“Anybody for green tea?” Hamish asked. “I have those granola cookies you like. Keiko isn’t here, but she gave me the recipe —”
“You planned this,” March said. “You knew the French guy had the sapphire! You tricked us!”
“I merely withheld one piece of information —”
“The most important piece!”
“— in order to allay any fears you might have, before you had them —”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“— and make our fortune!”
“We already have a fortune!” March caught himself. He threw a look at Darius. “Well. We did.”
Hamish waved his hands in the air. “I must clear the negative energy. If we focus on negativity, we can’t go forward in life with positiveness.”
“Did you know the Top Cats were after the jewels?” March asked.
“No!” Hamish put a hand on his heart.
“Well, the feds now think we’re with the Top Cat gang,” March said. He quickly explained about Agent Dukey.
“That is unfortunate news,” Hamish mused. “But the Top Cats are a European gang. No doubt after the diamonds. I think we’re safe to proceed.”
“Proceed with what?” Jules asked. “We said no to stealing the other rocks, remember?”
“But surely, the circs have changed due to your unfortunate situation.”
“That’s one way to put it,” March said. “Though complete freaking disaster might be good, too.”
“March,” Hamish said, “we have a saying in the criminal world. Might make you feel better: ‘You always lose your first fortune.’ ”
“That’s really comforting.”
“It should be. Because you will get another one. Especially,” Hamish said, leaning back and resting his hands on his belly, “if you listen to wise old me.”
“Family is more important than money,” Izzy said, with a quick glance at March.
“Tell us about the job, Ham,” Darius broke in.
“Well. I did some research after you showed me the stone, and I think I’ve located the second one! And, oddly enough, it’s right here in Miami!”
“That is odd,” Jules said. She tossed a copy of Miami Social Sheet on the table next to Hamish. “Take a look at page fourteen.”
Hamish grinned nervously. “I never read that rag. I buy it for Keiko. You know I don’t read about celebrities. I have to keep my aura clean. We only have so much brain space. Gossip, pro football, reality TV, Miley Cyrus — I just have to block some things out so I can concentrate on the good things in life. Like sun salutations and smoothies.”
Jules jumped off the table and flipped to the page. “Trini Abbo, the former model who married the most mysterious man in Miami, Terrence Abbo …”
“Minor celebs, indeed —”
“Look at her neck.”
“Hmm. Lovely piece of jewelry. Do you think it’s an engagement present?”
“I think it’s a star sapphire.” Jules tossed the magazine down in disgust. “And this magazine is from a month ago. You’ve been planning this job. When were you going to tell us? You didn’t bring us here to help us out. You brought us here to steal that necklace!”
“Oh, Hamish.” Izzy shook her head. “Not very up-front of you.”
“Ultimately the hilltop of truth is my guiding principle, but sometimes you need a … uh, little switchback to get there,” Hamish said. “And it’s for your own good! You might not have tried for the Morning Star if you’d known! Now we have it, and that’s good, right?”
“Ham, my man,” Darius said, shaking his head, “I don’t think you’re getting the point. We just want you to be straight with us.”
“What about —” Izzy started.
“If the feds are watching us, how can we risk it?” Jules asked.
“If you could just tell us about —” Izzy said again.
“If you knew about the Miami sapphire a month ago, you’ve been planning this for a while,” March said. “Do you have a buyer for all three?”
“I’ll get to that,” Hamish said. “First … well, there’s something I haven’t mentioned.”
Izzy leaned in. “Tell us about the curse.”
Hamish’s smile tilted. “What curse?”
Izzy crossed her arms. She was barely five feet tall, but when she wanted to, she had the propulsive heft of a linebacker.
“Oh, that curse,” Hamish said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s a famous jewel without a curse? This one is a great story! Back in the Dark Ages, the three sapphires were stolen by a sailor. He pried them from a sacred statue of a goddess in Ceylon. So, he does what sailors do — he gives them to a girl back home. Her name was Zillah, and she used them as healing stones. Except the villagers were spooked by the cures, so they called her a witch.”
