Angels Fall

use my innate reporter's skills to find out more about Deena Black. First, we'll browse around some of the local jewelry stores. We may find out where he bought the necklace."
    "Oh, that's a good one. A little mother-of-pearl moon on a gold chain, possibly with diamonds. How many jewelry stores are in Jackson?"
    "I'm afraid we're going to find out."

    TOO MANY, was Brody's opinion after the first hour, especially when you added in the craft and specialty stores that carried jewelry. He'd never understood the need for people to hang metal and stone all over their bodies, but since they'd been doing so since the dawn of time, he didn't expect the activity to go out of fashion.
    He was, however, relieved that the back-of-his-mind fear that Reece would surrender to the need to  browse  wasn't realized. She didn't suc-cumbb to the temptation that he believed plagued her breed to  just try this on  . A woman who could stay focused on a task when having her senses blasted with glitter and shine was, in his opinion, a hell of a woman.
    Now and then he'd see her gaze track offerings, but she stayed on point. He respected that. Particularly when he noticed other men suffering in silence while their women cooed and drooled and hummed over baubles and bits.
    His respect and pleasure was such that he stopped along their walking route, pulled her up against him and kissed her enthusiastically.
    "Nice. Why?"
    "'Because you're a sensible, straightforward woman."
    "Okay. Why?"
    "This business would take twice as long, at least, if you were the type who had to stop and make girl noises at every shop window or display. Taking long enough anyway, but this way we're moving along."
    "True." She slipped her hand into his as they headed for the next shop. "I also try to be an honest woman, so I should tell you the only reason I'm not stopping and making what you condescendingly term  'girl noises' is because I can't afford to buy anything. And I'm out of the habit. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't if I could, or that I haven't noticed particularly appealing items. Like the black two-and-a-half-inch ankle boots—I think they were crocodile—two shops back, and the tourmaline earrings on white gold hoops in the last shop. Or—"
    "You  were  browsing."
    "In my limited fashion."
    "My illusions are shattered."

    "Better to know the truth now." She gave his hand a friendly squeeze. "Anyway, at this point I'd rather have a set of Sitram than tourmaline."
    "Sitram?"
    "Cookware."
    "You've got pots."
    "Yeah, that's just what I've got. What I don't have is heavy-gauge stainless with a thermic copper core base. If I actually sell the cookbook, Sitram's first on my list. Did you buy anything wonderful when you sold your first book?"
    "New laptop, loaded."
    "There you are. Tools are tools. This place looks like a good possibility. Upscale," Reece continued, scanning the window display. "The real deal. If Deena was telling it straight about the eighteen karats and the diamonds, this could be the place."
    It was, Brody noted on entering, a bit more rarefied than most of the shops they'd visited. A woman with luxuriant auburn hair and a smart leather jacket sat at a table studying some sparklers on black velvet while she sipped from a thimble-sized cup. The man who sat across from her spoke in hushed, somewhat reverent tones.
    Another woman in stvüsh red came out Iron) behind a counter with a winning smile. "Good afternoon, and welcome to Delvechio's. Is there anything you'd like me to show you?"
    "Actually, we're looking for a specific piece." Reece began. "A necklace. A moon symbol pendant in mother-of-pearl. Diamonds spaced along the chain."
    "We had something along those lines a few months ago. Lovely piece. While we don't have anything quite like that now, it may be possible to design something similar for you.
    "You sold it?"
    "I don't believe I sold it personally, but it was sold."
    "You'd have a record of the purchase?"
    The winning smile shifted down several notches. "Perhaps you'd like to speak with Mr. Delveehio personally. He's with a client now." She gestured toward the customer. "If you'd like to wait and speak with him about a design, you're welcome to do so. Would you like some coffee, tea, espresso?" Before they could answer, the redhead rose. With a light laugh she leaned over and gave Delvechio—a distinguished type with pewter hair and horn-rims—a peck on both cheeks.
    "They're perfect, as always, Marco. You knew I couldn't