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She was in her early fifties, lean, cosmetically enhanced, and attractive. When twenty years younger, she’d probably been stunning. She was wearing a sleek black dress and black high heels, and looked as if she might be ready for a luncheon date to discuss a million-dollar endowment. Society page newspaper photos Quinn had seen came to mind. Alexis was active in the city’s social as well as political life and would usually be on the arm of a younger, handsome escort.
    More accurately, he would be on her arm. Alexis was what the current flock of society journalists called a cougar. Quinn thought she looked the part. She even moved like a—
    â€” Cat , Pearl thought. The woman looked and moved more like a cat than any human she’d ever seen. She gave Pearl the creeps.
    â€œPlease do sit down,” Alexis said, gracefully gliding to the side. She motioned toward a sitting area defined by a large Persian rug, matching cream-colored sofas, and easy chairs. One wall of the vast penthouse was glass, affording a stunning view of the buildings to the east and then the river. The high, high ceiling was also partly glass. Beyond it clouds floated past like lost souls of the city. All in all, the apartment reminded Pearl of an airport terminal. If dirigibles were still in fashion, surely they would dock here.
    Looking as if any second she might pause and arch her back, Alexis moved to a small mirrored table. She opened the drawer and drew out a handful of glitter.
    Pearl and Quinn were seated side by side on the soft leather sofa facing the glass wall. Quinn thought they must look like the pilot and copilot of the Enterprise.
    Alexis glided over and showed them the two bracelets.
    â€œThey’re beautiful,” Pearl said, staring at the glinting clear diamonds and gleaming rubies.
    â€œBut they’re imitations.” Alexis pointedly turned her attention to Quinn. He was the power half of the duo that had come to see her. “Good imitations, for sure, but I want the genuine bracelet back.”
    â€œTell me how it was stolen,” Quinn said.
    Alexis recounted how some blond woman had piled into her parked limo, yammering and pretending she’d made a mistake and entered the wrong vehicle. Black limos looked so much alike. Oh, she was always screwing up. “Bad girl! Bad girl!” she had actually said.
    During all the apologies and confusion, she’d switched purses.
    â€œShe apologized a dozen more times as she clambered out of the car, and left me with an imitation Gucci purse containing an imitation Cardell bracelet,” Alexis said. “Later, my actual purse was returned to me by the postal authorities. Someone had dumped it in a mailbox. Either the person who stole it, or someone who found it after the thief had disposed of it. Miraculously, it still contained all its contents, and something else—what appeared to be the Cardell bracelet. Closer inspection revealed it to be almost worthless paste, yet another imitation.”
    â€œSomebody went to a lot of trouble,” Quinn said.
    Alexis Hoffermuth nodded sagely. “People will do that,” she said, “for a lot of money.”
    â€œBut it’s an odd way of stealing,” Pearl said.
    Alexis stared at her as if offended. “Why? It caused confusion and misdirection, bought time, and by now the crooks might be in some other country, toasting their success and each other.”
    â€œOr that might be what they want us to think,” Quinn said.
    Alexis looked at him not at all the way she’d looked at Pearl. The handsome-homely Quinn filled his space and could inspire confidence and give hope, sometimes just by being present. He gave the impression he’d wandered down from Mt. Rushmore to become a cop.
    Alexis smiled dazzlingly at him. Cougarishly, Pearl thought. “Do you really think, Detective Quinn, that we have a decent chance of recovering the real Cardell bracelet before it’s