Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

ass.
    Even so, when she was younger, she’d wanted to have children. After forty set fire to her birthday cake a few years ago, she’d decided to forget it. Years of watching Peyton struggle with his demanding wife and spoiled children had made Sharon relatively happy about being the no-strings woman in his life.
    There was a lot to be said for consenting adults.
    She flipped open her computer and turned to the list of incoming couriers for the Scottsdale Gem Show. Not all of them came under Sizemore’s advance—and expensive—security arrangements, but many did. At this, the delivery end, the trick was to keep the shipment secure until a representative or the dealer himself signed for it. After that, it was somebody else’s problem.
    She began double-checking the arrangements for delivery. When she reached the Carter gems, she frowned.
    In the other room the telephone receiver hit the cradle with emphasis. A few seconds later Peyton appeared in the bedroom doorway.
    “Something wrong?” he asked, yanking on his robe.
    Sharon looked up, saw that his interest in sex had wilted, and said, “Simon Carter had a family emergency. He won’t arrive for twomore days, but the courier arrives tomorrow with the best gemstones. I’ll have to sign for them.”
    “Carter, huh? Word is he has some choice black opals. The last of the really good stones from the glory days of Lightning Ridge.”
    “So I hear.”
    “You hear any prices?”
    “He wants a million for the opal that’s green-blue on one side and fiery red on the other. A guaranteed natural, not a doublet.”
    Peyton whistled. “Any collectors lining up?”
    “Not until they see for themselves that the stone is as advertised.”
    “You think he’ll get it?”
    “I think he likes the stone too well to sell it at any price.”
    “Bragging rights?”
    “Just one more way for the boys to play ‘my package is bigger than yours,’ ” Sharon agreed, scrolling down her screen.
    “Wonder how much the opal would bring if it was cut down into earrings and necklace?”
    “For your mall stores, it would be a waste of time, money, and material. The people who come to Hall Jewelry wouldn’t know a world-class gem if it jumped up and called them by their first and middle names.”
    “I was thinking of opening a handful of boutique stores,” Peyton said, “the kind that would go after Tiffany and Cartier customers. I could offer them more bang for their buck.”
    “The people who shop high-end stores don’t want bang. They want validation. Buying expensive stones from the biggest mall jeweler in the United States won’t make those buyers feel special.”
    “You don’t like the boutique idea?”
    Sharon rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her head from side to side. “You’d have to change the name, find a big celebrity to front for you, build up an expensive collection of important stones and designs, bid and win outstanding stones at public auctions, the whole enchilada. That’s a lot of cash out of your pocket, especially at a time when demand for luxury goods is thirteen percent less than it was last year.” She sighed and rolled her head again. “Everyone inthe gem business is being squeezed, from wholesale to retail, miners to cutters. Even people who provide security have had to slash prices to stay afloat. In all, this is a bitch of a time to open a high-end jewelry chain.”
    “That’s what I told Marjorie,” Peyton said, lying easily because it came naturally to him. It had been his own idea, a way of justifying buying high-end stones to line his retirement accounts.
    Sharon dropped her hand. “Since when has your wife become interested in the business?”
    “Since she decided that mall jewelry was too downscale for her and the kids.”
    “Merde.”
    “I said the same thing in English. Reselling old estate jewelry is one thing. Making modern high-end stuff is another.” Which was true. It just wasn’t a truth he embraced.
    After a sigh and a roll of her head on her neck, Sharon went back to staring at the computer screen. Peyton crossed the room and began rubbing her neck, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen as he dug at tense muscles.
    “What’s that?” he asked. “Captiva Island and sapphires?”
    “Dad has me keep track of all courier murders and/or gem heists. Technically, the Captiva one was a disappearance. Guy skipped with a blonde and at least a million, wholesale, in goods. At least, according to the