Stuart Woods - Family Jewels

“What is it?”

Gala picked up the piece: it was a high choker made of diamonds and rubies. “I don’t believe it.”

“What don’t you believe?”

Carrie took him by the hand and led him back into the bedroom, where she flipped through the pages of the Klimt book until she found the portrait she was looking for.

“The Woman in Gold,” Stone said. “I’ve seen it at the Neue Galerie.”

Gala pointed at the necklace in the portrait. “Look at this,” she said, holding up the choker next to the portrait. “Did you see the film about the painting?”

“No.”

“Along with this portrait and other Klimts, the Nazis stole this choker from the family, and it ended up on the neck of Mrs. Hermann Goering.”

“You think it’s the real thing?”

“Let’s go back to the safe.” She led him back to the dressing room and opened a small door inside the safe. There was a stack of papers inside, and Gala riffed through them. “Receipts,” she said, “some of them going back to the twenties.” She pulled out a yellowed envelope, which bore the legend Bijoux Blume, Rue St.-Honoré, Paris . “How’s your French?” she asked.

“Poor.”

“I’ll translate — it was sold to one A. L. Fiske, in 1946. It was made by Blume from the original design drawings of the choker depicted in Klimt’s Woman in Gold . The diamonds are all certified as flawless, as are the rubies.”

“Do you suppose the jeweler is still there?”

Gala produced her iPhone and Googled the shop. “No mention of it. This receipt is dated more than sixty years ago.”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Stone said. “Does anybody know where the original necklace is?”

Gala did some more Googling. “Apparently, the last time it was seen, Mrs. Goering was wearing it.” She read on. “As the Russians approached Carinhall, Goering’s hunting lodge, he removed his belongings and burned the place to the ground. I wonder where he took them?”

“That would have been right at the end of the war,” Stone said. “I don’t think he would have taken them to Berlin.”

“Switzerland,” Gala said. “I’ll bet he got everything to Switzerland.” She read on. “Goering was Hitler’s deputy and was supposed to succeed him on his death. He sent Hitler a message saying that, if he didn’t hear from him shortly, he would assume command of the Reich in Hitler’s name, as Hitler had earlier provided. Martin Bormann intercepted the message and convinced Hitler that Goering was attempting a coup, so in his will, Hitler dismissed Goering from all his posts. Goering had fled to his retreat on the Obersalzberg, and he was then moved to Radstadt, near Salzburg, in Austria, where he was arrested by the U.S. Army. There’s no mention of his personal property.”

Stone looked carefully at the necklace. “There’s something engraved here, but it’s too small for my eyes.”

Gala peered at it. “Mine too.”

Stone found a small velvet bag in the safe and dropped the choker into it and put it into his jacket pocket. He pocketed the Blume receipt, as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, closing the safe and spinning the wheel. As they emerged from the elevator the man at the desk motioned him over.

“Ms. Fiske’s former husband was just here,” he said. “He wanted to collect some of his things from the apartment. I told him you were here, and he said he’d come back later.”

“If Mr. Biggers returns, please deny him entrance to the apartment, then call the police and tell them he was here. I am Ms. Fiske’s executor, and you are not to admit anyone to the apartment without written permission from me.” He gave the man his card. “Let’s go,” he said to Carrie.

They got into a cab, and Stone got out his cell phone. “Excuse me a moment, I’ve got to call my security guy.” He pressed the speed dial and waited.

“Bob Cantor.”

“Bob, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to go to the following address.” Stone read it to him. “I want the locks to all the exterior doors rekeyed, and make sure you find all of them on both floors. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You can leave one key with the super, and tell him he’s not to admit anyone without written permission from me. Also, check out the security system, then call the managing company and change the entry and exit codes to the number 1946. Also, change the cancellation code, in the event of a false alarm, to Bob.”

“Like my name?”

“Sort of.”

“How many keys you want?”

“Send me a dozen. Then I want you to go to East Hampton.” He gave him the address of the beach house. “Stop by my place on your way, and Joan will give you keys to both properties and a letter of authorization.”

“Okay.”

“You know somebody who does what you do in Palm Beach, Florida?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Same instructions to him.” He gave Bob the address. “The housekeeper’s name is Hazel, and he can give three keys to her, then FedEx another dozen to me. Joan will call Hazel and let her know he’s coming. And get it done fast, will you?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Thanks, Bob.” Stone hung up, then looked up a number in his list of contacts and called it.

“Paul Eckstein.”

“Paul, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“How are you, Stone?”

“Very well, thanks. I have a very large appraisal and cataloging assignment for you.”

“As large as the Bianchi estate?”

“Larger. Can you come to my house this morning? I’ll give you the details.”

“Certainly. I can be there in an hour.”

“That’s fine. And Paul, please bring a loupe with you.”

“I never go anywhere without one.”

Stone hung up. “Now we’ll get this show on the road.”

Back at his office, Stone buzzed Joan. “Please print me up a hundred letterheads, ‘The Estate of Carrie Fiske,’ using this address and adding my name as executor and trustee.” He gave her the keys to the apartment and beach house. “Bob Cantor will be here soon. Give these to him. Paul Eckstein will be here, too. Send him in. And write me two ‘To Whom It May Concern’ letters, mentioning Bob in one and Paul and his assignees in the other, saying that they are authorized to be admitted to the Fiske premises on my authority as executor.”

Joan went back to her office.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Gala said, “I have a screenplay to work on.”

“I’ll send you up some lunch later.”

She vanished into the elevator.

Bob Cantor arrived, picked up the keys and his letter, and left. Paul Eckstein was right on his heels.

“Come in, Paul, and have a seat.”

Eckstein did so. “Well, what do you have for me? I’m all excited.”

“Does the name Carrie Fiske ring a bell?”

“Vaguely. Socialite?”

“In a big way. She was murdered near Santa Fe a few days ago, and she was my client.”

“Murdered? By whom?”

“The principal suspect is her ex-husband, Harvey Biggers.”

“That rings a faint bell, too. Financial guy, very big?”

“Yes.”

“Carrie had three residences.” He handed Paul a sheet of paper with the addresses. “The East Hampton house is about what you’d expect around Georgica Pond. There’s some good contemporary art — I saw a couple of very nice Hockneys — but the Palm Beach and New York residences, as you can tell by the addresses, are prime, and the contents of each contain the collections of three generations, and are something to behold — furniture, silver, jewelry, and art. I want the three appraisals as furnished, but I want to have the option of auctioning an impressive number of pieces of American antique furniture and the better paintings, so make separate appraisals of each.”