The Case of the Pink Carbuncle (a Sherlock and Me Mystery)

By SJ Slagle

An elderly woman dies mysteriously and her priceless pink diamond disappears. Her granddaughter, Sylvia, wants the jewel found and hires Lucy James, Reno detective. The hunt for the diamond, called the PInk Carbuncle, takes them to Spain and Morocco with varying degrees of success and the bad guys hot on their trail. Clues from the grandmother's stories of gypsies and Arabian princesses converge with those of a former choir boy and a nun. They travel on camels in Morocco and encounter speeding cars in Barcelona. Tipsters attempt to throw Lucy and Sylvia off track, but with help from friendly Spaniards, the women travel through deserts, mountains and fanciful foreign locations in their pursuit of the pink diamond. But not all roads lead to Rome, and Lucy and Sylvia must come home where they meet their biggest challenge of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SJ Slagle
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005476328

SJ Slagle

I'm the proud honoree of the 2018 B.R.A.G. Medallion for excellence in historical fiction. My book, London Spies, is the first of a trilogy about a young woman in military intelligence in WWII.I am an unabashed lover of mysteries. Sue Grafton, Sherlock Holmes, Lawrence Block, Walter Mosley, JA Jance and Tony Hillerman are just a few authors who have tantalized my imagination over the years and I reread their work whenever I need stimulation. And instruction. A writer goes to the master to learn that certain turn of phrase, a unique POV or how to kickstart the story reverberating in your head.I grew up in Illinois, moved to Arizona and, after college, toured some of the world including Puerto Rico, Florida and the Virgin Islands. I've traveled throughout my lifetime giving setting and tone new twists as my horizons expanded. My work as a teacher in Language Arts and video production have proven time and again to be superb launching pads for my writing.I write mysteries and historical fiction as SJ Slagle and western romances as Jeanne Harrell. My sister and I started writing children's books long ago and those are published under both our names: Sinda Cheri Floyd. The stories we write are loosely based on our collective experiences during childhood.Enjoy my books and happy reading!

Book preview

Prologue

A blood-curdling scream tore through the mansion. But there was no one to hear it. No one to watch the elderly woman clutch something close to her breast before falling between the antique vanity and the four-poster bed.

She fell hard hitting her fragile head against the bedframe, puncturing transparent skin already beginning to bruise. A pile of crumpled bones with stretched skin rested on the plush carpet like campfire logs.

Silence in the house was as oppressive as the stifling air. Beads of sweat dotted inside the screened windows like pearls collected on sheets of glass. When the old grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three times, the sound reverberated in the kitchen, the attic, the living room…the bedroom bouncing off walls, floors and furniture until it dissipated on the collection of resting bones. Furrowing into the marrow. Muted forever.

Gran? You up from your nap yet? A young voice rang out slicing the silence into bits. I know I said I’d come by at four, but I met the most interesting person at lunch today. I knew you’d want to hear about her. The voice, soft at first, became louder until it filled the large bedroom.

And why don’t you have the heater on? It’s freezing outside and inside. You’ve got to be chilled by now…Gran? Gran, where are you?

Sylvia rounded the corner of the bedroom suite from the sitting area to where the four-poster bed patiently waited. A curled slipper caught her attention before suddenly alert eyes drifted to the floor beside the bed.

Gran! Oh, Gran! What’s happened? Why are you…

Her knees buckled as she sank to the carpet with a resounding thud. But there was no one to hear anything, save the backdoor screen swaying softly with the breeze made by an intruder. Silence cloaked the figure running to the waiting car, a car that would drive far, far away from the lonely mansion.

Chapter 1

Lucy

So, Cindy? What’s it going to be? Me or that crummy husband of yours?

Lucy. What on earth has gotten into you today? I told you Skip and I were going to his mother’s for brunch, so what’s crawled up your butt?

I wanted to seethe, but actually, I was amused. Cindy didn’t care much for Skip’s mother and was trying to make good here. Maybe I didn’t need to give her such a hard time. It was just too much fun.

Okay, fine. I bit my lip to conceal my smirk. Be that way. Some BFF you are.

Lucy. She had that patient tone going full steam, the one she’d used on me so many times in the past to placate me that I’ve lost count.

Cindy, I said with the same tone of patient civility. I could kill her with kindness. Sherlock Holmes, my ideal detective, once said that on a case, I think.

Don’t you have anything else to do today except to pester me?

Not much, that’s true. And besides.

