. Every store in town was running its AC. Triple-digit temps that week and—”

“Yes,” Abby interrupted. “I remember that sweltering heat. The county rationed water, and most of my heirloom corn roasted on the stalk.”

Philippe took a turn at guiding Lidia back on topic. “The earring, it was broken, and your customer wanted you to fix it?”

“Yes,” Lidia said. “The man gave my husband the earring to fix.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Abby asked.

“He hadn’t been in here before, but he said that his wife had. The earrings were for her. I gather they had been in his family and had been passed down. The man said he needed something to placate his wife for a recent misdeed.”

Philippe had stepped away to stare beneath the glass at a pair of Edwardian-style gold cuff links in a spiral shape. But at hearing “misdeed,” he looked at Abby with a lifted brow. He seemed to be fully attentive again to what else Lidia might remember.

Abby watched as Lidia, seemingly annoyed that a silver strand of hair had fallen over her shoulder, expertly twisted the strand back where it belonged. “You know, we had to get rid of that AC unit. I guess it must have lasted us three decades.” Chuckling softly, she added, “Not nearly as long as my husband and I have been married.”

“So,” Abby asked, “any chance you recall the man’s name?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think.... No, sorry.” She frowned as though her attempt to remember was not without a great deal of effort. “We might have a repair ticket in our files. We always write the customer’s name on the ticket and match it with the jewelry by the ticket number. I’ll ask my husband if he remembers that man or the earring. In old age, two heads really are better than one.” She chuckled. “He’s six months younger.”