“That’s terrible,” Izzy said.
“Healers were often accused of being witches,” Jules interjected. “Strong women are often feared by stupid men. Happened all the time back then. Still happening.” She shrugged. “Progress.”
Hamish held up a finger. “So they stole the gems and tied her to a big rock and threw her in the river. If she floated, she was a witch and they’d burn her. If she drowned, she was, uh, dead. So, she drowned. Let me tell you, those were harsh dudes back in the olden days. Before she died, Zillah was understandably ticked off. She laid a curse on whoever owned the stones. Ready?”
Ham stood, ready to recite.
“I curse your bones, I curse these stones.
By rules of three I decree
Them that own cannot atone.
Fortune and hearthstone, then fealty fly
’Til hearts are riven and death is nigh.
Break these stones and ye shall know
How even the mighty be brought so low.
See my mark upon thy floor
And I shall haunt forevermore.”
“What does it all mean?” Darius asked.
“The rule of three is the stones,” Hamish said. “Separately, the stones bring bad juju. All together? Death. But the stones need to be together — there’s a powerful force binding them.”
“Fortune, hearthstone, fealty,” Izzy repeated. “Money, home, loyalty, right? We’ve already lost two of those.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Since we stole the sapphire! That’s why it happened!”
“The sapphire didn’t lose our fortune,” March said. “I think we all know who did that.”
Darius glowered at March.
“But it all happened right after we stole it!” Izzy said. “Who knows when they stole our stuff … it could have been that very morning! And you said you almost got your head cut off, March. Just like Anne Boleyn!”
“Why would anyone want these jewels, if everyone ends up broke, friendless, and dead?” Jules asked.
“And what does ‘my mark upon thy floor’ mean?” Darius asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Hamish brushed the air with his fingers. “It’s said that Zillah haunts you if you have the stones. She drowned, right? There are stories of finding wet footprints in a house in the middle of the night. Stuff like that.”
“Or a blowing curtain where there’s no wind,” Izzy said.
“Let’s not let our imaginations get away from us,” Hamish said. “I believe in curses, but not in ghosts.”
“I feel her,” Izzy whispered. “She’s with us right now.”
They all grew quiet.
“This is ridic —” Hamish started. Just then a painting of an orange macaw flew off the wall and crashed onto the floor.
“What. Was. That,” Darius said.
“Ah. Um. Heh.” Hamish chortled nervously. “I’m so bad at hanging things.” He quickly threw a dish towel over the sapphire.
Izzy tucked herself up into a ball, her hands clasped around her shins. “It reminds me of my grandmother in San Juan,” she said. “Once she saw the ghost of Doña Ana walking the hall in the El Convento Hotel. Doña Ana passed right through her. My grandmother
was young then, with long black hair. It turned completely white that night.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Hamish repeated. “Uh, most of the time.”
“Jules has a point,” Darius said. “Who would want the sapphires? Plenty of pretty stones in the world without tangling with curses and ghosts.”
“You know how it is with curses,” Hamish said. “The rule of three, the rule of seven. The rule of seven counteracts the rule of three.”
“Oh, sure,” Darius said. “Everybody knows that.”
“If you employ the rule of seven, you get fantastic good luck. Which brings me to the last owner of the necklace. Sir Roland Chervil Ransome, born Reg Mifflewhite in the East End of London.”
“Doesn’t he own that airline?” Darius asked.
“And a car company, and a technology company, and he’s building a rocket to go to the moon,” Hamish said. “He built his company from nothing. About twenty years ago, he bought the Gate of Heaven necklace for his wife after his first major deal. And he had crushingly bad luck. Plus, his wife made him sell their house —”
“Because it was haunted, I bet,” Izzy said.
“Well, she thought so. Anyway, he went broke. Terrible debt. Wife left him. Best friend betrayed him. Financial manager fleeced him.”