Besides what?

Baskerville misses you.

Cindy harrumphed. Really. The noise reverberated through the phone line sounding like a sneeze that changed its mind.

Okay, fine. All right. I’ll come by after brunch. Will that be good enough for you and Baskerville?

"Our sweet dog thanks you, Cindy, and I’ll have The Hound of the Baskervilles playing softly in the background."

She laughed. Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett or Benedict Cumberbatch?

Cumberbatch. I grinned like a loon. Don’t you just love saying his name?

I heard Skip yelling behind her. Jeremy Brett! I love it when a policeman gets involved in something that is none of his business.

Tell Lawman to stuff it. Cumberbatch it is!

After disconnecting, a text popped up before I had the chance to lay my phone down. I clicked on the message with widening eyes.

SS: Are you available to talk? I need advice.

Me: Sure. Give me ten minutes.

SS was Sylvia Silverstone, the feisty gal I’d met in my self-defense class recently. Cindy had nagged me to brush up on my skills until I buckled under her incessant storm of words and signed up for a refresher course.

Sylvia Silverstone.

Watching her walk into the gym, every woman’s eyes appraised her. With wispy dark hair tied into a no-nonsense tail and her head held high challenging anyone who dared take her on, Sylvia Silverstone strode up to the instructor, exchanged a few words and took her place not far from me. Her relatively close proximity ensured we would be partners throughout the class for the self-defense exercises that would soon follow.

Sylvia didn’t disappoint. Her clear eyes seemed to take in every detail of me when we’d turned toward one another for practice. Her back straightened as if to say, Come get me and I rose to the challenge, but she was too quick, too flexible. After an hour of being pummeled, I called a halt to her next assault.

I wiped my sweaty face with my Big Bang Theory tee shirt, now limp as a wet dishrag. Hold on, Quickdraw.

Her serious look faded with the oncoming burst of delight. Her smile made her pretty face even prettier. We clicked on some level at that moment.

She held out a dainty hand with pink manicured nails. Sylvia Silverstone. Whom have I had the pleasure of beating the crap out of this afternoon?

My chuckle was immediate and loud as my hand grasped hers.

Oo, nice grip. I’m Lucy James, at your pleasure.

We sank down on nearby mats to catch our collective breath. My eyes didn’t miss many details either. She’d hardly broken a sweat and her exercise clothes were chic and new. A slight breeze blew around us from an open window, blowing away the sounds from the class. I could feel no rancor or problem from this young woman and welcomed what she might have to add to my life experience.

Any chance you’re free for lunch? I asked.

She glanced at her watch, a gold-plated Rolex, unless I was mistaken and I rarely was. Sure. I have a couple of hours before I need to visit my grandmother. Where should we go?

We’d agreed to meet at the Italian café down the street as soon as we’d washed away the sweat and grime of crime fighting. I beat her to the restaurant and found good seats by a window where we could watch would-be attackers of women saunter along the busy sidewalk. I was checking out one such candidate. A swarthy fellow with a beard in dire need of trimming wearing a dark hoodie, casting furtive glances at people walking around him. No one attempted to get close and if one did by accident, Swarthy moved a few inches away as if to say, Get away from me! I wasn’t surprised that most people gave him a wide berth.

I was imagining the kind of defense moves I’d make against him when a melodic voice sang out, Nope. Wrong move. You’d have to grab him from the back and flip him over.

I looked up at Sylvia and smiled. I was thinking of using the elbow-in-the-gut move actually.

I could almost see the wheels churning as she watched the man walk by. Maybe you’re right. A well-placed gut shot could win the day.

We were both smiling by the time she’d charmed the waiter into bringing us wine and menus as fast as humanly possible. She’d charmed me as much as the waiter and I wasn’t easy to charm. Something about her screamed out class, wit and strength. Sylvia would be an easy woman to like, a good friend to have in your corner.

I relaxed in her company, something that didn’t happen often when I met new people. I’m usually on my guard so much that I fail to see good characteristics even when Cindy points them out to me, in a huff.

With a few sips of wine, her pink lips parted exhaling a short breath of anticipation.

And now that we’ve met, I’d like to know what you do, Lucy. She cocked an eye at me, tapping a finger on her chin. You’ve got that kind of looks that says…

Says what?

Be careful what you ask me because I’m going to tell you.

Relaxing around her was easy, yet I feared a trap. Maybe she already knew who I was.

I smiled at her. What would you like to know?

