There was a satchel inside, filled with jewels and wallets, watches and the assorted valuables that the finest members of New York society had chosen to bring to the party. Only one thing was missing, it turned out. And that was the big yellow diamond. That, it seemed, was gone for good.
The hostages were interviewed. The room was searched. But despite the best efforts of the NYPD and the FBI, it seemed the Calloway Canary had flown out of the ballroom that night and into the cold winter air, never to be seen again.
The most beautiful ballroom in all of Manhattan was nothing but a maze of overturned chairs and broken dishes, a table full of European antiques and luxurious vacations that didn’t seem quite as important or valuable as before, there at the end of the party.
No, in the end, all that really mattered were the questions.
“I’m very sorry to keep you here, Mrs. Calloway,” Abby said. She walked to where the older woman was sitting, patiently waiting to be set free, looking at the cops and federal officers that filled the room as if she’d just traded one set of gun-wielding captors for another. “We just have a few questions,” Abby said. “Routine things, really. Like was the necklace insured?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Calloway practically huffed at the notion that there could be any doubt. “In fact, the insurance people were the ones who insisted I have a fake made. They have rules about these things, you see.”
“And the fake is what you wore to the party?” Abby asked.
“It was. According to my policy, I either have to wear the fake or hire a guard whenever I wear it and that seemed like a lot of trouble. But when I saw those men and their guns…well, it was the first time I was ever grateful for insurance companies and their silly rules. But when those men pointed their guns at me and took me away…”
The woman’s face went whiter as she recounted the evening. “I didn’t know what to expect. I would have given them the safe combination.” She trembled slightly. “I would have given them anything. But when we reached the apartment, I saw my safe was already open.…How was my safe open?”
“I understand that there are perhaps a half dozen safecrackers in the world who could break that particular model.” Abby smiled a little, let her gaze drift to Kat. “I suppose one of them must have been here tonight.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Calloway gripped the base of her throat, as if feeling for a necklace that was no longer there. “I was…It wasn’t what I was expecting. But I must admit I was grateful. I don’t know what they would have done to me.”
“I understand.” Abby reached to pat the old woman’s hand. “Just one more question. I wonder how the men knew the necklace you were wearing wasn’t the real Calloway diamond.”
“Well, I suppose they could just tell,” Mrs. Calloway said, but there was a new doubt in her voice. This was a question she hadn’t thought to ask.
“But they brought equipment to get into the safe, which makes me wonder if maybe someone might have told them that you wouldn’t be wearing the real necklace tonight?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and looked at her son. “Michael?”
“Really, Agent Cameron.” Michael Calloway placed an arm protectively around his mother’s shoulders. “We have been through quite an ordeal tonight and—”
“It wasn’t with them,” Abby said, cutting him off. “The Calloway Canary wasn’t with the men when we searched them.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Mrs. Calloway said.
“I know, right?” Abby told her. “Why break in, go to all this trouble, only to leave the grand prize behind? Unless”—Abby lingered on the word—“leaving it behind was the plan all along.”
“I…” Mrs. Calloway started. “I don’t understand.”
Abby stood and walked around the room. She eyed everything—the tables strewn with forgotten plates of food and burned-out candles; the stage, which was still covered in instruments the band hadn’t yet returned to claim. And finally Abby’s gaze came to rest on the long table covered with clipboards and items up for silent auction.
“Ooh,” Abby said, looking down at one. “A week in a Tuscan villa? Jealous.” Abby giggled a little. She sounded more like a young woman than a government agent as she walked slowly down the table, fingering each item in turn.
“Oh, look,” she said, stopping. “You won this one, Mr. Calloway.” Abby picked up the antique clock that Hale’s mother had been examining earlier in the evening. She glanced back down at the clipboard. “Looks like you were very aggressive. You must have really wanted it.”
“Well, I did,” the son said proudly. “Eighteenth century. Not terribly valuable, but I’m a collector, so I couldn’t—”
“Oops,” Abby said as she dropped the clock and it shattered on the floor. “I’m such a klutz,” she said, but no one was listening to the words—they were too busy staring down at the pile of rubble on the floor with the yellow necklace lying in the center.
“Well,” Abby said, “I guess now we know why the gunmen didn’t have the necklace with them. It looks like the man who planned the heist was meant to take it home all along.”
There were protests and excuses, calls to attorneys and proclamations of innocence, but none of it really mattered at that point—not to Hale and not to Kat. Not even to Macey, who walked, barefooted, with her two new friends out of the elevator and into the palatial lobby of the Athenia Hotel.
As the NYPD officers led the handcuffed man outside, only the tall dark-haired woman in the very trim suit seemed to look the three teenagers’ way.
“Macey,” Abby Cameron said as she strolled in their direction, “your mother and father would like a word with you. They’d also like to give their thanks to Mr. Hale….” Abby eyed him skeptically. “Evidently, they are under the impression that he fought valiantly to save you. For the sake of your cover I would recommend you not correct them.”
“I never do,” Macey said, and started to saunter off. But at the last minute Macey stopped and turned.
“Thanks, Kat,” she said, then quickly added, “Just so you know, I’m not a hugger.”
“That’s okay, Macey. Neither am I.”