I jogged up the wide wooden stairs to my second floor office spilling very little of my coffee onto the paper covering my doughnut. Using the stairs was a daily ritual to compensate for the option of choosing a pastry breakfast. A man standing in the hall outside my office looked at me then at his watch and squared his shoulders.

"Mr. Richard Hart?"

"All of me," I chirped, smiling as I fumbled my key into the lock.

"Droll." He followed me inside and sat without being asked, crossed his legs and lit a cigarette he took from a gold coloured case. The matching lighter clicked annoyingly as he studied me with a speculative look. I slipped into my chair behind the desk, popped the leaking lid off my coffee and spread the paper wrapped doughnut in front of me.

"My breakfast."

He glanced at his watch again and waited with a disdainful look while I chewed. The fact that he sort of barged in and made himself comfortable put that look right up there with my top ten dart board targets.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr . . .?" I licked icing flakes from the corner of my mouth.

"I want to hire a private detective." The voice smacked of phony, British public school and the accompanying sneer cinched it for me.

"Are you here for a referral?"

He looked shocked and responded seriously. "No- you're a detective aren't you?"

I sighed, nodding and popped the last of the doughnut into my mouth.

"You were recommended by an acquaintance . . . Reginald Hedley."

I sucked my fingers clean and wiped them on the supplied serviette. Reggie Hedley was a part time cab driver and doorman at the Chickery Club; a destination for gentlemen looking to experience a slightly less acceptable level of societal entertainment.

"Reggie . . . right . . . you use his cab service?"

"On occasion. Listen, I want to know if you are the right person for my needs."

Apparently Reggie wasn't totally convincing. "And you are?"

"Bennett Smythe-Frye. Smythe-Frye and Associates."

I jotted the name down and doodled around it. "Is this a professional or personal requirement?"

He blew out a cloud of smoke harshly; annoyed the name hadn't rung any bells. "Are your rates different for the two?"

"Yes." I stared at his smug expression with a calm flat look of my own and restrained a threatening grin as his cycled through a series of emotions. The cigarette was squashed out in my paperclip dish and he leaned forward, eyes glittering.

"Very well, let's make it personal. I want you to find out what happened to an anniversary necklace I gave to my wife. It is quite expensive, insured heavily and has suddenly gone missing."

"Was there a robbery?"

"No."

"Suddenly gone missing doesn't sound like you just lost it. Did you call the police?"

"No."

I waited. Nothing. "May I ask why not?"

'I don't want any publicity over this and telling the police would make that impossible."

"Why no publicity? Usually it helps in the recovery of valuable items. Rewards and such get a lot people paying attention."

"Is there something I missed in the term private detective?"

My coffee was tepid but I drank it anyway, wondering how much of this story was going to fall under questionable motives.

"As you wish. Do you have any suspects? Anyone you think might be capable of this?"

"No."

Please, don't embellish. "What does your wife say?"

"I didn't ask. All I know is that it's missing."

"Does she?"

He sat up. "Does she what?"

"Know that it's missing? Where is it kept?"

"Of course she . . ." His forehead wrinkled. "In a safe in our bedroom along with all her jewellery."

"Anything else missing?"

"No. I'm only interested in this piece." He fiddled with his lighter some more. "Look, are you interested in taking this case on or not?"

I made a few more notes. Thought long and hard for maybe a second and said yes. "I'll need a picture of the item, a contact number for you and a list of people with access to your home . . . staff, maintenance, that sort of thing."

"This does mean that you'll accept the assignment?"

"Yes . . . and my rates are-"

"I'm not interested in your rates. I will give you a five thousand dollar retainer and a bonus if this is all put to rest satisfactorily." He removed a leather cheque book from his jacket and made out a cheque in the amount stated with a flourish that would shame an orchestral conductor.

"Fill in your name or business yourself. I'll send a photo over with all the pertinent details. I would like this wrapped up promptly."

I held up the cheque. "Me too!"

**********

Careful consideration had me put my own name on the cheque. The business account was mainly active to write off expenses. After sipping the dregs of my cold coffee, I locked up and rushed straight to my bank. If this panned out I would definitely tip Reggie a little extra next time I went to- took his cab. With the money cleared, after some brief words with the manager and safely in my account, I decided not to wait for the pertinent details and to do a little back grounding on my new client.

Turned out Smythe-Frye and Associates were quite reputable. Dealing mostly in property development in the downtown core. The society pages didn't reveal much, the usual cocktail get-togethers for openings or charitable affairs and really not that many.

The Smythe-Fryes, Bennett and Deborah, had been married twenty-nine years, had a daughter Felicia recently graduated, after more years than normal, from an exclusive girl's school, lived in a high-stoop brownstone far from my own digs and wintered in Connecticut.

