Diamond Joe
Author's Note: This story is set after Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace, which will be posting on FFN later this summer. You don't need to know my other stories for this one to make sense, I just thought something a bit lighter might be a nice counterpoint to Coming of Age and it's sequel, Charades. If you like a bit of silliness, this may be more to your taste. Besides, somewhere in between the very dramatic cases, there has to be some work-a-day stuff too, right? Well, at least as work-a-day as Frank and Joe's life gets. This is only a few chapters, hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
"This is entirely your fault, you know." The twenty-something blonde glared at his nemesis, an index finger jabbing the recycled hotel air in emphasis. "Every bit of it."
Receiving no reply, he resumed fumbling with his monogramed cufflinks, the stylized 'JH' now somehow upside down. "You know what? Who cares! I like them this way. Yep, definitely. Like anyone can read tiny engraving on my wrist from any respectable distance anyway… and believe me this is one date that is not getting any closer than that. Not happening. I hope."
The silk cummerbund staged its own resistance, but soon enough succumbed to the rough manhandling of its owner.
"Ha! Gotcha. What are these goofy things for, anyhow? Great now I'm not only talking to myself, I'm asking questions, too. I liked it better when I was talking to you."
His sea blue gaze returned to the corner of the room, but he didn't get a response this time either. Of course that may have been because his conversational companion was three inches tall and entirely coated in red glitter. Not to mention made of plastic.
"And this is still one hundred percent your fault. Well, maybe ninety nine percent. It's one percent Frank's fault for convincing me to go out of town right before Valentine's day, otherwise I wouldn't be in a hurry to get home… and maybe, only maybe mind you, it's one percent Vanessa's fault for flashing that playful come hither grin when I promised a special Valentine's day…. And I guess it's two percent the case's fault if you figure one percent for there even being a case and another one for Dad agreeing to it…. So, it's only ninety six percent your fault, then... but I still hate you, in case you're wondering …"
The young man sank onto the edge of the oversized bed, embroidered slate and platinum duvet curling around tuxedo clad legs. He balanced one foot on the opposite knee, sliding on black-on-black patterned socks before scooping an Italian leather dress shoe off the thick pewter carpeting. Frowning, he peered into the unexpectedly firm shoe.
"Now what?" The polished walnut shoe tree within refused to budge, wedged tight beneath the tongue. Jamming his fingers in between the sleek wood and the inside of the heel, he finally pried the thing out, huffing a little when it plopped onto the floor. "Who knew these could get stuck in a shoe? Actually who knew they still put these in shoes after say nineteen forty four… heck, maybe eighteen forty four... Whatever… I'm going to be late…"
He crossed the room to an oversized ornate mirror, sliding his jacket onto broad shoulders on the way. He paused long enough to straighten pale grey silk, grudgingly thankful he'd finally mastered the art of tying a bowtie, ran his fingers through perennially unruly blonde waves, and pocketed his keys. The tiny glittery cherub stared back at him from below philodendron leaves that were overrunning an exquisite obsidian planter. A sophisticated if unwanted gift from his date.
"Nah, I'm going back to this being completely your fault. You're Cupid, right? So, no Cupid, no Valentine's day… no love… no Vanessa waiting on me to celebrate Valentine's day… no obsession with diamonds for Valentine's day… no diamond theft spike this month… no stupid out of town case to find said diamonds… no weird old lady dates… no uncomfortable monkey suit… no stuck shoe trees… and definitely no talking to yourself and a miniature Valentino in a potted plant! All. Your. Fault!" The young man sighed, deflating from his conjecture. "Ok, sparkle-boy, let's get this over with. Where are those little arrows you're supposed to have…? At least I could fend her off with one of those…maybe… if I got an eye… crap, still talking to myself…"
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"Joe? Joe Hardy? Is that you?"
Joe froze, plastering on a vacant smile before turning around. The helium balloon meets Minnie Mouse voice was gratingly familiar from college, and he couldn't say that he'd missed it in the interim. "Miranda Carnes! How wonderful to see you again!"
The tiny redhead latched on to his arm, practically purring. "It's wonderful to see you, too, Joe! It's been what, a year? You look great."
