Mansions Of The Dead by Sarah Stewart Taylor

“It’s gorgeous. How can you bear to sell it?” Sweeney knew Dannika to display items she had no intention of selling, or to refuse to part with an item at the last minute because she disliked the buyer.
    “I might not,” she said, smiling wickedly. “Want a cup of tea? I have the feeling you’re not here to browse.”
    “Why would you say that?”
    “Because it’s Monday. You never stop by to browse during the week. And because you’ve got a very determined look on your face.”
    Sweeney laughed. “All right. I do have something to ask you about. And tea would be great.”
    Once Dannika had made the tea and they were seated across from each other in chairs behind the counter, Sweeney took out the sketches of the jewelry she’d made the night before and handed them over. “Do these look at all familiar? Do you think they might have passed through here in the last few months?”
    Dannika took the sketches and flipped through them, staring at each for twenty seconds or so before moving on. “I don’t think so. But you know, the necklace and locket are pretty typical. I see a lot of similar ones. Nice drawing of the clasps. I can’t say for sure about those, but no to the brooches. What’s going on anyway?”
    “A bit of detective work,” Sweeney said. “But I can’t tell you what it’s about.”
    “Hmmmm. You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?”
    “I know you’re the only mourning and memorial jewelry dealer worth anything around here.” She winked. “But is there anyone else who might know about this stuff ?”
    Dannika grinned. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you could try Bob Philips at the Blue Carbuncle in Concord. Him or Jeanne Manders at Beacon Antiques.”
    Sweeney thanked her and said she wanted to browse a little. She spent a happy ten minutes looking at the jet jewelry. Jet, the black carbonized wood that had long been associated with death and dying, had been embraced by Queen Victoria as proper mourning jewelry for its dull sheen and modest appearance. It had always held a special fascination for Sweeney, and this seemed as good a time as any to add to her collection.
    She picked out a brooch in the shape of a rose and a string of jet beads, their matte facets barely reflecting the overhead light. Flushed with the pleasure of acquisition, she paid Dannika and watched her wrap the pieces up in black tissue paper and slip them into a little white paper shopping bag.

    She decided to try Beacon Antiques first, finding surprisingly easy parking on Walnut Street and pushing through the door into the luxe space, inhaling the scent of potpourri and the expensive wood oils Jeanne Manders used on her wares. Sweeney always felt as though she were a guest in a very expensive and perfectly appointed home when she walked in the door, hyperconscious of her body, feeling all dangerous knees and elbows. Unlike Dannika’s shop, Beacon Antiques featured furniture and decorative arts as well as a small collection of vintage and estate jewelry. Jeanne usually had a few pieces of mourning jewelry, but it wasn’t her first love. Sweeney looked at the pieces she had—ones she’d seen before—and showed Jeanne the sketches.
    “As you can see, I haven’t had anything new here in months. It’s funny, I’ve been going to sales, but I just haven’t seen any mourning stuff recently. Sorry, wish I could help you. You tried Dannika already?”
    Sweeney nodded. “Yeah, she hadn’t seen it.”
    “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe the Blue Carbuncle?”
    “Yeah, that’s where I’m going next. Thanks, Jeanne. I always love coming in here.”
    It was still early afternoon and the traffic out to Concord wasn’t too bad. Sweeney always liked going out that way. There was something about Concord that made her feel she’d traveled much farther from the city than she actually had. The stately homes that led the way into the town and the compact little commercial district took her back in time;