Kitabı oku: «Playing Dirty», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.

THE MINUTE AVA got home that evening, she kicked off her heels, washed off her makeup and changed into her navy, white and orange Moroccan-tile-patterned sleep pants, topping them with a cotton knit camisole and cardigan. She made herself a quick bite to eat and was seated in front of the fireplace with a glass of chardonnay a short while later, trying to decide if she wanted to select a recorded program from her DVR to watch or simply continue staring at the flames, when her doorbell rang.

She blew out a breath. “Crap.” She was so not in the mood for company.

But since she was currently in a dating slump, it was likely Poppy or Jane, and adjusting her attitude, she set aside her wineglass and rose to answer the door.

The last person she expected to see on the other side was Cade, and for a second she could only gape at him.

“Whoa,” he said, looking just as startled. Except that didn’t make sense. Not when, unlike her, he had known perfectly well he was coming here.

Damn him, anyhow. Here she was all naked-faced, not a spec of makeup to give her pale complexion a little color or hide her freckles, while he, even under the hallway’s fluorescent fixture, looked like a million bucks, his eyes blazing brilliant blue in that lightly tanned, angular face. The harsh light also picked out the raindrops spangling his hair and dampening the shoulders of his worn leather bomber jacket.

His expression smoothing out, he gave her a slow once-over and raised his eyebrows. “Modeling for Victoria’s Secret in your spare time?”

She glanced down at her unfastened cardigan, which exposed the fact that she was naked beneath its matching light orange tank top. Crap. She pulled the cardigan’s sides together to add another layer of fabric between his too-seeing eyes and her unbound breasts.

And made a rude noise even as she buttoned it. “Like I have free time. Aside from this half hour I was trying to snatch for myself, that is.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m off duty, Gallari. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to remind you that the makeup and hair people will be here day after tomorrow, as well as three of my interview subjects, so you’ll have additional people to feed.”

“I know. I talked to them about their transportation needs, remember? Which, since the hair and makeup women are local, were nonexistent. And I’ve arranged drivers for the interviewees.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But that’s neither here nor there. The real question is, you couldn’t have called me about it?”

“I could have. Except I also need to talk to you about doing an interview for the documentary—and that’s better done face-to-face.”

“You want me to—?” Wondering if she looked as blank as she felt, she gave her head a little shake and admitted, “Okay, I’m clueless. Surely you have more qualified people to do whatever it is that needs doing.”

“I don’t need your help conducting interviews, Ava— I’m talking about you giving an interview.”

“Like the three people you have lined up for tomorrow, you mean? You want to interview me? On camera?”

“Kinda hard to let people know your take on Agnes without it,” he agreed with a slight smile. “I’d like Jane and Poppy’s participation, as well.”

There was no need to speculate about her expression this time—no doubt it was every bit as horrified as she felt. “No. Hell, no. Janie and Poppy might have a different take, but for my own FYI…are you out of your mind?”

“I prefer to think of it as doing my job. I have a thousand and one details that need my attention, and you and your gal pals are one of the biggies.” He raked his hair off his forehead, leaving damp furrows in the wake of his fingers. “Look, do you think I could come in? This is important to the documentary, and I’d really appreciate a few minutes to explain why.”

Her first inclination was to say no. She didn’t want him in her place. And please, she was off the clock—did she really have to carry the professionalism she’d been so carefully maintaining into her personal time and space?

Only if you want to maintain a civil working relationship for the next month and a half, girlfriend. Damn. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” He stepped inside and shrugged out of his jacket as he followed her into the living room. When she didn’t offer to take it off his hands, he slung it over the back of one of the breakfast bar stools they passed.

She was tempted to ignore the fact she had a glass of wine waiting for her while he did not, but she had already strained the manners that had been drummed into her since birth by willfully ignoring his coat. With a genuine attempt not to sound as grudging as she felt, she said, “Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine or something?” She drew the line at coffee. She was not offering to make a pot for one cup.

“Water would be good.”

“Have a seat and I’ll get you some.”

It only took her a minute to grab a bottle from the fridge and bring it out to where he stood in front of the fire. After handing it to him, she settled back into her seat on the couch.

