The person on the other end gave me an address and hung up. I checked WeChat—yep, they’d sent over the receipt and a photo of the broken necklace. Definitely a real client.
George Harrison and I turned the car around toward the location. Looked like it was one of those swanky five-star restaurants. When we got there, I noticed George yawning, so I said, “They’re not here yet, and if the necklace needs fixing, they might want to talk through some requests. You stay down here and take a break. I’ll try to be quick.”
George stretched and grinned. “No problem. My awesome sister’s got this. Go on.”
Phone in hand, I got out of the car. It was already dark. I headed upstairs and told the receptionist the room number—she led the way. From a distance, I could see it was a private room.