"So do you." That much was true at least, what little there was of the skin tight ruby toned dress didn't make discerning that too much of a challenge. "And a year sounds about right."
"Well, it's too long whatever it is. What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were still up in New York working with your dad and Frank." She glanced around, trying to spot the other half of the renowned detective sibling pair.
Joe mentally sifted his options and decided the truth was not one of them. Miranda wouldn't be able to grasp that he was working and not give him away, even if she wanted to. There was a reason she'd majored more in husband catching 101 than whatever degree program she officially signed on for. Time to lie through his teeth, one air head to another. Joe's surprisingly good grades were the one aspect of his existence she'd never noticed.
"Nah. I tried that for a while, but it was the same thing all the time, you know? My dad, he's suuuuch a drag! He wanted us to work like constantly and I just wanted to have some time to kick up my heels a bit. School took enough work; I didn't need him on my case all the time after that, like you know? I'm sort of drifting about right now, seeing the south…"
Her smile widened, uncomfortably predatory. "I always knew you were more fun than that workaholic brother of yours. We could get out of here for a few hours, maybe?"
The returning grin took effort. "Wow, I wish. I came with someone, unfortunately. Maybe another time?"
"Came with someone?" The grey eyes narrowed, scanning the room. "You aren't still seeing that same Amazon chick are you? You don't need tied down like that, Joe, not if you want to have fun like you say…"
"Vanessa Bender?" Joe snorted. "Of course not. But I do have a date tonight."
"Hmm. Who?"
Joe gestured toward an older lady at the center of the art deco ballroom. The silver ball-gowned figure was raising an eyebrow at him, one thinly plucked arch approaching her overly bouffant bluish hair. He reinforced his smile and held up his drink, indicating he'd been to the bar. Not for the first time.
"Millie Fields?! Really?" Miranda's voice amazingly climbed another octave. "She has to be three hundred years old!"
Joe chuckled, a false sound Miranda entirely missed. "Not three hundred, only seventy two. And she's not that bad."
"What are you talking about? She's ancient, crinkled, and she looks like a walking skeleton wrapped up in two thousand layers of fish net tulle. I don't get it, Joe. At least Vanessa was sort of pretty! Millicent is, well, I don't know what she is except old and…" Miranda stopped abruptly, a malicious smirk overtaking any pretense at pleasantness on her face. "Oh. Oh! She's old and rich. Very rich. Verging on obscenely rich. Why Joe Hardy, you naughty, naughty boy!"
Joe matched her features. "You caught me. Touring the country takes funds, and Dad cut me off. I better get back."
A throaty laugh followed. "You do that." Miranda slipped a piece of paper into his hand. "And if you get a chance to sneak out of her bed later, half of mine is available. For tonight, at least."
Joe raised the scotch he was holding to his lips, faking a sip. "I'll keep that in mind."
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By midnight, Joe had danced his way through Atlanta's social elite, returning to Millicent's side often enough to keep the matriarch amused. Seven extraordinary glasses of scotch had found their way in to various potted plants and he'd picked up a number of gossipy tidbits about the diamond robberies that had plagued the city in recent weeks. All of the stones were taken from private collections, most while in their owner's homes and a few from a display loaned to a museum. Fortunately he hadn't run into anyone else he knew.
Not that he was undercover; per se. Everyone at the party knew he was Joseph Hardy, son of the famous detective. They just thought he was Joseph Hardy, lazy, no account son of the famous detective who would rather escort rich little old ladies than work for a living. Amazing how a few brainless comments combined with a handsome athlete's build could foster that impression so easily. Under most circumstances it was profoundly annoying, but tonight it worked to his advantage. Even the people there who knew something of his past track record for solving mysteries were quickly steered into thinking it was all Frank's work on the intelligence end. With the brunette elder sibling nowhere to be seen, they didn't guard their tongues at all.
"I think the evening is winding down, my dear." Millie's hand on his shoulder brought Joe back to the present.
Joe nodded, absently tallying the thinning crowd. "I think you're right. The band's still playing, though. One more dance?"
"Of course." Millie allowed Joe to lead her back to the dance floor, her hand tightening on the back of his shoulder in a proprietary fashion. Half way through the waltz she was plastered against his well-muscled torso, leaving little doubt as to her plans for the rest of the evening.
