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When they entered the shop, Mr.Baudelaire himself was wrapping what looked like a crystal champagne flute in a piece of tissue paper at the counter. The old man glanced up, a look of surprise lighting his face. “I had a feeling you’d be back for that ring.” He smiled, placing the glass carefully inside a padded box in front of him as they stepped toward the counter.
“No.” Noelle smiled. “Actually, we’re here to ask you another question. Sorry to take more of your time. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
The old man pushed the box full of items wrapped in the same tissue paper as the flute to the side next to several more boxes just like it and rested his palms on the L-shaped glass counter. “It’s not a problem. Most of my clientele shops online now. My son, Gervais, is in charge of all that. He’s quite good with photography and computers, while I’m useless with technology. Sometimes I feel more like I operate a shipping business these days than anything. These flutes, for instance”—he nodded to the open box of wrapped items, next to the already sealed boxes—“are going out momentarily, and they will grace the tabletops of a local formal event that will be attended by very important men, or so I hear. Nineteenth-century Baccarat crystal.” He glanced at the boxesagain, his gaze almost loving. “The best on earth. Available to a certain clientele with the means and the appreciation for such rare beauty.” He seemed to come back to himself. “Oh goodness, there I go blathering on again and holding you up. My point is, consultations with actual humans are a pleasure, so ask away.”
“Thank you,” Noelle said, pulling the jewelry box from her purse and laying it on the counter.
Mr.Baudelaire looked curiously between him and Noelle and then down to the box. “This company was in Belgium,” he said. “The logo is very recognizable.”
“Oh. You’ve heard of it?” Evan asked.
“It’s world renowned. Their pieces are known for the high quality of their gems and Van Daele diamonds,” he said. “They’re not in business anymore, but when they were, they catered only to the wealthiest clientele. That’s still true, only now their pieces are collectibles.”
“Van Daele diamonds,” Evan murmured, shooting a look at Noelle. There it was, that link.
“Yes,” Mr.Baudelaire said, glancing up momentarily. “The two companies worked hand in hand. Van Daele is no longer in business either. There was rumor at the time of the closing that the heir to the company had brought some trouble upon himself.”
“What kind of trouble?” Evan asked.
Mr.Baudelaire tapped a finger on his lips. “Hmm, from what I recall, a party got quite out of hand and even turned bloody.”
“Bloody?” Noelle asked, blinking.
“Mmm,” Baudelaire hummed. “So it was said. I even heard whisperings that it was a massacre. I can’t imagine that was true, however, or certainly the police would have made an arrest or two.” His face did something funny, but Noelle didn’t know the man well enough to guess what it meant.Massacre.It was the same word that man from the second-floor room had used in his story. A chill made her draw her arms toward her body. “But in any case,” Baudelaire went on, “the businessfolded. I suppose the family has ... moved on to other pursuits. When they closed their doors, many other businesses in the area linked to them did as well. I suppose they all relied on each other in various ways. Anyway, I’m eager to see what you’ve brought me.”
“We’re not selling,” Evan told the older man. “I’d just like some basic information. I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy to provide my expertise.” The man reached forward and opened the box, leaning back slightly as the necklace was revealed. “Oh my.” He stared for a moment, and Evan saw the delight in his eyes.
“Is it a ruby?” Noelle asked.
Mr.Baudelaire reached in a drawer beneath the counter and removed a magnifying glass. He put it up to his eye and leaned forward, studying the gem. “Oh my,” he breathed again. “Just as I thought. Not a ruby, a diamond. An exceedingly rare red diamond.”
“A red diamond?” Evan asked. He hadn’t even known such a thing existed.
“Mmm,” Mr.Baudelaire hummed, his magnifying glass still aimed at the necklace. Evan thought he saw the man’s hand tremble slightly. Age, perhaps. Or maybe the rarity of the item he was inspecting. “A gorgeous piece,” he said. “A shame the clasp is broken, but that could be easily repaired. It’s sized for a very slender neck, perhaps that of a child or a young girl.”
A strange shiver went down Evan’s spine, and he couldn’t even say why. Except ... who would have a child wear a red diamond necklace? That seemed ... very odd.
“I’d estimate it would take in several million dollars at auction,” the jeweler said.
“Jesus,” Evan murmured. His father owned many items worth a lot of money. Property, cars, a private jet. He regularly gave his wives expensive pieces of jewelry that they then took with them once the inevitable divorce came to pass, farewell gifts that stood in for anything else, asairtight prenuptials had been signed. But Evan had a gut feeling this wasn’t just some expensive item his father had purchased for no reason and held on to. No, this was meaningful. This was from the same place his father was apparently from. A past he’d lied about.
“The interesting thing,” Mr.Baudelaire said, closing the box, “is that this isn’t the only red diamond in Reno. And from what I recall, the other one has the exact same filigree surrounding the stone. Or very similar.” He pushed the box toward Noelle with one finger, his mouth turning down as though he were saying a sad goodbye.
“What do you mean?” Evan asked. “Where’s the other one?”
The bell over the door rang, and Evan looked over his shoulder to see a deliveryman. “Five minutes and I’ll have these ready,” Baudelaire said, nodding to the boxes next to him. The man tipped his chin and linked his hands in front of himself as he waited. Evan turned back to Baudelaire, eager to hear what he’d been about to say.
“A few years ago, I was at a Christmas party. One of those social events put on by some organization asking for money for their charity. A hospital, maybe ...” Mr.Baudelaire turned and bent toward a drawer under the counter. He pulled out a magazine and started paging through it. Evan shot Noelle a look. She stared back, her eyes widening as they waited to see where the hell this was going. “A man stood next to me as we waited for our drink order. When he put his hand on the bar, I noticed his ring. I remarked on it, and he told me it was a ruby. Curious, because I could clearly see it was not. It is my business, after all. But he turned away quickly. He seemed eager to depart. That moment many years ago ate at me. I wondered if I should have found him and corrected him. I’d hate to think someone was unknowingly undervaluing something they possessed and perhaps treating it accordingly. But the interaction was odd. A few months ago, I came upon an article, and I recognized the man I’d spoken to ... ah, yes.” He put the magazine down on the counter in front of them and pointed to a picture attached to an article.
Both Evan and Noelle leaned forward, looking at the photo announcing the retirement of a beloved professor at the University of Nevada.
Evan knew him immediately.
“That’s the name of my father’s therapist,” Noelle said, confusion in her tone as she brought her index finger to the headline.
Evan’s head whipped in her direction. “Professor Vitucci? He’s my therapist,” he said.
