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“Both,” said Martha. “I don’t know who owns that now, but it once belonged to the state.”
“Well, that gives us a place to start,” said Zoe. “I’ll try to research whether or not it had been stolen or sold at some point and see who the last owner was. Does anything else look familiar?”
Martha and Franklin moved with ease around the table, staring at the photos. There were a few items that looked familiar to both, but they couldn’t be certain. When Martha stopped in front of one of the photos, she whispered a name.
“Marcel.”
“Marcel? Who is Marcel?” asked Sage.
“I am Marcel, ma petite chére,” said the handsome ghostly spirit. “I heard you call my name, cousin.”
“Marcel, look at this photograph. What do you see?” asked Martha. He stared down at the photo, then looked up at the others.
“Where did you get this? Where is the object?” he asked. Jean walked toward the photo they were hovering above, staring down at it.
“It was part of an entire room of items that we believe were stolen. We just don’t know where they were stolen from or who they belong to now.”
“That belongs to me,” said Marcel. They all looked at him in shock. “It was one of the items on my ship when it crashed. I thought all was destroyed. Someone must have saved it.”
“But if it was on the ship, how did Martha know about it?” asked Zoe. Martha turned toward the fireplace and pointed up. The painting of Marcel Robicheaux, standing in front of the intricately carved trunk, hung above them.
“Holy crap,” said Sage. “That’s you. And that’s the trunk.”
“Yes, it is,” nodded Marcel. “But all of this begs the question, what happened to everything else I was transporting? Where is the gold, the jewels, all of it? If someone went to great lengths to get that chest, they must have wanted the other items as well.”
“This doesn’t make any sense at all. My mother knew a bit about antiques, but she’d been groomed to take over the shop one day from Granny. My father was about as inept as they come when it comes to all of this. He knew cars or at least the money they lined his pockets with. But this? This is something entirely different.”
“The bigger question is how does all this fit with the loose diamonds you have, jewel thefts, and those men chasing you? Where did all of this come from?” asked Jean.
Sage stared at all of the photographs. Looking at the photo of the chest, she looked back up at the painting.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the painting. She wasn’t nearly tall enough to place her hands on the painting, but seeing a yardstick, she grabbed it and pointed to something behind the handsome Marcel in the painting. “That. What is that?”
“It’s a sword,” said Marcel. “It was my sword at one time. I assumed it went down with my ship.”
“No,” said Sage, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think it did. Look at the shapes of the diamonds in the handle and on the scabbard. If I were a betting woman, I’d bet that those diamonds match the sword handle and scabbard.”
“She’s right,” frowned Zoe. “I think they’d match exactly if we had that scabbard and sword. But if the diamonds came from that, it should be somewhere nearby, and whoever took the stones out, obviously doesn’t know anything about antiquities. They’re worth far more if they were still in their original mountings.”
“I’m very confused by all of this,” said Megan. “The chest and sword are close to two hundred years old.”
“More,” said Marcel. “I was given them as gifts from the royal family. They were much older.”
“Okay, so let’s just say between two hundred and fifty and three hundred years to be safe. The table that Martha identified is nearly that old as well. If all of these items are nearing that age, what in the hell have we found? And who, in the hell, stole them?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Sheriff is here to speak with you,” said Pigsty, poking his head into the conference room.
“Send him in,” said Cam. Mike started to stand and leave, but when the sheriff walked in, he pointed to the seat, encouraging him to stay.
“What’s up?” asked Mike.
“The man, Smith Jones? He was killed inside his cell last night by the Huángjia de Mafia.”
“The what mafia?”
“It’s Chinese, meanin’ Royal Mafia. They’ve been infiltratin’ all the major cities this year and literally takin’ over. They come in, take over businesses, and wipe out all the rival gangs. When I tell you they are millions strong, I am not lyin’. And these boys do not play around. Knives, swords, chains, razor wire. No guns. They’re silent and deadly.”