Lucy James. You wouldn’t be that detective I’ve read about in the paper?

Possibly. What have you read?

You discovered the forgeries at the art museum last year and I believe you also found all those World War II gems belonging to a wealthy Jewish family back East. She batted pretty brown eyes at me.

One and the same. Lucy James, sleuth extraordinaire at your service.

Wow! She clapped her hands in delight. Just wow! I’ve never met a detective before, especially a famous one.

My talents are many, I bragged. Did you hear I found a runaway horse made famous in an Indian legend?

No, but tell me the story. We’ve got time.

During a lunch that sped by as quickly as the food we ate and the words we spoke, I felt a kinship to this beautiful woman named Sylvia Silverstone. I learned she owned an antique shop in downtown Reno not far from my office and was also, she shyly admitted, a trust fund baby.

Really? A trust fund baby? A blush crept up her neck. I assume you’re buying lunch then.

She blotted her lips with a napkin. Of course, and you must meet my grandmother. Oh, you’d love her! She’s traveled all over the world many times and has stories about treasure, buried or not, that will have you clamoring for more.

She sounds like a hoot. I’d love to meet her.

Really, Lucy. Her cheery tone quieted to serious. She’d told me hair-raising tales I’m not so sure are just tall ones. I think she actually experienced the crazy things she’s told me.

I felt my brows lowering. Why would you doubt her?

My mother told me she liked to tease, always trying to pull one over on people. Between my nay-saying mother and my storytelling grandmother, I’m not sure who to believe.

How long has she been telling you these stories about her past?

She waved a graceful hand at me. Since I was a little girl. I loved going to Grandmother’s house because she’d let me play with her jewelry and wear her elegant clothes from when she was a young woman.

Would that have been in the 1930s?

Around that time, sure.

So the clothing was cool.

Cool? She grabbed her glass, drinking down her last drop of wine with a flourish. Cool doesn’t begin to describe both her period clothing and her delectable jewelry.

So we’re talking sparkling evening dresses, backless and to the floor?

Oh, yes, she gushed. Slinky satin gowns and diamonds to melt Harry Winston’s cold heart.

An interesting image. Tell me more about the jewelry.

Where to begin? Her eyes shot up toward the ceiling as if a necklace was glued up there. She has a breathtaking Cartier ring with a tiger’s face made of gold and sapphires. Then there’s a Gatsby-style antique pearl bracelet with diamonds and cameos carved of onyx.

My attention couldn’t be pried away from her enthusiasm.

Oh, she has so many gorgeous pieces—all locked away in a vault, of course… She shot me a look and I threw up my hands in defense.

Hey, I’m a defender of jewelry, not a thief. Your grandmother’s secret is safe with me.

I gathered that, but Lucy, I’m sincerely worried about her.

Why?

She has this incredible pink diamond ring that’s going on the auction block in Sotheby’s next year.

The big auction house?

Yes.

London or New York?

New York.

Why is she selling it?

Her face twisted into confusion. I’m not really sure. It’s her prize possession, probably more than twenty carats. I know it’s not the largest pink diamond sold ever, but it’s flawless and must be worth a fortune.

Mined in Africa?

So the story goes. She claimed her husband, my long-since departed grandfather, gave it to her for their tenth anniversary. Grandmother rarely takes it out of the vault, but she would let me play with it from time to time.

Sounds fabulous.

It really is.

She had a pet name for the stone.

What?

She smiled. Grandmother called it the Pink Carbuncle.

When I chuckled, she laughed. I know it sounds awful, but an older definition of carbuncle is ‘a stone with magical properties’. It’s in medieval texts from the twelfth-century that the stones were used for indoor lighting.

Lighting?

Yes, I read up on it. A priest in Charlemagne’s palace claimed that at either end of the palace, golden apples sat above the roof-ridge and held carbuncles sparkling in the night. The stone was also said to have healing powers.

I bit down too hard on my lip and tasted a drop of blood. This was a strange conversation.

Sylvia, we just met and I could be a cat burglar, for all you know. Maybe you should watch who you tell this stuff to.

She laughed heartily. Oh, Lucy. It’s not like I can’t find you if I need you. Google can find anyone, right?

And online and on road signs and the occasional newspaper ad.

See? You’re harmless.

Well, I’d never been called ‘harmless’ before. Wonder what my dad would say…Larry James, host of a local children’s television show and naysayer of my detective career.

