Cedar Locke and the Missing Brooch

          “My grandma always said that rain would keep the thieves at home.” His voice sounded rusty, unused. “But I’ve never believed that. Gives them more cover, I reckon.”

          The figure stopped at a door, seemed to fumble with something in their pocket, before opening it. The light inside lit up their faces, which Cedar knew. It was only Samuel, the grocer’s lad. Cedar turned away from the window and paced the room, five steps enough to cover the distance from wall to wall. The floorboards groaned beneath his weight and the rain continued to fall.

          Five years, he thought. Five years since Elise had disappeared. He had seen neither hide nor hair of her since then. It had rained that night as well. He knew that if Elise didn’t want to be found, she would stay hidden. A family trait.

          There was a knock at the door and it was pushed open. Ms. Graychart stood in the frame, holding a pen imperiously in one hand and pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose with the other.

          “We’ve had an enquiry,” she began, seemingly unperturbed by the rain and wind outside. “It comes with generous remuneration and expenses.”

          Cedar paused in his pacing and looked at Ms. Graychart, appraising her. She returned his gaze with equanimity.

          “An enquiry? From whom?”

          “Lady Ashbury,” she said in a flat voice, “She’s concerned about a missing brooch. She claims its quite valuable, even putting aside any sentimentality.”

          Cedar felt his muscles loosen. There was always a missing piece of jewelry somewhere, and it was usually found safely ensconced down the back of chair somewhere. Rarely, some member or other of household staff had taken it.

          “Not interested,” he said bluntly, “Tell her to ask the cleaner. They’ll either have it, or they’ll be able to find it somewhere.”

          “Apparently they’ve searched the staff and the house from attic to cellar. It’s nowhere to be found. Lady Ashbury suspects it may have been taken during their annual Winter Ball.”

          Cedar huffed. Outside, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. Elise had loved the Ashbury’s soirées, at least when she could persuade some eager aristocrat to take her along. He looked away from Ms. Graychart.

          “I’m still not interested. It’s always the same. Brooches and necklaces and bracelets and trinkets and other gaudy knickknacks to declare wealth. Nothing of substance. Nothing that matters.”

          “That’s not for me to say. But we haven’t had much other work come our way, and we might want to pay the rent this month.”

          There was a pause.

          “Fine. You can tell Lady Ashbury that I’ll be over to see her in the morning.”

          “There’s no need sir. I’ve already accepted the job. She’s waiting in reception.”

          Cedar stepped over to the half-frosted partition between his office and the adjoining room. Reception was a grand name for the space, he thought. It was just large enough to admit a desk for Ms. Graychart, upon which a typewriter sat, and a couple of upright chairs of leather. Lady Ashbury was seated in one, holding a piece of cloth in one hand - a handkerchief perhaps - which she was folding and lifting it to dab one eye and unfolding in turn. Cedar grimaced slightly, braced himself and placed one hand on the doorknob, before turning it open and stepping through. Lady Ashbury rose in one smooth motion to greet him. The glow from the gas lamp lit a face of delicate, but still striking features. Her skin pale against the dark fabric of her gown.

          “Mr. Locke,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

          “Sorry for the circumstances,” replied Locke gruffly. He took her proffered hand and gave it a gentle, but firm shake, gesturing her to sit down. “I understand you have already spoken with Ms. Graychart”

          “Oh yes, she was most understanding and accommodating.”

          “I’m sure. Please, tell me what you know.”

          Lady Ashbury paused, turning to look out of the window. The rain fell and splashed and thudded into the window, the cascading rivulets spluttering down the pane. Cedar noticed his secretary slipping behind the desk. Her fingers hovered over the typewriter expectantly.

          “It was only yesterday evening. Our annual Winter Ball. We had decided to make it a quiet affair this year, only our closest friends and associates. The theme was Explorers and Adventurers. I had originally intended to wear the brooch, but decided against it at the last moment. It was originally a gift you know, from my late father-in-law. He claims to have found it in the Lost Desert, near the shrine of King Coltzan III himself. I have my doubts about that story, but it is certainly the most beautiful thing. Why, I even…”

          “I must apologise,” interrupted Cedar, leaning forward slightly, “but perhaps we could focus upon the theft itself?”

          “Of course, of course. Where was I? Oh yes. I decided against wearing the brooch, it clashed with the color of the gown, and it didn’t really suit the style of the ensemble. I placed it on the dressing table. I finished putting myself together. Then I left the room, locking the windows and door as I went, and went downstairs to greet the first guests. I didn’t return to the bedroom until after the end of the ball. It is always more graceful if the lady of the house is first to retire, so that the guests do not feel required to stay beyond their abilities. That’s when I first noticed it was missing. I knew there and then that it had been stolen. My husband, Lord Daniel Ashbury, thought I had perhaps just knocked it off, but he and Barnsley turned that room upside down and couldn’t find it. Today, we searched everywhere and everyone, but it has simply vanished.”

          “Was there anything else of value left in the room, apart from the brooch?”

