Free Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) by Angela M. Sanders Page B

like that."
    "Like what?"
    He hesitated. "You know."
    He wasn’t telling her something. He would eventually, though. She probed a bit further. "Tell me about his heists."
    "Well, his job was to steal the goods. Another guy, a jeweler, took the stones from the jewelry and melted down the settings. That way they couldn't be traced. The bigger, more valuable gems are pretty well documented. So they had to cut them down to resell. It hurt the value, but it was the safest way to go."
    Way too complicated. Yet another reason Poppy wouldn't be involved in any diamond operation. She was a spectacular auctioneer, but if it weren't for her manager she'd never keep the auction house afloat. Anger flushed once again through Joanna’s bloodstream.
    "It gets even more interesting," Paul said. "Some of the diamonds were special enough that they had serial numbers engraved on them. That way if the owner took, say, her ring in for cleaning, a jeweler wouldn't swap out the diamond for a cheaper one. My uncle had to file them off the jewels." He tapped her calf with a finger. "If I were the police, I'd figure out how to flush him out."  
    Joanna tilted her head toward him. Pepper mewed in protest of being jiggled. "What do you mean?"
    Their eyes met. "Don't get any ideas." He pinched her toe. "I mean a kind of sting operation. You know, hold an auction, give the diamond thief the chance to do his thing. Then nail him."
    She shook her head and rested it again on the couch. "That’s ridiculous," she said. Nonetheless, she was listening. "Whoever’s selling the diamonds would be crazy to take a risk like that. Why would he? He knows Poppy’s already been arrested."
    "But not convicted. This would seal it." Paul paused. "You’re fishing for more info, aren’t you? Forget it."
    "But I—" A sting operation. Hmm. The mantel clock ticked. The NAP art auction was Saturday.  
    "Jo." Paul interrupted her stream of thought. "I know that look. I was just talking off the cuff. You know, making stuff up."
    "You never did answer me about the ceiling color."  
    "Stop it. You’re right, you know. A sting operation would never work. Too risky. I shouldn’t have said anything."
    "Relax. It’s okay. I told you I’d leave it alone, remember?"
    He didn't even smile. "I’m serious. Let the police handle it. There's one dead body already."
    ***
    Joanna rolled over in bed and pulled a pillow over her head. Poppy, pale and anxious in the jail's visiting room, had haunted her dreams. She wished she had accepted Paul's offer to stay, but she'd sent him home instead. He’d hesitated at the door as if he’d had something to say, but had seemed to think better of it and left. She tossed the pillow on the floor.  
    Today, Apple was working, so Joanna didn’t even have Tallulah’s Closet to distract her. There was only one thing to do when anxiety whirled: go thrifting. Eighty-second Avenue—the ill-named "Avenue of the Roses"—defined the eastern border of town. A Goodwill, Salvation Army, Value Village, and Deseret Thrift Shop staked outposts along a dingy three-mile stretch also home to used car lots, taquerias, and muffler shops.  
    An hour later, Joanna eased her Corolla into a parking spot next to a dented panel van. In past visits, this Goodwill had yielded a periwinkle leather jacket from the 1960s, a pair of evening pumps from Henry Waters Shoes of Consequence with tiny mirrored fans adorning the toes, and, to her great surprise, a pair of Manolo Blahnik slingbacks.
    Joanna worked a shopping cart free of the two tangled with it and pushed it into the store. One of the front wheels wobbled, but with a strong hand she could keep it from veering to the right. Wichita Lineman played over the stereo system. A hipster trolling the T-shirt rack stopped to air-pluck the song's bass solo.
    Joanna rolled the cart down the linoleum floor. First stop, women's suits. Because suits usually cost so much, people tended to hang on to them for years, even if they