Page 26 of The Stolen Queen

Her attention was drawn to the far side of the gallery, where several members of the museum staff had gathered in front of an open display case as a man wearing white gloves handled whatever was being placed inside. Annie stepped closer to get a better look and let out a small breath: The object was a gold necklace, but this was more than a necklace. Six rows of what looked like tiny spoons formed a foot-wide arc, like an upside-down rainbow. It was intricate and intriguing, and must have been quite heavy to wear. As the technician with the gloves lifted one side to adjust it, the tinkling of gold against gold filled the air.

Annie stared at the necklace sparkling under the bright lights. What a beautiful piece of art. And jewelry. A perfect mix of the two.

What had Diana Vreeland said the other night? Anintoxicating release from the banality of the world.This was certainly that. The madness of the design definitely intoxicated Annie’s senses.

It would be perfect for the neckline of the mannequin.

The gallery for the Costume Institute was right below the Egyptian Art collection. Annie swerved around the sign that read “Exhibition Closed” and flew down the stairs before one of the security guards saw her. To her delight, Mrs. Vreeland and half a dozen members of her entourage were gathered around one of the platforms where the mannequins were to be displayed. Mrs. Vreeland was holding several yards of velvet drapery in her arms while the others nodded their heads enthusiastically.

Annie stopped short a few feet away. “Um, excuse me, Mrs. Vreeland?”

The entire group turned and stared.

“Mrs. Hollingsworth’s minion?” said Mrs. Vreeland. Annie was surprised she remembered her, although the word “minion” was off-putting.

“I found something for theScheherazadecostume. The zebra one.”

A couple of women in the group tittered.

“Zobeida, you mean,” said Mrs. Vreeland. “Is that so?” Her eyelids were shiny, as if she’d rubbed Vaseline on them after putting on her makeup. An unusual choice, but it made her brown eyes pop. Her lips and cheeks were red slashes again today, her hair styled to curl around her ears so it was hard to tell if the lobes were rouged as well.

“Zobeida,” repeated Annie carefully. “It’s just upstairs from here. I think you’ll love it.”

“Do we have time for that? We really must decide about the drapery,” said a woman to Mrs. Vreeland’s left. Her eyebrows danced as she spoke, lifting with the question and pulling together in consternation at the statement. “We need your preference today.”

“Let’s make it extreme, Marta. I want flouncing, not draping. Everything interesting is a little extreme. Understatement is just pitter-patter.”

“What’s upstairs is extreme,” ventured Annie.

Mrs. Vreeland waved one hand in the air. “Oh, why not, I’m on my way out anyway. Come along, Marta, shall we see what this boa bearer is all worked up about? Let’s get crackin’.”

Annie led the two women upstairs to the display case, which the workers were in the process of locking. The necklace beckoned, twinkling under the bright lights.

Mrs. Vreeland peered over the vitrine, one hand on her neck.

“Frederick!” she yelled out.

The workers, as well as the visitors in the room, swiveled their heads in her direction with alarm.

“Get me Frederick right now!” she said to one of the workers. He took off running as Mrs. Vreeland wrapped her skinny arm around Annie’s shoulders. “This is the piece,of course. You have an eye, my dear.”

“It reminded me of Cartier’s Art Deco period,” Annie said, beaming.

“That’s a girl who knows her stuff.” She stepped back and studied her. “Nice boots, by the way.”

Before Annie could respond, a tall man—supposedly Frederick—approached them with an air of authority. He was followed by the same woman with the short hair Annie had seen by the Cerulean Queen not ten minutes ago.

“Mrs. Vreeland, how lovely to see you,” said the man. “May I introduce Charlotte Cross, the associate curator here in the Egyptian Art collection?”

The two women shook hands, Mrs. Vreeland doing so with an enthusiastic fervor that wasn’t matched by the associate curator.

“Frederick, you know Marta Meyer, the curator for the Costume Institute.”

More hands were shaken.

“You are admiring our new acquisitions?” said Frederick.

“It appears that you have been keeping secrets from us. Tell me about this necklace,” she answered.

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