Annabelle Underwood's adventures: Dollar Princess (Part 2)

In elegant Boston of 1911, Annabelle Underwood thought she was attending a perfectly boring society gala. But when the lights suddenly go out, a young heiress has her jewels stolen under the eyes of all the guests and especially Annabelle’s! A priceless necklace vanishes… but it is a mysterious eye-shaped brooch that seems to conceal the true secret.

Amid deception, secret passages, and buried memories, Annabelle must uncover what the thief was really after.

An intimate, mystery-filled investigation where the heart sometimes matters more than fortune...

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Hello everyone! Nice to meet you. So I have in my hand a collection of letters, all dusty and terribly fascinating, that tells the adventures of Annabelle Underwood. Right now, all you have to do is listen and enjoy the story I am about to tell you. And one more thing, I prefer to warn you but English is not my mother tongue. I apologize in advance and I promise to improve as quickly as I can and for my acting too. So now you know everything, should we begin? This story is called Dollar Princess. I will now summarize the first part before diving back into this investigation. If you would like, the link to the first part is in the description. Annabelle explains that after a period of rest and study in Boston with Haydn and the team, they are invited to a gala at the Hamilton's family, a society events they must attend to secure funding. There, a young erness, Marilyn Hamilton, shows off a magnificent necklace recently brought at auction, along with an eye-shaped brush that is far less valuable but seems significant. Just as Annabelle and Haydn are about to leave, a deliberately caused power outrage plunged the house into darkness. In the confusions, Beryl's jewels are turned off and stolen. No one is uncounted for, meaning the thief must be along there or knows a secret way out. Annabelle quickly realized the thief was carefully planned and ends with three key mysteries. How the thief knows the house so well, why the brush was targated, and how the jewels were removed so easily. So now I am reading the letter again. The sun rose lazily as I finished searching the house from top to bottom. Beryl and her father offered us a small bite to eat, which I accepted gladly. Having not slept all night, I would need some energy if I was going to solve this riddle. After breakfast, I didn't hide head into town to inspect the very jewelled shop and the auction house, because if the claps hadn't been tampered with, I didn't believe they would have given away. It isn't as easy as it looks to tear a necklace from someone's neck. A brooch pins to fabric is, by definition, easier to steal. Yet even then Barry's dress showed no tears large enough. Which meant the collapse has been altered or sabotaged somehow so the thief could remove it with ease. But why and how? It meant the cupid had at some point gained access to the jewelry before giving back to Barry. For what purpose? To clear the name and create an alibi for the evening? While I was turning all this over in my mind, we arrived outside the auction house. Magnificent jewels glittered in the window. I don't know if I ever told you, if I ever mentioned it, but I have a passion for jewellery. I love craftsmanship and finery, of course. I neither have the means nor many opportunities to wear such pieces, but I'm always captivated by the beauty of gemstones, and naturally, with my work and my way of life, I wouldn't trust myself to carry too many of them around day to day. As I stood there admiring the display with Haydn, a man in his fifties came out to greet us. He was the owners of the auction house. The newspapers had been quick to report the spectacular thief from the night before, and he has been expecting us. He invited us inside, told us about the sale, introduced the entire staff and the duo who had worked on the collection. I questioned them one by one, but nothing particularly interesting came out. The necklace Snapclops was indeed fragile. He had known that at the time of the sale, but since the former singer had said she had it replaced recently, he hadn't considered it necessary to change it again. It would have cost them a great deal for very little. Still, I went to see the duel who had done the replacements and confirmed that the old Eva had asked him to slightly modify the claps so it would be easier for her to faster. She claimed that with her old charming hands she struggled to manage it alone and with the necklace being heavy, it sounded plausible. And of course, she had requested the same adjustments for her brush and all her other jewellery. More than 50 pieces in total, a whim I found surprising for an aging celebrity, especially knowing she was already ruined at the time she placed the order, but given her reputation of compulsive behavior, it didn't shock me. Naturally, I wasn't the only one involved. The police had also been tasked