It had been a while since Frost and Blake took on a case that wasn't wrapped in shadows and blood. So when an elderly widow, Mrs. Abigail Wren, reached out about her missing family heirloom—a diamond necklace passed down through generations—Blake saw it as an opportunity to lighten the mood. Frost, on the other hand, wasn't too sure.
"Do we really need to take this case?" Frost muttered as they made their way through the quieter streets of East London. "We're in the middle of a war against Thorne's network, and you want to find someone's lost necklace?"
Blake, as usual, was unfazed by his partner's grumbling. "Oh, come on, Frost. A little break from dodging bullets won't kill us. And besides, it's not like we're taking on a whole new case. We're helping a sweet old lady who's probably worried sick."
"Sweet old lady or not," Frost sighed, "I'd rather not be chasing after trinkets while Thorne's men are out there regrouping."
Blake shot him a grin. "You're just grumpy because you haven't had your tea yet."
Frost couldn't argue with that. The day hadn't started with his usual cup, and now that he thought about it, that might have had something to do with his reluctance to humor Blake's distraction. "Let's just get this over with."
They arrived at Mrs. Wren's quaint townhouse. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of place where the biggest scandal was someone forgetting to water their garden. Mrs. Wren greeted them at the door with a soft smile, her hands trembling slightly as she ushered them inside.
The interior of the house was cozy, filled with old-world charm. A collection of antiques adorned the shelves, and faded family photographs lined the walls. Everything was neat, with an air of nostalgia clinging to the furniture and decor. It was a sharp contrast to the kind of places Frost and Blake usually found themselves in.
"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," Mrs. Wren said, her voice quavering as she led them to the parlor. "I don't know what to do… my late husband's family heirloom has gone missing, and I'm just beside myself."
Frost took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs, his gaze sweeping the room. It was hard to imagine anything sinister happening in a place like this. But then again, appearances could be deceiving.
"Why don't you tell us exactly what happened, Mrs. Wren?" he suggested, trying to keep his tone gentle. He knew he could come off as cold at times, especially in cases that seemed less… urgent.
Mrs. Wren settled herself on the edge of the sofa, her eyes misting over as she spoke. "It was my great-grandmother's necklace. A beautiful diamond piece. My husband gave it to me on our wedding day, and it's been in our family for generations. I wore it to a charity ball last week, but when I went to look for it yesterday, it was gone."
Blake leaned forward, trying to appear sympathetic. "And you've checked everywhere? It wasn't just misplaced, perhaps?"
Mrs. Wren nodded, wringing her hands together. "I've turned the house upside down, but it's nowhere to be found. I'm so worried… it's not just the monetary value. It has such sentimental value to me."
Frost, ever pragmatic, asked, "Have you had any visitors recently? Anyone who might have had the opportunity to take it?"
Mrs. Wren hesitated for a moment before responding. "Well… my niece, Clara, came by the other day. She's always admired the necklace, even as a little girl. And there's Mr. Jenkins, my gardener. He's been with us for years, but… well, one can never be too sure, can they?"
Frost exchanged a glance with Blake. The mention of a niece and a long-term gardener seemed to suggest that this case might not be as simple as it first appeared. "We'll need to speak with both Clara and Mr. Jenkins," he said. "But first, show us where you kept the necklace."
Mrs. Wren led them upstairs to her bedroom, a quaint and cozy space filled with lace curtains and floral wallpaper. She pointed to an antique jewelry box on her dresser. "I always kept it in there, under lock and key."
Frost approached the box, examining it closely. The lock was intact, with no signs of tampering. He opened it and peered inside. The other pieces of jewelry were still there—rings, brooches, and a few necklaces—but the diamond heirloom was indeed missing.
Blake crossed his arms, frowning. "No sign of forced entry, and the box wasn't broken into. Either someone had a key, or they're very good at what they do."
"Or," Frost mused, "the necklace was taken by someone who knew it would be missed."
---
Their first stop was Clara's flat, a modest but elegant residence not far from Mrs. Wren's home. Clara, a woman in her mid-thirties with sharp features and a sharp tongue to match, greeted them at the door with a polite but cool smile.
"I told Aunt Abigail I didn't take the necklace," Clara said as she led them into her living room. "Why would I steal something that's going to be mine one day anyway? She's already said she plans to leave it to me in her will."
Blake raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by her confidence. "That's quite an assumption."