Cade unscrewed the cap and chugged the water down in one throat-working, attenuated swallow. He set the empty bottle on a magazine on her coffee table, looked around, then dragged an armchair over to face her. Sitting, he planted his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her.

“This production isn’t just about the murder of Agnes Wolcott’s man of affairs and the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the Wolcott Suite,” he said, his eyes intent. “It’s first and foremost the story of Agnes. I admit it started out primarily about the mystery, since that’s what I’ve built my name doing. But once I started researching and realized how ahead of her time and larger than life she was, I widened the scope of the story. It was also her personality and accomplishments that sold it to the network.”

He made an uncharacteristically awkward motion, as if to touch Ava’s knee, but then pulled the hand that had started to reach out back again, letting it dangle between his spread knees. “It was you, though, who really got me fired up when you talked to me and Karin about Agnes when we met to discuss the script. Your enthusiasm brought her to life in a way she hadn’t fully been before.”

“Trust me,” she said dryly, “nobody will be enthused when I turn out to be a big stiff in front of your camera.” Her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of having one trained on her.

Cade looked skeptical. “This from a woman who isn’t the least bit shy about breaking into a dance whenever and wherever the mood hits her? I’m not asking you to strip naked in public, Ava. All you’ll be doing is having a conversation with me, one-on-one.”

“Yeah, that oughtta make me less self-conscious,” she muttered. “Being on camera with the man who told the world I was a big fat joke.”

He froze, his face losing all expression. Then he slowly straightened until his wide shoulders brushed the back of the seat. He met her gaze with a level one of his own.

“I have apologized and apologized for that, but I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. I can’t change what I did, but I am—swear-on-a-stack-of-bibles, strike-me-with-lightning-if-I’m-lying—sorry.”

Then he leaned forward once more and planted his elbows on his knees. “Admit it, though, Ava—even then, even that day—you weren’t intimidated by me. You know damn well you gave as good as you got. Hell, I was known for what was left of our senior year as Quick Draw.”

She shrugged. “You came, you went.”

“Yeah, I’m painfully aware of the fact. I’d apologize for that as well, but I was eighteen frickin’ years old and you had me hotter ’n a pistol. But, hey.” His blue eyes glinted a second before his mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. “If you want a do-over I’d be more than happy to demonstrate how much I’ve improved since then.”

Her stomach hollowed. Assuring herself she’d simply eaten too fast, she said coolly, “What a generous offer. Thank you, but I’ll pass.” And yet… You had me hotter ’n a pistol? His friend Dylan-the-asshole had made sleeping with her sound more like an onerous chore than an act of unbridled lust.

Before she could figure out if Cade really meant it, however, or if he was simply saying what he thought she wanted to hear now in an attempt to get his own way, he gave an indifferent shrug and returned to the original subject.

“Look, I know you may not like me, but you can take one thing to the bank—I am dead serious about making Agnes’s story the best damn representation of her that I can.”

“Then I’ll say it again,” she promptly retorted. “Putting me on camera won’t aid your project.”

“I’ve heard you talk about her, Ava, and you obviously loved her. Then there’s the fact that I’ve seen you and your friends together. As a unit you’re invincible and you know it. Once the three of you get going on Miss Agnes, as you called her with me and Karin that day, you won’t even remember the camera is there. Hell, you likely won’t need me to guide the conversation at all. Not to mention all three of you are probably photogenic as all get-out.” He seemed to look inward for a moment. “The trick is gonna be sound. It’s always more difficult when you have more than two subjects.” Then he shook his head. “But that’s why we have Kyle—he’s the best sound mixer I’ve ever worked with.”

Eyes sober, he leaned deeper into her space. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal that I never make with my subjects. If you don’t like the way I capture you, I’ll edit you out entirely. I strongly believe that by doing so I’ll be doing your Miss Agnes an injustice, but you have my word that I’ll bite the bullet and do it anyway. I’ll put it in writing,” he added quickly before it even occurred to her to make a snide remark about his word. “You have an opportunity here, though, Ava—a chance to round out Agnes’s story by telling the world about a woman who had an impact on your life. In any good documentary, it’s the personal knowledge of a film’s subject, the anecdotes the people who knew her tell, that in the end add the texture and richness to that subject’s story.”

