Mary Beth glanced at the guest list. There was Eve and AJ Ross, and their little girl, Carrie, and new baby, Amanda, plus an assortment of second and third cousins. And every friend in the Westons’ old address book, a metal-top thing that flipped open for snooping convenience. Mary Beth hadn’t had to scroll through Alma’s phone memory.

Absorbed in the task of adding all their names to one poster, she didn’t notice that two hours had gone by. She felt a little faint. A new eatery had just opened on the other side of the square and she’d glanced at the menu. Lots of fresh salads and fried chicken too—her secret vice. She had to have some.

Mary Beth took just her wallet and the keys, leaving everything the way it was. She hoped and prayed there would be no drop-in visitors to Robert Joseph Weston and Associates today. Bobby Joe had told her that summer was slow, with a sales surge in mid-August before school started.

Whatever. So long as he had something to look forward to.

She had arrived at one half of the decision she faced. Mary Beth was going to break it off with Bobby Joe. After his mother’s birthday.

She tried not to even think about Parr.

She reentered the office, looking up and down the street first before she pulled out the key, then locked the door behind her again. Still no customers, apparently.

Mary Beth stayed on the first floor to eat her bagged lunch. The small portion of fried chicken was made right, good and greasy. She made up for it with a large salad, eating that almost as fast, then stuffing the wrappings into the paper bag and leaving it by the front door. She’d take it all with her when she left shortly.

Fueled, she went back upstairs to finish the birthday project.

Something was different and it didn’t take her long to figure out what.

Her bag had been moved. The little white box was gone. Mary Beth looked up at the skylight. It was closed. It locked on the inside anyway. She climbed up on the desk and examined it. Not only was it still locked, there was a tiny cobweb on it. No one had come in that way.

Had she imagined taking the white box with her?

She jumped down, stressed and creeped out. Nothing else had been disturbed. Okay, she told herself. The art stuff could stay. But she didn’t have to.

She took her purse and left the tote, quickly exiting with the lunch bag, which went right into a trash can. Her car was close by. She could call someone from there.

Not Bobby Joe, that was for damn sure. And not the cops.

She would have to talk to Parr. Mary Beth ran down the sidewalk to her car.