          “Most certainly. My pearls and some other pieces of jewelry were in the top drawer and Danny has a very elegant cufflink collection of various precious stones. The strange thing is that nothing else was taken.”

          There was a tightening around Cedar’s lips. A theft of opportunity perhaps?

          “What did you do with the key during the ball?”

          “It was on a chain around my neck. I always keep it that way during any do.”

          “Was the door locked on your return?”

          “Yes”, said Lady Ashbury firmly. “I distinctly remember that.”

          “Do you have any spare keys? Did anyone have the opportunity to take yours?”

          “We only have one other key for that bedroom. My dear Danny carries it with him. I very much doubt somebody could have taken my own and returned it without my noticing.”

          “Quite, quite.” said Locke, although he knew of at least three members of the Thieves’ Guild who could very happily do just that. It was, however, unlikely that they would be attending a high class ball, particularly one with no semi-anonymous crowd to hide in. He brooded for a moment, his fingers interlocked with one another and a furrow formed in his brow.

          “Could you describe the brooch?”

          “Naturally. It’s a fairly classic Sahkmetian design, taking the shape of a scarab with a polished silver or platinum body and extending wings of sandstone and gold. The wings sweep backwards towards the base. I’m afraid, we have never had it properly appraised. You see, there is no chance of our selling it, and we take every precaution to keep it safe.”

          Cedar was silent, holding back his thoughts on the Ashbury’s security procedures. Nonetheless, it sounded like a valuable ornament. Gaudy, perhaps, but valuable.

          “Is it insured?” he enquired. There was a long pause and a heavy sigh.

          “No”, came the response eventually. “But only because it has irreplaceable value to us. Insurance would not be able to bring back the memories it holds. We thought it best to save the money for, well, for an investigator like yourself if the worst should happen.”

          Cedar raised one eyebrow, before letting it relax again.

          “Interesting choice,” he said, tapping his fingers lightly together, “Why not take extra measures? Keep it secure in a safe or the like?”

          Lady Ashbury shifted in her seat, her expression shifting between sorrow and resignation.

          “We normally do take such precautions, Mr. Locke. We have a private safety deposit box at the Bank of Neopia, where it usually rests. We only bring it out for special occasions, such as the Winter Ball. As I said, I had been planning on wearing it, but decided against it. I regret that decision now. Even so, the door to our bedroom is as secure as any bank - of that I am sure. In any event, I believed it would be safe in my own home, during a gathering of trusted friends and a retinue of loyal employees. I still find it hard to believe that something like this has happened. It’s why I would prefer it if you were able to handle this matter delicately.”

          There was another long pause, punctuated by the howls of the wind and the drone of rain and the gentle tapping of the typewriter. Ms. Graychart was evidently doing her best to keep a note of all that was said.

          “I’ll need a list of who was there last night”, said Cedar.

          “That will be no problem,” said Lady Ashbury. She opened a handbag that was perched on the ground next to her, pulled out a piece of paper and passed it over. “I thought you might ask. Here is the original invitation list, although I note that the Count and Countess of Trestin sent their apologies. All the staff are permanent, and will be there during the day tomorrow.”

          Cedar took the list from Lady Ashbury and scanned down. It was a select group, but all members of the who’s who of Northern Neopia. No name stood out in particular.

          “Thank you,” he said, “I’ll be over first thing in the morning. It’s unlikely that we’ll be able to find anything in this weather.”

          “It is I who should be thanking you,” said Lady Ashbury, standing up, her handbag clutched between both hands. She still carried the now folded handkerchief in one palm. Cedar heard the chair of Ms. Graychat scraped the floor as she moved to the door to open it.

          As she was leaving, Lady Ashbury turned back to Cedar, who had deigned to bow his head slightly in a gesture of farewell.

          “One more thing,” she said. Cedar looked up at her through heavy eyebrows. “I would suggest speaking with Barnsley, my footman, upon your arrival. She was stood at the bottom of the stairs all evening, and would have noticed anyone heading to the upper floors. I do hate to think that any invited guest could have been responsible, but I suppose we must consider all avenues.”

          Lady Ashbury sniffed, before exiting the office and heading down the corridor towards the deluge outside. Ms. Graychart returned to the room.

          “I do hope she has an umbrella”, she said. Cedar thought there was a slightly fretful note to her voice.

          “I’m sure that there will be some chauffeur or another ready and waiting for her in the porch”, replied Cedar dismissively.

          “And what if there isn’t? She’ll catch a chill.”

          “Then let her catch a chill”, Cedar muttered in response. His mind had already turned to the problem at hand. Missing valuables. A locked room. A limited pool of suspects. It was every detective’s dream. And yet… Cedar shifted uneasily. He didn’t have the right questions yet, let alone any answers. They would have to wait for tomorrow.

          “Can you get that initial report finished up tonight?” he asked Ms. Graychart. She nodded in response, through pursed lips that clearly expressed their disapproval of Cedar’s attitude. Cedar ignored this, and retired to his office to stare out into the storm where the rain pelted and the air sparked.

          To be continued…