“Why have a scriptwriter at all, then, if you think unscripted reminiscences add so much?”

“I’m approaching this project like a feature. There are a lot of very visual aspects to Miss Agnes’s life and I have a budget like I’ve never had before. So I’m shooting the interviews in HD, but shooting the re-creations with the actors on film to give that lusher look of an earlier era. It will give her story a larger, richer look.” Slowly he straightened back into his chair and for a moment simply looked at her. “I hope you’ll agree to be part of it. But even if you don’t, would you give me your friends’ numbers so I can see about getting their input? I want to capture the woman who befriended three girls not just for a single tea at her mansion, but for years’ worth of teas and other important landmarks in their lives.”

Ava knew he was right, that he was offering her an unprecedented opportunity. She hated to admit, even to herself, that a big part of what was holding her back was the knowledge of how that bugger-all camera would add ten pounds. God, how shallow could she get? She’d rarely even thought about Cade during the past decade and now she was worried about what he’d think when he saw her on film or digitized or whatever? What the hell was that all about?

“I’ll do it,” she said before her vanity could sink its claws even deeper.

“You’ll give me their numbers?”

“I’ll participate in your documentary. It would probably be best if I called Jane and Poppy, myself. They’re not exactly your biggest fans.”

His mouth crooked. “You don’t have to pretty it up. You can say they hate my guts.”

“They hate your guts. But they loved Miss Agnes, so even if the request came from you they’d likely do it for her. But it’ll probably fly better coming from me.”

“Thank you.”

She rose to her feet. “You do understand I’m not doing this for you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I get that.” He, too, stood up. “But thanks, anyway. When I was researching Miss Agnes, she struck me as a woman who was not only fascinating, but unique. I’m happy for every opportunity to showcase as many facets of her character as I can fit into ninety-nine minutes.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” She plucked his coat off the back of the stool and held it out to him. “It’s the only reason I’ve agreed to do this.”

“Yeah.” He shot her a crooked grin. “I figured it wasn’t for my dazzling smile.”

It could have been, Ava thought.

Once upon a time, before he’d wrecked everything, it really could have been.

CHAPTER FIVE

I thought I knew everything about Miss A. But I’m learning all sorts of new things.

AVA MADE HER WAY through the mansion’s crowded salon to the silver-haired gentleman whose interview Cade had just wrapped up. Beks had passed along a request from Cade earlier to hold herself ready to escort the finished interviewee out of the room so they could get the next interview rolling without delay. Or as the younger woman had put it with her infectious smile: “I’ll haul ’em in, you haul ’em out.”

She’d snatched the opportunity to watch the shoot from an inconspicuous vantage point at the side of the room, hoping to get a feel for what she, Jane and Poppy could expect when it was their turn. Her attention had drifted from the interviewee to Cade way too often, but as she approached the two men, she did her best to ignore his half of the duo.

“Mr. Tarrof?” She brushed the man’s gray tweed jacket sleeve to get his attention. “I apologize for interrupting, but—”

Both men turned to her. The older man was nattily attired in a beautifully tailored suit, gray shirt and a yellow tie that matched the impeccably folded handkerchief peeking out of his coat’s breast pocket.

Cade, by contrast, was casual in a royal-blue sweater he’d no doubt chosen to match his eyes and a pair of jeans almost disreputably worn. “This is Ava,” he said with a smile that included them both. “She’ll be your guide navigating the land mines out of the room.”

To her, he said, “I was just thanking Stan for his awesome interview,” then turned the full power of his attention back on the older gentleman. “And I can’t do that enough. You gave me some seriously good footage. So, again, thank—”

A sudden bump from behind sent Ava stumbling. She felt Mr. Tarrof reach out to steady her, but his cool, dry hand slid off her forearm without finding purchase. It was Cade, taking a long-legged step toward her, who stopped her forward momentum.

But it wasn’t a pretty landing. She smacked up against the hard wall of his chest, and the impact flattened her breasts and knocked the breath from her lungs.

The lack of oxygen wasn’t the worst of it, though. That would be the instant heat, instant awareness. Like déjà vu, it was eerily familiar. Yet the body she was pressed up against was different—bigger now than it had once been, harder and tougher.

