The Necklace

Chapter 1

I jogged up the wide wooden stairs to my second floor office spilling very little of my coffee onto the paper covering my doughnut. Using the stairs was a daily ritual to compensate for the option of choosing a pastry breakfast. A man standing in the hall outside my office looked at me then at his watch and squared his shoulders.

"Mr. Richard Hart?"

"All of me," I chirped, smiling as I fumbled my key into the lock.

"Droll." He followed me inside and sat without being asked, crossed his legs and lit a cigarette he took from a gold coloured case. The matching lighter clicked annoyingly as he studied me with a speculative look. I slipped into my chair behind the desk, popped the leaking lid off my coffee and spread the paper wrapped doughnut in front of me.

"My breakfast."

He glanced at his watch again and waited with a disdainful look while I chewed. The fact that he sort of barged in and made himself comfortable put that look right up there with my top ten dart board targets.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr . . .?" I licked icing flakes from the corner of my mouth.

"I want to hire a private detective." The voice smacked of phony, British public school and the accompanying sneer cinched it for me.

"Are you here for a referral?"

He looked shocked and responded seriously. "No- you're a detective aren't you?"

I sighed, nodding and popped the last of the doughnut into my mouth.

"You were recommended by an acquaintance . . . Reginald Hedley."

I sucked my fingers clean and wiped them on the supplied serviette. Reggie Hedley was a part time cab driver and doorman at the Chickery Club; a destination for gentlemen looking to experience a slightly less acceptable level of societal entertainment.

"Reggie . . . right . . . you use his cab service?"

"On occasion. Listen, I want to know if you are the right person for my needs."

Apparently Reggie wasn't totally convincing. "And you are?"

"Bennett Smythe-Frye. Smythe-Frye and Associates."

I jotted the name down and doodled around it. "Is this a professional or personal requirement?"

He blew out a cloud of smoke harshly; annoyed the name hadn't rung any bells. "Are your rates different for the two?"

"Yes." I stared at his smug expression with a calm flat look of my own and restrained a threatening grin as his cycled through a series of emotions. The cigarette was squashed out in my paperclip dish and he leaned forward, eyes glittering.

"Very well, let's make it personal. I want you to find out what happened to an anniversary necklace I gave to my wife. It is quite expensive, insured heavily and has suddenly gone missing."

"Was there a robbery?"

"No."

"Suddenly gone missing doesn't sound like you just lost it. Did you call the police?"

"No."

I waited. Nothing. "May I ask why not?"

'I don't want any publicity over this and telling the police would make that impossible."

"Why no publicity? Usually it helps in the recovery of valuable items. Rewards and such get a lot people paying attention."

"Is there something I missed in the term private detective?"