She decided she wouldn’t think about all that right now and, fixing herself a cup of tea, headed up to her rooftop deck to try to get some work done. She’d always had an enviable ability to concentrate; she’d call on it now.

But soon the telephone was ringing, and she dashed down the steep stairs to her study to answer it.

“May I speak with Ashley Wakefield, please?”

The voice was female, the accent distinctively Texas. Hurriedly, Ashley said, “Speaking.”

“My name’s Sarah Balaton. L..I’m from Houston. Miss Wakefield, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I saw the piece in You today, and I’m afraid..I’m afraid the tiara and choker you were wearing can’t possibly belong to you. They’re Balaton family pieces.”

Ashley sank into a chair. “What?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Sarah Balaton went on quickly. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to cause a fuss. The jewels disappeared before you were even born. They’re of tremendous sentimental value to my family, and—well, I’d just like to investigate possible means of getting them back. Would you be interested in selling them?”

Ashley’s head began to throb. This was her worst nightmare come true. I have to talk to Barky and David, she thought. “You can imagine this has come as a great surprise.” She tried to keep her tone even. “I had no idea the tiara and choker had been stolen—”

“I didn’t say stolen, Ms. Wakefield. I don’t know what happened to them. I just know my family would never have sold them or given them away.”

“Then what are the other possibilities?”

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter,” Sarah Balaton was getting flustered. “As I said, I’m not interested in making any accusations. Antique jewelry of imprecise origins appears on the market all the time; usually it’s impossible to prove anything. Do you think I could see the pieces?”

“I’ll have to discuss this with my attorney—”

“I was hoping we could avoid lawyers. Ms. Wakefield, you strike me as a fair and generous person, one who would right an injustice if you could. I think I can prove to your satisfaction that whoever sold you the tiara and the choker had no right to. Could we start there and go on from that point?”

Ashley hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I’ll need some time to think this over. Can you come to Boston?”

“Of course—I’d be happy to.”

“Give me the weekend. I’ll call you Monday.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to call you.”

“All right.” Ashley suddenly found herself gulping for air. She needed to end the conversation...quickly. And to think. Lord, she needed to think! “You understand I’m not making any promises.”

“I understand. And I’ll be in touch.”

Houston was hot and oppressively humid, no hint of winter in the sticky air, but inside the Crockett Industries mirrored-glass headquarters high above Greenway Plaza, it was a comfortable seventy-two degrees. On the thirty-fourth floor, Sarah Balaton, vice president of finance, unlocked the bottom right-hand drawer of her rosewood desk. She withdrew a burgundy leather scrapbook and laid it on her slate blotter, next to that week’s edition of You.