Disclaimer: Thomas Harris owns all characters except Karen, Antonia, and John. If he sues, all he'll get is my ancient computer and my dog. To readers: I know the plot is a little shaky, but I know nothing about the FBI or international parties.
Ardelia squinted in the bright sunlight of the airport outside of Madrid. Ardelia hated long flights, and she was still a little wobbly from being in coach for sixteen hours. She still wasn't totally sure why she'd let her new roommate Karen talk her into going. What, girl, you think you'll just crash into Clarice on the streets and she'll be so relieved that she's out of Lecter's clutches? Lecter's embrace is more like it. The ring told her more than any damn police report on Krendler's body could. But Ardelia wanted to know... what happened, why. Who was fairly obvious, even if the bureau refused to believe that someone being the ball in inter-office soccer, pushed when they weren't getting anything for it, would just up and leave- well, with a serial killer besides.
You are absolutley gonna love the clubs, Dea. Karen chirped while hailing a taxi. Ardelia hated that nickname, the girl was only her roomate because Clinton was making tax laws when her old roomie skipped town. We do have to go to this stupid dressy thing, some-our-countries-worked-together memorial thing. At least the bosses are paying. Never know, some cute international spies might show up! Ardelia just rested her head against the glass window of the taxi and closed her eyes.
The mansion was lavishly decorated for all the American and Spanish federal social climbers attending. Ardelia hung in the background uncomfortably in her long green satin dress. She liked the dress, and her Spanish was fine, but this particluar party made her want to scream. Everywhere she looked Ardelia swore she saw Krendlers and Krendlerettes sniping at each other in varying languages. She stalked outside into the light rain and hailed a taxi. One pulled up and she got. Ardelia looked out the window, idly wondering where Karen had gone with the guy she'd been chatting up. Karen wasn't a fed per se, she was Under-Assisstant-to-Some-Rich-Political-Guy-or-Lady. Ardelia glanced down at the cachobon emerald on her left hand, twinkling under the passing streetlights. Something else sparkled, just under the backseat, hidden in the darkness. She picked it up, and held it under the flickering outside lights without the cabbie seeing: a strand of emeralds.
Back in her room at the hotel, Ardelia looked at the strand more closely. Emeralds and diamonds, a neckalce. She could tell it was expensive, and the fiery gems had the feeling that someone picked it out for someone they knew perfectly and were mystified by a the same time. Laying it on the table, Ardelia caught sight of her ring again. She inhaled sharply. No, no, it couldn't be. But even though it wasn't complete, Ardelia felt it was obvious: her ring, this necklace, were one and the same.
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Okay, I need reviews before I'll write the next part, my life is actually busy. (mutters incoherently about evil biology extra courses and psychotic American History professors.)
