My soul shivered. I wished I could talk to Bob, too.

“What’s next on the agenda?” Abby asked, urging me onward as usual. Without taking a breath, she cried,

“You’ve got to find Gregory Smythe!” Like Edward R. Mur row, she liked to answer her own questions.

“I know, I know,” I said, sighing heavily. “I know what I have to do, but I’m not sure I have the energy to do it.”

Abby was unhappy with my lethargic response. “You’re not going to just sit around and wait for Dagwood’s sister to get Smythe’s address, are you? What if her friend in bookkeeping refuses to search the files? Then you’ll be up poop creek without a paddle!”

I smiled at her sanitized version of the cautionary cliché. It wasn’t often that Abby sanitized anything. “No, I’m not going to wait for Vicki. I have an alternate plan. But first,” I said, turning to look at Terry, “I was wondering if you ever heard of Gregory Smythe. Did Judy ever mention him, or bring him up in any of her letters?”

“No. This is the first I’ve heard of Smythe or Birmingham. Judy never told me about either of them. She used to write me about her boyfriends when I was in Korea, but after I came home and she moved to New York, she didn’t write very often. And when she did, all she talked about was her job. She was so proud to be working at Macy’s.” As Terry spoke of his sister, his voice grew soft and his face turned pale again.

“So what’s your alternate plan?” Abby badgered. “How are you going to track down Judy’s daddy-o? Are you going to ask Dan to help you?”

My heart flipped over at the mention of Dan’s name, but I pretended I hadn’t heard it. I didn’t want to think about (or have to explain) our recent romantic run-in. “I have a different scheme,” I said. “I’m going to pay a visit to Judy’s landlord today. According to Elsie Londergan, Gregory Smythe signed the lease on Judy’s apartment, so the agency’s sure to have his address. If not his home address, then at least his business address. And if I can get the landlord in a chatty mood, maybe he’ll have even more to reveal about the randy old coot’s living arrangements.”

“Do you know who the landlord is?” Abby asked.

“No, but you do, right?” My words were directed at Terry.

“Sure do!” Terry said, delighted to have some concrete information to offer. “His name is Roscoe Swift and his office is on 27th Street, right around the corner from Judy’s apartment. Chelsea Realty. Wait!” he said, jumping up from the table to grab a crumpled newspaper out of the duffle bag sitting on the floor near the couch. “The exact address is printed here, in the classifieds. I saw it yesterday.” He folded the newspaper open to a certain page and handed it to me. “See the item circled in ink? It’s an ad for Judy’s apartment. Swift’s already put it up for rent.”

I scanned the ad and, with Terry’s permission, tore it out of the paper. “Thanks,” I said, sticking the scrap of newsprint in the side pocket of my skirt and giving Terry a big grin of approval. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Maybe not, Paige,” Terry said, his proud smile fading to an uneasy frown. “Swift strikes me as a sleazy kind of guy. Slick and tricky. You may not get anything out of him but a fast runaround and a quick pat on the fanny. I’d better go with you.”

“No, Terry,” I protested. “I don’t want him to know that I’m connected to you or Judy in any way.”

“Then I should be the one to go,” Abby broke in, angling her head and arching one black eyebrow to the hilt. “If there’s one thing in the world I’m good at, it’s dealing with tricky guys like Roscoe. If they gave out an Oscar for Best Manhandler, I’d win it every year.”

I had no doubt of that, but I was still determined to meet-and interview-Roscoe Swift on my own. And to see Judy’s apartment for myself. “Actually, there’s something else I was hoping the two of you might do today.”

“What?!!!” they cried in unison. A girl couldn’t ask for two more eager assistants.

“I thought you could take Judy’s jewelry-or some of it, anyway-uptown to the Diamond Exchange and show it around to some of the dealers. Maybe one of them will recognize the stones or the settings. Maybe someone there will know where the jewelry came from, or who bought it, or if it was stolen. I would do this myself, but I’m afraid to walk around town all alone with a bag full of diamonds. I’d just be asking for trouble. But if the two of you…”

“Say no more!” Abby chimed in. “I’m so perfect for this job it’s silly! In case it slipped your mind, I’m Jewish! And every Jew on earth has relatives who work at the Diamond Exchange. Three of my cousins work there, and my Uncle Sam and Aunt Dora do, too! If they can’t give us the lowdown on the ice themselves, they’ll probably know somebody who can.”

I gazed at Terry, trying to gauge his reaction to Abby’s religious revelation. If he showed any signs of anti-Semi tism (as so many white Christian males I knew often did-Brandon Pomeroy and Mario Caruso, to name but two), I’d be so disappointed in him I wouldn’t be able to breathe. I wouldn’t turn my back on him, or stop looking for his sister’s killer, but I’d continue my investigation with drastically diminished zeal-and a very heavy heart.

Not to worry. Terry showed no prejudice at all. If anything, he was excited about Abby’s family connections. “That’s great, Abby!” he cried. “Let’s get the diamonds and go over there right now!” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glowing. And though he didn’t look a bit like Mickey Rooney, I still half expected him to add, “And let’s get all the kids together and put on a show in the barn!” Abby looked at me and smiled. Her big brown Judy Garland eyes were glowing, too. As if reading my thoughts, she winked at me and said, “Your wish is our command, Paige. Give us the rocks, and we’ll be off to see the wizard.”

Chapter 14

“WOW!” ABBY EXCLAIMED, STARING DOWN at the glittering mound of jewelry I’d just removed from the oatmeal container and placed on my kitchen table. “Nice little stash of sparklers.” She poked her index finger into the pile and-with the uncanny precision of a Geiger counter-plucked out the most desirable piece (i.e., the one with the most diamonds). “Now that’s what I call a necklace,” she said, quickly clasping the double string of gems around her throat. “Mind if I try it on?”

I told you she was going to do that, remember? Self-restraint was not one of Abby’s specialties. I only hoped it didn’t bother Terry that she was suddenly prancing around my kitchen like the Duchess of Windsor, sporting his poor dead sister’s necklace-and now her earrings, too!-with such unbounded glee.

“Do you think you should take all the jewelry with you, or just some of it?” I said to Terry, hoping to divert his attention to more serious matters. “I suppose it’s important to have each and every piece checked out… but if you happened to get robbed, or anything like that, it would be terrible to lose all the evidence.”

“I’m not worried about getting robbed,” Terry said. “I’m just worried about getting arrested.”

“What?!! What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I stole these diamonds from Detective Hugo Sweeny’s office, and he probably thinks I’m trying to sell them now, so he-or one of his bloodhounds-may be sniffing around the Diamond Exchange, looking for me.”

“God! I hadn’t thought of that!” I said, head spinning. “But what makes you think the police are looking for you here in New York? It’s far more likely they’re in Pittsburgh, sitting in an unmarked car outside your father’s house, waiting for you-and the diamonds-to come home for Christmas.”

“You’re right about the last part,” he said. “Two dicks are sitting in a car outside my father’s house. But neither one of them is Sweeny. They’re two of Pittsburgh ’s finest, doing a little freelance surveillance work for their fellow flatfoots in New York. I know this because they paid my dad a visit yesterday. They grilled him about where I was, and when I was coming home, and they-or two other jokers like them-have been watching the house ever since.”