Page 90 of Gave Proof Through the Night

Now Hobbs’s tongue is comically hanging out like a cartoon character with three beautiful women in a private viewing with him. He’s beaming. Actually beaming, his whole face lit up like the best thing that’s ever happened to his career just walked into a room wearing four-inch heels.

“Turn it up,” I say.

“Ms. Whitcombe, I have to say, when the board mentioned we’d be doing a private pre-gala review, I had no idea we’d be doing it with someone of your, ah.” Hobbs pauses to find the word, and the word he lands on is, “Caliber.”

“He’s going to hurt himself,” Zoe mutters.

And it wasn’t “the board.” Just a slimy little man in the senator’s payroll who probably got off too easily, if I’m being honest.

Ivy introduces Suri, who is posing as Dr. Adaeze Osei, a gemological consultant retained by the museum’s insurer to authenticate the condition of the jewel ahead of transport. If Hobbs had the brain to check her credentials, he’d find them in tip-top order. Tanya fabricated them, and then Zoe seeded them into three separate DC databases until they looked like they’d always been there.

Then Ivy made a single phone call to put Dr. Adaeze Osei at the top of the review list. These ladies are brilliant.

Rue steps forward. For this ruse, she’s the insurance assessor who Hobbs was told represents the BMAH’s best interests.

She’s running the pre-gala condition review, a job that lets her run gloved hands over every hinge and lock on the display case.

Hobbs, feeling extremely self-important and quite enamored by the professionalism these fine women display (he actually did use the words “fine women”), is falling all over himself with compliments.

Ivy doesn’t blink, just angles her head a half-degree, lets a small, warm smile land exactly where it’ll do the most damage. Before Hobbs can say another word, she produces a small, dark wooden box, and sets it on the appraisal table, right next to the flat velvet-lined presentation tray already poised and ready for the necklace inspection.

“A small thank-you,” she says. “For accommodating the review on such short notice.”

Hobbs opens it right there in the room, because restraint has never once in his adult life been a skill he possessed. Cigars, nested in silk. His eyebrows go up. Takes one cigar out, sniffs it under his nose, and puts it back.

“Cubans. Bold choice for a two-fiftieth celebration.” He winks at Ivy. “I’ll be sure to hide these in a… discreet place.”

“I certainly hope you do,” Ivy says, and gives him another condescending smile he doesn’t clue in on.

He keeps the box open on the table, right beside the presentation tray, angled so he can keep glancing at it while he talks.

“Shall we get down to business, ladies?”

“Walk me through your protocol for the night of,” Ivy says, all business now.

“There’s a formal unveiling, actually.“ Hobbs perks up, delighted to have her attention. “It will be in the east corner of the ballroom. The case opens in front of the whole room, press gets their photos, a few remarks from the board chair. Then it stays open the rest of the evening, on a pedestal, roped off but fully visible. Big finale moment. My idea, if I’m being honest.”

“How thoughtful.” Ivy makes a note on her phone. “We’ll want to run through the whole sequence once beforehand, if that’s possible. Nothing formal, just so the timing’s clean on the actual night.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Hobbs says it fast and eager. “Anything for the gala. Big night for the museum. Big night for me too, frankly. Director candidacy’s coming up in the fall, and a flawless gala is exactly the kind of thing the board remembers.”

“I’m sure it’ll be memorable,” Ivy says, and there is not one flicker on her face to suggest how memorable it is actually going to be.

Beside her, Rue works the perimeter of the case, two gloved fingers tracing the seam where the glazing meets the frame.

“Glass-clad polycarbonate, three-ply.” She speaks into the tablet propped against her forearm. “Forced-entry rated. No spalling if it ever took a hit, which means no glass fragments flying inward to trip the photoelectric beams even if somebody got stupid with a hammer.” She taps a spot low on the frame. “Extruded aluminum housing, not steel. Interesting choice.”

“Is that a problem?” Hobbs asks.

“Not particularly.” Rue doesn’t look up. “Just noting it.”

“She’s noting it, all right,” I murmur. Zoe snorts.

“Vibration sensor’s mounted inside the frame itself, not the glass, so it reads the whole housing as one unit. Pressure pad under the base too.” She glances up at the lighting rig without moving her head far. “And I’d bet real money there’s a seismic trigger tucked in there, given how twitchy that fixture is.”

Hobbs practically puffs up. “I pushed for that upgrade myself when I took over Provenance. Plus a humidity regulator most people don’t even know to ask about.” He says it like he’s handing her a gift. “I don’t cut corners on something like this.”

“Biometric lock’s engaging properly?” she asks.