. . . was it possible for them to make a bad meal?

As she was wondering whether that held true for French prisons, someone slid onto the stool next to her. “Hullo, lass,” a voice said. “Having a good time?”

She looked up to see her Irish friend, Sean from Ballygangargin. “Oh. Hi!” she said to him, rather surprised. She moved her journal over so he had room, and he ordered a pint. “How are you?”

“I’m fair. You’re still writing in that little book of yours, planning things, I see?”

She nodded. “Making changes to plans, mostly. It turns out that I shouldn’t have been so strict with my scheduling because things have been thrown off almost since the moment the plane touched down,” she admitted.

He took his beer from the bartender and took a long gulp. “Aye, well, that’ll happen, I’d say. Sometimes it’s better to just go with the flow.” He motioned to the bartender and indicated I’ll have what she’s having. “Now tell me, sweet lady, how was your soiree at the palace?”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, “An adventure.”

“That so? You involved in any of the excitement all over the news?”

“Unfortunately. I spoke to the man. And I found his body.”

She’d stunned him nearly speechless, “No kidding? You really found the man.”

She shuddered at the memory. “Not to mention, I was wearing the necklace that was stolen.”

He shook his head sympathetically, “Wow, you’ve been through the ringer, huh? Sorry to hear that. But from what I hear, you weren’t the only one to have lost something there.”

Diana had lifted her fork to take a bite but set it down. “What do you mean?”

“There’s all sorts of news that a pickpocket was loose on the premises the day of the ball. After the excitement of the man’s death, several people came forward and said they were also missing valuable things. It was in the papers.”

“It was?”

“Yes! How does it feel to be a part of the Heist of the Century?”

He reached into the interior pocket of his corduroy jacket and pulled out a rolled copy of Le Parisien, which he unfurled on the bar. He pointed to the story, but Diana couldn’t read well enough. She squinted at the words, trying to understand. “What does la montre à bracelet mean?” she asked, butchering the language.

He let out a short laugh and pointed to the heavy watch around his wrist. “Wristwatch. Apparently a very expensive gold watch was reported missing by one of the guests, and a few wallets. It’s causing a pretty big stink and a PR nightmare.” He shrugged, “I’ll wager that might be the last Versailles ball for a long time.”

“Oh,” she said, but she wasn’t really thinking about that. She was staring at the paper, trying to get more clues.

More things were missing. That meant that whoever had stolen her necklace had not just been targeting it. Likely, the person had gone after many things, brazenly. So shouldn’t that have given police a better chance of apprehending the culprit, once the security footage was looked at?