Rodney Semple was a tall, chiselled version of a young Rock Hudson . . . it was disgusting. I felt I had to keep straightening my jacket and checking my image in anything that held a reflection. His handshake was even dry, firm and confident.

"Richard Hart, Private Investigative Services?" He held my card with an amused but puzzled smile.

"Yes, I'm quietly asking around for Mr. Smythe-Frye--"

"Bennett? What about?"

First name basis with daddy! "Uh, it's a rather delicate matter--"

"Oh, the necklace, yes. Felicia told me about it. Terrible. Deborah was devastated."

Deborah was devastated? Did I miss something? "So you know . . ."

"Certainly."

"Certainly? I was under the impression Bennett was keeping this quiet."

"Well I am practically family, Mr. Hart."

"Really? Are you planning on that in the near future?"

"Felicia and I have an understanding." The first signs of the chiselled features shedding some crumbs.

"I see . . . I guess. Well, so with regard to the necklace, do you have any thoughts?"

"You mean who might have taken it?"

"Well, yes. Assuming that is it wasn't just misplaced."

The features were becoming a bit of a rock slide as Rod paced behind his office desk and I wondered if I had inadvertently grazed a nerve.

"I don't think I have anything that will help you in this matter, Mr. Hart. My association is really only through Mr. Smythe-Frye's daughter." The abrupt change of designations hung long enough to cause him to redden.

So, no more practically family all of a sudden. "Okay, thanks for your time and please, if you do think of anything, you have my card."

Rock Hudson reappeared, a little older, a little paler. "I will. Yes." He folded down into his ergonomic chair, wearing a bleak look.

********

Back at my office I gathered up the unsolicited flyer mail and filled my waste basket then cleared a space on my desk to spread out my notes and a greasy paper covered pastrami sandwich from the deli across the street.

The only new interesting item was Rodney's sudden change when I suggested the necklace might not be stolen but lost. Why would that bother anyone? Likely wouldn't affect the insurance. Surely having it public knowledge that you lost something so valuable wouldn't make one a social pariah . . . stolen might.

Some wet pastrami fell on the page and then juice from the sandwich dribbled down my fingers to drip on my pants. Perfect. I dabbed up the mess with paper towel and fetched a clean pair of pants from my emergency office closet, the very reason for its existence since I made a habit of slopping.

"What if," I said aloud, zipping up the fly, "the necklace had been taken out to use as collateral for something and then couldn't be retrieved?"

Such as? The voice in my head asked.

"Payment of a debt would be a such as."

A debt that would require a million plus necklace as collateral?

"If it was all you could provide." This made me think of Rodney's reaction again and as well Felicia, whose behaviour smacked loudly of drug use, and wouldn't that be a debt maker if you were heavily addicted.

I needed a talk with Felicia on her own, which meant looking into her activities without the rest of the family knowing.

********

The zippy little silver Porsche 718 Cayman entered the parking garage at street speed and I heard the squeal of tires as it took the ramp to the second level. My own cautious entry was fortuitously timed as a large SUV pulled out of a spot by the elevators.

I just caught a glimpse of the floor number as it halted before returning to the ground floor. Exiting at that number I found myself in the lobby of LifeFlex Agendas, a fitness club judging from the huge black and white pictures of smiling couples in matching spandex, holding heavy looking dumbbells.

The perky young woman at the reception gave me the blinding welcome smile and a promotional view of what FlexLife could offer.

"Are you here for a membership, sir?"

"Actually I'm here for a member. Miss Felicia Smythe-Frye."

"Uhm, it's FLA's policy not to interrupt member's sessions . . ."

"How long is her session, may I ask that?"

The click of keys, a sigh and the news that she was only booked for thirty minutes today.

"Swell, I'll just wait then until she's done." I sat on a hard leather covered bench with a backrest that only supported my shoulders.

"There are several pamphlets describing the FlexLife experience and an index of standard membership fees." The receptionist offered.

"Standard?"

"Yes, we also design custom programmes for members; those vary as needs."

Thirty minutes on the dot and Felicia blew out of the gymnasium door, face flushed and eyes all aglitter.

"Miss Smythe-Frye . . . Felicia. Could I have a few minutes for a chat?"

Her stride ended at the elevator as she pressed the light and she turned looking puzzled.

"Richard Hart? I saw you- met with you and your mother the other day?"

"Oh, the private detective." The doors opened and she slid in. I followed. I would have followed anyway. The skirt and the sleeveless top movements dried my mouth.

"Yeah, yes- could I buy you a coffee or something while we-"

"Where is your car?"

"Huh? It's in the garage."

"We can talk there. Mine is too small for chatting." The look and the tone forced me to swallow.

I unlocked the car and held the door for her, stunned by the expanse of thigh as she slid onto the seat. I hurried around to the driver's side and climbed in.

"So, Mr. Hart what did you want?"

One close up look told me that her thirty minute session was not about FlexLife's agenda but about feeding an obvious craving. Dilated pupils. Jerky movements - although some of those were addictive in themselves - her speech was slightly sloppy and a thin line of perspiration dotted her upper lip.

I hesitated then decided to go for the gold straight up. "Is this the reason you took the necklace, Felicia?"

Her smile froze and her focus seemed to go in and out as she processed the question.

"I don't- I uh . . ."

"Look, you are high right now. A kid could tell. You are getting them up there aren't you? And you have run into a debt daddy can't know about so you posted your mom's necklace as collateral, promising to come up with the money."

"I- you- how did you . . .?"

"It's my business, Felicia. It's what I do. And Rodney knows too, doesn't he?"

The perspiration was now on the forehead as well and her movements were becoming more exaggerated. I took her hand and she wrenched it away. Tears started along with tiny bubbles on her lips.

"How long?" She shook her head and made tiny fists. "What do you owe, Felicia?"

"T- too much."

"Does your mother know?"

"She suspects . . . I don't know. Maybe she does." Her eyes avoided mine.

"You obviously had a plan to get the money or you wouldn't have put that necklace up as collateral."

"Insurance . . . mommy--"

"Your mom was going to quietly make a claim. That kind of means she knows, Felicia."

Another thought crossed my mind and I fired another shot. "It's your mom got you involved isn't it? She's a member of LifeFlex and that's how you--"

"No! She didn't . . . I happened to see- one day and I used that to threaten her supplier."

"You hit him up for a fix of your own! Then got yourself hooked!"

"I didn't think all the things they said about addiction were true. I didn't think it would make me- that I couldn't stop."

I stared at this beautiful young woman thinking, with privilege comes ignorance.

"So what did you and mom think you could do now?"

She shifted sideways in the seat, her fingers picking at the console lid. "James Cord . . . he 's always had a thing for mommy . . ."

I sat up and blinked slowly. This was how the insurance money would work. James gets the money and then mommy. Mommy pays the dealer and returns the necklace and oh look daddy, it was in this drawer all the time!

"Is it going to happen?"

James said it would take a little while but yes . . . that is unless daddy finds out."

"How do you think I came to be investigating its disappearance? Your father knows, he paid me to find out where it went, Felicia."

"I meant about James."

"James and the insurance or James and mommy?"

Her face pinched and I thought she would cry. I started to reach out when she spoke again.

"Why don't you just leave this alone. Give daddy his money back and I'll pay you."

"Pardon me but you are in this because you can't pay."

"Oh I still have spending money; I'm sure I have enough."

It seemed privilege also begat obliviousness and insensitivity.