DM2:Because our lawyer would kill us. Sorry, that was a bad joke.
DM1:Right, yeah. Um, so one thing we heard about a few days ago is that an employee from Clapard, the jeweler sponsoring the festival—the one who makes the famous palms—has been talking about a multimillion-dollar necklace that went missing.
DM2:That employee is claiming that it was stolen right here, in Cannes, and that the police won’t do anything about it.
DM1:Wild, right?
DM2:That’s not everything. Some of the details of their story don’t quite add up. Like, where the necklace was when it was stolen.
DM1:Clapard is pretending they don’t know.
DM2:The only thing they’ll admit was that there was some kind of mix-up and it wasn’t in its secure, locked box. Pieces of high value are supposed to be guarded by a security team, but that apparently didn’t happen, either.
DM1:So who was responsible for it? One theory we heard was that it was given to a junior employee by mistake. But if they had it, why not say it? Why not give it to the right team?
DM2:We saw a picture of the necklace, and it’s stunning. Definitely a showstopper. You’d think anyone would notice if they had that in their possession.
DM1:You mean the necklace that wasallegedlystolen.
DM2:Yes. Clapard will not officially confirm anything, as the investigation is ongoing. It’s only that one guy who’s been making noise about it.
DM1:The whole thing is so suspicious. And we wish it was the only bad thing that happened in Cannes.
DM2:Yes, today feels very weird.
DM1:And we’ll tell you everything else we’ve heard as soon as we can.
DM2:Stay tuned!
Lou
I stared at the message on my phone, then up at the girls.
“I think we need to get out of here. And preferably go somewherewhere no one can find us.”
“I know where we should go,” Constance said. “Follow me.”
Over an hour later, we were in the back of Marielle’s boutique, hidden from sight. Marielle had closed the shop for the day to visit a friend who’d just had surgery, even though it was a Saturday. Everyone in Cannes was either going home or getting ready for the closing ceremony anyway. Constance had come here yesterday to pack up her designer loans, ready to be shipped back straight from the boutique. With Marnie’s help—whose French was the best of the three of us—Constance made up some excuse about an incorrect label, some dress headed back to Stockholm instead of Copenhagen, and Marielle eventually agreed to let us in. She came to open the door for us and told us where to leave the keys when we were done.
Now I sat on the tiny wooden stool in the changing room and rested my head over my knees.
This was the message that the three of us had just received.
Hi there!
A little bird told us you attended a very exclusive party last night. A party that might have gotten out of hand. You might have seen in our latest post that we’ve heard rumors of a missing necklace, but that’s not all that went missing last night, is it? We’d love to hear what you have to say. You know where to find us.
Anonymously yours,
DMT
Marnie was pacing the room, going between a cushion with “Embrasse-moi” embroidered on it and a row of candles named after local beaches.
“Before we panic, I’m pretty sure they sent this to everyone who was there last night.”
“Beforewe panic?” I said. “I think the time to start panicking iswaybehind us. Remember how you pointed out that most of the people who were there last night have the money to buy the best defense and all the connections to salvage their reputation? Well, they have another advantage, which is that none of them worethis.”
I picked my tote bag off the floor and retrieved the pouch I had tucked inside before heading out this morning. The girls stared as I unzipped it and pulled out the diamond necklace.
