She nodded.

“You’re an American?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you staying, and for how long?”

“Le Bonne Auberge. I had planned to stay in Paris for the next three days. Then—”

“All right, Ms. St. James,” he said, slapping his notebook closed. “As far as I can tell, you’re probably the last person to have seen him before he died, so I’d like you to stay close. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Yes. She understood.

He didn’t say as much, but she knew exactly what it meant. Even though she hadn’t told him she was due to meet Luc for a tryst, she was still a suspect. So that probably meant—forget the sightseeing, the carefree stopping by cafes for a croissant, the dreams of a romance with a dashing French gentleman. She was going to have to spend the rest of her time with Inspector Clouseau following her around, putting her every move under a magnifying glass.

And forget about checking out of Le Bonne Auberge. Right now, it was Le Bonne Prison.

She polished off her tea, and though her limbs were now feeling a little warmer, she couldn’t help wondering, Really, what else can possibly go wrong? It felt like ages since she’d rolled up to Versailles in the bus, since she’d put on this constricting corset and heavy gown, since that flamboyant French salesman had draped the massive necklace over her chest. It seemed like . . .

Suddenly, she realized something was off, and it wasn’t just the whole dead-Frenchman thing. Something was wrong.

When she brought a hand up to her chest and all she felt was her madly beating heart, she knew what it was. She fumbled about, feeling her clammy skin, the hollow of her throat, each collarbone. But there was nothing else. Nothing at all.

She screamed again, this time even louder than before.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Diana was hardly aware of all the people staring at her now, wondering where the next dead body was. She kept touching the bare skin of her chest, hoping against hope that the missing necklace would magically appear. She pushed aside the loose-hanging locks of hair on at her neck, wondering if it’d somehow gotten caught in them. Then she pulled away the front of her dress slightly and peeked in her cleavage, hoping it’d somehow fallen in, not that the corset would’ve allowed for such a thing.

No luck.

Her earrings? She reached up and touched each lobe. Thankfully, they were still there. She unclipped them and tucked them carefully into her purse.

After that, she meandered about aimlessly, keeping her eyes peeled to the ground, trying to retrace her steps over the night, but she could barely remember the last two minutes, much less the entire night. When was the last time she’d had it on?

The answer to that came to her right away. When she’d gone to the bathroom, she’d had it on. She’d straightened it in the mirror.

Good. That’s good, she thought to herself, her heart beating double time now. I must’ve lost it sometime from the time I left the bathroom until now. If it’s anywhere, it’s got to be around here.