For lunch, Noelle locked the store and took them to a popular bistro around the corner. While they ate, her lawyer checked the validity of the credit card and learned that the Masseys could buy whatever they wanted. He also dug into their backgrounds but found little. Why did it matter? If the black card worked, who cared where the money came from?

Over lunch, Carol asked Noelle, “When will you get more inventory?”

Noelle laughed and said, “Well, obviously sooner rather than later. I was planning a trip to France in early August, but now that I have nothing to sell I need to move it up.”

Carol glanced at Luke, who seemed a bit sheepish for some reason. He said, “Just curious. We are wondering if perhaps we could meet you over there and shop together.”

Carol added, “We love Provence, and it would be a blast hunting for antiques with someone like you.”

Luke said, “We don’t have kids and love to travel, especially to France, and we’re really into these antiques. We’re even looking for a new designer who could help with the flooring and wallpaper.”

Noelle said, “Well, I happen to know everyone in the business. When would you want to go?”

The Masseys looked at each other as if trying to recall their busy schedules. Luke said, “We’re in London on business in two weeks. We could meet you in Provence after that.”

“Is that too soon?” Carol asked.

Noelle thought for a second and said, “I can make it work. I go several times a year and even have an apartment in Avignon.”

“Awesome,” Carol said with great excitement. “It will be an adventure. I can just see our home filled with stuff that we find ourselves in Provence.”

Luke raised a wineglass and said, “Here’s to antiques hunting in the South of France.”

3.

Two days later, the first truck was loaded with most of Noelle’s inventory. It left Camino Island bound for a warehouse in Houston where a large space was waiting. A thousand square feet had been leased to Luke and Carol Massey. The bill, though, would eventually cross the desk of Elaine Shelby.

In several months, when the project was over, for better or for worse, the lovely antiques would slowly reenter the market.

4.

At dusk, Mercer went to the beach, turned south, and drifted along at the water’s edge. The Nelsons, from four doors to the south, stopped her for a quick chat as their mutt sniffed her ankles. They were in their seventies and held hands as they walked the beach. They were friendly to the point of being nosy and had already extracted the reason for Mercer’s little vacation. “Happy writing,” Mr. Nelson said as they left her. A few minutes later she was stopped by Mrs. Alderman, from eight doors to the north, who was walking her twin poodles and always seemed desperate for human contact. Mercer wasn’t desperate, but she was enjoying the neighborhood.