Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

catastrophe would strike his family.”
    I vibrated like crazy on “catastrophe.”
    “So naturally the man kept the pearl, which was known far and wide ever after as the biggest pearl in the whole world. He could never sell it even though in 1971—no, I think it was 1972—no, ’71. In 1971 the Guinness Book of World Records said it was worth four million dollars.” Her stage presence dissolved. “You think that puts it in the grand theft category?”
    “Whew. I’d say so. But, sweetheart, you didn’t steal the Pearl of Allah, did you?”
    “No, but I bet the one I got is worth plenty. I mean if it
is
a pearl. Whoever heard of a pearl as big as a Ping-Pong ball?”
    “Just about nobody, I guess. So where did you get this pearl of great price?” I tried to keep my voice casual.
    She pleated the coverlet. “From Ricky.”
    “Ricky? The model-maker?”
    “I was going to put it back! I was always going to put it back!”
    “Okay, take it easy, honey. Just tell me what happened, and you’ll feel better, I promise.”
    She kept looking at her ever-smaller pleats. All she gave me to look at was the top of her head.
    “Well, Amber and I wanted to play Ping-Pong, but there weren’t any balls. And she had to go to the bathroom, so she told me there were some balls out in the garage. I found this paper bag with six-packs in it—you know what they look like? They’re like a piece of cardboard and then a plastic thing on the balls.”
    “You mean plastic with little pockets? Like the way they package small toys?”
    “Uh-huh. Only one of them had a ball in it that wasn’t a ball. I only noticed because I pulled it out first. It didn’t feel right. It was heavy.” Finally she looked up, wanting to make contact. “I saw a picture of the Pearl of Allah when I was doing my report. You know why it’s called that?”
    I shook my head.
    “It’s supposed to look like Mohammed’s turban. But it really looks just like a brain. And so did this one. There it was, just lying there, in my hand.
Looking exactly like the Pearl of Allah
! Only smaller.”
    Her eyes were shining with treasure-lust; she wouldn’t be the first person to have had a sudden criminal impulse regarding a great gem. “I wanted to have it for a little while.”
    “I know, honey.”
    “I asked Sadie if it was real, and she said she’d have to do some research on it, and then—she got
killed
! What if it really is real and somebody found out she had it and they killed her for it?”
    I decided to confront her fear head-on: “It wouldn’t be your fault, honey. It wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t! Do you believe me?”
    She nodded, looking down.
    “No, you don’t. That’s really why you wanted to drown, wasn’t it? Because you think that?”
    The small head bent once more.
    “And that’s why you sent your dad back to get the pearl—I mean, the white thing. Because if it was in Sadie’s desk, or her house, then that would mean she couldn’t have been killed for it. Right?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Okay, I’ll find out.”
    “You will?”
    “Somehow or other, I will.”
    “And you won’t tell anybody?”
    That was another matter. “Not tonight. I can promise you that much.”
    “You said you wouldn’t tell anybody, ever! You said you could get in trouble with the bar.”
    Okay. All right, already.
    “Well, I did and I won’t. But I want to give you a chance to sleep on it. Maybe things will look different in the morning, and you’ll feel like talking the whole thing over with your dad by then. Could you think about that?”
    “I guess so.”
    “There’s one other thing that worries me. Did you tell Amber about the white thing?”
    “No.”
    “Why do you think she’s grounded?”
    She spoke reluctantly. “I think Ricky thinks she took it.”
    “Don’t you think we need to get her off the hook?”
    Tears spilled out of her eyes. “Oh, Rebecca, she’ll never be my friend again!”
    “Sure she will.” But I thought she’d gone as far as she could for one night. “Listen, let’s talk more about it in the morning, shall we?” I patted her leg.
    “Okay. Could you send Libby up now?”
    Her face was completely innocent of worry. If confession is good for the adult soul, it’s a positive transfusion for the youthful one. The idea that this girl, now ready to play Barbies with her friend, had tried to kill herself that afternoon seemed ridiculous.
    Her dad, on the other hand, was now looking ready to take his own