And now, she scoffed. I’ve rendered you speechless. Picking up her credit card, she glanced at her watch. I’ve got to take off, but it’s been such fun meeting you, Lucy. Let’s do this again.

I rose as Sylvia gathered her things. I’d like that. I handed over a business card. In case you can’t find me on any of those other sights, here’s my phone number.

Her smile lit up the restaurant. You’re a treasure. We’ll talk soon.

When she strode away on heels too high for me, lustful eyes of every male in the place slid her way. She’d attract attention at night wearing dark clothing covering her from head to toe. A classy dame, as Sam Spade might say. He’s another detective I idolized nearly as much as Sherlock Holmes. Nearly.

Chapter 2

When the memory faded, I was still sitting at my kitchen table. An irritating ringtone burst from the phone lodged in my hand. The darn thing was attached to me today, but I guess some days are like that.

Lucy James.

Lucy. Thank God you’re there.

Sylvia! What’s wrong? You sound frantic.

I am.

Stop a minute to catch your breath. If you’re going to tell me something I need to be able to understand you. Right now, you sound like a breathy Minnie Mouse.

I didn’t want her alarmed, but I needed clarity for whatever she was going to tell me. Many clients and would-be clients start their initial conversations so rattled that I can’t understand them. Experience has taught me that Sylvia definitely had something to say.

The phone line was full of puffing and slight panting. I waited until the noise calmed and she came back on the line sounding more like herself.

All right. I think I’m calm now.

Good. Tell me slowly what’s going on.

When she took a deep breath I knew I’d made my point.

It’s my grandmother.

What about her?

She’s dead.

Wow, I asked for clarity, but I didn’t realize I’d get stone cold facts right off the bat.

She passed away?

No. Sylvia took another quick inhale and let it out slowly before answering. She was murdered.

Murdered? My voice shot up too high, another Minnie Mouse rendition. I lowered my voice and my reason. You said she was murdered? Are you sure?

No, but it makes the most sense.

Um…

Lucy, could we get together? I need to talk to you about this and it can’t wait. Are you free now?

I am. Let’s meet at my office. It’s downtown on Virginia Street right across from the Circus Circus Casino. The sign in the window says James Investigations, and I’m right next to a pawnshop.

I can be there in twenty minutes.

Okay. That’ll give me enough time to get the coffee brewing.

Make it strong.

Gotcha.

Snow from last night’s storm coated the streets of Reno with a good two inches of sticky, wet fluff with more coming down. Generally, sunshine melted most of the snow from roadways and residential yards, but not now. The snow kept coming down, steadily with no sound and little fury. Hour after hour, white flakes fell like in those toy snow globes you can shake and watch mesmerized. This was no fantasy, however. Snow covered my boots and winter coat in no time. I’d snagged a parking place in front of my office and slogged in with my breath coming out like smoky wisps.

I stamped my boots inside the door, managing to throw snow on my bedraggled fake hardwood floor. Shrugging off my coat onto a filing cabinet, I checked the thermostat to see why it was so cold in here. Brrr. One glance told me my lackluster furnace was once again on the fritz and I’d have to make another call to my less than helpful landlord.

After cleaning the coffee pot, I discovered I was out of filters and would have to make do with towels…again. Domestic chores were not up my alley. You know, things like grocery shopping and vacuuming. Undaunted, I managed to make do with the coffee situation and had the pot chugging along sweetening the air with the smell of freshly brewed coffee by the time Sylvia made her appearance. The pungent aroma made me feel safe for a nostalgic reason. My mother always had a pot going when I came home from school. Since she’d passed away a few years ago, these small remembrances put a smile on my face. I inhaled deeply and was looking for my cup when Sylvia breezed through the door.

I slogged. Sylvia breezed.

She was also frantic. We’d just met, so I didn’t know her that well, granted, but from the little I did know, the Sylvia who came to my office today wasn’t the Sylvia she usually resembled. Her fingers were red from the cold and she wiped them down her coat.

Where are your gloves?

She glanced down at her stiff fingers as if she just remembered them. Oh, I… She shook her head. I forgot, I guess.

Coffee?

Yes, please.

The steaming cup trembled before reaching her lips. She looked rooted to the spot, so I quietly asked her to take a seat.

Though she stared at me, I had the feeling she wasn’t seeing me, but some scene that was playing out in her conflicted brain.

Sylvia? You okay? She didn’t look okay.

What? Her cup dipped in her hand, spilling coffee on her coat.