“Well, that part sounds familiar,” March said.
“Thanks for reminding us, Marcello,” Darius said sourly. “’Cause we almost forgot for a full second.”
“Luck swings both ways, like a gate,” Hamish said, waving his hand back and forth. “But this was a series of calamities that went beyond the beyond. It was then that he took the necklace seriously. Instead of selling it, he went to a psychic. She told him if he broke down the necklace but kept the stones together in seven nesting boxes carved from the nutmeg tree from the original shrine, the goddess would be appeased, and thus Zillah’s power would be cast away.” Hamish shrugged. “So he did it. Went all the way to Sri Lanka, found the nutmeg tree near the original shrine, had the boxes made.”
“And?” March asked. He was interested in spite of himself.
“The power of the stones switched! His luck reversed! He got his money back!”
“And his wife?” Izzy asked.
“Nah! He got a younger, prettier one!”
Jules did a backflip onto the couch in the way she had of making it look easy. She landed with her head on the pillow and her feet up. “Personally, I hoped we were done with curses forever.”
March felt a shiver race down his spine. They’d tangled with a curse a little over a year ago — one that said he and Jules were destined to die before their thirteenth birthday. They didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not until the moonstones started to weigh them down, glow in rooms without a moon, darken their dreams into nightmares.
So yeah, he had seen curses in action. He couldn’t say he didn’t believe.
“Unfortunately, curses go with gems the way peanut butter goes with jelly,” Hamish said.
“Doesn’t it scare you?” Izzy asked.
“Dear Izzy, I have a great respect for curses, but I also have a great respect for large amounts of cash. This deal seems worth the risk.”
“So this dude is desperate to get them back?” Darius asked.
“Exactly! Are you ready for what he’ll pay?”
“I don’t care,” Jules said.
“How much?” March asked.
“Fifty million dollars.” Hamish rolled out the words and then licked his lips as though he’d just finished a triple-scoop ice-cream cone. With sprinkles.
“How come so much?” Jules asked.
“Because priceless is expensive!” Hamish cried. “And because he believes. As soon as those sapphires were stolen, his luck changed again.” Hamish made the swinging-gate gesture again. “He blames the gems. He needs the gems. He wants the good luck back. He wants these sapphires.” Hamish rubbed his hands together. “Desperate and rich. The perfect client.”
March had that itchy feeling that meant this job was trouble. Unfortunately that didn’t stop him from being tempted. What choice did they have? They were busted. And three perfect sapphires were within reach. He felt the call of the last big score, the one that would thrill him and test him and save him. No better feeling in the world, Alfie used to say.
“Fifty million isn’t worth anything if you’re in prison,” Jules pointed out.
Izzy nodded. But Darius had an interested look on his face. A look, March guessed, exactly like his own.
Darius slid the magazine over and studied the picture of Terrence and Trini Abbo. “Tell us about the mark,” he said.
“Major bad dude,” Hamish said. “Karma will set him back a thousand years and turn him into a newt. Started out as a mercenary and turned himself into a ‘military advisor’ to the worst dictators on the planet. Basically he was a one-man reign of terror. He has about a billion-gazillion dollars, so he retired. Found himself a wife in Miami — half his age, a former model named Trini. The star sapphire necklace was an engagement present. She doesn’t know it, but he bought the stone — the diamonds, too — on the black market and had it designed just for her. The diamonds make up stars and the Evening Star is supposed to be the moon. It’s vulgar, if you ask me, but nobody’s asking. Anyway, the billion bucks means he made himself a nice little compound in Miami with top-level security. Infrared scopes, sniper on the roof, motion detectors. And bodyguards.”
March pushed the magazine away. “Are you kidding me? You want us to boost a stone off some billionaire, murdering dictator?”
“Advisor.”
“Can we go back to the snipers for a sec?” Jules asked.
