Jack turned to Nans. “This seems serious. Thanks for calling right away. Please tell me you won’t be investigating.”
Nans plastered a blank look on her face. Jack of all people should know that the Ladies Detective Agency always investigates. But she nodded. “Of course, Jack. We’ll leave it to the professionals.”
Jack gave her the look — the one that said he didn’t believe a single word — but he had a crime scene to process and a wife to get to a doctor, so he let it go.
He helped Lexy to her feet, his arm steady around her waist. At the kitchen door, Lexy turned back to Nans. “The contest is in three days,” she said. “That card is the only copy.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“It’s not about the contest.” Lexy’s voice was small and fierce at the same time. “It’s Great-grandma Rose’s handwriting. It’s the only thing I have in her handwriting.”
Nans held her granddaughter’s gaze. “I know that too.”
“Will you close up the shop?” Lexy asked.
“Of course we will.” Nans assured her.
Jack led Lexy out. The front door closed behind them with a soft chime.
The kitchen was quiet. Flour dust drifted. The cold air kept coming through the broken back door.
Nans turned to the others. Ruth was standing by the prep table, her iPad out — she’d been tapping on it quietly the entire time Jack was there, the way Ruth always did when she was thinking through a problem.
Now she looked up, and her expression was odd. Not worried, exactly. More like someone who’d just opened a door they’d been hoping to keep shut.
“The flour,” Ruth said. “That brand. Moulin Laurent. It’s a specialty French mill — not many places carry it.”
“And?” Nans said.
Ruth’s mouth tightened. She adjusted her pearl earring the way she always did when she was uncomfortable. “My cousin Frankie uses the same kind of supplier. For his restaurant. He gets specialty imports through channels that are... not entirely conventional.”
Ida tilted her head. “Your cousin Frankie?”
“Frankie Malone.” Ruth said the name like she was handling something unpleasant. “He’s in the import export hospitality business.”
A beat of silence.
“Is that a euphemism?” Ida asked.
“It’s a family complication.”
Helen looked between them. “Ruth, are you saying your cousin is connected to organized crime?”
Ruth’s chin lifted slightly — the defensive posture of a woman whose family was impeccable in every way except this one branch. “I’m saying he might know who’s moving diamonds through flour bags. And I’m saying I have his phone number.”
Nans looked at Ruth for a long moment. Then she looked at the wrecked kitchen, the flour on the floor, the broken door hanging open to the cold.
“Call him,” Nans said.
CHAPTER FOUR
The ladies managedto get the back door boarded up and then sat down for coffee.
“Two men. Diamonds in a flour bag. No shipping label. They knew exactly what they were looking for. Which means someone put diamonds in the bag deliberately, but why was it at Lexy’s door?”
“I think the bag was meant for someone else,” Helen said quietly. “Someone nearby.”
“Someone whose back door looks a lot like Lexy’s back door,” Nans agreed. “In the dark. Let’s take a walk.”
