Free Other People's Baggage by Kendel Lynn, Gigi Pandian, Diane Vallere

Philadelphia, when it was owned by Mr. Pierot, soon to retire. It was where Brad had taken me under his wing and taught me about Mid-Century Modern design, the store that I ran while he traveled the country taking interior design jobs. It was where I learned how to acquire merchandise for resale without breaking the bank. I narrowed my eyes as I wondered what the van was doing in California, then remembered when he’d ordered the signs—magnets, really—with the Pierot’s logo, to add a bit of professionalism to his freelance team when he took jobs around the country.
    Jobs around the country. Like Carmel By-The-Sea.
    To Doris Day’s hotel, currently under renovation before the annual Carmel Art Festival. That’s why it had all seemed familiar. Brad had bid on this job when we were still together.
    Another man opened the van and put a floor lamp inside. I recognized the style immediately, a product of the fifties atomic era that captured the whimsical impact that technology and outer space had inflicted on interior design. It was my single favorite design aesthetic, the one category where Brad and I disagreed when he trained me to be an interior decorator. He liked the minimalism of the mid-fifties, the planes of Danish modern, the simplicity of George Nelson and Charles Eames. I did too, but I was also drawn to the sillier aspect of midcentury design: yellow walls, sputnik lamps, radial clocks, donut phones, and boomerang tables. Where Brad’s sense of decorating was rooted in wood, mine was rooted in laminate. He’d tried to change my tastes but it didn’t work. Eventually, he blamed it on my fascination with Doris Day movies, something he knew he could never undo.
    And here I was, sitting in a diner across the street from the hotel Doris Day owned in Carmel, watching a man in overalls carry furniture out of the hotel, furniture that by anybody’s account had been handpicked to make the place something special.
    In a moment, as I sat watching the man in overalls load items from the hotel into the back of the van, it occurred to me that everything I’d seen, everything I’d heard, everything I’d imagined, made sense if I trusted one man’s information.
    â€œJack,” I called out suddenly. “I know where to find the diamond.”
    The two men looked at me. I stared out the window, glued to the scene. I was right. I knew I was right. Now I just needed to make sure the right men believed me.
    Special Agent Reed paid for my coffee and we left.
    â€œFollow me,” I said, heading back to the hotel.
    As I walked, I scanned the crowds of people already pouring onto the streets. Carmel By-The-Sea was a walking town, and by the looks of it, it was a morning town, too. Cars were in the way more than they were a convenience factor. I’d noticed most of the tourists parked their cars when they arrived and didn’t move them again until the day they left.
    A bicycle cop poised on his bike in the driveway between two hotels. His uniform matched that of the officer who had come to the hotel room earlier.
    â€œExcuse me!” I called out to him before Jack or Agent Reed could respond.
    The officer shielded his eyes and looked at me, but didn’t respond. I crossed the street and closed the distance between us until I was right in front of him.
    I took two deep breaths, one for courage and one because I was out of breath, then started talking. “Hi. I’m Madison Night. I’m staying at that hotel and there’s something criminal going on in there. Some kind of jewel heist. Did you see the men who followed me out of the diner?” I asked.
    I turned to look behind me and shielded my own eyes. Jack and Special Agent Reed were gone. I turned back to the officer, who was still staring at me. “I don’t know where they went. Anyway, this is important. See that van in front of the hotel?” I pointed to the Pierot van. “Those