Shit! Sucking in a breath to replace the air she’d lost, she leapt back, and Cade’s hands, which had grasped a hip and her shoulder, dropped to his sides.

“God, Miss—Ava—I’m sorry,” a man said from behind her, and Ava turned to see the grip named Collin with a long stepladder in his hands. He set it up a short way from the “set” they were using for the interviews. “I was trying to dodge Ryan and I misjudged. Are you all right?”

No. “Yes, sure. I’m fine.” Except for this shook-up, out-of-control feeling.

The thought snapped her spine erect. Because that was just plain dumb, considering her history with Gallari.

Cade cleared his throat, and, beginning to feel like a wind-up doll turning this way and that, she jerked around once again.

“See what I mean about land mines?” he was saying to Mr. Tarrof, then to her added, “I’m putting Stan in your hands, so give him your best.”

“I always do,” she agreed, curving her lips up without actually meeting his gaze. Yet she was conscious of his tanned forearms with their dusting of dark hair below his pushed-up sleeves. Aware that her hands could still feel the cashmere softness of the sweater they’d gripped. Turning to the older man, she cleared her mind of everything but him. And gave him a real smile.

“I can see why Cade was so pleased,” she said as she led him away, pointing out various cables snaking across the floor for him to avoid. “I had the chance to see most of your interview and you were fabulous.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said with a half pleased, half rueful smile. “I’m mostly just glad it’s over. I was a bit nervous.”

“I hear that. My friends and I are scheduled for the day after tomorrow and my stomach keeps doing flip-flops at the thought of having a camera recording my every mistake.” She flashed him another smile. “If it helps, though, your nerves didn’t show. You came across as very natural.”

Putting out a staying hand, she avoided a collision between them and the best boy Ryan as he rushed by—and made a note to have a word with the gaffer about the kid’s need to be more aware of the people around him, since they had just narrowly avoided what would have been two accidents within as many minutes.

“I did notice, though,” she said as they continued on, “that you didn’t eat beforehand. How about a cup of coffee or tea or maybe a soft drink? And I still have some fabulous pastries. They’re a huge hit with the crew, but I managed to squirrel some away so the rest of us might have a shot at enjoying them.”

He gave her an appreciative smile. “That would be nice. Thank you. My appetite’s returned now that I’ve got the interview behind me.”

She laughed, knowing exactly how that went, and guided the older gentleman around Collin, who was now moving a light under Jim Short’s direction. Once they’d steered through the beehive of activity and made their way out to the hallway, it took only seconds to reach the kitchen.

She waved at the service table. “Help yourself to whatever appeals to you. I’ll just get some of those pastries I told you about.”

Mr. Tarrof poured himself a cup of coffee and lifted the Crock-Pot lid to Ava’s soup of the day, releasing taco-scented steam into the air. He glanced over to where she was arranging pastries on a platter a little way down the table, the bunch of grapes he’d just picked up suspended over the fruit platter. “Do you mind if I ask how you knew Agnes?” He gave her a smile and transferred the grapes to a small plate, next to a few cubes of cheese. “You’re much too young to have run with her crowd.”

“Miss Agnes befriended me and my two best friends back when we were only twelve.” Her lips curved up at the flood of fond memories. “From our first encounter, she was always there for both our achievements and our failures.” She brought the plate of pastries over. “Here, try one of these.”

Comprehension dawned in his faded blue eyes as he stared at her. “You’re one of those young women she left her estate to.”

Ava slid one of the galettes that were so popular with the crew onto his plate, removed the dish from his hands and put everything on a tray. “I am, yes.” She led him over to the small grouping of tables she had arranged near the door to the pantry.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, following her. “The kitchen of a documentary shoot isn’t exactly where I’d expect a Wolcott heiress to be working.”

Ava placed his tray on a table, pulled out a chair and waved him into it with a pleasantly bland smile. He wasn’t the first to think what she did for a living was beneath her station in life.

That honor went to her mother.

Tarrof made a face as he slid into the seat, obviously realizing he hadn’t been very diplomatic. “I’m sorry, Miss, that was tactless. I meant no offense.”