Clara's smile didn't waver. "I'm her only living relative. Who else would she leave it to?"
Frost studied her carefully, noting the way she carried herself—confident, almost to the point of arrogance. "You mentioned you visited your aunt recently. Did you happen to see the necklace while you were there?"
Clara shrugged nonchalantly. "She showed it to me, yes. She's very proud of it. But that was it—I didn't take it."
Blake exchanged a glance with Frost, who nodded. Clara wasn't exactly forthcoming, but there wasn't enough evidence to press further.
"And what about Mr. Jenkins, the gardener?" Frost asked, shifting the conversation. "Do you know him well?"
Clara waved a hand dismissively. "Mr. Jenkins? He's harmless. He's been with Aunt Abigail for as long as I can remember. I doubt he'd have the nerve to steal anything."
Her words held a certain edge, and Frost could sense the underlying disdain in her tone. Clara clearly didn't think much of the gardener, but that didn't necessarily mean he was guilty.
After wrapping up their brief visit with Clara, Frost and Blake made their way to Mr. Jenkins' cottage, a small but well-maintained home on the edge of Mrs. Wren's property. The old gardener greeted them at the door, his gnarled hands and weathered face betraying a lifetime of hard work.
"Mrs. Wren is a good woman," Mr. Jenkins said as he poured them each a cup of tea in his modest kitchen. "I'd never do anything to hurt her."
Blake leaned forward, his tone gentle. "We're not accusing you of anything, Mr. Jenkins. We're just trying to get to the bottom of what happened."
The gardener nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I understand. But I can tell you this—I didn't take that necklace. I've been looking after this place for years, and I've always respected Mrs. Wren's trust."
Frost studied Mr. Jenkins carefully, searching for any signs of deceit. But the old man's sincerity was palpable, and there was no reason to doubt his loyalty to Mrs. Wren. Still, something didn't quite add up.
As they left the cottage, Blake let out a sigh of frustration. "Clara's confident she'll get the necklace in the will, and Jenkins swears he didn't take it. So where does that leave us?"
Frost was silent for a moment, his mind working through the possibilities. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Let's go back to Mrs. Wren's house. I have a theory."
---
Back at Mrs. Wren's house, Frost asked to see the jewelry box once more. Mrs. Wren obliged, bringing it down from her bedroom and setting it on the table in front of them. Frost carefully lifted the remaining pieces of jewelry out of the box, inspecting each one before setting them aside.
Blake watched with a frown. "What are you thinking, Frost?"
Frost didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned the box over and examined the underside. After a moment, he smiled and gave the box a gentle shake. A soft clink echoed from within.
Blake's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that…?"
Frost grinned and opened a hidden compartment at the bottom of the box. Nestled inside was the missing diamond necklace.
Mrs. Wren gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "But… how? I didn't even know that compartment existed!"
Frost chuckled softly. "It's not uncommon for antique jewelry boxes to have hidden compartments. My guess is that when you put the necklace back after the charity ball, it must have slipped into the compartment without you realizing it."
Blake let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, that's one mystery solved. No thieves, no conspiracies—just a hidden compartment."
Mrs. Wren's relief was palpable as she took the necklace from Frost's hands, her eyes misting over with gratitude. "Oh, thank you! I never would have thought to look there."
Frost gave her a reassuring smile. "Sometimes, the simplest explanations are the correct ones. I'm glad we could help."
Blake, ever the charmer, added with a wink, "And if you ever need anything else, don't hesitate to call. We're always happy to lend a hand."
As they left Mrs. Wren's house, Blake couldn't help but laugh. "Well, that was certainly a change of pace. No murders, no kidnappings—just a good old-fashioned hidden compartment."
Frost nodded, a rare smile gracing his features. "Not every case has to be life or death. Sometimes, it's nice to solve a mystery without all the danger."
Blake grinned. "You know, Frost, I think you're finally starting to lighten up."
Frost rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small laugh that escaped him. "Don't get used to it."
As they walked away from the quiet neighborhood, the sun setting on the horizon, Frost couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. The case may have been small, but it had reminded him that not every mystery needed to be steeped in darkness. Sometimes, even the simplest puzzles could bring a sense of satisfaction.
And for a brief moment, Frost allowed himself to enjoy the calm before the storm. Because he knew that soon enough, they'd be back in the thick of things, facing dangers far greater than a misplaced heirloom.
But for now, he could let himself relax, if only for a little while.