Why hadn’t the police made an arrest yet? What were they waiting for?

She stared at the paper, which showed a picture of a few police officers, flanking good ol’ Inspector Clouseau as he gave a news conference. Off to the side, almost out of view, was the man in the ridiculous pink wig, who’d been at the jewelry counter and given Diana the necklace. She read down the article, where it featured a quote from him saying how terrible it was that this happened and how they’d never had such an event in all of his fifteen years of employment. His name was Blaise Chevrolet, and his title was Vice President of Concierge Services.

Diana tapped her fingernails on the bar, thinking.

“What are you up to, lass?” Sean asked, studying her closely, a hint of amusement on his face.

“Well . . . I was just thinking . . .”

“I’m sure you have a lot on your mind, considering how close you were to both crimes,” he said, regarding her still with far more amusement than suspicion. “Do you think the two were connected?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know. I get the feeling the police think they’re connected because of me and that I’m the link.”

“Did they say that you’re a suspect?”

“Yes. Probably their main suspect. They’ve been calling me, and they wanted me to stay in the area. And I’m just worried that if they do focus too hard on me, they’ll never find the real culprit.”

“Ah. So that’s why those little gears in your head are turning. You’re thinking up a plan, aren’t you?” he said with a smile. “I can tell. There is a sneaky look about you. You’re up to no good.”

“On the contrary, I am up to good,” she said, picking up her fork and taking her second bite of the chicken. By now, it was cold, but still delicious. “I am going to make some inquiries and find out who did this. Starting right now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

That afternoon, Diana took the hotel shuttle back to the scene of the crime.

“Versailles?” the driver, who was different from the one who’d taken her there the night before, said when she told him where she wanted to go. “It is not a good time to tour there. The place is closed.”

“Oh, I know,” she said lightly, settling into the seat nearest the window and peering out at the Seine, sparkling in the distance. “I was there last night for the ball and misplaced something.”

It wasn’t a lie.

The driver, a large man with a goatee that wasn’t quite helping to hide his many chins, glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You see any of the excitement over there? It is all over the news.”

By now, she didn’t want to talk about it. It made her sick, thinking of draining her retirement account to pay for that necklace. “No. I just had a regular old time.”