“None taken.” She deftly removed his items from the tray and arranged them in front of him. Tucking the tray beneath her arm, she winked at him. “I suppose I could say I’m here to keep an eye on my property, but the truth is I’m a personal concierge—which is a fancy title for a jack-of-all-trades. Today I’m providing escort and the hospitality service for Scorched Earth Productions. Tomorrow?” She shrugged. “I might walk someone’s dog or arrange a ski trip for a party of twelve. It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I find it immensely rewarding.”

He studied her closely. “I’ve heard of you,” he said slowly. “I didn’t put it together before, but you’re Ava…ah, Ava…” His brow, which had furrowed in concentration, suddenly cleared, and he snapped his fingers. “Spencer, right? Donald and Jacqueline’s girl?” Picking up his coffee, he wrapped both hands around it and gazed up at her. “You’re Mitzy Kemper’s gem.”

She laughed aloud. “Is that what she calls me? She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Small world.” He took a bite of the pastry, swallowed and said, “Wow. You’re right. This is great.” He gave her an appreciative smile. “I might have to avail myself of your services myself. Do you have a card?”

“I do. Let me just grab one for you.” Going into the pantry where she kept her purse, she fetched a card from her case and took a moment to record a quick reminder on her phone to bring additional ones tomorrow, as well as a holder to display them in.

Hey, a girl had to take advantage of whatever promotional opportunities came her way.

She handed Tarrof the card a moment later, then went to pour herself a cup of coffee. Rejoining him, she immediately went back to the subject on her mind. “About your interview. Do you mind if I pick your brain?”

“Not at all. It’s not every day an attractive young woman solicits advice from an old duffer like me.”

She made a scoffing noise. “Old duffer, my ass…terisk. I bet you have to beat the ladies off with a stick.”

They grinned at each other, but Ava’s slowly faded. “I’m anxious about my interview and was wondering…you indicated you were nervous about yours as well, yet you came off sounding genuine and relaxed. How did you manage that? You honestly looked as if you could have talked for hours. And you did it all before breakfast.”

“Oh, from your lips—but I thank you for the compliment. I think it was actually due to Mr. Gallari’s interviewing technique.” He essayed a wry facial shrug. “During the preinterview on the phone, I kept trying to get him to give me a list of the questions he’d be asking so I could practice a little. I didn’t want to come across as an idiot.”

She nodded fervently. “I so get that desire.” And the last person she wanted to sound foolish in front of was Cade Gallari. “Is that what I should be doing, then? Asking Cade for questions I can put some thought into before I have to answer them on camera?”

“Unfortunately, no. He was pretty firm about not wanting rehearsed answers. I don’t mind admitting that wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but as it happens he’s quite easy to talk to. He has a way of making you feel as if he finds everything you say of vital interest.”

Ava nodded. “It did look like he has an easy style.” She had watched Cade pull his chair close to Mr. Tarrof’s the way he had done at her condo the other night—and had wondered at first if the mannerism was simply a well-practiced all-purpose gambit that he’d discovered worked for him.

And yet…

If it were contrived, he was certainly one world-class actor and could probably make serious money facing the camera rather than working behind it. As reluctant as she was to think anything nice about the guy, she couldn’t deny that he’d appeared genuinely fascinated by what Stan Tarrof had to say.

“I must say,” the old gent went on, “in the end he asked me about the very things we had discussed. So it turned out to be much less stressful than I’d anticipated.”

“Well, rats.” With a sigh, she climbed to her feet. “I guess there’s no secret handshake or magic bullet, then. I’ll simply have to muddle through somehow.” She gave Tarrof an appreciative smile. “I can only hope I come across a fraction as interesting as you did.”

CADE DIDN’T GET right back in the groove of things after he heard Ava laugh that deep belly laugh that managed to grab him by the short hairs every time. Beks ushered in the next interviewee, yet instead of putting the woman at ease while Kyle fitted her with a lavalier microphone, the way he normally would, he found his mind wandering.

That laugh was never directed at him. He shouldn’t give a damn—yet for some reason he did. Why, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he’d pined for her for these past however many years.

So wouldn’t you think the truth of that might have kept him from damn near groaning aloud when she’d slapped up against him and he’d felt her lush roundness shifting to accommodate his harder planes, when the heat that emanated from her in waves had sunk straight into his muscle memory, his bones?

