Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

light to a better angle, and looked again.
    “What are you looking for?” Sam asked.
    “Pear-shaped bubbles or curved growth lines,” she said absently. “They’re sure signs of a synthetic.”
    “See any?” he pressed.
    “Not yet.”
    Sam gave his captive a sideways look that was just short of predatory.
    The dealer set aside the loupe. “I have a spectroscope on the counter behind me…?”
    “Sure, use it,” Sam said. “I want to be real certain. Unless it will harm the stone.”
    “None of the tests I use are destructive to the gem.”
    “You have a microscope too?” Kate asked.
    “Of course.”
    “Then just cut to the chase,” Kate said. “If the stone is a Chatham synthetic, you’ll still get the black bar at four hundred and fifty on the spectroscope, just like a natural.”
    The dealer gave Kate a speculative look and passed up the spectroscope for the binocular microscope. She set it on the countertop, put the sapphire in the stone holder, and bent over the eyepieces.
    “What will that tell you?” Sam asked his captive.
    “If she uses that microscope very carefully—”
    “I’m GIA certified,” the dealer interrupted mildly. “I know how to use a microscope.” She glanced up at Kate. “What am I going to see?”
    “Hexagonal or triangular platinum platelets,” Kate said succinctly.
    The dealer looked at Sam. “Why are you wasting my time? Your girlfriend knows more about sapphires than most of the people in this room.”
    “He doesn’t trust me,” Kate said. “That’s why we’re not married. Just sweethearts. ”
    Sam buried a laugh. Damned if the quick-tongued little con didn’t appeal to him.
    The dealer turned back to the microscope. She gave the stone a good look before she finally straightened. “I’m afraid your, um, sweetheart is correct. The stone isn’t worth what you paid for it.”
    “Yeah? How come?” Sam said, disappointed. “Sure looks good to me.”
    “Do you know much about colored gems?” the dealer asked.
    “Nope.”
    “Like I told you, sweetheart, ” Kate said. “It’s pretty, but it’s not worth breaking a sweat over.”
    “No problem,” he said easily. “I’m always willing to learn. And sweat.”
    Kate rolled her eyes.
    The dealer smiled. “The stone is a Chatham synthetic. Uncommon, yes, thank God. All the other synthetics fail the spectroscope test.”
    “You mean that stone isn’t a sapphire?” Sam asked.
    “Oh, it’s blue sapphire, no question.” The dealer looked at Sam’s expression and sighed. “Obviously, you have trouble believing in the expertise of a woman. There are a lot of male specialists who could do a formal appraisal of this stone, but it will take several days to several weeks and cost you hundreds of dollars.”
    “Help me out here,” Sam said, frowning. “It’s really a sapphire?”
    Subtly, Kate tested his hold on her wrist. No change. No discreet escape possible.
    Hell.
    “Blue sapphire, yes,” the dealer said. “Sapphires come in all colors except red.”
    Sam made an encouraging sound.
    “When sapphires are red,” the dealer said, “they’re called rubies. Both sapphire and ruby have essentially the same specific gravity and—barring the impurities that give color—the same chemical composition.”
    He managed to look intelligent and confused at the same time. It was one of his best faces for questioning people. “So why isn’t this, uh, blue sapphire worth anything?”
    “It’s synthetic,” the dealer said patiently. “Man-made. When you buy gems, you’re buying color, rarity, and clarity. The synthetics only have two out of three.”
    “Not enough to be in the money,” Sam said.
    “No. Although this is quite well done,” she added, handing back the stone. “The cut is exquisite. Unusual to see that kind of exacting work in synthetic goods. Most of them are machine cut and polished according to a bean counter’s formula for maximum return.”
    Damn right it’s exquisite, Kate thought. I cut it myself.
    And that was one bit of news she wasn’t sharing unless she had to.
    Sam made a rumbling, grumbling kind of sound that managed to be cuddly rather than fierce. He shoved the stone deep into his jeans pocket. “Why would anyone put all that effort into a fake?”
    “Synthetic,” the woman corrected instantly.
    “Whatever.”
    “There are several possibilities.”
    “Such as?”
    “Well,” the dealer said, “the most likely explanation is that the owner of a