No Quest For The Wicked

All her frosty edginess melted away, and she looked more like what I was accustomed to seeing in women around Rod. In fact, it reminded me of when I first saw him, when I wondered if he was a rock star I didn’t recognize because of the way all the women on the subway car looked at him. “Oh, personal is good,” she sighed.

Still weaving his spell, Rod said, “I definitely think we should add more blue. I’d bet you look lovely in blue—like a sapphire blue. Please tell me you wear sapphires.”

“I haven’t before. But let’s buy some!”

I put my hand over my mouth to suppress my giggles. I wished we were filming this because it was one of the funniest things I’d seen in ages. Then I noticed that Owen was staring at me, not Rod. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning with concern.

“Wrong? What makes you think something’s wrong? I mean, other than the killer brooch on the loose. This”—I gestured toward Rod— “is the best thing that’s happened all day.”

“Not now, at this moment, but in general. Something’s up with you lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all lit up today, practically glowing, and you haven’t looked like that in a long time. It’s good to see, but it makes me wonder what’s wrong the rest of the time. I know I’ve been kind of obsessed lately. Has that been bothering you?”

Owen acted like an absentminded professor, but he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he seemed to be. I wasn’t sure what to say, though. Given everything he was dealing with, I felt like a whiner to complain about something so petty as being bored. “It’s not your fault, really. Can we talk about it later, though, when we’re not on a quest to retrieve the magical brooch that could plunge the world into war?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His phone rang, and when he checked the caller ID, he handed it to me. “It’s for you.”

It was Gemma. “Sorry, I’m not having much luck,”  she said. “The profile you gave fits half our customers, and nobody remembers anyone’s fiancé’s name.”

“Thanks for trying. We may have a good lead here.” Since it had taken every ounce of Rod’s magical charm to keep Natalie Winters from snarling at him, I thought she just might be our girl.

“Where did you find her?”

“Macy’s. A woman engaged to a Jonathan Martin had a personal shopper appointment.”

She laughed. “Oh, honey, that can’t be the right one. The woman you’re looking for wouldn’t be shopping at Macy’s.”

“Really? It’s my idea of a splurge. And she’s got a personal shopper.”

“You could get a personal shopper if you made an appointment. The woman you’re looking for wouldn’t shop off-the-rack. She might not even set foot in a department store. She’s more likely to go straight to the designers for couture.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We make our money dressing women like that.”

“But she’s super-thin and really blond. She looks like all the socialites in the newspaper.”

“She probably aspires to be the kind of woman you’re looking for, but she isn’t there yet.”

“Okay, thanks, Gemma.” I handed the phone back to Owen. “We need to abort the operation. Gemma says there’s no way this is our target.”

I tried to get Rod’s attention, but he was still working the whammy on Natalie. A woman in a chic black suit came up behind him and said, “Natalie, I’m so sorry I’m late.” She frowned at Rod. “And who’s this?”

That got Rod’s attention. It looked like Cecile, the real personal shopper, had shown up, and he was about to be revealed as a fraud. He started to edge away, but Natalie grabbed his arm while placing herself between him and Cecile. “I don’t need you anymore. I’ve got André, and he will make me beautiful. I’m going to buy sapphires to match my eyes.”

Cecile blinked at that, then glared at Rod. “You don’t work here,” she said. “What do you think you’re doing, impersonating store staff? I’m calling security.”

Rod was at an uncharacteristic loss for words. I couldn’t blame him, as there wasn’t a good explanation for what he’d done. It looked like someone needed to save the day. I left my hiding place and approached the group. “Excuse me, I’m looking for André, my personal shopper,” I said.

“There’s no personal shopper by that name working here,” Cecile snapped.