I’m almost holding my breath when the grandfather clock in the hallway outside of the ballroom begins to chime the nine o’clock hour. While I’m certain none of the other guests even heard it over the string quartet providing the evening’s entertainment, it is the sign I’d been waiting for.
Within seconds, a thundering bang erupts outside just as the lights flicker. The dozens of party goers startle before looking around in surprise, trying to understand where the sound has come from.
Some guests leaned in to talk with each other while others moved to the tall antique windows to glance outside. But it isn’t until three men with black suits and earwigs in their ears come running into the room that I know it’s go-time.
Mia’s distraction outside will provide me the cover I need to slip out of the party and head up the back stairs to the third floor.
The stairs are empty and the hallway on the third floor is long. Counting closed doors, I make my way to the entry of the master suite while simultaneously slipping on my thin latex gloves.
I reach up to take the pin from my hair to pick the lock, but before I remove it, I try the knob just in case. Unbelievably, the door opens.
The room is dark, but I don’t dare turn on the lights. Pulling the tiny pen flashlight from my bag, I turn it on and train the narrow swath of light on the walls, looking for the Larsson painting in the ornate frame. As the famous painting comes into view, I’m tempted to add it to my haul, knowing it is worth at least a few hundred grand, but getting out of the building with a painting is very different than hiding a relatively small tiara.
The painting swings away from the wall, and I first feel around the edges of the safe door to ensure there are no security trip wires. Taking the small stethoscope listening device from my bag, I place it against the metal as I spin the combination lock several times before getting started.
As it always does in the middle of a job, adrenaline courses through my body, making me jumpy. I push away memories of learning to crack safes in Boston… I reject the rising fear of being interrupted by security… in fact, I finally close my eyes, forcing pinpoint focus on only the clicking sounds of the safe’s locking mechanism.
It takes less than two minutes to accomplish my goal. The final snick of success has me suppressing a whoop. Moving quickly, I swing open the large door and shine the small light I’m holding between my lips into the bowels of the safe.
The sight of stacks of money, bond certificates, and velvet jewelry boxes has me tempted to empty the entire contents into a pillowcase. But not only would my escape plans never cover that kind of major theft, my hope is by only taking one item out of the hundreds, the fact the tiara is even missing at all might take weeks to discover, making it harder for the theft to be traced back to guests at tonight’s party.
Even wedged into the very back of the safe, my prize is easy to find. The distinctive wooden box is decorated in ornate swirls. I grab the container and shove it into my waiting purse and when I see there is still just enough room, I take the top strap of one-hundred-dollar bills off the pile of money and throw it in as well.
That will pay for my next ball gown.
I quickly move to put everything back as I found it, before sneaking back out into the hallway. In the distance I hear the faint sound of music playing again as well as light clinks of glassware. But it’s the voices of two men getting louder that has me searching for a place to hide. Sneaking into an alcove, I crouch down behind a mammoth Ficus tree, making sure to pull my dress in close so nothing shows from the hallway.
It’s tempting to hold my breath, but I’ve learned that only leads to having to release said breath which usually emits more sound than simply shallow breathing. I close my eyes, listening as voices and footsteps get louder before fading away as security goes up to a higher floor.
Once I’m back on the first floor, I force myself to rejoin the party. Toasting to our hosts, mingling with guests, and even dancing a waltz with an older distinguished gentleman. Only when I hear the distant gong of the grandfather clock telling me it’s now ten o’clock do I yawn and make my excuses. I visibly make my exit after saying public goodbyes.
It almost feels too easy when I meet Mia waiting for me at the curb outside. The smile on her face matches my mood. We’re going to be celebrating tonight.