I took some of my new found wealth and bought an extra large coffee at the diner I used to entertain prospective clients; not Mr. Bennett Smythe-Frye's calibre of course. My stool by the window was empty and I settled down for a while to contemplate the ramifications of this windfall job.

Obviously super rich client wants the missing item found and returned with no publicity of any kind. Since he didn't want even the insurance company advised, the reason for the disappearance of the necklace appeared to be more important than the financial loss.

So, what might that reason be? I savoured my extra large coffee as I thought.

Usually the client is the last person I believe in cases such as these; so many scenarios are possible. It wasn't stolen. Smythe-Frye needed cash and sold it, pretending it was stolen. Unlikely considering my retainer. Family member took it to pay debts. Gambling. Drugs. Secrets from one another. Hanky Panky? Wife or daughter financing a secret lover?

Of course it could also be a legitimate theft . . . well not legitimate per say. Jewellery is usually broken up and sold in bits; pawning a complete piece was far too risky. Still, word would get around among the dealers.

There were several approaches to cases like this that trained investigators used to pinpoint a way forward. First was to call my source in the police department and see if there had been any chatter about missing or stolen jewellery.

"Sergeant McCready old buddy, How we doin'?"

"Pretty good up until now, Hart. What do you want, I'm busy doing real police work."

"Simple question. Any buzz on recent jewel thefts through the usual channels?"

"Something I should know about?"

"Just a case I'm working, nothing concrete yet. But you know you are always my first-"

"Yeah, yeah. Stow it, Hart. There's nothin' on the sheets here, okay?"

"No gossip? Unusual transactions? I know you guys have an ear to-"

"Can I get back to real work now?"

"Well there's no need to be hurtful."

"Goodbye, Hart."

"Thanks, Sarge . . . I'll send the wife some flowers."

"I'm not married." Click.

Okay, I won't then. McCready was always willing to help.

I finished my extra large coffee with satisfaction and headed back to the office to see if the pertinent details had arrived. The package was outside the door as promised and I spread the contents out on my desk. The stunner was that the estimated value of the necklace for the insurance was one point two million! My theory about importance slipped to second place.

The other stunner was the photos that had been included. Bennett's wife and daughter and a current boyfriend of the daughter. This was from a man who seemed to have big trust issues but it also nudged my original theory back to first place. I got the contact number and staff names I asked for so the game was afoot.

**********

Sammy Bloomstein had the largest and most successful pawn shop in the city. Nothing moved without Sammy knowing something about it even if he wasn't directly involved, and his operation ran without interference from the cops; they were very wary of how much he knew in his field.

The bell over the door was a nod to the old fashioned style of business, it made some customers feel comfortable and familiar. Truth was, in the back room a light and buzzer system sounded and the cameras tracking the entire store and the street around the store, began recording automatically.

Sammy came through the curtain from the back room, another homey touch, and smiled. The green suspenders looked like parentheses around the girth of his stomach and the cream coloured shirt blended almost invisibly with his skin.

"Rick, my boy! A long time since you pay old Sammy a visit."

"Yeah, well I pawned most everything I owned that had any value."

"You brought me something else?"

"Actually, Sammy I'm here to retrieve something." I dropped a pawn receipt on the glass counter. "I would like to pick up my coffee maker." I laid some bills alongside the receipt and grinned smugly.

"Real money, Richard! Somebody died? You turned to crime?"

"Work, Sammy. Work. And that's the other reason I'm here." While he dug my old coffee maker out of his storage I told him about the necklace and the owner who hired me.

Sammy pocketed my money and gave the coffee maker a cursory dusting with a piece of paper towel.

"What's the true story, Richard? A man like Bennett Smythe-Frye doesn't go to a shmuck P.I. for a million dollar jewellery theft."

"Shmuck?"

"In a nice way, Richard."

"How is shmuck a nice way?"

"Because I like you, Richard." He reached across and pinched my cheek. "Now what's the story here; a fish I'm smelling."

I told him the story from the beginning and he just looked at me shaking his head.

"What?"

"Kosher it's not, my boy. A man like that. A piece of ice like that? A five thousand dollar retainer!"

"It's true, Sammy. How else could I pay you for my coffee maker?"

His lips pursed. "There's that."

"So you haven't heard anything on the street?"

"Nothing, Richard, and that's from any quarter."

"Out of town maybe?"

'That's what any quarter means, Richard."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Sammy."

He expressed some more doubts, told me I was playing out of my league and suggested I use the money while I had it to buy back the rest of my stuff.

So much for my second source.