with recovering the jewels. The day passed in a blur. We wandered through the town in search of clues and proof. We had diner with the Hamilton, then went back to the hotel to sleep. Professor Johnson joined us that evening at the restaurant hotel for an able tea. He couldn't hide his smile. He was sorry for the Hamilton, of course, but he couldn't conceal his delight at finally having the funds he needed to leave. If everything went as planned, we would be ready to depart by the end of the following week. His joy was infectious and Haydn and I went to bed smiling. The next morning someone pounded on my door like a madman. I got up in a rush, ready to shout at whoever had dared to wake me so violently. It was Haydn here in disarray. He flung the morning paper on my hands. The jewels had been found. A parcel had been delivered to the newspaper during the night with a small note that read This necklace is impossible to sell. Too famous, too precious. I can't find a buyer, so I'm returning it. Sorry for the trouble. Sign X Incredible. The person hadn't even wait 24 hours to return the necklace. The necklace, but not the brush, which was worth almost nothing by comparison. Surprising to say the least. But I was finally beginning to understand the reason behind the theft. Haydn and I dressed quickly and went straight to the Hamilton's. Beryl was relieved, but not overjoyed. She cared about that brush far more than I thought. Much more. As soon as we arrived, she threw herself into my arms and begged me to find the jewels she treasures so deeply, the one to which she was so emotionally attached. I suggested we visit the previous owners of the piece, the famous singer. She greeted us by slamming the door before opening it again, reludently. In her 60s, she didn't seem as old or fell as I had imagined. She received us in her only room with tea which she poured herself. Beryl became a child again in front of her. At last I understood her attachment to the brooch. She was a devoted admirer. I must have listened to the singer's voice on the gramophone, on the record scattered around her living room. The diva asked what we wanted to know in a voice as sharp in tone as it was melodious in timber. To every question she gave the briefiest of answers, never more than a few syllables. We were clearly unwelcome and she took no pleasure in speaking of her lost, bygone past. The more the singer Mary Wheeler, as she was called, it will be easier for you to follow this way, spoke. The more Beryl's face fell, the idolized image she has shared was very different from the woman standing before her. We stayed barely twenty minutes, but I didn't need more. Beryl left looking ultimately flattered. Yet she kept her smile. Mrs Wheeler had changed, yes, but she would remain an icon forever. A voice Beryl would always love. I admire the determination in her words. She was far more mature than I thought. The woman she adorned had changed, but she would continue to love her. She didn't run from disappointment, she accepted. Nothing lasts forever after all. There was only one last thing I need to ask of Beryl to obtain the irrefutable proof I required. She had to offer an enormous reward to anyone who returned the jewel, an absolutely vast sum, a hundred times higher than the broch sale price, with a deadline three days away. Beryl stared at me wide eyes, then burst out laughing. She agreed at once and went straight to her uncle, the journalist, so he could publish the notice. Three days later, exactly as I expected, no one has reponced to Berry's outrageous offer. Not even a letter. Nothing. And that very silence was a confession. A thief motivation by money would have attained contact, even anonymously. But this one had no interest in negotiating anything. A victorious smile formed on my lips as I read the morning paper over my tea. And I had everything I needed. There wasn't a shadow of doubt left. But unlike my usual habits, I would not present my deduction before an assembly, only in a small circle. So for the final act, I asked Haydn to send two telegrams to two different people involved, urging them to come to me. The first would arrive at 10 o'clock, the second at 10.15. And above all, no one was to be late. At exactly 10, the first person arrived in my room, asked them to remain absolutely silent for the next few minutes and hide them behind the folding screen. A little surprised but sober secretly, they said nothing and complied. Nothing had they been concealed than someone else announced themselves at the door, asked I don't let them in. Mrs. Mary Wheeler stood before us. I invited her to sit before I began to speak. Please sit down. I took the liberty of preparing you some honey tea. Just the way you like it. It will soothe your throat. Why I lay out my conclusions. As you know, I can't bear to be interrupted, so allow me to see whenever I am right from start to finish, and you may contradict me afterwards. Let us begin, if you please, Madame, Madame the Divin, or rather I should