Her eyes trailed to the bag. She couldn’t help thinking that somehow, he was planning to run away with the necklace. What was he going to do? The inspector knew it was found. But there was definitely something “off” about the way he was acting. Was he thinking he could just run off with it—in broad daylight?

“Yes, so . . . anyway,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her phone. She fumbled with it, peeking at the display, trying to find the number for the police. “About my wrap. Did you find it?”

He looked away, at the exit, as if he couldn’t wait to get here. He started to back away. “Uh, sorry. No. But like I said, if we do, we have your—”

“Thanks.” She followed close to him, sticking to him like glue as he headed for the parking lot. “So where are you going? Lunch?”

He nodded. “Oui. Late lunch. I also have some errands to—”

“Oh. Can I come with you?” she asked with a shrug.

He stopped and looked at her. “Why?”

“Well, just to get a taste of Paris. From a local’s perspective? I like to do that from time

to—”

“No,” he said, cutting her off and stopping at the edge of the parking lot. “I’m sorry. I’m far too busy.”

He began to walk again, this time at a faster pace.

Diana hesitated there, just long enough to grab her phone and punch in the call to Lieutenant Bayans. When he answered, she whispered, “Lieutenant. This is Diana St. James. I’m at Versailles with the real murderer.”

“What?”

“You heard me! At Versailles!” She ended the call.

By then, Chevrolet had raced ahead. She tore after him, into a remote lot that must’ve been reserved only for staff. When he reached his car and began unlocking it, he glanced at her, scowling, “What are you—”

She rushed up to meet him, smiling. “Sorry. Hi again. So when do you think you will be back so I can come and look for my wrap?”

He placed the bag in the passenger seat of his car and straightened, clearly annoyed, “Like I said, I will call you if we find your—”

“I know you said that,” she tittered, glancing toward the gates. She didn’t see any sign of Bayans anywhere. “But I really feel like maybe whoever is working there isn’t really looking. Or maybe doesn’t know what to look for! And I think that if I just had a chance to—”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. And now you’ve wasted too much of my time. Au revoir.”

He started to sit down in his car and pull the door closed, but she clamped a hand on the frame, keeping it open. Desperately, she shouted, “Show me what you have in that bag!”

Chevrolet froze, “What?”

“You have that necklace in the bag. Admit it. You’re going to . . . I don’t know. Sell it to a fencer or something. You’re stealing it.”