“Of course not. I am simply going to inform Astrid that we have a guest.”

“Thank you, Miss Satomi,” Katrina said.

Miss Satomi left.

Katrina looked about the studio and frowned.

Shirley did not even have an escape bag.

“Be careful around the neck block.”

“Okay…” Andrew hesitated. He started to tap. Nothing. A little harder. Still nothing?

“Andrew, careful means watch what you are doing. Careful does not mean be indecisive. Here—”

The two of them worked together through the afternoon, and for some time after. Finally, his mother stood and stretched.

“I think that’s enough for today. You have homework to do.”

Andrew looked outside. When had the streetlights come on?

“Shall we grab dinner on the way home?”

“I am going to stay a bit longer,” she said in a peculiar voice.

Of course. The Satomi Guarneri.

“Good night, Mom.”

“Oh, and save your money. There’s lasagna in the freezer.”

“Okay. I’ll warm enough for when you get home.”

Lucy gave a thumbs-up as he left. Then she rubbed her eyes. It was time to work.

The Satomi Guarneri. The f-holes were a little crude, which was typical for a Guarneri.

But the bouts had an unexpected grace.

And there, the bend of the scroll was just a little more lyrical than it needed to be.

These weren’t discrepancies most people would notice, but their presence was undeniable. Was del Gesù feeling flirtatious?

That wasn’t like del Gesù at all.

Was this a forgery, then? No. If the violin were a fake, Shizuka Satomi would have noticed the moment she played it. Besides, all the signs of a classic Guarneri were there. They were just … different.

No wonder Shizuka Satomi had asked about the client notes.

Lucy walked around the back of the counter, where the old cash register had been. She retrieved an old wooden box, which had held their client notes for two and a half generations. Here were entries in her writing, in her father’s hand, and in her grandfather’s before that. Here were entries for some private school programs, and even a few public schools, from when public schools had music departments. Here were all of Mr. Zacatecas’s repairs—Lucy could almost smell the beer. And Ellen Seidel, who sometimes visited the shop when she didn’t feel like primping for Grunfeld’s.

And Shizuka Satomi’s records would be right …

She frowned.

She searched again. And again.

How could the shop have lost Shizuka Satomi’s records? Had the store simply neglected to keep them? Impossible! Lucy probed further. She stopped.

The Queen of Hell was not the only client who was missing. Other entries were missing as well. Some of their photos even now were hanging on the wall.

All of them? Shizuka Satomi had asked.

Lucy felt stupid, embarrassed, humiliated. How could she have taken that attitude with Shizuka Satomi, when she did not even know her own store?