The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [84]
Other than the photocopy of the receipt she’d seen at Dellyn’s house, the file held only news clippings. Chloe started with the latest, dated 1965, which summarized the tale.
Charles Wood found the diamond while digging a well in Eagle, and gave it to his wife Clarissa. Clarissa took the pretty yellow stone to a Milwaukee jeweler named Samuel Boynton. Boynton told Clarissa the stone was probably a topaz. Later Clarissa, now a widow struggling to make ends meet, accepted Boynton’s offer of a dollar for the “topaz.” Boynton then followed his unspoken hunch and took the stone to a gemologist, who declared it a yellow diamond of 15.375 carats, worth an estimated six hundred and ninety-nine dollars more than Boynton had paid Clarissa.
Chloe frowned. What a prick.
Clarissa sued Boynton to recover the gem. She lost, and had to pay court costs. In 1893, Boynton sold the diamond to Tiffany & Company for eight hundred and fifty dollars. Tiffany sold the Eagle Diamond to J. P. Morgan. His collection was displayed at the World’s Fair in Paris in 1889 before he donated it to the American Museum of Natural History in New York.
Quite a donation. Chloe gave a grudging nod of approval to the long-dead financier.
Last year, the Eagle Diamond and two dozen other gems were stolen from the Museum. Three men, including Jack Murphy—dubbed “Murph the Surf” because he was a professional skin diver—were charged with the theft. Some of the gems were recovered, but not the Eagle Diamond. Museum officials still speculate about its fate.
Chloe exhaled slowly and picked up the next clipping. A brittle corner flaked off—this one dated back to 1885. She gave a guilty glance over her shoulder, put the article back on the table where it belonged, and leaned over to read. Two paragraphs in, she sat up straight again. “Shit!”
The researcher at the next table scowled. “Some of us are trying to work!”
“Sorry,” Chloe said in her best library whisper, with her best conciliatory smile. Then she hunched over the clipping again, as if wanting to protect it from prying eyes.
Shit indeed. Valerie Bing was either a pathetic researcher, or a liar.
_____
When Roelke’s interview with the Police Committee ended he drove home and changed into civvies. Then he headed back outside. He was too twitchy to sit at home. Too twitchy to work. Too twitchy to go to Libby’s place.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into Chloe’s driveway. No sign of Chloe’s car. Well, he’d wait a bit. He got out of his truck and sat on her front steps, carefully avoiding the bird’s nest she’d left beside the porch rail.
Another twenty minutes passed before he saw her old Pinto turn into the driveway. She gave him a startled look, parked behind his truck, and walked across the yard. She wore her long denim skirt and a pretty green blouse. Her blonde hair was twisted up behind her neck. He had no idea how women managed to do that with so much hair, but she looked so good that he felt a physical ache inside.
“Hey,” Chloe said, half surprised and half cautious. “You’ve got new wheels. I like the color.”
“Thanks.”
“So … whatcha doing here?”
“Feeling restless,” he said. His right knee was pumping like a piston.
She sat down beside him. “How’d the interview go?”
“OK, I guess.” Roelke spread his hands. “They asked questions. I answered.”
“When do you suppose you’ll hear?”
“Any time.” The knee pumped faster. He watched with an odd sense of detachment, as if it were a piece of runaway machinery that had nothing to do with him. “If Skeet gets the job, I’ll have to quit the EPD. I need a permanent position, and another one probably won’t open up in Eagle for years. Besides, I don’t think I could handle working with Skeet every day.” It sounded small, but there it was.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Would you go back to Milwaukee?”
“I’ve already applied for a job that’s opening up there. I’ve got a pretty good shot at that. “
“Oh.”
He stared over the field across the street, where her landlord