say, Madame the Thief. For it is you and you alone who orchestra the entire theft. To understand how and why we must go back to the very origin of the jewel you stole, and I know speaking of the necklace, which, despite its monetary value, is only a secondary accessory in this affair. In truth, you wanted to recover only the brooch, didn't you? You attach a sentimental value to it and you needed to keep it out of barriers' reach. To take the brooch alone that night might have been dismissed as a loss or an accident. By taking the necklace as well, you created a scandal, an investigation, noise, a perfect deviation. That is why you prepared this theft from the moment your collection went up for sale. You had every clap altered. You changed them all under the pretext of shaking hands, so no one would suspect you. The claps were functional, yes, but far easier than average weapon. One pressure in exactly the right place was enough. Your hands, however, are not fair, quite the opposite. I saw it when I came to your home. You attend to imitate trembling hands but without success, I'm afraid. You would not make a convincing actress on stage, but never mind. Everything was ready, all you needed was an opportunity to approach Beryl in the crowd and in the dark, strike accurately. And you knew precisely what to look for an emerald brush, an emerald eye motif. Something no one else would have dared to wear that night. But before we return to the evening of the theft, we must go back further back. 18 years ago, you knew the Hamilton residence so well because you visited many times in the past. You discovered the secret passage long ago and made clever use of it, I must say. You were Mr Hamilton's lover, weren't you? You came to see him in secrets while his wife was away visiting family or friends. Beryl is your daughter. The resemblance between the two of you is so striking it is impossible to miss. Beryl bears no resemblance at all to her late mother. Mr and Mrs. Hamilton, unable to have children, decided to adopt her. And you agreed. It spared a scandal and allowed you to continue your career without any problem. And you knew she would be loved and cherished, which is perfectly true. Understand that I do not blame your choice, I am merely stating the facts. You cut all ties with the Hamilton family. That was part of the arrangement. The only thing your lovers allow you to keep was this little brush you have commissioned. Because that eyes is not yours, it is your daughter's. You both have the same duty mark, it is uncanny, but the eyes is Beryl's, not yours. If Beryl has been so drawn to you, it is not only for your voice, but also for the physical resemblance that must have troubled her. Now let us return to the Knight of the Thieves. You trip the housebreakers, cutting the power and plunging everything into darkness. You plugging a lamp those wire has been deliberately damaged to cause a short circuits to blow the fuse. In the crowd you were invisible, no one requires you. Even I failed to notice your presence. But then more than a hundred people were packed into the townhouse. Bravo for your discretion. Once the light went out, you did exactly what you came to do. It took you less than a minute to leave your hiding place, steal the necklace and slip away through the passage secrets behind the tapestry, you prize under your arm. And if you return the necklace the very next day, it was because you never needed it. Your sole objective was a brooch, the brooch being the only link you still had to your child. That is why I asked Beryl to offer a neutral utredique reward. It was the only irritable way to prove that the thief had nothing to do with the dual monetary value but everything to do with sentiments. I know you do not wish to see Beryl, but I promise her the truth. You understand then why I have to stage this little thing. What you choose to do outside these walls is no longer my concern. I have only carried out the task I was given and I hope I had not offended you too deeply in doing so. Mrs. Wheeler nodded a few times. She remained silent for a moment, then drew the brush off her back to show me, and placed it back exactly where it belongs. She waited a few seconds longer, then stood and left without a word. A moment later, Beryl emerged from behind the screen. A smile from her lips as a tear ran down her right eyes, that beautiful green eyes forever fixed in Enamel. And so my dear, that is how I solved this little mystery just before leaving for the North Pole. I do not know whenever they will see each other again, but that is no longer my problem. Tomorrow we will leave for Canada, our second stop after the United States, before the deep cold on the ice. Hoping to hear from you soon, my dear Annabelle Underwood. And that's all for today. Thank you again for listening all the way through. And please don't hesitate to subscribe and give us a like and talk about it to your friends or family if you want. See you soon for more adventures with Annabelle Underwood.