“On paper, it’s not good,” Hamish agreed. “The guy is seriously paranoid. Which is probably wise, seeing how many people want to kill him. So forget trying to get his schedule. He has a fleet of cars with blacked-out windows. Decoy cars. Mixes up his routine constantly.”
“Is there any good news?” March asked.
“Of course there is!” Hamish exclaimed. “Would I place my favorite kids in danger? It’s a cakewalk! And here’s why: golf.”
“Golf,” Jules repeated.
“The guy lives for golf. He’s a member of the most exclusive club in Miami. Million-dollar membership fee. And she goes where he goes. Think about it — it’s out in the open, and I’m betting there’s more than one exit. He’s relaxed, she’s relaxed, they’re not expecting anything. Bodyguards get bored and hot. Look.” Hamish fished out a magazine from a pile by the table. He flipped open a copy of Miami Lifestyle and pushed it toward them.
They all leaned forward to study the picture. The woman was striking, with long dark wavy hair. She was wearing a tiny pink polo shirt, a white miniskirt, and golf shoes. The sapphire rested against her throat, the diamond chain winking in the sunlight. Terrence had his hand on her arm as though he was stopping her from talking or moving. In his hand, the golf club looked like a weapon. Trini’s smile looked strained. March noted all of this, even though it was just a picture of two handsome people standing under a palm tree. He glanced at Jules. She’d seen the same thing. Her gray eyes darkened.
“He’s a creep,” she said.
“Indubitably,” Hamish agreed. “He looted countries out of their treasuries, and she hitched herself to his money and his protection.” He shrugged. “It’s an old story.”
“How did you find out about this sapphire in the first place?” Darius asked.
“Yoga!” Hamish smiled at each of them in turn. “Gives flexibility plus occasional professional tips! I’m in a regular class when I’m here in Miami. I got to talking to a guy there, Milton Silver. Eighty-five years old, and you should see his downward dog. And his soul! Such a pure aura. Pink and gold. Where was I? Ah! He tells me about this yoga teacher — so exclusive you can’t get into the classes. You’ve got to be young and connected to get in, he says, and he really works up a head of steam about this, because, you know, it’s counter to the whole spirit o
f yogic practice, okay? They call it ‘model yoga,’ because everybody is young and thin. So I look up the class, because I’m thinking, hey, maybe I could do Milt a favor and get him in. And there’s a photo.” He held out his phone. “And I see this.”
Trini Abbo stood next to an incredibly fit and gorgeous woman in her fifties. They were both dressed in yoga gear. The caption read, Yogi to the stars Mirabelle Ralston greets student Trini Abbo, a model and actress in Miami.
The star sapphire gleamed against Trini’s tan throat.
“I almost fell over, let me tell you. I couldn’t believe it was really what I was seeing, so I’ve been staking out the yoga studio. After class she goes to this coffee place with her gal pal and they chat for maybe twenty minutes while her bodyguards drink coffee and look glum at a table in the corner. There! I gave you so much info, this will be a piece of cake! I would go again, but I’m staying away from caffeine!”
“That’s all you’ve got?” March said.
Hamish spread his hand. “For your criminal genius mind, it should be plenty!”
“Uh-huh. And what about the third sapphire? Do you know where it is?”
“Ha!” Hamish beamed at March. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that question. You’re a Cancer. So intuitive. What’s your rising sign?”
“Impatience.”
“I know where the third is. Easy job. Easy peasy, mango squeezy. I’ll fill you in when we decide to go ahead.”
“If.”
“I think the golf club is our best bet,” Darius said. “There’s got to be some info on when tee times are, or whatever they call it. We could do a smash-and-grab on the twenty-fifth hole, or something.”
“That would work, if it wasn’t for the fact that there are only eighteen holes,” March said.
“Do I look like I grew up playing golf, Marcello?” Darius asked.
“I would not describe this as a slam dunk, Ham,” Jules said. “There’s about a hundred things that could go wrong.”
“That’s March’s department,” Hamish said. “He sees the hundred things. He plans for the hundred things. And then it all works.”