He didn’t slow…or speed up, just tipped his head to a trio of women at the coat check. I picked up my pace. He made it to the door, and paused to hold it open for an exiting elderly couple.
I covered the last few paces at a jog. He saw me then—the yellow dress did it, I’m sure. A friendly smile and nod. He did remember me. I’m sure in his profession, he made it a rule to remember anyone who might be able to identify him later.
“My bracelet,” I said, breathing hard, as if I’d chased him from the party. “Charm—my charm bracelet—it snagged—”
“Slow down.” His fingers touched my arm, and he frowned in polite concern. “Here, let’s step out of the way.”
His fingers still resting on my arm, he steered me into a side hall, a scant yard or so in, far enough from the door to speak privately, but not so far from others to alarm me. Damn smooth…and damn calm for a guy with a pocketful of stolen jewelry.
“My bracelet snagged on your jacket,” I said. “In the buffet line—”
“Yes, of course. It isn’t broken, is it?” His frown grew. “I did try to be careful, so I hope—”
“It’s gone. I noticed it right away, and I’ve been trying to find you ever since. It must have been caught on your jacket or slid off into your pocket or—”
“Or, more likely, fell onto the floor. I’m sorry, but if it did catch on me”—he lifted his arms and displayed his sleeves—“it’s long since fallen off and it didn’t”—another demonstration, reaching into his pockets—“fall in here. It must be on the floor somewhere.”
“It isn’t. I checked everywhere.”
Frustration darted behind his eyes. “Then, I would suggest, as reprehensible as the thought is, that someone picked it up with no intention of returning it.”
Reprehensible? Amazing, he could say that with a straight face. Then again, I suspected he could say pretty much anything with a straight face.
“You mean someone stole it?” I said.
“Possibly, although, considering the guest list, I realize that’s hard to believe.”
“Oh, I believe it,” I said, letting my voice harden. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but your conclusion just proved me wrong. It didn’t fall into your pocket, did it?”
He chased away his surprise with a laugh. “I believe someone has had one glass of champagne too many. What on earth would I do with a…cheap bauble like that.”
He faltered on “cheap bauble.” The man could spin lies with a face sincere enough to fool the angels, but lying about his specialty gave him pause. Even in that brief moment of untangling my bracelet he recognized it for what it was—a valuable heirloom, each charm custom-made. I was surprised he hadn’t tried to nick it in the confusion of our collision.
He continued, “And, if I recall correctly, you bumped into me.”
“I tripped over you…and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t an accident.”
“You think I tripped—?”
A security guard glanced down the hall.
He lowered his voice. “I assure you, I didn’t steal your bracelet, and I would appreciate if you didn’t accuse me quite so publicly—”
“You think this is public?” I strode past him toward the main hall. “Let’s make this public. We’ll catch up with that guard, you let him search you, and if I’m wrong—”
He grabbed my arm, his grip tight, then loosening as I turned toward him.
He managed a smile. “I would rather not end my night being frisked. Why don’t I help you search for it, and if we don’t find it, I’ll willingly submit to the search.”
I pretended to think it over, then nodded.
“Last time I saw it was when you freed it from your jacket,” I said. “Then I went to the cloakroom, to get my scarf to cover this—” I pointed to the marinara spot. “And I noticed the bracelet was gone. Maybe…” I paused. “When I was looking for the cloakroom, I walked into the wrong room—it was dark, and I brushed against something.”
“Perfect. Let’s start there then.”
As we walked down the semi-dark hall, music and chatter drifting in from the party beyond, I prayed the door would be open. The room I had in mind was a janitorial closet I’d discovered in fourth grade, when my best friend and I had hidden to avoid our teacher after we’d been caught ducking out of the pottery exhibit and sneaking into the arms and armor one. My fault. I’d loved that gallery, even more than mummies and dinosaurs. Those marvelous, ancient weapons where I could, even at eight, stand in front of the display, close my eyes, and hear the clash of metal on metal, smell the blood-streaked sweat, see the rearing horses, feel the hate, the fear, the panic…and feel my own soul rise to drink it in.