Chapter 15 - The Star on the Red String

Nia drove while Katherine spoke to the officer assigned to my break-in report. We had no intention of going into the apartment alone. The officer met us outside and accompanied us upstairs.

My jewelry box still sat beneath the dresser where the intruder had tossed it. The red cord was there. The pendant was gone.

"Someone beat us to it," Nia said.

I sank onto the bed. "It was the only thing I had left from Dad."

The officer photographed the box and noted where it had been found. Katherine asked me to list everyone who knew about the necklace.

"Dad. Mom. Ruth. A few friends from school." I hesitated. "And Marcus."

Katherine looked up. "How would Marcus know?"

"He fixed the broken clasp for me last winter. I was working a double shift and the chain snapped. He brought it back the next day."

We called him. Straight to voicemail.

Two hours later, federal agents located Marcus's car outside a motel. Inside his room, they found an empty envelope addressed to Graham Whitcomb, a burner phone, and a note written on hotel stationery: DON'T LET HIM TRADE THE GIRL.

"He's disappeared," Katherine said. "But the message suggests someone is trying to bargain with you."

Then Ben arrived carrying a package. His sister Mara had finally been located in assisted living in New Mexico. She was ill but lucid. After learning about Whitcomb's renewed activity, she'd sent documents through her attorney.

Inside the package was a copy of the pendant's original design. It wasn't jewelry at all. It was a small, hollow metal case with a compartment that opened when the two pointed edges were pressed at once. A note in Sofia's handwriting explained that she had hidden a microfilm strip inside.

Nia studied the diagram. "If Whitcomb has the star, he has the evidence."

"Maybe," I said, staring at the red cord. "But Dad repaired the clasp the night before Mom disappeared. He told me he made a copy because I was always losing things."

I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser, where I kept his old bus-driver jacket. Sewn inside the lining was a pocket I'd never noticed before.

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Something small and hard pressed against my fingers.

A second brass star.