On the other hand, what red-blooded, hetero guy wouldn’t have had the same reaction? This was a woman who had it all, with her creamy skin that didn’t need a goddamn thing except the dusting of cinnamon freckles that came stock, her vibrant hair and dimples, her knock-your-socks-off individualistic style. And that body. Jesus. That body.

The truth was, even back in the day when he’d been a popular member of the in crowd and she’d been a denizen of the invisible fringe, he’d always had a sneaking fondness for Ava and her attitude, had always looked at her and seen woman in the ripeness of her breasts and ass, in the way she moved, even when she carried extra weight. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to throw her under the bus anyhow. So, yeah, in all likelihood what he was feeling here was a little residual guilt.

She was sure as hell nobody’s victim, though. She’d hit back hard when he’d sacrificed her back when, then had gone on to hone herself into a fucking goddess.

If there was one lesson he’d had drummed into his head, however, it was that the only person he could depend on was himself. God knew Ava was never going to be in his corner. So why the hell was he allowing himself to be bugged by a little thing like a laugh that wasn’t intended for him?

Gritting his teeth, he manipulated his head to stretch the kinks out of his neck. He wasn’t, dammit. And it didn’t bug him. He was just having a nostalgic moment, that was all. Give him a minute and it would pass.

They always did.

Turning to the woman whose dress Beks was currently making immaculate with her lint roller, he signaled the cameraman to start shooting.

“So, Mrs. Sandor,” he said warmly, taking his seat, scooting his chair forward and focusing on her. Putting everything else from his mind, he prepared to go mining for the thrill he got with each and every new interview, that gratification of discovering people’s stories and helping to bring them to life. “When we talked on the phone, you told me that you and Agnes Wolcott would have been debutantes together in 1946—if she hadn’t refused to participate. Could you tell me a little more about that?”

TONY PHILLIPS, the day security guard, looked around the upstairs hallway and, seeing the coast was clear, headed to the sitting room of Agnes Wolcott’s bedroom suite. His nerve endings buzzing with anticipation, he could almost feel the eager rush of the blood through his veins. So what if it wasn’t the long con he was more familiar with?

According to Uncle Mike, this was something a helluva lot better: a one-way ticket to Easy Street.

Tony shrugged. He didn’t know about that, but at least he had the upstairs to himself. Which didn’t mean he was gonna go get cocky. Getting into the room was the easy part. It was getting back out again with the Wolcott jewels in his pocket that was uncertain. But if he could pull it off, if he could really get his hands on the old lady’s long lost diamonds, then a huge-ass ticket was exactly what the old man’s information would turn out to be. And all he’d have left to do was stay cool for a few short hours until John the night guy showed up to relieve him.

Knowing that, knowing that once he had those sparklers and could blow this pop stand, that he could just keep on trucking and never look back…well, that made him feel…it made him feel so—

Day-umn.

Like he could start planning for a life of leisure on an as-yet-to-be-determined tropical beach. So what were a couple of hours compared to that?

As soon he entered the sitting room, however, all his pretty fantasies went up in smoke. Standing as though someone had superglued his shoes to the highly polished, long-plank fir floor, unable to step forward or back, he stared in dismay at the wall to his left. “Son of a bitch.”

He should have known it was too good to be true. But he had cut his eyeteeth on the legend of Mike Maperton’s coup back in the eighties. He had grown up hearing about how his uncle had copped the suite of Wolcott diamonds and set in motion an urban legend so fricking juicy it was still widely known to this day.

Hell, it was the goddamn basis for the documentary all those marks downstairs were busy getting underway.

As much as he’d like to bring the old man back to life just for the satisfaction of killing him again, he had to give Mike his props. The bastard had taken brilliant advantage of the whims of fortune that had dropped—bing/bam/boom—in his lap back in ’85.

First, while heading up the renovation here and in the adjoining bedroom, the man had stumbled across a secret compartment. Although he claimed he’d considered doing what unimaginative people liked to call “the right thing,” and actually report his discovery to the Wolcott broad, that very evening Agnes Wolcott had changed history forever when she’d gone and left a diamond necklace, bracelet, earrings and hair clips out on her night table instead of stashing them in her safe like she always did when she came home from an event.