The Goddaughter's Revenge by Melodie Campbell Page B

“Sugar, not this time. This time, the problem is yours. Meet you at the chicken coop in one hour. Bring your loupe.”
    * * *
    Dawn was just breaking as I drove up the gravel path to the chicken coop. Of course, it isn’t really a chicken coop. It’s a two-bedroom cottage on the lakeshore in Stoney Creek. We call it the chicken coop because that’s how it was registered for tax purposes. Chickens don’t pay much tax. My cousin Maria works in the city tax-assessment department.
    Sammy was already there. I passed by his shiny black Mercedes as I rounded the path to the front door. Sunlight sparkled off the lake before me. Gulls danced in the sky. I paused to listen to the lapping waves and then turned to enter the cottage.
    I let the screen door slam behind me. Sammy was holding two coffee cups. He handed me one with double cream, no sugar.
    â€œThought we better meet here,” he said. “Nobody to overhear. You won’t want even the family to know about this.”
    I pulled the plastic lid off the coffee cup and took a swig. Good brew…hot and strong. Just the way I like my men. Which is not exactly how I would describe Sammy.
    A single center light fixture was turned on, and the shades were drawn on all the windows. I stared at Sammy through the gloom and was reminded of Woody Allen. There was a lot going on behind those beady eyes.
    I nodded to the left. “What’s with the wall of cigarette cartons?”
    They were stacked about six feet high and three feet deep against the side wall of the room.
    â€œHad some trouble with a truck,” Sammy said. He shifted his feet and slurped from the cup.
    â€œTrouble being…the truck wasn’t ours?”
    Sammy shrugged. “They’ll be gone by next week.”
    I let it go at that. My uncle Vince has a lot of businesses. Sammy is his right-hand man. I’ve found it’s best to know as little as possible about businesses in the family. Except my own, of course.
    I’m a certified gemologist and run a sweet little jewelry store that’s been in the family for decades. It’s all legit. I work hard to keep it that way. With my family, that’s a feat.
    I looked back at Sammy and waited. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
    â€œTake a good look at this.” He held it between two fingers and handed it to me.
    I put my coffee down on a stack of cartons and took it from him. It was a rose tourmaline ring, about four karats, heart-shaped and surrounded by diamonds. Aunt Miriam’s ring, which Sammy had purchased for her from my shop a few years ago. I pulled it closer and reached for the loupe in my pocket. I took a look.
    â€œShit!” I yelled. “What the fuck?”
    â€œHey, watch the language. Miriam don’t like it when you talk like that.”
    â€œBut—” I felt like hitting something. “It’s a fake. Another one. Not even a good one. I did not sell you a fake. How the hell did this happen?”
    But even as I said it, I knew the answer.
    â€œCarmine.” I felt like I’d been socked in the face. “That dweeb Carmine! He was minding the store for me a few weeks back, and he switched the stone. SONOVABITCH!” I was going to kill the bastard.
    Carmine was a cousin from the New York branch of the family. He was a certified gemologist like I was, and Vince had brought him in to run the store while I was away.
    Carmine would not have been my choice, in that he was about as weasely as a basket of weasels. We did not get on well as kids. Suffice it to say I used to call him Ratface and he called me Fat Bum.
    So he wouldn’t have been my choice, but Vince wanted to mend a few fences by accepting the offer of help that Big Sally had made. Recently there had been friction between certain factions of the extended family. I tried not to follow it too closely.
    â€œYou said another one . You mean there’re more?” Sammy may look