Joe had plans, too. Just not the same ones. He extricated himself from her grasp, playfully swatting at her hand when it drifted lower than he had in mind. "Ah, not here, love, ok? Let's grab another drink before the bar shuts down."
Millie laughed, slightly tipsy already. "Another one couldn't hurt, I guess. Something frozen and sweet… I know, a bocce ball."
Images of balls rolling on the sand around Barmet Bay flitted through his brain. "Um, not sure I know that one."
"Oh, it's amaretto, orange juice, sherbet, and club soda. Don't worry, love, darling Wade over there is the absolute master at concoctions. He'll fix me right up."
Joe nodded, thinking that sounded more like a desert than a drink, but more than willing to fetch anything that put Millicent one step closer to being asleep for the night. He'd been warned she could drink him under the table and likely through half the floor, and that might well have been the case… if he'd been drinking instead of watering the greenery. He really couldn't afford to be drunk right now.
Sadly when he returned Millicent was at the center of a trio of ladies, all about her age, and a thirtyish brunette whose main assets were quite clear in tuxedo pants two sizes too tight.
"Millie!" Who is this delicious thing? Do tell!" A tall woman in a red sequined sheath reached out for Joe, trailing a finger down his cheek before tipping his chin to the left for a better look. "And those eyes… You have to tell me where you found this one, Mil."
"I know, he's gorgeous, isn't he?" The sly giggle that came out of Millicent was anything but age appropriate. "This is Joe. But as to where I found him, well… you'll have to find your own!"
All the women laughed at that, the oldest of the group hooking a finger in a belt loop of the dark haired man. "I already did. And with that in mind, good night, ladies."
"Good night, Fran. Do try to fit at least a little sleep in before tennis tomorrow."
"Now why on earth would I want to do that?" Fran and her companion disappeared in the general direction of the hotel elevator.
"They have the right idea, don't you think?" Millicent leaned in closer to Joe, the hand she had around his waist somehow wandering into the edge of his front pocket. "We could be upstairs in your room in three minutes.
Joe flinched but covered it with a miniscule cough and a broad smile, sidestepping enough to dislodge her hand. "As wonderful as that sounds, my room's a wreck. Maybe your place?"
"Bachelor housekeeping, I suppose, but really Joe, you've only been in town what, four days? How bad could it be? But certainly, my place is fine. If you'll excuse us; Carmen, Sara; goodnight. Joe, be a dear and send for the car."
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Joe held his breath, listening. There the sound was again. A very faint snore. Thank God.
He'd spent the last hour playing catch me if you can in the master suite of the Fields' estate, dodging Millie's surprisingly fast advances. The car ride had been horrendous, and his insistence that he'd seldom had so talented a dance partner on their arrival at the house hadn't helped much. She'd agreed to dance with him again easily enough, but he couldn't recall any dancing lesson that included pinching your companion, nor dropping your gown to the floor. Thank goodness there was enough spandex wear under that dress to shield Joe from viewing anything that might permanently sear his eyeballs. Still, he was convinced he'd have a blue spot or two on his rear…
The last fifteen minutes they'd been 'cuddling', and listening to big band swing, which Joe suspected Millie saw as a prelude to moving over the king sized bed. Joe, however, saw it as an opportunity to stall her into falling asleep before any such atrocity could occur. Confident she was finally sleeping, he slid across the leather sofa, careful not to disturb her. Standing, he cracked his back and began re-buttoning the top of his shirt. When had she managed that?!
He crept through the room, now gloved fingers rapidly trailing along picture frames and behind bookshelves in the adjoining study, sorting through the closet and finally riffling the paperwork of the previously locked desk. People really should invest in better locks. Twenty minutes later in the back of the study closet, he decided people should buy better safes, too. Millie's had taken less than three minutes to crack, and that was without proper tools.
He quickly photographed emerald earrings, a diamond and ruby pendant, loose diamonds in a tray, and four diamond rings of various configurations, but the stone he was searching for just wasn't there. Crud. He'd been so certain….
He crept into the hallway and out of the house before retrieving a disposable phone.
"Nothing definite. I need a ride back to the hotel."
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to be continued...