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This is not a topic I wish to discuss, especially not now. Luckily, I have plenty of other things to go over. “Let’s keep our eye on the prize, shall we?” I hold up the purse I’m planning on taking in with me again and ask, “You’re sure the antique box the tiara will be in will fit in this bag, right? I’d hate to have to leave the box behind. It would lower the resale value dramatically.”
“I’m sure. I didn’t trust the photos from the magazine article, so I hacked the insurance company records. I have actual measurements from the last appraisal,” Mia says, reminding me why I love working with her.
The appraisal set the net worth of tonight’s prize at two point eight million dollars. Now that’s the kind of payday I could get used to.
“Okay, we need to go. We can go over the exit strategy in the car on the way across town,” I suggest, knowing we’ll have plenty of time to solidify plans for every possible contingency on the way.
Twenty minutes later, Mia pulls our borrowed black Town car up to the front entrance of the six-story brownstone that is our destination. Like the elite socialite I’m pretending to be, I wait for her to come around and open my door before she assists me to my feet.
“Showtime,” she whispers for my ears only.
“Showtime,” I repeat, taking a deep breath before sliding into my character for the evening.
Walking up the walkway lined with flickering luminaries, I remind myself I have the best job in the world. The obvious payoff of riches aside—attending opulent social gatherings, drinking expensive champagne, and eating fancy foods—these were impossible dreams for a little girl growing up on the wrong side of the tracks in Boston’s inner city.
But I’d done the impossible. I was here, proving again and again that I’m good enough to play at this level. I’d left my ruffian childhood behind, no longer forced to stoop to pickpocketing and shoplifting. No more running drugs or guns for the Irish mob.
I shake my head, pushing the ancient memories that still haunt me aside. I have a job to do.
“Good evening,” I say to the woman standing in the grand foyer as I step inside. She may be in an elegant ballgown, but the clipboard and pen in her hands tell me she’s hired help.
“Good evening. May I have your name?” she asks politely.
“Valentina Key.”
I bite my tongue from saying more. I have a whole side story prepared in case I need it, but I know better than to provide lies if they aren’t required.
“Ah yes, we are expecting you. Welcome. We have a coat check,” she says waving her hand in the direction to an open door under the grand staircase. “If you’d like to check a wrap.”
“Not necessary,” I say, nonchalantly glancing around the foyer to orient myself against the floor plan in my head.
“Excellent. Then you’re welcome to pass through the drawing room here to our right. Follow the sound of the music and you’ll find the ballroom at the back of the house. The buffet and bar are in the annex room attached to the dance floor, or you can wave down one of the servers.”
“Thank you,” I offer, taking a step away before turning back to ask a question I already know the answer to. “And where might a lady powder her nose? I’d like to freshen up before joining the party.”
“Of course,” she smiles. “The restrooms are straight back this way,” she says pointing in the direction of the mammoth kitchen.
“Thank you,” I offer, already heading in that direction, walking slowly, pretending to glance at the historical items on display along the way. There was a time when the two-hundred-year-old tea set might have been an interesting target to acquire, but that is small peanuts these days.
When I arrive at the back stairwell and find no one around, it’s tempting to bolt upstairs and get started on cracking the wall safe holding the priceless tiara. But that would be reckless. I haven’t finished casing yet and more importantly, since I’d come in the front door, I have to be seen mingling at the party for at least some period of time to maintain my Valentina Key persona and avoid questions later.
I spend the next thirty minutes mingling with guests, eating caviar, and sipping champagne. It’s hard to focus on conversations when all I want to do is bolt up the stairs and get started, but I remind myself being patient is the second most important quality in a thief. And as hard as that quality could be at times, being patient is a cakewalk compared to the balls of steel I needed to grow when I chose this path in life.
Breaking and entering, thieving; it isn’t for the faint of heart. Those Boston streets had prepared me well. The scenery might be better here, but it’s still a dangerous job.
