“It’s cursed?” She read a few lines.
“Anyone not of royal blood dies if they possess the tiara,” Everett wiggled his index finger at the file. “There are a couple newspaper clippings that back that up, and some photocopies of a missionary’s diary that’s also relevant.”
Ivy read for a while. Some of the newsprint had browned and become brittle. “You think it’s cursed?”
“Absolutely not.” Everett flipped a few file folders around. “It goes to chain of evidence. Well, provenance in this case.”
“And Gus Beranger is still alive,” Ivy pointed out.
“He doesn’t own it. The tiara is held in a trust for the museum. Technically, no one owns it. Pretty clever way to avoid a curse.”
Perhaps it was, Ivy mused. But she was eager to get on with it. “What’s our next step?”
He stacked up files and handed them to her. “We interview people with access to Beranger’s home vault.”
Ivy hefted the folders. “All these people?”
“There’s a guard posted on the vault twenty-four-seven for starters.” Everett leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “The vault is in the east wing of Beranger’s residence. The east wing is also the offices for his import business. Four employees work out of the office. Plus, he has a staff for the house, butler, maid, cook, all of whom also have some access. Then there’s family, a wife, two kids from a previous marriage who are mostly off on their own. Other employees, warehouse foremen, lawyers, money managers, make regular visits to that part of the house.”
Ivy balked at the enormity of the task. “We have to talk with all these people?”
“We should probably consider Beranger’s rivals. Robert Ripley can get scratched. But import-export can get pretty cutthroat, and it can draw a certain criminal element. Smugglers, human traffickers, drug dealers—some might be out to put Beranger Import out of business, and some might want to steal a valuable object.”
“Is there some way to narrow it down?”
Everett nodded at the pounds of paper in her hands. “Do some homework. Read through the background and see if anything sticks out. We’ll hit anyone looking a little suspicious up early on.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“Interview the house staff and employees working in the east wing. I’d like to get on it first thing tomorrow.”
Ivy plopped the files on the desk. “Hang on a second. Why do you need me for any of this? I don’t have the first clue what I’m doing.”
Everett took his hands from behind his head. He put his elbows on the desk. “Honestly, I don’t need you for any of this. But someone convinced Beranger that we two are a team.”
Why this idea felt so attractive, Ivy couldn’t say. She would be assisting on a real life case. There was still her shop to consider. Someone had to man the cash register during the day. Still struggling internally, she scooped up the file folders. “I guess I’m in.”
“Great. Keep track of your hours.”
That gave her pause. “Are you paying me for this?”
“No, I’m claiming the hours as an expense.”
She felt her face screw up. “What do I get out of this?”
“You get to ride around in a rare muscle car and act like an authority figure. Take it or leave it.”
***
She trooped out to her truck, encumbered by the stack of files. Is this what detective work was? It was no wonder everyone didn’t do it. It seemed like much more fun on TV.
Ivy grabbed some Cuban take-out on her way home. Halfway there, she decided to head to Light House instead. Tomorrow she could indulge in some fish and chips. For the time being, she was certain her mama knew something about cursed tiaras. Mama was an expert on local lore and history.
She sent Blanche a text while sitting at a red light. Her cousin texted back that supper was long done and there were no leftovers. Ivy unwrapped her frita sandwich and ate it on the way.
Chapter 4
“Tell me everything.” Blanche sat in the parlor with the Bitty Committee watching reruns of Expedition Unknown. Aunt Abitha had a thing for Josh Gates, but Ivy thought he sounded a little too much like Kermit the Frog.
Their current stray cat crawled up in Ivy’s lap as she sat in a recliner. “Not much to tell, really. Someone stole an artifact from Gus Beranger’s private vault, and we’re supposed to figure out who did it and where it is.”
“Gus Beranger—the guy who owns the Grand Odditorium?” Blanche gave her a sideways look of concern. “You were nearly killed there by those magic parasites.”
An image of the shambling, cobweb-covered creatures popped into Ivy’s brain. She did her best to push it away. “Hopefully, we won’t spend a lot of time in the museum.”
“What was it that got stolen, sugar?” Mama asked.
“Pirate treasure. Sort of.” Ivy fished through her stack of folders. She came up with a photo of the tiara.
Mama put on her glasses. “Sakes, is that the Treasure Fleet tiara?”
To Ivy’s chagrin, she didn’t actually know what it was called. “It’s supposed to be cursed.”
“It most certainly is!” Mama sat back in her chair, hands folded, getting into lecture mode. “In 1715, a hurricane sunk twelve ships loaded with silver plate and treasure down near Vero Beach. Part of the booty was a collection of gifts from the king of Spain to his future wife. That included the tiara. Havana smiths created the tiara from the gold and silver of several Aztec death whistles.”
Auntie Abitha stole her eyes from Josh Gates in a wet suit. “Did you say death whistles?”
“They weren’t verified until archeologists dug up several samples in 1990 at the burial site of a human sacrifice.” Mama started warming up.
Moira shimmered into view on the couch. “Yawn!” she said.
“When the whistle is blown, it makes a sound like a human death shriek.” Mama smiled. “They’re even shaped like little human skulls. Isn’t that clever?”
Ivy wasn’t sure clever was the word. “So the jewelers melted the whistles down and made a crown.” She tried to get Mama back on track.
“Let me see that picture.” Aunt Abitha looked it over. “Wow, that’s quite a stone. Looks like a padparadscha sapphire, maybe sixty, seventy carats worth.”
“The stone was called the Demon’s Gaze, and it was stolen from a temple in Sri Lanka a hundred years before the tiara was made.” Mama took the photo from Abitha. “Just add the gold and silver from human sacrifice whistles and you have a recipe for disaster. It sank eleven ships in 1715, and killed fifteen hundred sailors.”
“Snore!” Moira shouted from the couch. Blanche gave the ghost a hard look. Ivy listened to her Mama.
“How do you know that this tiara sank all those ships?” Abitha said. “They were loaded with silver, and a bunch of fancy jewelry for the future queen of Spain.”
Ivy opened the folder. “Well, the tiara does have a history. The tiara was rescued from the wreck by an Indian diver hired by the Spanish. As he rose to the surface, the tiara in his hand, he was bitten in half by a large fish. It was then taken by a salvage captain for shipment to Havana. But he was killed by British pirates from out of Jamaica when they raided the salvage ships. The pirate Archibald Oldershaw—”