“Someone tried to contact a major American gangster who is also a big-time fencer of stolen property. He’s currently in Las Vegas, Nevada, and the letter to him came from Los Angeles, from someone who had a ruby to sell.”

“I see. Have you seen the letter? Any clues from it?”

Darcy shook his head. “I haven’t seen it yet. But it was typed on a standard sort of machine and no fingerprints, so I’m told.”

“So what’s your next step? Can you lay a trap to pretend to be the fence and catch the thief that way?”

“We tried. Didn’t work. Our burglar is not stupid. He or she must have sensed the trap and didn’t show up.”

“So what now?”

“I want to know why the thief has traveled out to California,” Darcy said. “One thought is that Cy Goldman has just bought a couple of valuable pieces from Spain.”

“Oh yes. The candlesticks encrusted with jewels and the El Greco painting.”

“He told quite a lot of people on the ship, apparently.”

“If your thief really is Stella Brightwell, there is no way she’s going to steal from Cy Goldman. He’s her lover.”

“Probably true. But if it was someone associated with Stella Brightwell? If she works with an accomplice, perhaps? I gather Goldman is taking these Spanish treasures up to his castle when he goes.”

“Which is this weekend,” I said.

“It is? Are you sure?”

“Mr. Goldman announced today that he was taking everyone to his castle on Friday. Mrs. Goldman is coming out to see what he’s just had shipped from Spain. He’s planning a house party. He didn’t want to be up there alone with her, I suspect.”

Darcy grinned. “So do you think you can secure me an invitation? I’d rather not let Goldman know the real reason, just in case he passes it along to Stella Brightwell.”

“I’ll take you to the studio with me in the morning, if you like,” I said. “They send a car for me.”

Darcy shook his head. “I love the casual way you say that. Now I’ll never be able to keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed.”

I reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the bristles of stubble where he hadn’t shaved for a while. “This is not the sort of life I’d ever want, trust me.”

His fingers closed over my hand. “Oh, Georgie,” he said. “Why is everything so damned difficult?”

“It will get better,” I said, slipping my arms around his neck. “I could always have a prolonged affair with Craig Hart and allow him to ply me with diamonds.”

“You little minx.” He pulled me close to him. “Was that really just a friendly ‘thank you for dinner’ kiss? It didn’t look like it to me.”