“Yeah.There was one across the street.”
Good Enough was a diner on the corner of East Third and First Avenue that catered exclusively to breakfast eaters—whether that was the tried and true 6:00 a.m.crowd, or just the sort who had a particular craving for pancakes and sausage at three in the afternoon.The restaurant was small, with half a dozen two-tops and a bar with five stools upholstered in the same bright red as the seats, a décor thatscreamedsecondhand—Larkin was certain the framed crying clowns, weathered Alphonse Mucha prints, and movie poster ofTaxi Driverwere, in fact, from the thrift shop next door—and a handwritten menu on bright poster board behind the register, which, at the very bottom, in all caps, read: CA$H ONLY.
Two guys working the griddle were visible through the pass window, and a third was pouring coffee for a middle-aged woman seated at the counter with her back turned.Larkin and Doyle were the only other customers in the diner, and while the radio was playing, it was localized to the kitchen and sounded like a mundane morning talk show.Good Enough was a little too sloppy for Larkin’s liking, but they had an A grade in the window, so he figured the lived-in feel probably meant they’d been a neighborhood staple for decades.
Doyle reached across the table.“Can I see?”
Larkin handed the evidence over.He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip.Grubby or not, no caffeine hit quite like that slung at a New York diner.
Doyle studied the earring.“This is a day-to-night earring.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but what does that mean.”
“It was popular during the nineteenth century.Proper etiquette was to wear studs in daytime and dangly earrings at night when attending social affairs like banquets or parties.This style earring was devised—see this loop at the top?—so you can remove or add the lower portion without having to change out earrings entirely.”
“Does the braided hair identify this as mourning jewelry.”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“And you’re certain it’s not a reproduction piece,” Larkin asked.
“I’m certain,” Doyle agreed.“The hook is accurate for being of the same time period that mourning jewelry was most extensively worn.Women gradually stopped piercing their ears by the turn of the century, and that’s when screw-back earrings became popular.”
“I see.”
“There’s also the engraving on the back,” Doyle continued, flipping the bag over.“It’s done by hand, not machine.”
“Would that be the name of the deceased.”
“Very likely.But because there’s less surface space on an earring, the jeweler chose to only engrave the initials: C.L.F.If they’re the same as the name on the brooch, though, we’ve got a partial set.”
“Possibly,” Larkin corrected.“Once is chance, twice is coincidence.Only three times demonstrates a pattern.”
The guy from the counter appeared at their side just then, holding two big white plates absolutely stacked with food.He put them down and motioned to their mugs, but Larkin indicated they were fine and he left without a word.
Doyle had been the one to suggest they stop for some breakfast before heading back to Precinct 19, which Larkin instinctively wanted to protest—he didn’t like slowing down, didn’t like having to shift gears to something so mundane as eggs over easy when he had an unhinged killer freely roaming the streets of the city he called home, but Doyle had been uncompromising on the matter since day one, and Larkin wasn’t about to change his partner’s mind on day one hundred and two.
“Look at this bacon,” Doyle said.He took a bite, his groan bordering on obscene.
Larkin arched an eyebrow, his fork poised over his eggs.“I think we need a new out-in-the-field rule.”
“About what?”Doyle took another bite.
“You can’t make the same sound for when I’ve got you by the hips and kiss you a little too hard as you do for eating bacon.”
Doyle snorted.He glanced toward the counter before murmuring, “It’s got a really good crunch, though.”
Larkin made a disbelieving “hm-hm” in the back of his throat.
Doyle made a sign of the cross over his heart with what was left of the bacon strip.“Promise.”Then he popped it in his mouth and pointedly didn’t make a sound.
Larkin rolled his eyes before cutting his eggs with the side of his fork.He shoveled it onto his toast and took a bite.
“Oh.I almost forgot.I watered your peperomia before I left.”
Larkin asked midchew, with uncharacteristic concern, “The watermelon or abricos?”
“Abricos.”
